#vore sound effects

[voraciousartistry]

Mirai deciding to send a message to the people that keep sending thugs after her.

[tinydefector]

Human's effects

More a silly little thing that I had to write out.

Warnings: talks about sex, xenophilia, kinks

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

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Human Effects 2 - characters

Request are open

____

There were a lot of things that fascinated the cybertronians over humans. Their size, body types, skin tones and those soft they are. 

So many of them become so fascinated over the fact that such small and fragile creatures don't have plating to protect themselves but only wear soft fabrics. 

And it slowly leads a lot of Cybertronians to realising they were Xenophiles. 

A list of kinks and fetishes cybertronians discovered from it. 

-size kink 

-skin fetish 

- hair pulling 

- silk and ribbon play

- cum inflation 

-breeding

-pet play

- vore

-fluid play and consumption 

- spiking warming

- Heart and spark syncing 

- new spike and Valve modifications to test on their human lover

There's originally a lot of unknowns about humans, and cybertronians are rather intrigued, for one the first times the a lot of the crew of lost light had encountered them was on black market and high priced pets, and companions. 

There were exceptions such as Perceptor, Ratchet and Megatron who had been around humans before but for a lot of the bots this was their first time seeing them. that is until they are assigned a human communications, relations Ambassador/ liaison. 

But after the black market incident it had led a lot of bots into research over humans. And it just spirals more with them discovering some rather dark history with cybertronians keeping humans as playthings. And finding out their ‘interface equipment’ isn't that different from their own, just more organic and smaller.  

A late night of drinking at swerve slowly devolved into conversation over their local human. Brainstorm sits nursing his drink of engex while he and others of the ship chat away. "So does it fascinate anyone else over the fact that humans don't have natural plating or any kind of protection for their squishy form?" He brings up, he himself had fallen down the rabbit hole of human porn but didn't quite know how to breach the subject with anyone else. 

"Oh Primus, look who decided to join us, thought you were holding up with your Conjunx Chrome!" Swerve said with a chuckle, placing more drinks down. He hopped up onto one of the bar stools and leaned in eagerly, His attention flicks to Brainstorm. "You bring up a good point, Brainstorm," Swerve replied.

 "Those squishy humans are really something else, ain't they? No armour, no defences - I'd be scared outta my circuits if I was just soft protoform all the time!, like i’m so surprised squishy hasn't been stepped on yet" 

Rodimus nodded in agreement. "Yet they've managed to survive just fine so far. There's obviously more to them than meets the eye. Like i've seen some of the things our ambassador can do like the strange stretching"

"I dunno," Skids chimed in. "Seems pretty fraggin' reckless if you ask me. One good shot and it lights out!" 

Rewind shuddered. "Ugh, don't remind me. Just thinking about all those organics and tubes and who knows what else squishing around in there makes my fuel tank turn." He made a dramatic churning sound effect.

Riptide laughed. "I saw a nature documentary once about these hairless ape creatures the humans evolved from. Now THOSE guys were squishy."

“What in Primus have you been watching?!” 

“some old earth docs that Percy’s has, bots got a lot of info on Terra and the planet's history” The bots shared a collective laugh at the image. Swerve took a swig of his energon. "Frag, maybe there's something to be said about living on the edge like that! Sure keeps things interesting, its still strange that they are somehow one of the top predators of their planet yet are smaller than half the things they eat"

Brainstorm goes quiet for a moment. "Have you seen how flexible they are?"

Swerve nearly spit out his energon. "Whoa hey, I don't need those kinds of vivid imagery floatin' around my processor thank you very much!, keep the squishy interface vids to yourself" he said, waving his hands animatedly. 

"You have to admit, the way those fleshbags can contort themselves is pretty impressive," Skids added. "Must come in handy for.. maintenance." He waggled his optical ridges suggestively.

Brainstorm nodded pensively. "Indeed. Their non-metal structure allows for feats we could never replicate by ourselves." He took a sip of his energon. "Always makes me curious what other evolutionary adaptations they've developed to compensate for such vulnerability. The potential for scientific discovery is endlessly fascinating with their species and ancestors."

Riptide shrugged. "As long as they don't expect ME to try any of their bone-breaking yoga moves," he laughed. "This chassis is meant for tough stuff, not Twister!"

"You think they would be soft, you know if you interface with one?" Brainstorm asked while downing his drink, the engex was slowly going to his processor loosening his lips. 

"Oh don't give me that look I know for a fact you all have thought about doing with a human at least once! Rodimus I know for a fact you eye them up everytime our little liaison walks past you" He calls out Rodimus. 

Rodimus nearly choked on his energon in an attempt to look innocent. "Wh-what? That's not - I never -" he sputtered in protest, flustered optics darting around at the other bots.

Brainstorm smirked as Rodimus squirmed uncomfortably on the stool. "Oh please, don't try to deny it, Captain. You're about as subtle as a combiner in a supply closet." 

"Roddy's got the hots for squishy, who knew!" Swerve giggled uncontrollably. 

Skids nudged Riptide playfully. "Hey, maybe we got a xenophiliac on the ship!" 

"Alright alright, knock it off you glitches," Rodimus growled, though the blue flush across his face said otherwise. "I was just... curious, that's all. They ARE a strange species."

Swerve tried to contain his laughter. "Ohhh I bet you are more than curious, if you catch my drift!, wanna get up close and personal" More raucous peals of laughter from the group.

Brainstorm stroked his chin in thought. "They do feel intriguingly delicate. I wonder if their flexible frames would be more pleasurable to interface with than our own rigid forms..."

"Have you seen videos of them, they stretch a lot, like a lot, like I know human skin is resilient but i didn't think they were that resilient " Brainstorm states remembering some of the videos he had seen online. Other bots peak up intrigued. 

Swerve choked again as his fuel tank nearly turned inside out. "Brainstorm! That's... more than I needed to visualise, thank you very much." 

Skids seemed a bit less phased. "Fleshbags gettin' their twist on, huh? Can't say I'm not curious now." 

Even Rodimus seemed intrigued despite his earlier protests. "Resilient is an   understatement. I've seen some of the contortions that humans can do - it's astounding that their protoforms don't tear apart." 

Brainstorm nodded enthusiastically. "Precisely! With the right lubrication and technique, I hypothesise an interface with a limber human form would provide entirely novel sensory data."

Riptide shifted uncomfortably. "Not sure I'm ready to dive into the fleshy deep end just yet.”  

Swerve shot him a sly grin. "Aw c'mon Rip, live a little! Where's your sense of adventure?" 

Rodimus tried to steer the subject elsewhere. "Let's maybe change topics before someone needs a wipe down. Or Primus forbid, Magnus overhears you lot"

"I hope I did not hear what my processor just heard" Ultra Magnus states while staring down at the group of drinking mechs. A Lot of bots in the bar snicker at the group getting in trouble. 

"Come on Sir, get that wrench out of you aft, join us!" Skids called out.

Swerve let out an audible squeak at Ultra Magnus's stern tone, almost dropping his engex in panic. "U-Um, Magnus sir! Fancy seeing you here. We were just, uh, discussing..." 

He shot desperate optics at the others for help, but they all seemed to shrink down in their seats under Magnus's disapproving glare. 

Rodimus flashed an uneasy grin. "Just having a friendly debate about alien species, you know how it is. Brainstorm was bringing up some, er, interesting biological points..." 

Ultra Magnus sighed wearily. "I'd rather not know the details, thank you. Some topics are best left undiscussed in public."

The whole bar erupted into laughter at the group's misfortune. "Ah lay off em Magnus!" one patron called out. "They're just havin' fun!"

Another bot piped up. "Yeah, loosen up that rusty chassis and join us! One drink won't hurt." 

Magnus scowled, unamused. But as the encouragement grew louder, he glanced around hesitantly...

Swerve spotted an opening. "C'mon Magnus, live a little! I'll even give you a two-for-one special." He flashed a hopeful grin.

The enforcer grumbled but his resolve was cracking. Against his better judgement, he pulled up a stool. "One drink." Swerve whooped and poured him a double.

They cheer as Magnus sits down to drink with them. Skids speak up. "So brainstorm you saying you'd hook up with a fleshy, get nice and personal with a human" he calls out with a laugh.

Brainstorm leaned forward eagerly. "Why of course! The pursuit of scientific knowledge knows no boundaries. Though upon further review, direct interfacing with an organic might require certain, ah, safety protocols." 

Skids peered at him suspiciously. "Exactly what kind of 'research' are you plannin' on doing Brainy?"

Swerve nudged Riptide with a smirk. "I'll bet ya 20 shanix Brainstorm's just trying to find an excuse to get jiggy with the humies!"

Riptide snorted. "No way, I ain't takin' THAT bet!" 

Rodimus dropped his face in his palms with a groan. "can we PLEASE stop picturing Brainstorm fragging humans?" 

Ultra Magnus coughed on his engex, catching the comment he'd really rather not have heard. 

But Brainstorm paid them no mind, lost in scientific contemplation. "The human capacity for sensory input and feedback would provide a rich study on cross-species interface protocol adaptability..."

"INTERFACE PROTOCOLS?!" Swerve shrieked. The table erupted into howls of laughter at Magnus's deeply uncomfortable expression. It was going to be a LONG night indeed.

“Primus Brainstorm you kinky fragger” 

"Fine then everyone servo up if your not at least somewhat curious or thought about it at least once" Brainstorm calls out to all of Swerve's bars patrons

"Oooh, Brainstorm's putting us all on the spot!" Swerve giggled with gleeful mischief. He raised his servo without hesitation. 

Skids was quick to follow suit, slamming his half-empty glass down. "Frag it, I'll admit it! Those soft squishy bodies got me wonderin' what else they're good for." 

To everyone's surprise, Rodimus sheepishly lifted a servo as well, avoiding optic contact with Ultra Magnus. Riptide shrugged and joined in the show of servos, if only to blend in. 

The majority of bots in the bar started raising their hands amid roars of laughter and drunken encouragement. Only a select few hesitated, shooting nervous glances at Magnus. 

The enforcement officer's expression cycled through outrage, resignation and back to outrage as his gaze swept over the forest of raised servos. "I cannot condone such deviant interest in alien biologies," he protested, voice stiff. 

But as more servos stayed stubbornly aloft, Magnus sagged with a weary sigh. After a long moment, he slowly, begrudgingly raised one massive hand as well. 

The bar erupted into ear-splitting cheers. Swerve howled with glee, banging his fists on the counter. "Look's like we've all got a bit of xenophile in us after all! Even you, Magnus my mech!" 

Magnus buried his faceplate in his servos as Brainstorm cackled maniacally. Once the bar settles back down its Swerve who speaks up with a smirk on his faceplate. "So... which one of you charming mechs are gonna be the first to try and get our lovely Liaison?" He teases. 

Rodimus sputtered into his drink at Swerve's question, flushing brighter. "W-what? I never said anything about actually doing anything!, it's all just fantasies Swerve!" he protested in a hissed tone. 

Skids rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, well they do have a cute lil' figure. Bet they'd be a wild ride..." 

Swerve grinned slyly at Rodimus. "Aw c'mon Captain, don't tell me you ain't thought about it at least once! I bet they'd be real fun to break in, get all soft and pliable..." 

Rodimus smacked Swerve upside the helm. "Knock it off!" He shot a pleading glance at Ultra Magnus as if begging for rescue.

But unexpectedly, Brainstorm was the one who spoke up. "While the organic's flexibility is intriguing, directly interfacing could introduce unknown health risks or cultural taboos. Outside the fact our people have kept humans as pets and companions in the past. A more ethical approach would be gaining consent for strictly observational research."  

Riptide frowned. "Not sure the liaison would go for that either Storm" 

Swerve sighed dreamily. "Just imagine wrapping those soft squishy bits all around you though... bet they'd feel amazing..."  

"SWERVE." Magnus's warning tone silenced the cheeky bartender immediately. He turned back to Rodimus with a sigh. "Despite certain... Curiosities, directly engaging an organics  such a manner would be unwise, dangerous even, not to mention our form are much larger and could harm a human."

Rewind nodded gratefully at Magnus, relieved the subject was shifting. But the mischievous glint in Swerve's optic suggested his teasing wasn't over yet. It was going to be a long night indeed.

"Relax Mags I'm just riling these drunk mech up. Unless you're interested in our sweet little ambassador" he teases, making other bots choke on their drinks. 

Ultra Magnus's icy glare could have frozen Swerve's energon. "Need I remind you this conversation is highly inappropriate and unprofessional," he said sternly. 

But to everyone's surprise, Rodimus let out an undignified snort of laughter. "As if Magnus would ever break protocol like that! He'd probably recite the entire Autobot code of conduct while fragging."

The whole bar erupted in howls of mirth at the mental image. 

Swerve was nearly rolling on the floor. "Can you imagine?! 'Paragraph 3, subsection B clearly states interfacing with sentient aliens requires prior diplomatic clearance forms in triplicate!'" he cried in a mockingly stiff voice. 

Skids were wiping away fuel tears. "Primus if MR. RULES AND REGS ever broke the rules, it'd be one for the history archives!" 

Riptide jabbed Skids in the side. "Ten shanix says he'd have them memorising regulations the whole time!" 

"Twenty shanix says they'd run screaming first!" Swerve shot back. 

The bets and ribbing escalated as more mechs joined in. Across the table, Rodimus shoved Magnus playfully. "C'mon Magnus, live on the wild side for once!" 

Magnus's rumbling huff was the only response. Watching his rigid commander finally loosening up filled Swerve with delight. Somehow, some way, he'd find a way to get Magnus to break protocol yet! It was shaping up to be the best night ever.

"Ohhh let's make this fun. I list some bots and you say if you think they would hook up with a human" Riptide states. "Rung, Drift and Ratchet" he calls out the names.

Swerve let out a dramatic gasp. "Ooh spicy!"

"Rung is definitely curious but way too professional. Might let loose over a couple cubes of engex though!" 

Skids broke into hysterics at Riptide's suggestions. "Rung and a HUMAN?! Rung doesn't even touch his OWN interface panel!" 

Rodimus snorted. "Can you imagine? 'My dear, it seems you're experiencing some psychological interfacing blockers. Please, tell me how that makes you feel.'" 

"Drift guy's definitely intrigued by other species, if you know what I mean. Plus he's artsy so he'd probably appreciate the 'aesthetic'." Swerve responds

"Drift might go for it, he's open to new experiences," Rodimus mused with a grin. 

Brainstorm nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, his spiritual philosophies suggest an openness to cultural exchange that others may lack. I think if he and ratchet weren't together its something he might try" 

"Ratchet. bah! As if that grumpy old rust-bucket would try anything so illogical. Unless she's a doctor too and starts quoting his favourite protocols... then all bets are off!" Skids laughed. 

"Ratchet? Nah, too much of a hard aft. He'd just bitch about human biohazards the whole time," Swerve giggled. 

"Well if Drift was interested I'm pretty sure that mecn could get ratchet to do anything with the bat of his optics" Rodimus remarks.

The table erupted in raucous laughter. Swerve took a playful bow. "Alright bring on the next victims!" 

Riptide rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, how about...Tailgate, Cyclonus, and Whirl?" 

Swerve cackled wickedly. "Tailgate would be way too nervous but he'd try for his Conjunx Cyclonus. Cyclonus would 100% use his broody vibes to charm her pants off but only for Tailgate. And Whirl? He doesn't interface, he destroys! So that liaison better watch her interfacing ports around that lunatic!" 

Chromedome interjects stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Tailgate would be way too nervous and shy, I think. He'd probably short-circuit just from holding hands!" 

Riptide nodded. "Cyclonus has always struck me as the kinky type. Wonder if he's into those squishy bits like Brainstorm thinks..."

"Whirl would frag anything that moves," Rodimus interjected with a grimace. "But I don't think an organic would survive the experience!"

Brainstorm stroked his chin. "Indeed, Whirl's interfacing protocol subroutines seem rather...enthusiastic. Consent might be a fleeting concept. Better to observe from a safe distance." 

Swerve shuddered. "Ugh, don't make me picture that psycho getting 'friendly' with a human! I'm tryna keep my fuel down y'know." 

The names continue being dropped. 

 " First Aid! I don't know if the medic-bot's got it in him to break the rules. But I betcha if he did, he'd be real gentle and caring-like. He'd have them feelin' better than new in no time!" 

Skids grinned devilishly. "Yeah but would they feel better? Aid's so straight and narrow I bet he'd put em in stasis lock from boredom!" 

"Now Perceptor on the other hand..." Swerve tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Bookish type, but you know there's a passionate scientist in there waiting to experiment. Think he'd go slow and methodical, really take his time 'exploring the specimen'." 

"his thirst for organic sciences might overpower his good sense," Rewind remarks. 

“optimus prime, Prowl and bumblebee ” Chromedome interjects with his own inquiries. 

Swerve pretended to wipe away exhaust fumes. "Primus help me, this is gonna be good... Optimus Prime is obviously Mister Morality himself, but you know he's got a secret wild side under all that virtue signalling. Just imagine how freaky he could get with some alien nookie!" 

The bar erupted in incredulous, drunken laughter and cheers. Swerve grinned impishly. 

"As for Prowl, I'm telling you that stick up his tailpipe is begging to come out and play. One roll in the berth with a naughty fleshy and he'd loosen up reeeal nice!" 

"And Bee? He's a sweet kid, but you know what they say, it's always the quiet ones! Between his cute lil' face and that tight chassis, he'd have the human lining up to frag that glitch right into stasis!" 

The bar absolutely lost it, bots falling over each other in drunken hysterics. Even Mirage was struggling not to fall off his chair. Swerve took an exaggerated bow as his audience howled. 

"Thank you, thank you! I'll be here all cycle! Now who's ready for the next round?" More shouts and clanking glasses answered his call. It was shaping up to be the wildest night at Swerve's yet!

 Magnus dropping Megatron's name that really sent them over the edge.

"Megatron?! With the liaison?!" Rodimus howled with laughter, nearly spitting out his drink. "That's the funniest thing I've heard all cycle!" 

But Swerve wasn't done. "Megatron? Now THAT'S an image! 'You pathetic fleshbag, you DARE try to mount the great Megatron?! Grovel before my interface array!'" 

Magnus adds more information which makes everyone surprised " He and the ambassador are rather close" He states

Rewind speaks up from Chromedome’s side. "Y'know... they do have a certain chemistry. I'll bet under all that scowling and chipped armour there's a softie just waitin' for the right tender touch to melt his spark. And they have got sass to spare  bet they could handle Megatron's brooding and snarl!" 

"Twenty shanix says he'd have them trembling and beggin' for mercy in no time flat!" Skids bet eagerly. 

"You're on!" crowed Riptide. "But I still think Perceptor's the real dark horse..."

[urfavoritewriter]

Sleepeating

A commission for a user who prefers to remain anonymous, I had an absolute blast writing this commission that I overshoot well past the word count. Thank you so much for commissioning me! Content: Endosoma, safe vore, belly bulge, belly noises, squirming prey, struggling prey, internal view, accidental vore, sleepwalking vore, swollen belly, round belly, casual vore, male pred, human pred, M/M, large belly, stomach noises, tight stomach, prey struggling inside, long-term vore, unwilling prey, teasing, male prey.

The room was a patchwork of sleeping arrangements—an air mattress in the corner, a pile of mismatched blankets on the floor, and a couple of sleeping bags sprawled haphazardly around the twin beds. The glow of the TV bathed the room in flickering light, an old movie playing at low volume as the group lounged in various states of relaxation. Empty snack wrappers littered the nightstand, the faint smell of buttery popcorn hanging in the air.

“Alright, rookie, rule number one,” said Greg, a wiry guy with messy brown hair and a mischievous grin. He pointed a finger at the newcomer, his tone half-joking but carrying a thread of seriousness. “Don’t. Leave. The bed. At night.”

The newcomer, Andrew, raised an eyebrow, shifting awkwardly on the makeshift bed he’d been given. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and he fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie. “Uh… why?”

Zach, the host and arguably the most relaxed of the group, leaned back on his bed, his legs sprawled out like he didn’t have a care in the world. His blonde curls fell into his eyes as he glanced at Andrew with a lazy smile. “Because Matt sleepwalks,” he said, nodding toward the tallest guy in the room, who was currently shoving the last handful of chips from a bag into his mouth.

Matt swallowed, brushing crumbs off his shirt. “I do not sleepwalk that much,” he protested, though his friends groaned in unison.

“You tried to eat Greg’s shoe last time,” said Sarah, who sat cross-legged near the TV, her black hair tied in a loose ponytail. “Like, full-on chomped it.”

“I thought it was a burrito,” Matt shot back, raising his hands defensively. His broad shoulders and tall frame made him look intimidating, but the sheepish expression on his face softened the effect.

“Dude, you licked it,” Greg added with a laugh, tossing a pillow in Matt’s direction. “That’s where all the foot fetish allegations come from.”

Andrew chuckled nervously, glancing between the group. “So… what, do I need to sleep with one eye open?”

“Nah,” Zach said, waving a hand dismissively. “Just stay in bed. You’ll be fine. Matt’s like a human vacuum when he’s out of it, but as long as you’re not walking around, he’ll leave you alone.”

Andrew didn’t look entirely convinced. “A vacuum?”

“Yeah, a hungry vacuum,” Sarah teased. “Last time he cleaned out half the fridge. And Greg’s shoe, obviously.”

Matt groaned again. “Can we not make me sound like some kind of sleepwalking menace? I’m perfectly normal most of the time.”

“Yeah, sure,” Zach said with a smirk. He grabbed the remote and flicked through the TV channels before settling on a cheesy horror movie. “Just remember, Andrew, don’t wander around if you hear anything. It’s probably just Matt.”

Andrew nodded slowly, pulling a blanket over himself. “Got it. Stay put. Avoid the hungry vacuum.”

Greg snorted. “Smart guy. You’ll survive the night.”

The group laughed, the easy banter filling the room as the movie played in the background. Matt stretched, his frame nearly brushing the ceiling, before collapsing onto his pile of blankets with a loud yawn.

“Alright, lights out soon,” Zach announced, reaching for the lamp by his bed. “Let’s try not to add any more sleepwalking incidents to the list, huh?”

Matt grumbled something incoherent, already halfway to sleep. Andrew, still a little unsure of what he’d signed up for, settled into his makeshift bed, his mind buzzing with the warnings and teasing.

The room gradually grew quieter as everyone drifted off, leaving the TV to cast faint shadows across the walls. The night stretched ahead, calm and uneventful—for now.

Andrew stirred awake to the faint creak of a door hinge. His eyes fluttered open, the dim glow of the muted TV casting flickering shadows across the room. The others were still sprawled out in their makeshift beds, their steady breathing filling the quiet with a rhythmic hum. For a moment, Andrew thought he’d dreamed the noise—until he heard another faint sound.

Crunch.

His brow furrowed. It wasn’t loud, but it was distinct, like someone biting into a cracker. Groggily, he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he scanned the room. Everyone else seemed undisturbed, bundled in blankets or sprawled carelessly. Except—he counted quickly—Matt wasn’t there. The mound of blankets that had been his bed was empty, the pillow pushed to the side.

Andrew sighed, shaking his head as the warnings from earlier echoed in his mind. Matt sleepwalks. For a moment, he considered lying back down. It wasn’t like it was his problem, right? But the faint clink of something metallic, like a fork hitting a plate, piqued his curiosity. What’s he even doing?

Carefully, Andrew swung his legs over the edge of his mattress, the cool floor sending a faint shiver through him. He tiptoed toward the door, avoiding the stray wrappers and pillows strewn about, and gently turned the knob. The hallway was dark, the faint orange glow of a nightlight at the far end barely illuminating the space. He stepped out, his socked feet making no sound against the wooden floor.

Another crunch. Then the faint sound of chewing. Andrew followed it, squinting into the darkness as he made his way toward the kitchen. The air was cooler out here, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of a floorboard beneath his weight.

As he neared the source of the sounds, the faint hum of the refrigerator reached his ears. Then another noise—a soft, wet slurp, followed by what sounded like the rustling of a bag. Andrew hesitated for a moment, his heart beating a little faster. Is he seriously eating in his sleep?

He rounded the corner into the kitchen, the faint glow from the refrigerator spilling across the tile floor. Matt was there, hunched over slightly, one hand gripping the fridge door while the other clutched a half-empty bag of chips. His tall frame loomed in the dim light, his broad shoulders casting long shadows against the wall. His head moved slowly, rhythmically, as he chewed on something, completely unaware of Andrew’s presence.

Andrew stifled a laugh. They weren’t kidding. He really is a vacuum. He stepped closer, the floor cool beneath his feet. “Matt?” he whispered, his voice low to avoid startling him.

No response.

Andrew frowned, tilting his head. Matt’s movements were slow and deliberate, like he was in a trance. He dipped his hand into the bag again, pulling out another handful of chips and shoving them into his mouth without so much as glancing around. His other hand lazily swung the fridge door shut, casting the room into near darkness except for the faint glow of the microwave clock.

“Matt,” Andrew said a little louder, stepping closer.

Still no response. Matt’s chewing continued, unhurried and oddly methodical. Andrew couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed in the dim light, but there was something unsettling about the way he stood there, his tall frame casting looming shadows that swayed ever so slightly with each movement.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Alright, buddy, back to bed,” he muttered, reaching out to nudge Matt’s shoulder. “You’re gonna—”

Before he could finish the thought, Matt’s head turned sharply, and Andrew froze. His mouth still moved rhythmically, chewing, but his gaze—or lack thereof—seemed distant, unfocused. His expression was blank, almost eerie, as if he wasn’t entirely present. Andrew took a step back instinctively, his pulse quickening.

“Uh… Matt?” he said hesitantly.

Matt didn’t respond. Instead, he turned back toward the counter, setting the empty chip bag down with a slow, deliberate motion. Andrew watched, unsure of what to do, as Matt’s hand hovered over a loaf of bread, his fingers brushing it as if deciding whether to grab it next.

“Okay, this is getting weird,” Andrew muttered to himself, taking another cautious step forward. He reached out again, this time aiming to grab Matt’s arm and steer him back toward the hallway. “Come on, man, let’s—”

Matt moved suddenly, his hand shooting out with surprising speed to grip Andrew’s wrist. Andrew’s breath hitched, his body tensing as Matt’s grip tightened. For a moment, Andrew thought he’d snapped out of it—that he was awake—but then Matt’s blank expression remained unchanged, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond Andrew, as though looking through him.

“Hey, uh, Matt? You good?” Andrew stammered, his voice wavering slightly.

Matt’s grip pulled him closer, the motion slow but unrelenting. Andrew’s heart raced, the air suddenly feeling heavier as he tried to tug his arm free. But Matt’s strength was impossible to resist, his movements steady and unnervingly purposeful.

“Okay, this is not funny anymore,” Andrew muttered, trying to keep his voice calm as he stumbled forward. The faintest hint of warm breath against his neck made him freeze, and in the dim light, he caught a glimpse of Matt’s mouth opening, his jaw stretching slightly in a way that made Andrew’s stomach twist.

What the hell is he doing?

Andrew tugged harder, but Matt’s grip was like iron, and his slow, trance-like movements didn’t falter. The air was thick with tension, the quiet hum of the fridge the only sound as Andrew realized, too late, that Matt wasn’t just sleepwalking.

He was hungry.

Andrew’s heart slammed in his chest as Matt’s grip tightened around his wrist. His breath hitched as he watched Matt’s jaw part further, the glisten of his tongue catching what little light remained in the kitchen.

“Matt?” Andrew’s voice cracked, his throat dry. “Matt, what the fuck are you doing?���

Matt didn’t respond, his head dipping slightly as his tongue slid over Andrew’s arm, leaving a wet, hot trail along his skin. The sensation made Andrew recoil, a sickening mix of fear and confusion twisting in his gut. The warm, slick press of Matt’s mouth closed around his hand, the wetness enveloping him inch by inch.

“Dude. DUDE!” Andrew yelped, his voice rising in pitch as he yanked at his arm. But Matt’s grip was unyielding, pulling him further in as his lips sealed around Andrew’s forearm.

Andrew’s panic flared. “Okay, okay, stop. You’re—you’re fucking sleepeating, man.” His voice wavered, fear lacing every word. “I’m not the food you’re looking for.”

Matt didn’t flinch. His throat emitted a low, almost guttural moan as he sucked harder, the heat of his mouth traveling up Andrew’s arm. Andrew froze, the realization slamming into him. Matt wasn’t biting. He wasn’t tearing at him like some animal. No, Matt was tasting him, savoring every inch as he worked his way upward.

“You’re not serious,” Andrew whispered, his voice trembling as he felt the first tug of Matt’s throat muscles against his fingers. The slick, rhythmic pressure sent a shiver through him. “Oh my God, you are serious.”

His fear spiked as Matt tilted his head back slightly, his lips creeping past Andrew’s elbow. The tight pull of Matt’s throat was unmistakable now, the wet, swallowing sounds filling the silence. Andrew thrashed, his free hand shoving at Matt’s shoulder, his legs scrambling against the tile.

The realization hit Andrew like a brick: He’s not going to chew. He’s—he’s actually swallowing me whole.

“Let go! Fuck, Matt, stop!” Andrew yelled, his voice cracking as he pushed against Matt’s solid frame. But Matt didn’t even flinch. His other hand reached out, grabbing Andrew’s free arm and pinning it firmly at his side.

“Matt, wake up! Wake the fuck up!” Andrew’s voice was frantic now, his breathing shallow as he realized he wasn’t winning this fight. The heat of Matt’s mouth climbed higher, engulfing his bicep as his throat worked in steady, deliberate gulps.

The sound of swallowing filled Andrew’s ears, wet and unrelenting. Each gulp sent a wave of pressure rolling over his arm, pulling him deeper. The slick walls of Matt’s throat pressed tightly against his skin, the heat unbearable, as though the demon vacuum of a friend was actually pulling this off.

“No—no way,” Andrew gasped, his voice shaking as he felt his shoulder press against Matt’s lips. “You can’t—you can’t actually—” He cut off with a yelp as Matt’s jaws stretched wider, the grip around his other arm tightening as it was shoved forward to join the first.

Matt’s body shuddered, his throat rippling as he moaned softly, the sound sending a sick chill down Andrew’s spine. Andrew squirmed harder, kicking out in blind panic, but Matt’s sheer size and strength made resistance feel hopeless.

Matt’s mouth stretched further, the slick wetness of his tongue sliding up Andrew’s arms and across his collarbone. A hot, humid wave of air rushed over Andrew’s face as his head was pulled inside, the suffocating heat making his skin prickle. His heart hammered wildly as his cheek grazed one of Matt’s teeth, smooth and solid, before his tongue pressed firmly against his jawline, dragging upward.

The texture was overwhelming—slick, wet, and unnervingly soft as Matt’s tongue worked under his chin, tasting him with deliberate, almost indulgent motions. Andrew’s nose was filled with the overpowering scent of saliva mixed with the faint, salty tang of whatever Matt had been eating earlier. The smell was thick, clinging to him, and the wet sounds of Matt’s swallowing filled his ears, drowning out his frantic thoughts.

Andrew’s head tipped back as Matt’s tongue curled up around it, smearing saliva through his hair, the wetness soaking into every strand. The pressure from Matt’s teeth framed him on either side, the curve of them brushing harmlessly against his skin, a terrifying reminder of the power being exercised with such unnatural care. The rhythmic movements of Matt’s throat muscles began to pull at him, the slick walls of his gullet brushing against the top of Andrew’s head.

Matt’s throat opened wide to welcome Andrew’s head, the slick, rippling walls pulling him deeper with a relentless rhythm. The heat was overwhelming, wrapping around his face as his chin slid past the soft, yielding base of Matt’s tongue. Andrew’s breath came in shallow gasps, the humid air thick with saliva as his ears were engulfed, the world outside muffled into nothing but the wet, squelching sounds of Matt’s swallowing.

“Matt! Please!” Andrew’s voice cracked, the reality of his situation slamming into him. He wasn’t just being tasted. Matt was swallowing him whole, his slick, warm throat stretching to accommodate him inch by inch.

With a soft, satisfied moan, Matt’s lips closed over the base of Andrew’s neck, his tongue pressing firmly against his nape as he paused to savor the flavor. The tight grip of Matt’s throat muscles around Andrew’s head was unrelenting, the pressure squeezing his features as the walls flexed in slow, deliberate waves, coaxing him further down into the slick, undulating depths of Matt’s body.

Andrew’s chest heaved as his shoulders disappeared past Matt’s lips, the overwhelming heat and wetness pressing against him from all sides. The rhythmic contractions of Matt’s throat dragged him deeper, his body sliding slowly but steadily downward.

“Let me go! You can’t—stop!” Andrew cried, his voice muffled now as Matt’s throat worked around his upper body, pulling him further inside. His head tilted back instinctively, his face brushing against the slick walls as he tried to find space to breathe.

Matt’s hands moved down, gripping Andrew’s waist as he adjusted his angle, tilting his head back even further. The motion sent Andrew sliding another few inches downward, the wet pressure of Matt’s throat wrapping tighter around him.

Andrew’s voice was hoarse now, his struggles growing weaker as Matt’s stomach loomed closer. He kicked out again, his legs finding no purchase as the strength of Matt’s throat muscles overpowered him.

Matt’s moan was louder this time, his hands gripping Andrew’s hips firmly as he tilted his head back once more, his jaws working over the final stretch of Andrew’s torso. The wet gulping sounds grew louder, more insistent, as Matt’s body adjusted to the bulk now sliding into his belly.

Andrew’s heart pounded wildly as the realization hit him in full force: Matt wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t waking up. And soon, he would be completely inside.

Matt’s lips stretched wide as Andrew’s chest passed through, the tight heat of his throat squeezing Andrew’s arms together and forcing them deeper into the belly below. The slick walls of Matt’s esophagus massaged him downward, inch by inch, the steady, relentless contractions making Andrew’s struggles futile. His muffled voice rose in panicked protests, but the pressure around him drowned out all but faint, garbled sounds.

Andrew’s wrists were the first to breach the stomach, the shift in temperature unmistakable as his hands entered a tight, churning space. The walls were slick and undulating, pressing in on him with rhythmic movements that kept him immobilized. His fingers twitched, brushing against half-digested food, the texture both slimy and unrecognizable. Crumbs of chips, something soft that might have been bread—it all surrounded him in the claustrophobic chamber.

“Matt!” Andrew’s muffled voice wavered, his wrists flicking helplessly as he tried to push back against the walls, but the unyielding stomach held him tight. The low gurgling noises grew louder, echoing in his ears as Matt’s body welcomed more of him inside.

From the outside, Matt’s stomach began to expand visibly, the taut skin rounding out with each inch of Andrew’s upper body. The bulge of his shoulders slid into Matt’s chest, making his throat stretch impossibly wide for a moment before the mass moved downward. Matt’s belly swelled larger, the distinct outline of Andrew’s arms faintly visible beneath the skin before they were engulfed by the folds of Matt’s stomach.

With another deep swallow, Matt worked past Andrew’s waist, his powerful throat muscles dragging him down steadily. Andrew’s head and shoulders entered the belly, the space impossibly tight as the walls pressed against him from all sides. He could feel the heat intensify, the air thick and humid, the noises of digestion surrounding him in a way that made it impossible to think.

“Matt! Let me—ugh—out!” Andrew’s voice was barely audible now, his movements weak and restricted as Matt’s stomach continued to stretch. The taut curve of Matt’s belly shifted with Andrew’s struggles, faint ripples moving across the surface as Matt leaned back slightly, savoring the sensation of fullness.

The bulge of Andrew’s hips reached Matt’s lips, and with one final, deliberate gulp, Matt began to take in his legs. The weight in his stomach grew heavier with each inch, the mass pressing firmly outward and rounding his belly into a large, pronounced dome. The elastic waistband of his shorts struggled to stay in place, the fabric digging into the curve of his swollen abdomen.

Andrew’s feet kicked faintly as they slid closer to Matt’s maw, but the demon vacuum of a friend was unrelenting. Another deep swallow brought Andrew’s thighs past his lips, and with a final, wet gulp, Matt’s jaws closed over Andrew’s feet. He tilted his head back one last time, his throat bulging as the remaining length of Andrew disappeared inside him.

The last of Andrew slid down, his curled legs folding into the cramped confines of Matt’s belly. The stomach expanded further, the tight skin visibly rippling as Andrew shifted and pushed against the walls. From the outside, Matt’s gut was enormous, the round shape jutting forward and shaking slightly with Andrew’s struggles. The once-faint sounds of digestion were now louder, a chorus of gurgles and sloshes as Matt’s stomach worked to accommodate its living occupant.

Matt let out a low, satisfied groan, his hands resting on the massive swell of his belly. The weight pressed down on his thighs as he adjusted his position, leaning back slightly against the counter. His fingers traced the outline of the bulge, faintly visible movements beneath the surface making him chuckle softly in his sleep.

Inside, Andrew squirmed, his body contorted in the tight, sweltering chamber. The heat and pressure were overwhelming, the rhythmic contractions of Matt’s stomach keeping him firmly in place. His muffled protests barely registered as Matt shifted, patting his belly with one hand, causing the entire dome to jiggle slightly.

From the outside, Matt’s gut was impossibly round, shaking faintly as Andrew’s movements stirred the contents within. The sight was surreal—a massive, bloated belly rising and falling with Matt’s steady breaths, the occasional ripple betraying the fact that someone was still awake and aware inside. With a faint snore, Matt leaned back further, completely oblivious to the chaos within his oversized stomach as the night stretched on.

The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting golden streaks across the living room as the soft murmur of the TV played in the background. Most of the group had already gathered, sprawled across the couches and chairs in various states of morning grogginess. The smell of coffee lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the scent of leftover snacks from the night before.

“Dude, you have to see this,” Greg said, barely stifling his laughter as he pointed toward the couch. “Matt’s… uh, looking a little heavier this morning.”

Zach, sipping from a steaming mug, leaned over the back of his chair and raised an eyebrow. “Holy shit, Matt. You pack the fridge in there or what?”

All eyes turned toward the corner of the room, where Matt sat reclined on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the massive swell of his gut, the other scrolling casually through his phone. His belly was enormous, rounded and taut, rising and falling slightly with his breaths. It shook faintly every few moments, ripples traveling across the surface as muffled movements from inside caused the entire dome to wobble.

“Morning,” Matt said, barely looking up from his phone. His voice was casual, almost bored, as though this were just another day. He gave his belly a light pat, the sound echoing faintly in the room.

“Morning? That’s all you’ve got?” Sarah snorted, her eyes wide as she gestured toward his gut. “Are we not gonna talk about that?”

Matt finally glanced up, his expression unfazed. “Oh, this?” He gave his belly another pat, his hand sinking into the firm curve before it wobbled under his touch. “Yeah. I think I, uh… picked something up last night.”

From within, a faint, muffled voice was just barely audible. “Matt! What the hell’s going on? Let me out!” The bulge shook again, Andrew’s movements sending another ripple through the bloated surface.

“Oh my God, is that Andrew?” Greg burst out laughing, nearly spilling his coffee as he doubled over. “You ate him?”

“I didn’t eat him,” Matt said, his tone defensive but still nonchalant. “I was sleepwalking. He probably shouldn’t have been wandering around anyway.”

“Classic Matt,” Zach said, shaking his head with a grin. He grabbed a bag of chips from the counter and tossed it onto Matt’s belly. The bag bounced slightly before settling. “Can’t keep track of what goes in, huh?”

“Apparently not,” Matt muttered, giving his stomach a gentle rub as it gurgled faintly. Another ripple moved across the surface as Andrew shifted inside, his muffled protests drowned out by the low, groaning sounds of the packed belly.

“You’ll get out eventually, Andrew!” Sarah called out, her voice teasing as she leaned back against the armrest. “It’s just, uh�� not as easy getting things out of Matt as it is getting them in.”

The group erupted into laughter, and even Matt couldn’t suppress a small chuckle, his hand absently stroking the round swell of his gut. “Yeah, you might be in there for a bit,” he admitted, his voice casual. “But hey, you seem comfy enough.”

“Comfy?” Andrew’s muffled voice rose again, frustration clear even through the thick walls of Matt’s stomach. “It’s cramped, it’s hot, and I’m—ugh! Stop laughing!”

“Sorry, man,” Zach said, his tone anything but apologetic as he tossed a pillow onto Matt’s stomach. “It’s just… you’re part of the crew now. Matt’s version of a warm welcome.”

Sarah shook her head, grinning. “Andrew, if it makes you feel better, you’re not the first thing Matt’s eaten in his sleep. Just, uh, definitely the biggest.”

Greg chimed in, smirking. “And the loudest. Dude, that belly’s been shaking all morning.”

The group’s laughter filled the room again, and even Andrew seemed to give up on protesting, his movements slowing inside the tight confines of Matt’s stomach. Matt, unbothered, leaned back further into the couch, his phone still in hand as he stretched his legs out lazily.

“Well,” Matt said, his voice calm as ever, “I guess we’re all set for breakfast… and entertainment.”

Another round of laughter erupted, and the room settled into a comfortable rhythm, the group teasing and chatting as Matt lounged with his oversized, animated belly. Andrew shifted slightly inside, grumbling muffled protests, but the group’s lighthearted energy made it clear—this was all just another part of the fun.

[conchoronzon]

Is it possible when you have the chance can you do a stepdad vore stepson because wife wanted to get rid of old family with ex husband

Joe's bachelor party was supposed to be pretty simple. His brother, Gary, my future uncle, was the one who was planning all of it. A small group of us guys just hanging out at the hotel a couple of days before the wedding. Video games, beer, poker, tanning, steaks.

When my phone went off while at the pool, Joe splashed some water my way. He may have been a suave lawyer, but he was always a little playful. "That Grindr?"

And of course, that led the rest of the guys teasing me. Gary grabbed his speedo with a chuckle and said. "I ordered some women. Wouldn't have done that if I knew we had a cocksucker here."

"I'm not going to suck your cock, uncle," I said.

Joe grabbed me. "So he gets to be 'uncle' but you still won't call me 'dad,' huh? Little shit." We went under water.

That night, we were drinking beer in Joe's room. We were on our second round of Texas Hold 'Em. Porn played on one tv on silent - gay porn, a sort of "first person to get hard has to suck everyone's cock thing, no doubt more teasing aimed at me. On another, some violent action flick I'd never seen played. The effects were outdated. My vision was getting a bit blurry. My eyes were heavy. Why was I so tired?

"You okay, bud?" Joe asked, and then I passed out.

When I cam too, groggy and blinking away the blurry lights, my head was pounding. My limbs were stiff and heavy. My breaths were small, but it wasn't like it was hard to breathe. Everything was cool and sticky. Gary was grinning down at me. He was naked. "He's awake," he called. The rest of the guys cheered.

I was on the table. The guys were over by the TV. They were all naked, including Joe. God he was handsome. Nice thick cock, too. What was I thinking? That was gross. Shit. Were they making good on the whole "having a cocksucker around" thing?

Joe made his way to the head of the table or, rather, where my head was. His heavy balls pressed down against my forehead. They were so warm. "Too bad you didn't want to call me daddy while choking on my dick, kid," he said. He called me that when he wanted to piss me off. I'd just graduated college. I was a grown-ass man. Him being a prick like that sometimes was why I refused to call him dad. Not to mention, he still wouldn't be my step-father for a few more days.

He ground his balls against my face, then pulled away and leaned over me with a wicked grin. "If you had, I probably would've kept you around. But your mom wants a family of our own, and if you don't want to be my pet, then..."

His jaw unhinged like some creature from a horror movie. My slow heart stopped for a moment. When it came back too, the world was dark and wet. His tongue pulsed beneath my head. His teeth gently scraped over my back. Slick, wet sounds, swallowing sounds, filled my ears as I slipped further... inside my mouth.

Joe was eating me.

My head dangled over the abyss of his throat. Outside, the guys cheered him on. Someone was rubbing their cock between my feet. Others were engaging my hands.

A slight, impossible light filled his throat. Saliva spilled down the pink walls of his throat. "Stop," I whispered. I didn't have the energy to scream. Then I was falling head first down the cavern. It pressed tight against my flesh and, shameful though it was to admit, it felt amazing. I was hard and leaking by the time my cock slid into Joe's mouth. His tongue slipped between my cheeks and prodded at my hole.

Almost as if it were a last breath, I moaned louder than I had in my entire life. It was a plea, though what for I couldn't tell. To cum? To get fucked by future dad? For him to finish eating me?

When my feet passed between his lips, they were covered in the cum of his brother and buddies. I curled up in the tight, warm, slightly smelly embrace of Joe's stomach. He belched, and the sound rattled my brain. I went dizzy.

"Looks like I'm pregnant with you now," Joe said. "Gonna call me dad now that I'm pregnant with you?" Of course he was teasing me. He never refused a chance for that.

"What did you do?" i asked.

"I ate you. And now I'm gonna turn you into a big steaming pile, you piece of shit," he laughed. "You want to be my shit?"

The warmth was starting to sting my skin and the inside of my mouth and nostrils. "I don't want... to be shit, daddy," I pleaded.

"Lesson learned: never turn down daddy."

~~

I woke in a sweat, my dad's thick, hairy arms wrapped around me. We were naked in his bed. We started sleeping like this on my 21st. I drank with him for the first time and started crying about mom's death. He cried too. One thing led to another, and he ended up pounding my ass like a beast.

It was a dream. It was just a dream... but...

"What's wrong?" Dad asked, snuggling into my neck.

"I had a dream you ate me," I said.

Dad pulled me tighter against him. When he whispered, there was a growl. Something hungry. "Did you remember being daddy's shit? Getting flushed down the toilet? How you kept begging me not to digest you? You told me I'd get to fuck you all I want." His cock hardened against my ass. "You know... It might be time for me to put my boy back in his place." His big hand grabbed my cock. "Steal all your youth while you melt away into a big meaty soup in my gut. Maybe next time you'll remember sooner. Beg me to eat you." He licked my ear. "Wanna test it out, baby? No promises I'll let you out."

Despite the pounding of me heart, I nodded. "Yes, daddy."

[ofide]

the people currently yelling at me about how problematic vore is seem to have a way more in depth knowledge of the topic at hand than i do. i’m defending it on principle but they’re describing the sound design of it in detail. i didn’t even know there were recurring sound effects and camera angles 🤨

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Nidai in the halloween vore duel tournament against Kyle from animal crossing?

Sure thing! I like the very out-there match up going on.

K.yle really just joined this thing on a whim. Sure, he’s eaten dudes from time to time--who hasn’t? But he’s not much of a...sporty guy. He’s a musician, and a damn good one at that. But he figured winning some big contest thing would be great publicity for his band. Might get them out of the ‘playing at bars for next to nothing’ pit they’re stuck in. Course, when he had that idea, he hadn’t really expected...to get stuck against a guy like this.

N.ekomaru starts tall on the other side of the mat, an imposing wall of muscle mass with a very intense glare. Being completely exposed makes him even more intimidating. That’s the kinda guy who looks like he’d be doing something like this. K.yle had hoped for like...weight classes or something to be used here. Seems it’s a lot more loose and free-for-all. Man...his band is going to have to look for a new singer at this rate...

The whistle blows to start the match and K.yle braces for impact. N.ekomaru doesn’t come charging in like he was expecting, though. Instead, the coach is glaring at him still. “C’mon, don’t just stand there!” the man shouts out in a booming voice. “Lemme see what you’re capable of! Come at me with EVERYTHING YOU’VE GOT!”

K.yle hesitates a bit, if only because this guy is super freaky. But getting the first hit in puts him at an advantage, right? So K.yle dashes forward with a yell and tries to hit the guy with a punch, thinking he might be able to wind the coach at least. The wild dog’s paw cracks slightly when he hits the rock-hard abs of his opponent and he yelps, quickly jerking his hand away and holding it to his chest protectively.

N.ekomaru looks very unsatisfied. He crosses his massive arms, his eyes sparking. “That was TERRIBLE! Your form was all wrong! Do you honestly call that a punch?!”

“Ah…um…yes?” K.yle has no idea what kind of response he’s supposed to have. He’s always heard that this guy can be kinda weird but…this is definitely more than weird. “What was wrong with it?”

“Here, let me show you.” N.ekomaru huffs and comes over, grabbing K.yle’s arm roughly and forcing him into position. They spend a few minutes with N.ekomaru showing K.yle proper fighting stances and how to punch effectively. It leaves the crowd…mostly confused.

“Now, use what I taught you and give me a proper punch!” N.ekomaru shouts. K.yle sizes the coach up again, gulps softly, and punches him. It gets a grunt from N.ekomaru and K.yle doesn’t actually feel as much pain in his hand from doing it. It gets N.ekomaru laughing.

“That’s more like it! Now…let me show you what a punch can really do.” N.ekomaru reels his arm back and uppercuts K.yle right in the gut. The wolf dog’s eyes widen and the wind is knocked out of him. His feet even lift off the ground for a second before he collapses to the ground and curls up tight.

K.yle is left gasping and coughing, struggling to get a single breath in. He’s grabbed by the nape of his neck and hoisted up into the air. He looks like a little bundle of fur while curled up like that. Just the right side for him to fit into N.ekomaru’s yawning jaws.

It takes a rough shove and a few hard gulps, but a massive bulge goes down N.ekomaru’s thick neck in no time. It slides past his chest and then makes his abs bloat out a little bit.  Most prey would have started to scream or struggle, but the winded K.yle can’t even make a sound. He gets no chance to even attempt resistance as N.ekomaru’s abs flex down hard, flattening out with a series of cracks and squelches.

A deep, harsh belch roars out of N.ekomaru as all the air is squeezed out of his gut. Some fur from K.yle flutters off his breath as well. The crowd, which had mostly been quiet and a little bored for most of that, erupt into cheers and shouts from such a brutal and fast takedown.

N.ekomaru grins and slurps over his lips, giving his abs a few pats. That was good enough protein. Should help with whatever he has to face next. He walks off to get some water while the crowd cheers. All that fur made him thirsty and he wants to be in good shape for when he has to deal with an actual threat.

[stas-land]

Ok concerning the Stardew vore mod I was gunna try to make

So I realized that I’m gonna need to start simple (bc I have NEVER done this before although I do have some coding experience)

So I’m prolly just gonna start with modding in events for Sebastian only, well actually only one event

I’m gonna try to do a couple things with it tho such as import my own sound effects and new portraits and maaaaybe add a few new sprites

If this goes well I’ll either try to commit to making more events or adding in more spouses n shit idk yet

(I have massive commitment issues when it comes to projects lmao I start a bajillion things and never finish them)

but ya that’s kinda my plan rn!!

[teal-fiend]

In a world where vore is known and commonplace in society, films and T.V will sometimes feature it on screen

The film production team will have to hire stunt doubles, either for the pred character if the actor isn’t actually a pred, or for the prey character, in order to get someone who has more experience in a stomach.

Consistency between shots means that digesting someone live for the performance is not practical, so perhaps they have props that a pred can swallow down to mimic the shape of prey during different stages of digestion.

Although, some indie films have gotten their pred actor to digest the prey for real, through the shaky-cam genre, or even a short film where they planned to shoot everything chronologically. 

People in sound design get to record digestion noises. Maybe in order to get a clearer, controlled sound, they record things besides stomachs, like a tube that they put different liquids in to get the best audio

A pred who digested their co-star in real life after production. Fans and critics wonder if it was staged to promote the movie, or if they decided to do it on their own.

Pred actors, during auditions will have to demonstrate how well they can swallow down prey

During shooting, preds will have to do many takes during a swallowing scene, which can be incredibly exhausting. Directors will have to weigh their options, to see if shooting the scene is really worth it, considering the recovery time the pred needs to have between takes. It would be cheaper if they just cut to the next scene, or have the swallowing happen off-screen. 

However, after CGI takes a hold on the film industry, practical effects disappear almost entirely from screen. Critics complain that it looks uncanny or soulless and cheap, others say they can’t tell the difference. If movie-goers want to see the real thing they have to watch older movies, or if they’re lucky an auteur will insist on using genuine pred and prey in the act.

[tovalhallaandback]

Vores Lille Dukke

Summary: A night at the club on All Hallows Eve turns into frighteningly intimate evening when you run into York’s undead King and Queen who offer an invitation that you’d be stupid to turn down. 

Pairing: Vamp!Sigtyggr x Vamp!Stiorra x Human!AFAB!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+), threesome, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex (giving male/female, receiving male/female), lowkey dom/sub vibes (dom Sigtryggr, switch Stiorra, Stiorra is also a bratty sub lol, sub reader), minor rough sex, minor blood kink, minor praise kink, mentions of blood, legal alcohol drinking (but reader still able to consent), possibly more that I'm missing ?

Wordcount: 10.3 (Yeah...i went a little nuts..)

AN: So uh, happy belated halloween?! I have more to say in the AO3 ANs lawl.

Cross-posted on to AO3 since it's so long. Also if you want to skip to the smut, then skip to the bolded part.

There’s a luminescent glow in your favorite club tonight, black lights illuminating only whites and neons while casting everything else into eerie shadows. The bass from the speakers beats so loudly, you feel it in your bones, like a second heartbeat as you lean against the bar nursing a cocktail, watching your friends. You can’t help but laugh as one slaps another party goer across the face while the other seems like they have been starved from human touch for centuries with the way they try to devour their companion. At least, they both seem to be having fun, though you wish they had kept their promise of not abandoning you tonight when they forced you out of your apartment. 

The costumes tonight lack creativity - white bunny costumes as an excuse to where lingerie in public, skeleton body suits like a second skin, angels with far too salacious grins…Though creativity tends to get stifled when there’s only so many white and neon costumes to choose from for a halloween blacklight party. And besides, it’s not like your ingenuity is any better, spotting several other possessed dolls within the throngs of people on the dance floor, even if you had no clue that you’d be coming out tonight until four hours earlier when your friends arrived clad in costume, giddy with excitement as they announced a change in plans from your annual horror movie marathon. And for a last minute costume, you look damn fucking good.  

Sure you would have rather kept to your converse instead of the four-inch strappy stilettos one of your friends insisted you wear knowing far too well that  high heels, cobblestone, and alcohol are a lethal mix, but you’re still quite proud of the rest of your thrown-together costume. It’s a simple assemble - just a white pleated skirt with your favorite white tank top; both of which emphasize your favorite physical attributes in just the right way. Then of course, there’s the black leather jacket and white lace-trimmed thigh highs that add a little bit of edge to your look. But the cherry on top? Your make-up, so detailed and precise that it looks like a professional special-effects make-up artist completed it. So while tonight might not be your usual scene, at least you feel damn fucking confident in the way that you look. 

“What’s your poison?” You just barely hear a voice that can only be described as sounding as sweet and harmonious as Tchaikovsky’s “Waltz of the Snowflakes” say over the blaring music, though still loud enough that your heels pop off the ground for a moment, still unable to shake the feeling of being watched that’s haunted you the last couple of weeks.  At first, you ignore it despite the voice’s alluring nature, like a siren in a storm, beckoning you to find its source. Plus, you’re certain they must be talking to someone else. But then it comes a second time, even louder and clearer, like the person has moved closer to you, “It looks really fucking good.” 

Your eyes flick down to the deep ruby red cocktail in your hands. The stranger’s right; it is fucking delicious, tasting mostly of sweet cherries and pomegranate. It’s one of those drinks that you could easily down five of in a row, completely forgetting there’s alcohol laced between the sweetness.

“I think it was called Dracula’s blood? Or something cheesy like-“ The words get stuck in your throat as you meet the deep dark eyes of the stranger, not quite able to discern their color under the blacklight. The petite lithe female looks like a walking goddess with her pin-straight dark chocolate brown hair falling almost to her waist and skin-tight little black dress that falls just to her mid-thigh. You instinctively swallow, licking your lips as she stares back at you, a sweet but tantalizing smile hanging off her lips.

“Like that,” you say finally, though it comes out almost like a whisper. But, it’s a miracle you were able to even finish you sentence with the way this young women has captured your attention. 

“Would you like another?” she asks as she waves down the bartender. 

All you can do is nod, still awestruck by how perfect her cream colored skin looks under the purple-hued lighting and how the dress she wears draws your gaze to the delicate slope of her breasts, then the curve of her waist. But on the bright side, she seems to hardly notice your blatant ogling (or she’s just used to it). 

Either way, you chastise yourself for such behavior, forcing your mouth that you didn’t even realize fell open closed. And somehow, you manage to remove yourself off the bar, the sleeves of your jacket making a squelching noise as they peel off the tacky ledge covered in God knows what.

As you reach into your pocket for your card, the mysterious female shakes her head, “It’s on me.”  With a gracious grin, you accept the drink from her then bring it your lips, allowing the sweet nectar to flow over your lips one more.

“Fuck that is good,” the young woman says. 

She adds something else, but you hardly register it, now enamored by the way the crimson drink drips off one of her canines (wait have those always been so sharp and pronounced?!) and onto her plush lower lip like she’d just sunk her her teeth into someone’s flesh. Then, you find yourself wishing for chance to taste the beverage on her tongue… And that’s when her costume finally makes sense - the little black dress with sheer black tights, the velvet choker around her neck, the smears of blood in odd places, the overly emphasized canines…she’s a vampire. 

“Great costume,” you splutter out then immediately close your eyes. Fuck?! Great costume?! If she weren’t still standing there, you’d probably be hitting yourself over the head for such a stupid fucking line. 

She smiles at your sweetly, like you’re a cub who thinks they can keep up with the lions. “Thanks,” her eyes do a once over your costume. “Big Child’s Play fan?” 

Your hand seesaws, “Yes and no. Mostly just the ones from the late 90s that are more comedy than horror. Let me guess - True Blood? The Vampire Diaries?” 

“Something like that.” 

Your fingers tap against your thigh as your eyes fall over the crowd again, rattling your brain for something more clever to say to the vixen then talk about your fucking costumes. You spot one friend, now practically fucking their companion on the dance floor as other people grind, jump, and fist-pump to the beat. You’re still scanning the crowd for the other when your eyes meet a different stranger’s gaze. The taller man leans across the far wall, a drink at his lips as he stares back at you and the vixen to your left. You’re certain that someone as devilishly handsome as him has to have his eyes on his clear counterpart, but then her glass clinks against yours as she whispers, “I think someone likes you.” 

But before you can counter her, she’s gone, unable to even locate where she disappeared too. Besides, it only takes two seconds to realize that she’s right as the other stranger’s eyes remain glued to you instead of following wherever the chestnut-haired stranger disappeared too. Heat rushes to your cheeks , and suddenly you’ve never been more thankful to be in a club with backlights. Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you finger waggle at the stranger, swearing you see the flash of a smirk as he takes another sip of whatever he’s drinking. 

Maybe if you were three or four drinks deep, you might have enough confidence to waltz over to the new stranger. But you hardly feel the familiar warmth or euphoria pulsing through your veins, still only on your second drink with the first having been nursed for almost an hour. Besides, there’s no fucking chance you’d have a chance with him. Right? 

For God’s sake he looks like fucking Mr. James Dean with the jeans, glowing white t-shirt, and mohawk…? (Really you’re just certain the sides of his head are shaven.)  But either way, he looks like the type of guy who need only wink and panties fall to the floor for him. (And that’s just in shitty lighting from thirty-feet across the room. Up close? He probably looks like a Greek fucking god.) 

Your other friend appears, swiftly dragging you by the hand as they weave through the crowd towards the bathrooms unintentionally saving you from embarrassing yourself a second time this evening. Their iron grip around your wrist disappears once in the sanctity in the bathroom, then your friends turns to face you. “You cool finding your own way home tonight?” 

Your friend glows pink under the neon sign mounted above the sinks reading, ‘Please Don’t Do Coke in the Bathroom’. There’s an odd coziness to the brick-walled bathroom with four onyx stalls and and a double vanity sink, like the owners of the club knew most people retreat to the bathroom for a moment to themselves as just the thrum of the bass beats through the walls now. It’s nice being able to actually hear your own thoughts and not need to shout to be heard. 

“Yeah. After you both promptly abandoned me the minute we got drinks, I figured that would be the case.” 

Your friend wraps you in too tight a hug, then places a gentle kiss on your temple. “We don’t deserve you.” 

“No, you really fucking don’t,” you say with a giggle as the edge of the countertop bites into your hipbones. It’s not the first time they both have pulled this move on you, nor will it be the last. But, you’ve never minded it, just insisted all three of you ensure your location-shares stay on and check-in that you’ve all made it home by lunch the next day. 

You listen intently as your friend rattles off to you all the details they have learned about their prospective companion for the evening, clearly elated by how the night has shaped out. Eventually, you get your chance to tell her about the two strangers who caught your eye, only to quickly deny any plans of leaving with them when your friend wiggles her eyebrows at you. There’s no way in hell you have a chance with either of them. Then with one more giddy hug, they leave you in the bathroom alone. 

The silence is comforting, appreciating how you can finally think straight as you try to decide whether to stay a bit longer or to leave. Plus, the bottle of pedialyte you guzzled in anticipation of the evening has finally made its way through your system. 

You jump in your heels when you reemerge from one of the stalls, having hardly heard the female stranger from earlier enter the bathroom. She sits cross-legged on the grey concrete counter top, the deep cherry red of the soles of her heels flashing at you as she uncrosses her legs, her smile widening, like she’d been waiting on you. She pops off the counter as graceful as a feline, her hips swaying as she glides effortlessly towards you like she’s barefoot instead of wearing at least four-inch black patent-leather Louboutin stilettos. 

“I got worried you left,” her musical voice says, sending a tingle down your spine. She smells like sweet vanilla, roses, and like she’d make all your dreams come true if you asked.

“Just needed to cool off,” you manage to mutter despite her proximity. If you just leaned forward half an inch, you’d finally find out what your chosen drink of the evening tastes like on her lips. 

“Do you mind if touch you? Fix a few things out place?” 

You shake your head. Of course you wouldn’t fucking mind if she touched you; she could do anything she wants to you. The graze of her knuckles against your own when she handed you your drink earlier, then again when you clinked glasses together, had sent a spark of electricity coursing through your veins, leaving you with wanting more.

Goosebumps erupt across your collarbone when her wine-red nails scrape across the tops your breasts as her fingers curl into the hem of your tank top. She shimmies it down a little lower, so the material highlights your cleavage a little better. Your chest rises and falls slowly when her hands move to your hair, then your face, making small adjustments here and there, until she finally grips you at your shoulders gleaming at you like you’re her masterpiece. “That’s better. Now, I do hope you at least say ‘hi’ to your admirer before you leave. I’m sure it would make his night.” 

You nod without quite realizing it, hypnotized by her scent…her charm…the way her breasts seem to strain against the bodice of her dress every time she inhales…. Up closer now, you swear she seems familiar, like this is not the first time that you’ve seen her. But, she seems young enough that you presume it’s from your job or university classes. 

“You two know each other?” you ask, cursing under your breath after the fact for the way your voice squeaked out the words. Fucking hell, you need to pull yourself together. 

“Something like that,” she says for the second time this evening, still seemingly oblivious to the way your mind drifts off wondering what it would be like to end up in between the sheets with her. 

You let the vixen guide you out of the bathroom, arm looped with hers like you’ve been besties your entire life. Thankfully, she deposits you back at the bar before sauntering away into the crowd again where she disappears within the sea of people as you berate yourself for forgetting to even ask her name. 

A bartender finally wonders back over towards you, but not take your order, instead just handing your drink of the night right to you. Just beyond the bartender at the other end of the bar, the vixen (wait when did she get over there?) blows you a kiss. This time when she rejoins the dance floor, you follow her with your eyes. She stops when she reaches the middle, leaning forward as she whispers into a tall burly blonde nearly twice her size, dressed like Fred from Scooby Doo. 

And then…fuck that’s fast. Then again, she is drop dead gorgeous and you too would probably follow her like a lost puppy if she asked you too. A pang of jealousy rips through you suddenly wishing you could be the man who gets to worship her this evening. But it’s only a momentary feeling, for seconds later the vixen’s cupping her hand around the male stranger’s ear from earlier. Then with a wink so clearly meant for you, she drags the other male towards the exit. Shit, and here you thought you wouldn’t actually have to follow through with the promise you made in the bathroom earlier, could just slip out undetected in a few minutes. 

Your eyes flash up to the ceiling then to the DJ then the bathrooms, desperately searching for anything that could hold your gaze instead of the handsome stranger’s eyes. It’s not that you don’t want him, because oh my fucking God, you would trade a kidney to even spend one night with him. It’s just that you’re not known for pick-up lines…And what if he’s just been staring at you because something is out of place with your costume? 

But a voice so tantalizing with its velvety smoothness and hint of an accent that it forces you to find its source trails over your ear, saving you from having to make any such moves. “You know it’s dangerous for a young woman like yourself to be out unaccompanied.” 

You don’t realize that your mouth has fallen open again till the owner of the voice reaches out and presses a finger beneath your chin till your lips meet. Of course the voice belongs to the handsome stranger from earlier in the evening; it matches him perfectly. 

Fuck, he is even sexier close-up…and also supposed to be a vampire? For a minute there when he smirked at you, he seemed to have the same over-accentuated canines like the young woman from earlier. Plus, there’s also those dark splotches at the hem and collar of his shirt… Regardless, the alcohol has thankfully finally begun to hit, just enough now that you feel your earlier trepidations with flirting disappear but still remain of sound mind and judgement.

So instead of dwelling on what exactly his costume is tonight, you say “Technically I did not arrive alone nor am I currently alone,” a giggle escapes your lips as he peers around you then looks behind his shoulder like he’s searching for a companion. “You’re here.”

His eyes are lighter than the vixen’s, but you cannot quite determine whether they are blue or green yet, nor can you figure out the color of the remaining hair on his head, braided down the center like you’ve seen in those medieval viking television shows. But, his jawline is so sharp it could cut steel and based on upon the way muscle ropes around his forearms and biceps, you’re certain there is a chiseled six-pack you’d love to run your tongue over hiding under that t-shirt. 

“Ah, but I’m a stranger. Could easily be a serial killer out to lure young women just like yourself under the guise of a good time.” 

A flash from one of the strobe lights flickers off of the array of rings riddled over his left hand as he brings his drink of choice to his lips. The golden ring implanted with a larger burgundy stone on his left finger intrigues you the most, reminding you of a class ring or perhaps a family heirloom with how worn it appears, like it’s been in his family for a very very long time. He looks oddly familiar to you too, but maybe he also attends your university. 

“Who says that I’m not the serial killer?” He chuckles at your lame deflection and you think you might just die then and there. “Besides, we won’t be strangers anymore if we exchange names.” 

The purple-hued light highlights his teeth when he grins in a frighteningly sexy kind of way sending a shudder down your spine, “Sigtryggr, and yours?” 

Sigtryggr…interesting. You’re pretty sure it’s Scandinavian, yet you get the feeling that it’s no longer a common name even for that region of the world. But then again, maybe it’s a family name passed down for generations. 

You tell him your name, then add “So, Sigtryggr, are you enjoying your evening?” 

“It seems like it’s on the uptake now.” Damn, he’s smooth. And before you can even think to respond, a scent that reminds you of drinking spiced apple cider in an evergreen forest during autumn washes over you all while his warm breath starts to tickle your ear, “You could solidify that outcome if you went home with me tonight.” 

Is it the most ingenious line to ever exist? Nope. But does it work? Yep. Yep, it fucking does. Because who would say no to an invitation like that from a man as handsome and sexy as him? 

Your thighs squeeze together as a rush of heat washes over you, desire brewing deep in your core at his prospect. Never in your life did you think we’re that easy to persuade, especially by someone you had only just barely talked too, and yet here you were letting this stranger lead you out of the club into the brick-walled lined back alley. 

A crisp autumn breeze sends an abandoned beer can rolling down the alley while leaves of browns, reds, and oranges skate across the pavement and a chill runs down your spine as you instinctively wrap your jacket further around you. Then there’s Sigtryggr with not even a singular patch of goosebumps in sight.

“You’re not cold?” 

“Where I’m from, this is warm. Here,” his hands feel like they’ve been resting in front of a fire as they rub up and down your biceps and oh - his eyes are a brilliant piercing blue, like a frozen lake… so easy to drown in…. “My place is only a couple of blocks but would you prefer to go back inside and wait for a taxi instead of walking?” 

“Don’t you mean an uber?” 

“Same thing. Question still stands.” Then that grin that makes your knees go weak beneath you appears again when you shake your head no, “Good, because I don’t think I can wait any longer.” 

His hands thread through your hair as he tilts your head back sending waves of desire crashing throughout your body. Your lips meet and you immediately taste iron. Fuck had you been so desperate that you had you bitten him by accident? Or maybe did he bite you? Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind. And before you can dwell on the thought, his tongue swipes across your lower lip eliciting a gasp that grants him access to your mouth. 

Your muscles begin to relax as you give into the kiss, letting your hands roam up over his broad shoulders to his head, the stubble from where he’s shaved the sides of his head prickling your fingers. The heat building at the apex of thighs begins to throb as the intensity and desperation between the two of you begins to climax. Fuck, you want him so badly that you’d drop your panties right now and let him fuck you against the brick wall, onlookers be damned. So what if you end up in jail or in the paper tomorrow? He’s fucking hot and so worth it. 

  You find yourself keening forward onto your toes, eyes still shut, when Sigtryggr’s lips suddenly disappear from yours, desperate for another taste of the bourbon laced with iron on his tongue. “Finished already, my love?” he asks. 

No, of course you’re not fucking finished with him. You two have only just gotten started, the heat pooling in your belly begging to be relieved by either his cock or one of those long ring-clad fingers of his. 

Your eyes pop back open when your back hits the cool bricks, breaking you of your daze like having a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. Sigtryggr’s hand rests gently on your shoulder, holding you firmly in place as you follow his gaze, finding the chestnut-haired angelic vixen from earlier striding towards you as she licks her fingers.

And that’s when you clock the glittering gold ring with a deep burgundy stone shaped like a flower, looking oddly… familiar. Then like a flash of a lightbulb turning on, it comes to you; it matches the gold one that you had written off as just family heirloom of Sigtryggr’s …like a coordinated set…both rings looking straight out of the early medieval section at the museum and worn on their left ring fingers… Then another headlight from a car passing by illuminates the two strangers; alright, they definitely are dressed like vampires…a matching costume…because they’re married. They are most definitely married. 

Fuck, you didn’t know that they were married, let alone married to each other. But, she practically pushed you into Sigtryggr’s lap, hadn’t she? Or maybe she was talking about a different stranger? And that wink had nothing to do with the promise she had asked you to make in the bathroom? 

Either way, you open your mouth to apologize, but the vixen beats you to it, her melodic voice gaining a vicious edge to it as she says, “Tasted too much like coke and fuck boy for my liking. But, I think she’ll taste much sweeter on my tongue.” 

“Too bad I’ve already claimed her for the evening.” 

“I saw her first. And you don’t mind sharing, do you?” Sigtryggr’s palms slide up and down your waist now, but it does nothing to help the fear rising inside of you as they both stare you down like two ravenous predators. Oh.. so she meant that question for you. 

You gulp, eyes shifting between the two of them as you sputter, “I-Are you two divorced?” Because, they have to be…right? It feels like the only explanation for what’s happening.. and shit, the vixen most definitely could kill you in a heartbeat.

“Nah that’s on my agenda for next century.” 

Sigtyggr’s head whips towards his wife faster than an elastic snapping back into place, “What?” 

“I’m kidding, sheesh,” the vixen says with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I file for divorce once when women finally earned the right when we were already due to update our marriage license and he’s still so fucking sensitive about it, as if we have not been together for the last millennia.”  Damn, they have a backstory for their costumes and everything. They must really fucking love halloween…or roleplaying…or both. Alright, so maybe being swingers isn’t totally out of the realm of possibility here…  

“My wife, the drama queen.” 

“And you fucking love it.” 

“I do.” Then suddenly, Sigtryggr begins conversing with his wife in a dialect you don’t recognize, some Scandinavian language probably. 

And that’s when you put together who they are or rather what they are… the eerily ancient rings, the pure perfection of their appearances, their enticing scents, the old yet modern ways in which they speak, the iron on your tongue…. 

Your thumb brushes over your lower lip, coming away clean. The only blood you can see on Sigtryggr is on his - yeah no, that’s definitely real blood on his clothes. And the vixen’s lips? Definitely not still stained from the cocktail… Plus those hyper-realistic over exaggerated canines are not some weird cosmetic surgery either…These aren’t some silly costumes.. Nor are they history fanatics or family heirloom hoarders…  They are history. They are…. vampires. 

But not just any vampires either. You’ve heard about a million different versions of the legend of the undead king and queen of York, more frequently as of late due to the season. Some hailed the hauntingly beautiful young woman in front of you as the secret queen of York, Sihtric Caech’s true love and mistress whom all his children were truly sired through, his marriage to Eadgyth only political. Others believed she was King Athelstan’s sister but changed her name along with the king of Northumbria as to not raise suspicion when they were believed to be dead. But your absolute favorite version of the myth told the story of a king so distraught, driven mad even, by the death of his first wife that he sold his soul to Hel in exchange for an eternal life with her. 

The beat of your heart begins to thrum in your ears, something deep inside of your urging to take the opportunity to run. But instead, your feet stay firmly in place, too mesmerized by the way the mated pair in front of you toys the line of arguing and flirting, expressions shifting between teasing smiles and exasperated eye rolls as the two lover’s quarrel. A flash of light from the headlights of a car reflect off the undead queen’s pearl white teeth momentarily when she smiles making your breathing halt, looking like some demonic mix of angel and monster. 

Monster. Right. Vampire. Right. 

Their love quarrel continues with you now certain it’s over who gets to sink their teeth into your neck then suck you dry till you’re just a cold limp corpse on the ground. Your chest begins to rise and fall thrice as fast as its previous pace. Vampires. They’re vampires, idiot. And what do vampires eat? Dumb little humans who fall for their charm…. You need to leave. Now. Before you become their next meal. 

A puff of dust erupts from the brick wall as a loud cracking sound that can only come from cement (or maybe bones?) splitting  echoes across the alleyway at the same time Sigtryggr emits a low primal growl from deep within his chest as he pins his wife to the structure. Your heels pop off the ground momentarily, but more from the suddenness of the gesture; honestly the motion should have terrified both of you and the queen with its intensity. But while the vixen just giggles playfully at her husband, you feel the deep ache from earlier makes itself at home between your thighs once again. Worst of all, you’re stuck ogling at them once more as she takes his bottom lip between her teeth, urging his lips to meet hers….

Right. Fuck. Vampires. Fuck. Want to eat you…even if they are hot and so lost in their lust for one another that you feel that pang of jealousy a second time that evening. So lost… they don’t even know you’re there anymore. So lost… they won’t even notice if you leave! Which you should definitely do…Now! 

Your feet finally begin to move beneath you as you attempt to tiptoe away from them, slowly turning towards your exit. But just as you think you’re free, your ankle begins to roll.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! They will definitely hear you eating shit on the pavement. Once again - fuck, your best friends and their insistence on stilettos with cobble stone. But before the edge of your foot even fully makes contact with the pavement, a firm grip lands on your shoulder, steadying you. Of course they fucking noticed before it even happened, even heard it happening, enhanced abilities and reflexes be fucking damned.

You still turn your head back even though you know exactly whose hand has just saved you from embarrassment. “Careful there. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt before we’re done with you, ” the vixen says with a wink. 

“Are y-you going to kill me?” you manage to stutter out. 

“Oh no, youre too pretty for that. We took care of that earlier anyways. We just want to have fun with you.” 

Fun?! What could they mean by fun other than killing you? What the fuck do vampires do to have fun? “Like go to an arcade or something?” 

“Were you planning on going to an arcade with my husband?” Shit, you said that last part out loud didn’t you? And no, you were planning to fu- Oh. OH. 

“So what will it be a yes or a no? My dear husband said I’m not allowed to make the decision for you, but you better —” 

“Stiorra,” the undead king chides. So, that’s the vixen’s name…Seems fitting for her as well. 

“So, if my answer is yes, how does this work? Are we taking turns or something? I mean he’s your husband so obviously you get first cho-” 

“Oh, don’t flatter my husband. He’s not the one being shared. It’s you.” Oh, fuck. You definitely did not see that in the cards for tonight.. And then Stiorra answers the question you didn’t even realize you still had, “Together.” 

Together…like a…like a threesome. Oh….Oh. “Yeah, I think that uh..I think that’s fine.” You say trying to hide the giddiness building inside of you. Isn’t the saying that everything can be solved with a threesome? 

Stiorra turns to her husband, a look that can only be categorized as ‘I-told-you-so’ clear across her features as he remarks, “Well, lille elskede, my wife gets her way once again.”

“No, that doesn’t fit her at all. She’s our…our lille dukke.” 

Not even fifteen minutes later, you’re tucked against Stiorra’s lithe frame, already feeling reluctant at having to eventually detach yourself from the warmth she provided you on the walk from the club to their apartment. Their flat is unsurprisingly the penthouse suite; what else would you do with a millennia worth of savings?

“This is your place?” Fuck, what another dumb fucking question. Did Sigtryggr not just use a key to open the door? 

“Quaint isn’t it? Wanted something more discreet and cozy as we’re here so infrequently and mostly for business.” Sure, the place could be considered quaint if you were used to mansions and castles - oh, right, you may not have confirmed it officially, but you’re still certain that they have to be the undead king and queen. 

You humbly accept Stiorra’s offer of water as your eyes scale the vaulted ceilings, the silvery white glow of the moon shining through the skylights. But, your time exploring their apartment is cut short as Stiorra practically yanks you down the hall, not even stopping when her fingers curl into the collar of her husband’s shirt to drag him along too. 

Their bedroom hosts a beautifully espresso-colored ornate four-poster bed (probably a California king) garnished with what looks like the most luxurious, soft, plush linen set in a deep navy that you’ve ever laid your eyes upon. The bright overhead light coming from a beautiful gold and crystal chandelier blinds you briefly before dimming down to a soft warm glow, just enough that you can see them clearly. Well, there’s clearly no time to run now seeing as you’ve officially ventured into the lions den. 

Butterflies dance in your stomach as the anticipation for the evening peaks inside of you. Your grip on the heavy crystal glass in your hands tightens as your hand begins to tremor. Sure, this might not be your first time, but it is your first threesome with thousand-year-old vampires who most definitely know what they are doing when it comes to pleasure. 

But then a gentle hand brushes the hair away from your shoulders, tickling the delicate skin there in the most delightful way. You turn towards the sensation, your eyes meeting the deep chocolate brown of Stiorra’s who beams at you like an angel as her husband trails kisses along her neck. 

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” The sweetness and sincerity in her musical voice soothes the trepidation inside of you, just enough that you take the step forward towards her to close the distance. The glass in your hands gets passed to Sigtryggr, disappearing almost like magic (though really it only seems that way as you’re too busy worrying your lower lip as you become enchanted by Stiorra’s beauty once more). 

Then finally, her lips are on yours, gentle and soft - like she’s easing you into the evening ahead. The taste of sweet maraschino cherries overpowers the lingering bits of iron from her earlier meal, but it’s the way her feather-light touch skims over your frame that makes you wobble at the knees. For a moment, it’s just the two of you underneath the most glorious clear night sky, the kind of night where you can see the milkyway in all its different shades of blues, purples, greens and grays. 

And oh my god, the way her tongue runs over the seam of your lips has you daydreaming about how glorious it might be to have her wield it between your thighs. She giggles when you whimper into her mouth, hands fumbling into her hair as you attempt to pull her as flush to you as possible. But instead, she shifts beneath your touch till one of your hands lands on something much harder, like granite. 

Your eyes flutter open, unveiling the new placement of your hand. Sigtryggr lifts your chin, pulling you towards him as your lips meet for the second time this evening. You can taste his wife on his lips and the faint remnants of bourbon. Melting into his touch, you keen forward onto your tiptoes as you pull him closer, nails digging into the sides of his head. 

A sharp nip at your neck has you inhaling sharply, but only for a moment as seconds later, your head begins to fall back as a tongue sweeps over the tender area. As you relish in the feeling, one of your companions hands slides up across your stomach till it lands on one of your breasts. Your back arches, pressing yourself further into their touch as they begin to knead the soft mound. Then a moan trembles of your lips when fingers find your nipple through the thin fabric of your tank top and bra giving the hardened nub a sudden twist. 

The sensations halt suddenly, a little whine coming from your throat as you hear the beginnings of a belt buckle loosening. Stiorra stands directly between you and her husband now. You watch, fingers brushing over your now tender and slightly swollen lips, as Stiorra quite literally rips away the king’s shirt, hands exploring the smooth muscle of his rock solid six pack then slowly descending lower and lower till one slips down past the waist band of his boxers. 

Sigtryggr’s head hits the wall behind him with a loud clang as he groans his wife’s name. You swear you hear her smirk right before she falls to her knees in front of him. And then there it is… just as rock solid as his abs…Fuck, he’s big. The queen runs her hand up and down the length of the steel rod, stopping ever so often to brush her thumb over the tip or give a little kitten lick to the underside as Sigtryggr steps his way out of his remaining garments. Arousal pools between your legs, yearning to know what it feels like to have the king’s cock sheathed inside of you….or even just get a taste. 

And then as if she can read your mind, Stiorra pulls you down next to her. “You want a taste of my husband’s cock, don’t you?” That playful little smirk of hers that promises nothing but trouble appears again after you somehow manage to nod while picking your jaw up off the floor as she adds, “He likes it when you take him deep.” 

Sigtryggr’s fingers rake through his wife’s hair in a sweet but possessive way commanding, “You’re going to need to show her, my love.” 

His thumb then presses at the hinge of her jaw, till her mouth falls open for him. Your mouth begins to water to the point where you might be drooling as you watch the king slowly guide his member into the mouth of the queen then keeps going…and going…and going… till only an inch or so remains. 

His hips rock forward as Stiorra remains still as a statue, eagerly and easily taking her husband’s cock in her mouth like it’s the simplest gesture in the world. Even when he holds her at the deepest point for a few long seconds, she hardly flinches. And, it’s not until he pulls her off him with a swift tug of her hair that the queen makes any noise beyond the muffled garbled noises from having her husband’s dick shoved down her throat. But even looking positively wrecked from her husband throat fucking her, the queen is still as radiant as ever, now just with mussed hair, rosy cheeks, and glistening lips. 

The soft mewling sounds emanating from Stiorra quickly morph into soft purrs when Sigtryggr’s hand moves to cup his wife’s throat. Her head then flips towards you, deep brown eyes now blown an onyx color, a wicked grin plastered on her face. She reaches out to you, brushing your hair off your shoulder before wrapping her hand around your jaw. Then slowly, the queen begins to guide the king’s cock into your mouth inch by inch. 

“That’s a good girl,” she praises as her fingers brush through your hair, slowly bobbing your head up and down for you. “Just like that.” 

Tears brim your eyes as Sigtryggr fucks you, each thrust hitting the back of your throat. Your nails dig into his arse, eager to please him just as his wife had done. Though, there’s no way you can do what she did, only able to tolerate most of his length. A growl emanates from low in Sigtryggr’s throat as he pulls himself all the way out. 

Air fills your lungs, your following gasp a little too loud for your liking. But neither one of your companions seem to notice as Stiorra leans into the hand that strokes her head, gleaming like an obedient pet whose just been praised for good behavior. There’s genuine love in the way Sigtryggr looks back at her, but there’s pride there too. It’s the kind of affection you only see between two people who would stop at nothing but to give the world to one another, so unbreakable that even death would only seem to be a new beginning, like a gateway to eternity. 

With one more deep inhale and a lick of your lips, you return to the work you started, this time relying more on your tongue as you run it underneath the entirety of his length then swirl it around the tip. The milky white bead his cock weeps burns your throat slightly when you swallow it. But, you ignore the slight discomfort, desperate to please in hopes of having the ache that now throbs between your thighs quelled by one of them…or both of them…really whatever they want to do. 

A delicate hand lands on your shoulder, then tugs backwards ever so slightly, just enough that you know they’re asking you to stop. Together, the three of you migrate to the bed, where Stiorra immediately shoves her husband onto his back. The mattress has a little give to it as you crawl a top of it, preparing to take Sigtryggr’s cock again. But just as you get into position, a vice grip entraps your ankle then yanks you towards the head of the bed. 

The sound of fabric tearing fills the room for a moment, the remnants of your lace thong fluttering to the floor. Then the king’s tongue is running up and down the length of your seam. You fall forward onto your hands, a moan immediately trembling off your lips…Fuck. Never in your life could you have imagined sitting on top of one the hottest men to ever exist as he wields his tongue in ways you did not ever think were even possible and yet…here you are….

Slow teasing passes turn into more deliberate strokes, then small flicks till he’s narrowing his focus onto the small pearl at the apex of your sex. You peel your tank top off of yourself, desperate to have every inch of you touched as you ride the king’s face. When he suddenly groans against you again, likely from the way the queen continues her magic on him at the base of the bed, your walls begin to tighten as your get closer and closer to reaching your high. 

It’s all over for you once he slips two fingers inside your cunt, alternating between scissoring the two digits and thrusting them against the second most sensitive point of your womanhood. Your chest rises and falls, faster and faster as an electrifying tingle begins to spread out from your core to the tips of your toes. And when your high finally comes, you cry out the king’s name, panting as you whole body begins to tremble. 

“Seems like our lille dukke is enjoying herself,” Stiorra muses as Sigtryggr moves you beside him, all while a rush of heat stains your cheeks crimson. Had you really been that loud? 

“Do I sense a bit of jealously, my love?” The king says as his hand makes lazy sweeps over Stiorra’s thigh. 

“Only that you got to taste her first.” 

Then like a lioness on the prowl, the queen crawls on top of her husband. Now clad in only a delicate black lace full lingerie set, a singular piece probably costing more than your entire outfit, you gawk at the vixen as if she is the prey being served to you on a platter, wishing to roam your hands all over her lithe frame. Alas, it’s the king who receives that honor first. 

Your arousal still clings to Sigtryggr’s lips and barely-there stubble as Stiorra captures her husband’s lips with her own, grinding herself against him. But she does not just clean his face of you, taking her husband’s fingers still glistening from your cunt into her mouth as she sucks them clean, a motion that immediately reignites your heady need to be ravished by the two of them. 

Sigtryggr’s hands palm at Stiorra’s arse then slowly roam up over her back, the straps her bra falling forward off her shoulders from the force of the elastic snapping open. It falls to the floor as the two mates continue to relish in each other’s touch, making you start to wonder if your time with them is over.

You’d already gotten much more than you had initially expected, thinking you’d mostly be pleasuring them then the other way around. But just as you’re ready to slip away, Stiorra sets her sights on you, the breathtaking lioness cornering you like prey. 

You taste yourself on her tongue as she rids you of your bra, hands massaging your sensitive mounds. Kisses then skate down across your neck, over past your collar bone, till she takes one of your pebbled nipples into her mouth. Your back arches into her as you pull her closer, your body aching for her to unravel you. A mewling noise releases itself when a couple of her fingers slip past your folds, dipping briefly into your cunt, your whimpers only growing louder when she pulls her digits away. 

“I think someone’s ready for you, Sig.” 

Then like she’s your lady-in-waiting, Stiorra helps you straddle her husband. You whimper again as the tip of Sigtryggr’s cock slides against your slickness, then slowly slips into you. Just like the queen had guided your head when your first took Sigtryggr into your mouth, she guides your hips, lifting you up and down. Your head falls back, the fullness alone driving you mad. But, it’s when Stiorra’s singular digit begins to draw circles over the hooded bundle of nerves that you start moaning out both their names. 

Sigtryggr’s hands replace Stiorra’s in roaming your body, fingers occasionally tweaking your nipple or sliding over your pearl as you ride the king. As you surrender to the slow build, your teeth sink into your lower lip, watching the queen slip her panties off her long curvaceous legs. 

Stiorra’s thumb brushes tenderly across her husband’s forehead as she places a gentle kiss to his lips. Fuck, if you were anywhere else, you’d be getting your camera out at how adorable the two of them look. It’s the kind of love you hope to find one day, one that earns the title of the greatest love story ever written or recorded. 

A growl reverberates from deep within Sigtryggr’s chest suddenly, as his hands fly to his wife’s hips, pulling her up on top of his face just as you had been early. Stiorra hums, grinding herself down against her husband. Then her chocolate brown eyes are on you again. 

She leans forward, a wildness alight on her features as she pulls your face close to hers. The kiss she gives you sends butterflies flipping in your stomach with it’s gentleness, almost like she’s telling you that she cares about you too. Your fingers lace through her silken hair, the scent of vanilla and roses overwhelming you once more. God, you could kiss this vixen for hours. 

Then, fuck, there’s that sharp twinge of pain mixing with waves of pleasure as the Queen suckles at your pulse point. A warmth trickles down your neck, bright droplets of cherry red dripping down Stiorra’s lips onto Sigtryggr’s chest. Her grin spreads across her face when you offer her your wrist next, needing to feel that sensation over and over again. She takes it eagerly, savoring a few mouthfuls before placing your hand back over your clit where she helps you draw small quick circles. 

A loud smack sounds through the room, though Stiorra only smirks, removing herself from her husband’s face. Then Sigtryggr lifts you off of him, like your weight is equal to a feather, before positioning you onto all fours as he climbs behind you.

“You’ve been greedy tonight, my love.”

Stiorra guffaws, “You started it. Besides, she tastes sweeter than candy.” 

“Perhaps, it’s time I take a taste as well.” 

Then for a moment, your back is flush to his chest, his teeth sinking into you as he finally takes a taste. You shudder beneath his touch, head lolling back onto the king’s shoulder as he drinks from you.  Another sharp pang at your wrist sends your eyes flying open, catching the reflection of the three of you in the windows. Sigtryggr’s hands explore every inch of your naked body, kneading and massaging his way up and down. Every nerve is on fire as you stare breathlessly at the reflected image, inciting a frenzy inside of you. But, it’s when the king and queen’s blood-tinged lips meet in a messy kiss as they share the taste of you that your core goes molten. 

You cry out as Sigtryggr suddenly sheaths himself inside of you, your hands somehow managing to catch you before you face plant. His pace is faster than yours had been, hips snapping into you over and over again. Moan after moan rolls of your lips, one after another, growing louder as every thrust hits you deeply, right at the second most sensitive spot of your cunt. 

The queen moves in front of you, her legs opening up to you as she puts her womanhood on display like an invitation to the most decadent meal. You lick your lips, leaning closer and closer till your head just hovers above her center. The queen’s hand threads into your locks, gently stroking across your scalp; she wants you too. 

Your first taste of her is sweet yet salty, twinged with the same acidity you had tasted on Sigtryggr, like it’s not quite meant to be experienced by humans. You dive in anyways, your tongue swiping up and down her seam, eyes flickering back up every so often to ensure that what you’re doing pleases the queen. She keeps her hand intertwined with your hair, tingles spreading from your head to your toe as she massages your scalp. Then, Stiorra finally hums when you spread her folds to kitten lick at her nub. 

You pause suddenly, spotting Sigtryggr’s hand reaching forward as his lust-ridden voice says, “She likes it when you’re mean.” Then his fingers pinch at her pebbled nipple, twisting it in a way that can only seem a little painful, “Don’t you, my love?” 

For the first time that evening, you truly hear the queen roar with pleasure as her back arches off the mattress, chest pressing further into her husband’s palm. With your new instructions, you return to your work, eager to make the vixen purr just as her husband had done. And when your nail accidentally scrapes at Stiorra’s pearl, you begin to piece together what the king had meant for you to do. 

Alternating between sweet strokes and small nips, Stiorra begins to squirm beneath your touch as her body sings for you. All the while, your own body begins to inch closer and closer to the edge, walls beginning to flex against Sigtryggr’s cock as he continues to fuck you. Your peak comes suddenly like a wave crashing over you, your whole body clenching then releasing in the most delicious way, barely able to continue your work with the queen. 

Sigtryggr carries you through your orgasm, letting you ride out every ounce of it till you’re a breathless mess. Then with a sigh, his movements halt suddenly, “I’m close, my love.” 

Like a trained pet, Stiorra’s legs snap shut as she rolls towards her husband, gently nudging you out of the way. 

With a wink she teases, “Dont want any babies with married man do ya?”

A loud smack reverberates around the room, the bed rattling beneath you so forcibly that you think it might break, when Sigtryggr’s hand lands on his wife’s ass, a slyful smirk on his lips.

But she hardly moves, keening forward ever so slightly on to her hands as a soft moan escapes her lips. “I think you’re losing your touch,” she teases, despite her wrecked voice and onyx-blown eyes indicating otherwise. 

Sigtryggr’s teeth sink into Stiorra’s arse, then his head disappears out of sight. Your thighs press together suddenly, hoping the action might hide the way desire now pools out of you as you watch the mated pair. Only seconds pass before Stiorra’s hands fist into the sheets at your feet, her head falling forward. Her shuddered breaths fill the room, slowly growing louder like till she can no longer hold herself back, her husband’s name falling off her lips in a cry.

The shine of Stiorra’s cunt glimmers off her husband’s fingers and barely-there beard as he reemerges. Sucking his digits clean, he says “Still think I’ve lost my touch?”

When the queen arches her back, wriggling her ass at him like a mouse being dangled in front of a hungry feline, you think you might shatter right then and there, wishing to both trade places with her and be her undoing. 

Then she says, “Hmm, I think you could learn a thing or two from our lille dukke ” making a rush of heat form beneath your cheeks.  

And by the way Sigtryggr grips his wife’s hips, a way that can only be bone-crushing to a human, then buries his cock inside of her in one quick snap of his hips, you are certain she’s driving him crazy too.

The heat beneath your cheeks deepens to the point that you’re sure if you looked in a mirror right now you’d be scarlet as you watch the king fuck his queen. Sigtryggr’s hands rake into his wife’s hair as he pulls her up against his chest, hips bucking into her at a pace far quicker and harsher than he had been with you. The muscles in his forearm flex beneath his flesh as he holds it flush against the chestnut-haired queen’s waist while his other hand moves from her hair to cup her chin, tilting it up and away till he can sink his teeth right beneath her ear. His wife squirms against him, a mewling noise trembling off her lips. 

You inhale sharply, tongue running over your lips as you watch the hand around Stiorra’s neck slowly descend down through the valley between her breasts then across her stomach, only stopping once it has reached the small tiny pearl at the apex of her thighs. Your legs squeeze together even tighter, the slickness of your arousal pooling out of you making your thighs slip against each other instinctually as you try to quell the throb you feel in your cunt.  

One of Stiorra’s arms snakes up behind her husband’s head, pulling him down towards her till their noses brush. There’s a tenderness in the way she kisses him, like it’s meant to show love not passion. More importantly, it’s clear as day now that they’re done with you with the way the two mates hold each other’s gazes, lost in their love and lust for one another once more.  

Somehow you manage to will yourself to move, needing to force yourself to look anywhere else but at them before your drool drips onto the sheets. But just when you’ve swung one leg over the edge of a bed, a delicate hand wraps around your wrist, then a voice that sounds prettier than a bird song floats over your ears, “Oh, don’t think we’re finished with you just yet.” 

Stiorra falls back onto her palms like a feline, releasing the grip of your wrist in favor the ankle still on the bed. Then before you can process what she’s doing, her hands pin your knees to the mattress, putting your glistening cunt on display. 

“I think somebody wishes we were rougher with her,” the queen smirks. 

Heat flushes your cheeks again, but your bashfulness is only short-lived for the queen’s tongue licking your inner thigh clean of your slickness as she trails closer to your center has you seeing stars. Unlike her husband, she plays with you, taking her sweet time as she nibbles and flicks her tongue  anywhere but where you seek it most. A musical amused giggle tickles your flesh, causing your hips to buck a second time; the first having been when the queen suddenly sank her teeth into your thigh. 

A loud smack sounds through the air at the same time Stiorra jolts. “Play nice with our lille dukke,” Sigtryggr’s husky voice chides. 

You catch Stiorra pouting as she looks over her shoulder to her husband whose palm twitches against her ass, his pointed look promising trouble if she continues with her antics. Then with a dramatic eye roll, the queen starts to lower herself onto her forearms, as if she’s finally about to give you what you need. 

But just as you feel her warm breath against your folds, you stutter “No it’s - it’s okay. I kinda liked it.” 

Stiorra gleams brighter than a neon sign, a smile that can only promise wicked things pulling at the corners of her mouth. Then after a quick flash of her tongue at her husband, she begins to reward you for your confession. 

Kitten-licks to the small bead at the apex of your sex turn to quick tight circles as you begin to fall a part beneath the queen’s touch. You’re back arches off the silken sheets, gripping them so tightly that your knuckles turn white. The Queen’s name trembles off your lips and just when you start to see fireworks, she plunges two fingers inside of your cunt. Together with her tongue, the queen’s fingers curl and pit patter inside of you bringing you higher and higher. You begin to tremble beneath her touch, toes curling while you beg for your release till finally, every nerve explodes with pleasure as your third little death completely destroys you. 

Your body goes limp as your peak comes crashing back down, chest rising and falling at a slower and slower rate as a warm hum begins to spread throughout your limbs. Never once in your life have you felt so satiated by a sexual encounter…felt so alive. 

When you finally find the energy (and will) to push up to your elbows, you find an endearing sight in front of you. The queen has her legs wrapped around the king’s waist as her hands cradle his head, kisses swallowing each other’s sounds of pleasure. Fuck, they even make finishing together look straight out of a twisted Hallmark movie as they whisper sweet nothings to each other. They really couldn’t be any more of a perfect couple. 

Moments later, Stiorra lands on the bed next to you looking like a giddy preteen about to have her first sleepover party as she kneels at your side. You catch the towel Sigtryggr tosses your way, wiping your body as clean as a dry towel will allow as Stiorra runs hands through your hair. 

“Can we keep her? Please?” Stiorra begs, stroking your forehead like you’re a…like you’re her new doll. 

“It’s not up to us, my love.” 

Stiorra rolls her eyes at her husband again then bites her wrist and offers it to you. “It’ll help you heal faster.” 

You nod, apprehensively bringing her wrist to your mouth. A rush of warmth flows over your tongue like you’re drinking warm honey instead of blood. You whimper when the wrist disappears suddenly, depriving you of the sweet nectar, only for a larger slightly rougher wrist to replace it as Stiorra grumbles “Hey!” 

“My blood’s stronger,” Sigtryggr teases, a smacking sound presumably coming from his wife shortly following the jab. “Alright, that’s enough lille dukke. Don’t want to bleed us dry.” 

A sheepish grin tugs at the corners of your lips as Stiorra tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “Such a good lille dukke.” Then with a sigh, she pulls back the covers, “Come let’s get you to sleep.” 

You open your mouth to protest, insist that you take a cab back to your flat, only to feel the rush of exhaustion weigh down your eyelids. You have your location shared with your friends. Plus, Sigtryggr and Stiorra don’t seem to want to murder you…yet. So perhaps, staying the night isn’t the worst idea in the world. With a yawn, you slip underneath the covers where Stiorra nestles herself between you and her husband, pulling you close to her as your scalp begins to tingle from her fingers stroking through your hair. Then, only moments later you succumb to the sweetest slumber. 

The bed is empty except for yourself when your eyes flutter open the next morning. A sharp pang pierces your heart as you look around the room searching for them. You’d think it had all been dream had you not woken up in someone else’s apartment. With a mournful sigh, your toes flex against the wooden floor as you push yourself to stand then go searching for whatever remains of your clothing. And that’s when you see it - a small pile of clothes and shoes that are not yours, a paper bag, a danish pastry, and a small note written in the most elegant calligraphy you have ever laid eyes upon: 

“Our driver will take you home whenever you’re ready to leave, just let the doorman know. We hope to hear from you soon, lille dukke.” 

Then in a slightly less elegant hand-writing, an addendum: 

“PS - Keep the clothes. I have plenty. What remains of yours are in the bag.” 

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 15)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (14) | Next (16)

Content Warning: soft, safe, unwilling vore; sexual themes; vulgar language

Word Count: 2.5k

------ Chapter 15: Ambivalence ------

Gio opened his eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. He shifted in bed, only to be graced with pain rocketing up his arm. He groaned as the memories came flooding back: the betrayal of his master, being used like a sex toy by an evil giantess, his arm breaking. He felt like crying as he laid listlessly in bed, staring up at the ceiling—a facsimile ceiling, the artificial imitation of a dollhouse. A fake house, a fake life, made for a dehumanized doll, not a man. 

A loud thump on the wall startled him, jerking him out of his thoughts. He looked over only to find two enormous hazel irises staring back with glee. They roved over him, intruding on his privacy, until the excitement drained out as the giantess observed his splint. 

“Oh no, you really did break your arm, didn’t you?” she said. Her voice was loud and full as it vibrated off the walls of the dollhouse. Gio cringed. Her eyebrows knitted together, and the huge eyes rotated down. “S-sorry... I gave it some thought last night. I should probably fix you.”  

She straightened into a standing position, so Gio was no longer at eye level and found himself looking at her torso instead, as big as the side of a barn. His heart exploded with panic as the roof opened above, and the beautiful giantess loomed over him in all her terrifying glory. 

“Get away from me!” he screeched as her gigantic hand approached him, eclipsing the rest of the room. To his surprise, the hand stopped, the fingers curving around him but not yet touching him. The huge appendage retreated to rest on the top of the wall, the fingers draping down halfway to the floor. 

“I’m just trying to help,” the princess explained, tapping the wall with her fingertips in a thunderous gallop. Her tone sounded genuinely apologetic, laced with regret. As frightened as Gio was, her demeanor filled him with a white-hot fury. The stress of the situation, along with his pent-up frustration and misery, drowned out his usual caution. 

“Help!? Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouted. “Like hell you’re going to help! You USED me and BROKE my arm!” 

Bianca bit her lip. “I-I didn’t mean to...” 

His own outburst shocked him, but he was so angry he couldn’t stop. “And where do you get off, acting all sorry and like you care now? You certainly didn’t give a shit last night! You didn’t hesitate to snatch us all up and molest us! So don’t pretend like you have any sympathy or respect, you cunt!”  

He heaved with wrath, virtually foaming at the mouth. He glanced over at Graham and Cesar, huddled in an interior doorway and gaping at him in shock. Graham was dreadfully pale, and even Cesar looked nervous. As much as Cesar was attracted to Bianca, his service to the human king had trained him on how to speak to royalty, so he knew Gio’s insolence was punishable by death even without the size discrepancy. Gio turned his attention skyward to the giantess princess, who seemed just as stunned. His momentary burst of indignance vaporized in a flash as he realized what he’d done. He’d offended the princess, no doubt. She’d retaliate, probably squash him into a pulp in her hand. He crumbled with terror, his usual timid nature returning to his body, as the princess recovered from the effect of his words. 

“Nobody’s ever spoken to me like that before,” she uttered in disbelief. “Least of all a lowly little human.” She stared at him, scrutinizing him with intensity. Gio’s lips quivered as he waited for the inevitable, the moment drawing out like a knife. However, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. 

“Bianca, my girl! Daddy’s here!” King Richard proclaimed, sauntering into the room. “How’s your morning going? Did you sleep well?” 

Bianca’s plump lips curled into a smirk as she looked down her nose at her living playthings. “I slept fabulously,” she answered, flipping her long hair haughtily over her shoulder. “Thank you so much for my new toys, Daddy!” 

The king peered into the human habitat with a devious sneer. “Oh, look at that! He’s got a little splint! That’s hilarious!” He chuckled as Graham glared up at him. Gio had lost all his fire; he trembled, lowering his head. He knew he was in serious peril when the princess laughed along with her father, her expression hardening with a cruel edge. When the giant king glanced over at Graham, the small man swiftly averted his gaze to his toes. Cesar stayed quiet as he watched the whole scene play out in front of him, as if he weren’t a part of it. 

“By the way, I brought you a present,” Hardon announced, presenting the human carrier necklace to Bianca. Her gift, crafted especially for her by an expert metallurgist, was designed to be more feminine, consisting of a fine gold chain encrusted with small, sparkling jewels. He fished Candy out of his shirt to demonstrate its utility. Bianca’s eyes gleamed as she greedily snatched up the gift. 

“Wow, this is so cool! Thanks, Daddy!” She gave him a big hug, making Candy gasp for breath as she was smothered by giant breasts. The king smiled, giving his daughter a kiss on the cheek before leaving. Bianca’s maid hid from the lecherous king on his way out, not wanting to be groped or smacked on the butt in passing—or worse. As soon as he was gone, she came into the room holding a tray of hot breakfast, similar to the one prepared for Ronny, with Chester in tow to check for poison. 

Once the food was deemed safe, Princess Bianca settled down to eat her breakfast. First, though, she needed to remind Gio of his place. She couldn’t allow anyone to disrespect her like that, least of all an insignificant rat. She reached back into the little house and roughly seized him in her fist. This time, he didn’t yell at her, merely crying out in fear instead. She ripped off his splint, eliciting a sharp shriek of pain. 

“D-don’t hurt me!” he begged. “I-I take back what I said, I’m sorry, I was just scared and venting my feelings, I meant no disrespect Your Highness-” He continued to blubber as she wrapped his tiny body in a crêpe, smothering him in whipped cream and powdered sugar. His eyes widened and he struggled violently when he realized what was going on.   

“No! You can’t eat me! I don’t want to die!” He was sobbing now, with his arms pinned to his sides while he floundered in custard filling. Bianca regarded him coldly as a savage grin spread across her lips, exposing her teeth. She couldn’t deny the thrill she felt, having such control and power over the small man. She didn’t bother to inform him that the potion she used on him yesterday would last for days, so he wouldn’t perish in her stomach. She preferred to savor his fear. She watched him wriggle his shoulders desperately and stir the filling with his wimpy movements. His delicate features, stricken with abject fear, were dusted with white powder, and his cheeks and hair were splotched with cream. He looked delicious, and her stomach clamored for his dainty flesh to fill it. 

He deserved his fate, after all, for running his mouth to royalty when he was a mere commoner, and such a pathetic little creature on top of that. She pushed down the inconvenient itch of sympathy and guilt scratching at her skull. She shouldn’t allow herself to feel those irrational emotions for a human, her natural inferior. If her father knew she felt that way, he would disapprove. She couldn’t disappoint him. 

Gio felt how small and powerless he was as the strength of her huge hand squeezed him in the crêpe, squirting out the filling around him. Her enormous maw, like the interior of a cathedral, gaped open, ready to engulf him. Gio screamed as the massive open jaws approached, the tunnel of the gullet twitching with hunger. The walls of teeth closed around him, biting down on the soft dough and burying him in humid darkness. The floor beneath him, the squishy wet mass of the tongue, came to life and curled around him. The huge tongue stripped the blanket of crêpe from his body, licked off the whipped cream and filling, and slapped his face and skin. He pushed against the tongue with his palms, but the heavy slab was too strong for him to wrestle off. The giantess hummed with delight, her voice reverberating from her throat into the hollow chamber, as his flavor permeated her mouth. She shifted him from one side of her mouth to the other, with Gio wailing in pain the entire time as his broken arm was jostled and compressed. 

Gio had no time to mentally prepare himself as he abruptly slid headfirst into the wide gullet. His vision was scarred with the sight of the fleshy chute of the throat, descending into a forbidding blackness, before the muscles crushed around him and dragged him down. His arm throbbed with acute pain as it was smashed against his midsection. He blacked out as he was shuttled down, until he collapsed into the giantess’s stomach. When he regained his wits, he was horrified to find himself churning in acid, stirred by wrinkled walls of flexing meat. Loud grumbles echoed through the hollow cavity like an earthquake, and mashed-up food slopped down from the constricted opening above as the princess ate the rest of her breakfast. He held out his shaking hands to examine the soft glow radiating from his skin. The acid didn’t burn, but he was still hysterical with panic, not yet comprehending that he wouldn’t be digested. 

Although giants were large enough for Graham to make out their facial features at a reasonable distance, he still couldn’t see much without his glasses. Nevertheless, he could hear Gio’s pleas and screams clear as day as he was eaten alive. He glanced over at Cesar standing next to him, who was watching the display attentively. He could hardly ignore Cesar’s raging boner, naked as they all were. He turned away with the upmost revulsion.  

“You disgust me,” he spat at the other man. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” Cesar admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Goddamn, she’s so hot. I want her to eat me too...” 

“What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you care about Gio? Or have any self-respect or sense of self-preservation at all? Or shame, for that matter?” 

Cesar grinned sheepishly. “Nope.” He sighed. “Don’t misunderstand, I feel bad for Gio, I really do. But I don’t think she intends to kill him. Besides, he shouldn’t have spoken to her that way. She’s royalty. He should’ve known better.” He shrugged. 

Graham, at a loss for words, huffed and shook his head. He walked away from the glass and sat down on one of the beds, holding his face in his hands and muttering vulgar invectives under his breath. He couldn’t believe he was in this situation, and stuck with a sex-crazed idiot, no less. He flinched as the threatening shadow of the giantess enveloped the miniature house. He looked up with trepidation to behold Bianca smiling and rubbing her full belly as she gazed down rapaciously at the two remaining men like she wanted to devour them alive.  

“Now, which one of you should I take with me today?” she teased, fingering her new jewelry, the human carrier that adorned her neck. 

Cesar gazed up at her with awe, saluting her proudly with his exposed member. “Ooh, me! Pick me!” he called out, raising his hands, imagining the embrace of her warm skin on his with dreamy bliss. 

Bianca grazed him over with her eyes, considering her options. A mischievous smirk spread over her face. “Nah.” She reached in and plucked up Graham instead, who squealed in protest. She snapped him into her necklace and dropped it to her chest. The tiny man’s cries were muffled when he fell neatly into her cleavage and was swallowed up by her full breasts, which bobbed slightly with his frantic motions. He tried to climb out of the soft valley, straining his arms, but Bianca stuffed him back in. 

“Aw, c’mon...” Cesar moaned as Bianca shut the roof and abandoned him. She was shunning him on purpose to torment him; he just knew it. He watched her leave with longing, dick in hand as her shapely backside swayed temptingly. He sighed as he was left alone, insanely jealous of the other men. He felt empty and unwanted. Did she not like him for some reason? Was he not good enough for her? 

Bianca didn’t give Cesar a second thought while she strolled through the castle. As she felt Gio thrashing weakly in her gut, and Graham fighting against her bouncing jugs, a twinge of regret began to worm its way into her heart. She knew it wasn’t right for her to feel empathy for humans, yet she couldn’t get the image of Gio, sallow and shriveled with his broken arm, out of her head. She normally didn’t experience compassion for her inferiors, but something about his tiny size, with how scared and helpless he was, struck a chord with her. 

She really didn’t intend to injure him. His emotional blowup had rocked her to her core. To think that such a vulnerable creature, wounded and frail, would have the audacity to confront and berate her filled her with amazement, perhaps even admiration. It wouldn’t be easy to stand up to a giantess hundreds of times his size, after all. Even full-sized giant men were afraid to speak to her in that manner, with the power she wielded. 

She realized the extreme duress he was under prompted his heated, impulsive response, and the fact that he could feel so strongly disturbed her. She was accustomed to seeing fear in humans, especially when they were on her dinner plate, but anger? Sadness? Even joy, with that bizarre horny one who actually seemed happy to see her? It was strange and alien to her. To think they had a range of complex feelings, like real people and not just primitive animals, bothered her. Her interactions with humans had been limited up to this point, restricted mostly to eating them, and she was learning a lot more than she expected about them. 

She decided to get a healing salve for Gio’s arm. Why not? She was his owner, his caretaker. She ought to keep her toys in pristine condition. For peak performance—certainly not out of compassion or guilt. Normally, she’d send a servant to do her bidding, but she felt oddly embarrassed about the whole thing. She didn’t want anyone else to know about her conflicting thoughts and feelings. She didn’t want to admit that she would spare this human, this inferior creature, after he disrespected her so rudely. She didn’t want to acknowledge or confront her own ambivalence regarding these human men, who seemed to have depth and dimensions that she hadn’t anticipated. 

Chapter 16

[olderthannetfic]

Something kinda funny: as someone who is too young to have seen the days when "glomp" was common, for a very long time I thought it was a vore/cannibalism thing. Like, it evokes in my head the cartoonish sound effect of someone biting into food.

Thank god back then I never got into a conversation about it with someone who *did* know what it meant because we would have both been very confused for a little bit haha

--

[urfavoritewriter]

Death Row’s Last Meal

Commission for an anonymous user here on Tumblr, thank you for commissioning me and letting me post it!

Content: M/M, Oral Vore, Chewing, Teasing, Cruel Pred, Graphic Digestion, G/T, Macro/Micro, Unwilling Prey

Bang bang bang!

The incessant knocking on Kyle's door reverberated through his apartment, each thud intensifying the curiosity and irritation etched across his face. As he approached the peephole, he saw two individuals in suits, their expressions serious, the weight of an unusual task etched on their features. He reluctantly opened the door, skepticism emanating from his eyes.

"Kyle?" the first agent asked, holding up an official-looking device for verification.

"Yeah, that's me. What's this about?" Kyle grumbled, rubbing his eyes, trying to make sense of the situation.

The second agent sighed, a weariness in his voice. "Kyle, this isn't easy for us either." They gave each other a slight look, "Look, we're here because of Dawson's last meal request. He asked specifically for you."

A moment of awkward silence went by, Kyle not fully comprehending. "By law, we need to shrink you and take you to him."

Kyle's eyes widened, and he leaned back, hoping this was some absurd prank. "Hold on, you're telling me I'm on the menu for some death row guy? Are you being for real?"

Both agents exchanged glances, a shared acknowledgment of the surreal nature of their mission. The first agent spoke, "Dead serious, Kyle. Dawson's last meal is, well, you."

Kyle laughed nervously, searching for any sign that this was a prank, but the agents' stony expressions persisted. "This has to be a fucking joke, right? You two bought these outfits to fuck with people?"

The second agent shook his head, showing official badges that certified their government affiliation. "We wish it were a joke, Kyle. This is the law, and... Well, it's happening whether you want it or not."

In a desperate attempt to shut out the surreal intrusion, Kyle slammed the door shut, pouring all his strength into resisting the inevitable. But the agents, with a calculated and practiced force, countered, pushing back against the door, and it swung back open, knocking Kyle off balance. He stumbled and fell to the ground, swearing vehemently.

"Get the fuck off me, assholes!" Kyle shouted as they ambushed him, "I still have my rights!"

The first agent, unfazed by Kyle's protests, retorted, "You have the right to be someone's last meal, buddy. Now quit resisting, or it's gonna get real ugly for you."

In the midst of the struggle, the second agent grabbed a syringe from his pocket. "Hold still, Kyle. This will be a lot easier for everyone if you just cooperate."

"Like hell, I will!" Kyle yelled, desperately trying to break free. He managed to shout for help, hoping someone in the hallway would intervene, but his cries seemed to vanish into the empty corridor.

The first agent rolled his eyes. "Come on, man, we're just doing our job. This will happen one way or another."

The second agent, seizing the moment, injected the shrinking liquid into Kyle's forearm. The effects were almost immediate. Kyle's body began to shrink rapidly, his clothes sagging around him as he tumbled to the ground.

"Fuck... you," Kyle managed to stammer before beginning to shrink rapidly.

As the shrinking process took hold, Kyle felt an odd sensation throughout his body. It started as a tingling in his extremities, a strange vibration that gradually enveloped him. His surroundings shifted; the once-familiar dimensions of his apartment now transformed into a vast and towering landscape.

The agents loomed above him, their figures expanding to colossal proportions. Every detail of their faces, their clothing, became magnified as if he were viewing them through an ever-zooming lens. The ambient sounds around him intensified, a cacophony of footsteps in the hallway now resembling distant thunder.

Kyle's clothes, initially snug, began to loosen and slide off his diminishing form. The fabric sagged like oversized drapes, eventually abandoning his shrinking frame altogether. Soon, he found himself entirely exposed, his nakedness accentuating the vulnerability of his reduced size.

The room, once comfortable and familiar, now assumed an alien quality. The furniture, once easily reachable, became insurmountable obstacles. The texture of the carpet transformed into a vast expanse, the fibers now strands that were difficult to navigate.

The agent, his colossal hand blotting out the surroundings, swiftly closed in on Kyle. The once-mighty punches that Kyle could deliver were now feeble, like the flailing of a helpless insect. With a deft motion, the agent scooped him up, his grasp securing around Kyle's diminished form.

Struggling within the confines of the agent's grip, Kyle found himself powerless against the giant force that now controlled his fate. The agent, nonchalant and almost indifferent to Kyle's tiny struggles, deposited him into a clear, sealed zip-bag.

Through the transparent barrier, Kyle could see the agent's face, looming large and expressionless. The casual yet authoritative tone persisted as the agent remarked, "Be grateful he didn't ask for you to be cooked." The implication of such a statement hung in the air, emphasizing the grim reality of his situation, as he zipped it shut.

Hours later, the legal rigmarole finally concluded, Kyle found himself delivered to the designated death row inmate. The muscular, toned man wore the standard orange inmate clothing, his blue eyes sharp and piercing. His dirty blonde hair and slight facial hair added a rugged edge to his appearance. The chiseled jaw and the smirk that played on his lips gave him a cruel demeanor.

As the zipped bag containing Kyle was handed over, the death row inmate's demeanor remained unapologetically harsh. "’Bout fuckin' time you got here. Was gettin' real hungry," he declared with a casual yet menacing tone. The implication was clear – Kyle was not just a shrunken man; he was a meal, a dehumanized object to be consumed and cruelly teased, his whole life turned upside-down in an instant based on the whims of a criminal, as law had it.

Dawson unzipped the bag, revealing the shrunken Kyle. The inmate's large, calloused hand grabbed him, his grip firm and unyielding. There was no gentleness in his touch, only a cruel sense of control.

He held Kyle up, eyeing him with a mixture of amusement and disdain. "Look at you, all fuckin' tiny. Little shit. You thought you were special, didn't ya?" Dawson's words dripped with cruel teasing, as if reveling in the degradation of his prey. "Well, you're just a meal for me, and let me tell ya, it's gonna fuckin' suck."

Dawson's laughter echoed, a harsh sound that matched the cruel amusement in his eyes. He brought Kyle closer to his face, his breath hot and heavy. "You're gonna feel every bit of pain as I chew on you, and then, buddy, the real fun starts when you slide down my throat. Most painful fuckin' digestion you can imagine."

The casual tone of his threats, peppered with obscenities, heightened the brutality of the situation. There was no mercy in Dawson's words, only a brutal honesty about the agony that awaited Kyle.

Kyle squirmed desperately in Dawson's grasp, his small form doing little against the inmate's powerful hold. "Please, man, you can't do this! I'm a fucking person, not your damn snack!" he pleaded, his voice a mix of fear and desperation.

Dawson only laughed, a harsh sound that echoed in the small space between them. "Oh, you're a person, alright. A person 'bout to become my next meal. A person ‘bout to be dead.” Dawson gave Kyle a clear view of his abs, before speaking again. “See that, little fucker? That’s where you’re goin’. And that’s where you’re fuckin’ dyin’.”

Kyle, in protest, physically struggled against the giant man's brutal grasp. Dawson chuckled at Kyle's feeble squirms. "Aw, ain't you a little fighter?" He squeezed his tiny captive tighter, relishing the feeling of the struggles against his palm. "Guess it don't matter how much you fight, you're endin' up in my gut anyway."

He lifted Kyle closer to his face, opening his mouth wide. "Take a good fuckin' whiff, 'cause you're gonna be smellin' a lot more of it soon." Dawson huffed in Kyle's face, his breath hot and tainted with the scent of the impending doom that awaited him. He smirked at Kyle's discomfort, finding perverse pleasure in the psychological torment.

"Fuck, that stinks!" Kyle said, the smell being more suffocating due to his small lung size. "You can't do this, you're violating my rights as an upstanding citizen."

"The law ain't gonna save your tiny ass, being a law-abiding citizen was what got you here in the first place." Dawson taunted. "You're just another meal for me, a criminal eatin' up a supposed 'civil' citizen. Life's a bitch, ain't it?" The casual cruelty in Dawson's tone only intensified the despair of the situation, his words a relentless reminder of the power he held over Kyle's fate.

Dawson's tongue snaked around Kyle, pulling him into the hot, cavernous expanse of his mouth. The taste was overwhelming, a mixture of saliva and the remnants of Dawson's last meal, probably from yesterday. The smell, a pungent blend of mouth odor and saliva, hung heavily in the air.

As Dawson sucked on Kyle, his tongue pressed against him, the firm grip restricting any chance of escape. The saliva clung to Kyle's naked form, making his struggles more futile with each passing second. Dawson reveled in the feeling of his tiny captive squirming, the vibrations of his movements causing him immense pleasure.

Then came the chewing. Dawson didn't hold back; he bit down with force, causing sharp pain to radiate through Kyle's diminutive body. The pressure was enough to bruise, to inflict injury, but not to end him. Each chew bit down harder, causing evident bruising on his body.

"Fuck!" Kyle's pained expletive escaped through the chaotic mess of Dawson's chewing, his teeth pressing down on him from top and bottom, coated with saliva and unrelenting in their biting.

Dawson grinned, feeling the distress coursing through Kyle. "Ain't it somethin', bein' chewed up alive? You're just a lil' appetizer before the real show in my gut." The malice in his tone amplified the horror, making each chew a brutal punctuation mark in the merciless consumption of Kyle.

Dawson continued his nonchalant demeanor as Kyle slid down his throat, the struggling form creating an evident bulge in the muscular curve of Dawson's neck. The descent was a hot, tight journey into the core of the beast, the casual cruelty persisting even as the tiny man entered the churning depths of Dawson's stomach.

The sensation of Kyle arriving in the stomach was marked by a distinct, guttural sound.

"BuUuRp!"

Escaped from Dawson's lips, a casual belch that coincided with the finality of Kyle's journey. The stomach walls embraced Kyle, the heat and pressure intensifying as he settled into the acidic pool. Dawson, seemingly unfazed, leaned back, savoring the moment as he patted his now-filled belly.

"Agreed to let 'em keep me alive until you're digested. Don't think you're gonna have a quick end, Kyle."

Dawson, smirking with a cruel glint in his eye, decided to make it more personal. He placed a flat hand against his abdominal muscles, his abs bulging out slightly due to the tiny's presence. "Now, little man, let's have some fuckin' fun."

With a sudden flex of his abdominal muscles, Dawson tightened his stomach around Kyle. The pressure was immense, a crushing force that left Kyle gasping for breath. Dawson's abs, chiseled and defined, clenched with power. The cruel twist of a smile adorned Dawson's face as he relished in Kyle's agony.

Kyle, caught in the throes of the stomach squeeze, couldn't help but swear through gritted teeth. "Fuck you, you sadistic asshole!"

Dawson's laughter filled the air as he continued to tighten his stomach around Kyle. "Squeezin' the life outta ya with my abs, and you're weak as fuck, can't do shit about it from in there."

As Dawson flexed and squeezed, Kyle's body contorted with the pressure. It was an excruciating experience, made worse by the casual cruelty of Dawson's actions. Each flex of those powerful abs seemed to mock Kyle's pain, turning the entire ordeal into a sadistic game for Dawson's amusement. The air was filled with Kyle's pained cries and the giant's taunts.

After excruciating minutes, Dawson let his stomach muscles relax and his abs bulged out slightly again. Kyle felt the squeeze subside, but his body was sore from how crushing it was. His body was now soaked entirely with acid, his skin beginning to tingle, and only now is he comprehending how much pain he's going to be in for the rest of his life.

As the hours unfolded, Dawson's stomach initiated its relentless assault on Kyle's diminutive form. The digestive acids wasted no time, greedily working through the soft flesh and bones of the tiny man. Kyle, now thoroughly bathed in the corrosive juices, experienced an agonizing digestion.

Dawson, nonchalant as ever, let out a casual chuckle, his tone laced with a cruel amusement. "Must be real cozy in there, huh? Feeling the burn?" He patted his own belly, relishing the discomfort he knew Kyle must be enduring.

The graphic scene inside Dawson's stomach unfolded with a visceral intensity. The acids burnt the outer layer of his skin, the pain unbearable as it seeped into his flesh and muscles, his body bleeding.

"Bet you're wishing you were back in your cozy apartment right about now, huh? Guess what, my body's your home sweet home now."

The relentless acids worked through muscle and sinew, reducing Kyle to a slushy mixture within the confines of Dawson's stomach. Kyle, despite his gradually-broken body, tried to fight back. Dawson, thoroughly entertained by the spectacle, couldn't help but offer another biting remark. "You're really giving my abs a workout in there, buddy. Never had a meal fight back so much."

Indifferent to the struggles within, waited for the next few hours to unfold, knowing that the graphic digestion had only just begun.

The corrosive acids, now thoroughly acquainted with Kyle's form, continued their brutal assault. The digestive enzymes, having broken down the outer layers, were now penetrating deeper into the soft tissues, liquefying them with a gruesome efficiency.

Kyle's screams, now reduced to muffled cries, echoed within the fleshy chamber. His body, once whole, was succumbing to the merciless digestive process as he couldn't bear to speak anymore, only cry. The acidic fluid turned a disturbing shade of reddish-green as more of Kyle's blood bled out of him and into it.

"You must look a fuckin' mess in there." Dawson said, rubbing his hand over the small bulge of his stomach.

The graphic scenes unfolded in gruesome detail. The acid, now reaching the deeper recesses of Kyle's anatomy, worked through organs and tissues. The distinct scent of the digestion, a putrid amalgamation of bodily fluids, hung in the air within Dawson's gut.

Kyle's life was being snuffed out brutally in Dawson's gut, the final gasps of his existence silenced by the relentless tide of digestive brutality.

Dawson, indifferent to the life he had just extinguished, burped nonchalantly. The taste of Kyle's blood lingered in his mouth. "Fuck," Dawson huffed, "You're weak as shit."

Dawson lifted his orange inmate shirt, showcasing his toned abs. "Got fuckin' destroyed." He gave it a pat.

"Best last fuckin' meal and last fuckin' thing I do with my life." He said, very content with his choice of a last meal.

[voxofthevoid]

Hi vox.

I've recently read an Eroguro Yaoi manga called MADK ( Motsu Akuma to Danshi Koukousei) and I desperately need to know if you've ever read it because this manga is like so strongly reminded me of your flavour of goyuu fics. Specifically " (Let me be clear) Every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered " .

The premise of the manga is such: A high school boy (Makoto) makes a contract with a demon (J) to let him (Makoto) eat him(J) (sexual vore) for a month in exchange for Makoto soul. J agreed and the contract is formed.

When I read that manga I can't help but be reminded of your goyuu dynamic. Makoto and J are like twisted, fun house mirror versions of Yuuji and gojo. J is what I think gojo will be like as a demon and Makoto is what I believe yuuji will be if he was in the same situation with the same desire.

And it just makes me think so hard about your fic and the way you write your goyuu dynamic I feel like if I don't get this on my phone screen I might just explode and die.

No exploding please! You can't enjoy more eroguro manga and gay vore if you explode.

This is the first I'm hearing of MADK (I don't usually read manga, just stick to anime—JJK was an exception), but that plot sounds gloriously fucked up. I've seen a lot of variations on demon pacts, but this is still novel. I approve!!

My predilection for cannibalism and vore with sexual/romantic undertones largely comes from NBC's Hannibal. The themes were interesting to me even prior to that, but Hannibal was... formative in terms of my writing, especially fanfic. It takes a backseat if canon doesn't have much room for it, like Yuri on Ice or MCU, but media like Bleach or JJK—where there's onscreen vore and/or implications about cannibalism and its effects on the body or soul—are guaranteed to get me gnawing (pun intended) on themes of consumption, possession, corruption, etc. in relation to love and sex.

My goyuu fics feature it heavily, given how Yuuji quite literally derives power from eating sentient cursed objects and how Gojou strikes me as someone who'd very much like to be consumed by someone he'd trust to keep him.

I'm glad you're enjoying that flavor of fuckery! Thank you ❤️

[thebottomfromhell]

The upper moons (+Muzan if you can) finding a very human reader munching on another human and they’re like :0

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡!!

Love it. Genuinely love the idea. The hipocrisy of some. Also, Muzan just HAS to be in this prompt. Bet the only human who managed go shock him this hard is Enmu (not sure if it's canon, but it seems Enmu was into vore when he was Muzan's dinner.... and that is the reason he got turned)...

Uppermoons + Muzan finding Cannibal Human GN Reader

Warnings: Cannibalism, Non-consented body modifications (get turned into demon), Slight manga spoilers (not really, just some allusions on Kokushibou, Akaza and Muzan), Mentioned lethal injury, and Slight body-horror.

Gyutaro:

What in hell? Just... what in hell? Demons don't come to the Red Light District to hunt, they already know who has claimed said territory, so when Daki found out part of corpses that were not hers (but she still had to get rid of) and couldn't sense any demon around she feared it might be another Uppermoon, and not adimiting she got intimidated, sent Gyutato to find them and shoo them out of her damn district. In exchange, following the scent of fresh blood, he found you... eating a raw human hand, munching it clamly in a dark alley. "You... ne, you are human..." You tilt your head looking at the creature in front of you, he is clearly not. "What are you?" You knew there were some disappearings in the area and decided to take advantage of it, you thought it was a group of kidnappers and prostitutes eloping being both around by coincidence and decided to try you luck. You guess you got careless when you found out someone was hiding the corpses for you. You didn't expect to find a tall but curved figure, thin to the bones yet with muscles, sickly looking, with fangs and glowing eyes. You both just look at each other, not knowing what to say, surprised. There is a part of you saying you should run, that you were caught and this being is dangerous. "... Ne.... you are a messy eater. Ne. Can you stop leaving the parts you don't eat around? It's almost as if you wanted to get caught, ne." He scratches the back of his neck, just wanting to say something to kill the uncomfortable silence, at this point he doesn't care if there is a cannibal running around, he might even use you as a distraction for the Hashira.

You take a like in him. "What is your name?" You want to know more about him. "... The name is Gyutaro, ne. And you are in my territoy, ne, so you better give me a reason to not eat you myself or get rid of you in whatever means is better for me, ne." You can only look at him and relate him to the missing people. You have been several times in this district, but you never knew this guy existed. It's like figuring out an underworld, and just as you were curious to the taste of human meat just to get addicted to it, you have a feeling Gyutaro will be similar experience. "I'm Y/N, and I feel I could make you enjoy my presence." He looks hesitant at your smile, but doesn't move. This will be interesting.

Gyokko:

"WHERE IS MY PIECE OF ART?! I LEFT IT JUST HERE!" Gyokko cries out, looking around for the corpse he just fixed to look like a tree growing on the top of a pot. The time it took him to correct every bone into holding itself and make the detailes stretching and cutting the flesh only to dissapear the second he went for real flowers to make an effect of it being armonic with the nature! WHERE! IS! IT?! Then he hears some chewing near by, goes to where the sounds come from and, well, he stays still for a while when he sees you, gasping dramatically as his eyes and mouthes open to much it hurts... You are eating... his art... "YOU!!" He starts angry, ready to give you a piece of his mind as he advances, making the put he is in jump towards you, veins pooping in his head. "You little beast! You savage! Do you have any idea of what you just ate?!"

At this point he doesn't give two shits if you are a a human, or the fact that you paralyze and don't seem to understand anything she shrieks the second you saw him. What is this thing? It barely looks human at all! "What are you?" Is all you can ask after a long rant, if he looked angry before, now he looks as if he was about to explode with all the visible vains in his body, head red andmorphed into and disbelieving yet offended expression. "THAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU GOTTA SAY AFTER WHAT YOU JUST DID?! YOU SELFISH, UNEDUCATED, RUDE PIECE OF SHIT?! I SHOULD KILL YOU RIGHT NOW BUT YOUR UGLY SKIN AND ROUGH FLESH IS NOT RIVAL FOR MY BEAUTIFUL CANVAS! THE ONE YOU JUST ATE!" And he is right, with cuts and the quality of the body... you just had to dig in, the fact that it was not a random body and this... thing checked out spoke of how much he cared... that and his screams.

You smile at that, you were not expecting any of this, but surprices are what makes. life interesting. "So you are a, what? Culinary artist?" The question actually shuts Gyokko upooking fused and irritated. "I would like to learn how to do art, then."

Hantengu:

"AAAAHHHHHH!" He screams on top of his lungs at seeing you "HE ATE SOMEONE! HEEEEEELP! HEEEEELP MEEEEE!" One would think he would not be reacting this way since he also eats people, but Hantengu suddenly remembers he is a demon and stops screaming, just looking at you shocked, mouth open as he remains quiet and frozen, still somehow scared and a bit embarrassed. You are no better, you paralized when you were caught on the act of eating a piece of a corpse, only to realize this "old man with a tumor in his head" had horns and blood red eyes. He is looking you with fear, but somethings tells you that the one that should be afraid is not him. And he justs stays there, looking at you in the house you broke in to kill the resident, the house he also broke in, keeping his hands to himself in his chest.

Just what is this crature? A ghost? A spirit? A demon? You were never a big believer yourself, but the more you see him you can see fangs and claws, a predator, even if it's trembling and shying away. "What are you doing here? You are not planning to snitch on me, are you? What if they believe it was you?" That seemed to trigger something, as the older beings starts to whimper as tears forms in his red, nothing but red, eyes. "NO! NO! IT WASN'T ME! IT WASN'T! IT WAS YOU! YOU KILLED THEM! YOU ATE THEM, NOT ME!" Even though the last part was hard to believe, and Hantengu knows how to lie to himself, and yet... it's very odd. What are you? A freak? Eating your own? Demons are humans natural predator, them eating the only thing they can eat is normal. But you...

You are a human eating other humans, and that scares him to the core. "Do-do-don't bully me anymore...." You want to know more, though. The sense of power of being a monster in the eyes of another monster... you want to see more. "Then I guess this will be our secret."

Sekido:

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" All his face screams "disgust", seriously, what the fuck? [They were just fighting a group of slayers, not Hashira but almost there, a group that thought separating would give them chances of scaping, at least until the sun rose up. How wrong they were, it was clear they would not make it to the hour against Upper Four. A normal evento for Hantengu, but... when he came back to the are of the ambush, he found you, eating the corpses he and the others left behind.] You got scared at the raw outragious scream, then you turn around to see a man (not human, humans don't have horns, fangs and glowing red eyes), you just found the corpses laying around and most of them looked clean, so you decided to eat. Hte creatire keeps looking at you, slightly disturbed in his anger. "Why are you eating that?"

Humans usually don't eat things they just found on the floor, humans usually don't eat raw meat directly from the source without cutting and cleaning it properly first, humans usually don't eat other humans. "What are you? Some kind of freak?" Also the fact that you are very messy, it reminds him to Urogi. Meanwhile you can't tell what exactly is this non-human is trying to get, he doesn't look scared, just disgusted and irritated. He has not tried to approach or to make distance between you two, only asked questions you have no idea how to answer in a way that makes sense. "Are you too dumb to speak?!" He becomes stressed because of it. "What are you?" Is all you can say after some minutes of silence, to witch, if glares could kill, you would be dead already. The cannibal human not only have the guts to not answer him, but to question him.

"I am Sekido," which is the same of saying "I am anger", "and you better give me a reason to not kill you like other humans that I encounter." You don't think you have one, but... "I am Y/N, nice to meet you." You can try.

Karaku:

Karaku blinks a few times, unsure of what he is seeing. [They were just fighting a group of slayers, not Hashira but almost there, a group that thought separating would give them chances of scaping, at least until the sun rose up. How wrong they were, it was clear they would not make it to the hour against Upper Four. A normal evento for Hantengu, but... when he came back to the are of the ambush, he found you, eating the corpses he and the others left behind.] Now, he likes eating, not as much as Urogi or Upper Two, but he knows how to appreciate or take pleasure from a good meal. He enjoys the flavor of fresh flesh, the rawness in his fangs, the energy he could feel sustaining his body, making him feel anew and alive. Eating is a pleasure the should not be denied or questioned, but... He just looks surprised at you, a human eating another human, as you haven't noticed him yet. After a while, he decides to step in, getting closer, startling you with a hand on your shoulder. "Enjoying dinner? Bet you would feel better with company~."

You are both confused as he sits besides you. You humans can take pleasure from sweets, spices, of mixing flavors together, and yet you chose the food only demons and beasts alike can enjoy, the only thing they can enjoy. Meanwhile you are trying to tell this basically half-naked men is into, exposing himself so easily so you, including non-human features. "Why?" That is everything both of you can think. "Who are you?" You ask when you see him tear with his hand a limb and take it to his mouth, bites so clean they almost look like weird cuts. The question should have been "what" instead of "who", but... You did like the idea of having someone to share the meal, specially someone so inviting and relaxed. "Does it matter? It seems we are all seeking plasure tonight, let's just have a nice time with our meal." He wants to understand it, this twisted craving you have for your own kind.

"My name is Y/N." You say without prompt, you just felt the need to present yourself. You are liking him so far, and want to spend more time in... whatever this is. The smile in Karaku's lips show he wants that too. "Nice to meet ya, Y/N."

Urogi:

Urogi just opens his mouth and eyes in surprise, he was not expecting this. [They were just fighting a group of slayers, not Hashira but almost there, a group that thought separating would give them chances of scaping, at least until the sun rose up. How wrong they were, it was clear they would not make it to the hour against Upper Four. A normal evento for Hantengu, but... when he came back to the are of the ambush, he found you, eating the corpses he and the others left behind.] This is the first time he has seen a human eating another human, he has always thought that this didn't happen in between them, somehow knowing it is a bigger taboo than demons eating other demons. But i happens, he is surpriced, didn't expect to be able to see this. Then he realizes that the prey that you are eating... is his! (and also belongs to the the other clones, but still. They killed them and Urogi arrived first, so it should be his meal!) "THAT IS MINE!" Is what you hear as talons take away the corpse to get it on top of a tree.

Urogi looks down on you, basically making a face as if he was about to throw a tantrum, but only begins to eat, rather offended, the human parts. You only look at the... giant humanoid bird? It's.. majestic, wings and talons sprading like a bird of prey, so you stay on the ground, where you fell as Urogi took the meal from you, feeling like if you were to stand up, he would eat you next. Urogi only aets, chewing a lot more than he swallows, stuffing his mouth full, completely messy as blood and the paste that becomes the flesh in his mouth tries to fall a bit, but having the demon licking and sucking it from his hands. Sometimes he turns to see you, but prioritizes eating over some human that just decided to steal his food. "Hey. Hey... Hi there." You decide to try an get his attention, speaking to him softly, as if ti was towards a wild animal, making him turn around to see you and tilt his head. You involuntary copy the motion.

"What are you doing?" He chuckles at seeing you, having no idea he just did that gesture. You smile at him, wanting to get close, to touch those wings, so tempting. "Can we talk?" You really want to get close, and even if Urogi makes no effort to get down the tree, he sets in a way he can face you more comfortable "Sure. Let's talk."

Aizetsu:

Aizetsu doesn't even know how to react, just opens his mouth slightly, mostly looking unimpressed, or at least tired to show anything else. [They were just fighting a group of slayers, not Hashira but almost there, a group that thought separating would give them chances of scaping, at least until the sun rose up. How wrong they were, it was clear they would not make it to the hour against Upper Four. A normal evento for Hantengu, but... when he came back to the are of the ambush, he found you, eating the corpses he and the others left behind.] Aizetsu knew these things could happen, that humans, as depressive as it sounds (he is sorrow, after all), were morbed creatures that were fed into the world with a sense of self-importance and morbidity. Similar to demons, yet so different, because with the demons, it's a need. The need to prove there is a reason for their existence and to claim said existence within their own nature, with humans, it's a preference. "You are eating in such a gross matter.... your behavior is so savagery that it's sad."

Truth be told, he couldn't care less about you, even as you turn around, surpriced to see an armed man, one with horns and blue glowing eyes. He just stares, not really knowing what else to do until everyone else arrives. It's odd for both, he can only see you with pity, sorrow and shame of what you are doing, not because he actually cares, but because you are simply a freak by human standards. If it was a human who found you, in your careless act of just eating the second you had a body to consume, then you would have been chased, hunted, probably killed. Would slayer go after you too? Or would they spare you because you are not a demon? The question leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. "What are you?" Even if that was the case, you are ignorant, clumsy, reckless, weak and pathetic, meant to fail because you decided to give in on a meal that was never supposed to be yours. It's tragic, that makes him sad. "I am the sad predator you wish you were."

Aizetsu says before turning around to walk away, he really should look for the others, but the noise of you standing up when he was about to leave stops him. "What us that supposed to mean?" The fact that he has to explain it... "A human would not understand."

Nakime:

Nakime just looks at you, contrary to the belief she can see just fine under her hair, she didn't expect for anything in the first place, so besides a little surprise, she feels nothing. She wishes she could say she expected better from humans, for them to not become beast the second a piece of hedonism can become part of their life and personality, but she was also human once. Then again, if since you got lost in her castle, and there was just so much to eat around, i'ts not surprise you did it. Everyone is trying to survive at their own ways, even if said ways mean consuming other people's use, she would know about it. It's not like she cared at all, you she can't be dissapointed, but it's a similar feeling. "You have dirtied with blood my floors, you better clean that up." She doesn't really need you to, but she wants to torture you a bit more.

"How do you do all this?" You have to ask, your mouth still stained with blood, just like your clothing, and she doesn't respond before playing her biwa again, a door suddenly closing in front of her, another few notes sound, only for the complete surface she was in to be completely gone. You didn't think much of it when you entered into a mysterious door, hiding from debt collectors, hoping it was just sating there a few hours and leaving, but the second you got in... there was no way out. You spent days running through corridors, rooms and stairs, no bedrooms, bathrooms or kitchens between the elegant place (you managed to find a garden somewhere, that was it). You were starving by the time you found another human in the same situation as you, except they managed to get crushed by a door closing on them with a biwa note. You didn't kill anyone, just doing your best to survive... you lick the end of your mouth to savour more of the addicting taste.

Whatever it happens, even if you are here, you will survive. You will find out what is this place and leave, you think before taking another bite.

Akaza:

"What the fuuuuuuck?!" He asks to nothing, to nobody, not even to himself, Buddha or any god, including him. Akaza didn't raise his voice, it was barely a whisper, as... what is he supposed to do but open his mouth and eyes at their fullest. He has no idea if you noticed him, much less if he wanta you to notice him. What are you doing? Why are you eating another human? A raw corpse? Demons eating humans (raw) is normal, like foxes eating rabbits is normal, falcons eating snakes is normal, it's because they are stronger, so they are predators. Weaklings? Those are prey, meant to be killed for what they did, not to... Humana are not meant to eat raw meat just like that! They can get sick if eating certain parts and he has no idea if the body is infected with something! "Stop eating that!" The sudden shout makes you look at... him, he looks human enough, even with the tattoos, but.. the eyes and fangs say otherwise.

"You can get sick! At least cook it first, will you?!" He doesn't know why, but a part of him got desesperate at the thought of sickness, his mind picturing caughs and fevers, yet not managing to feel anything himself but restlessness. As if it was his job to do something about it, so he took the corpse out of your reach, holding it away from you as he watches with disgust. Why are you such a messy eater, it reminds him of Douma. After a while of staring at each other, you can only chuckle, this is the last thing you expected someone to do if they found out your morbid curiosity for human flesh, the fact that this creature was worried about your health... then again, why didn't you just cut a piece and cook it? It would have been less risky in almost any sense than eating this ways. Maybe you just wanted the sensation of... eating prey, or just eating it some way that felts special, different, instead of the usual meals that could have served yourself if you wanted one.

Still, now that this... young man looks at you, offended by your laugh, you can't help but think he is cute. "May I know your name?" Since he cares so much for you, you might also show some interest. "... I'm Akaza."

Douma:

You have been in Douma's cult fow a while now, nothing really interesting at first, but he recognizes when people are new from their behaviour and the way they look at him. He did not expect to find you outside, eating the woman that was supposed to "dissapear" tonight, the smell of blood leading him there. "What are you doing?" He asks out of curiosity more than anything else, this is the first time he sees a human eating another human, He has heard stories, but never seen it for himself. It's odd, your teeth are not made to tear raw muscles and nerves, so it's very messy compared to his eating habits, and Douma is a messy eater himself. You turn around to see him startled, not knowing what to do or say, after you realize he was staring, still is. "Great Founder-" He only laughs and interrupts "I think Douma is just fine, it has been a while since I ate with a friend." A.... friend?

Douma just walks to grab a piece, digging his hand into the torso to take the heart out, being careful to drop the least blood out of it, the liquid basically blowing everywhere when he takes a bite, sucking in everything he can as red slides down his arms, trying to miss the least possible. See, a messy eater, but the bite was clean, as if it was a cut instead. You couldn't believe what you were seeing, you didn't know what to believe when you were told about the "Great Founder", about his eternal youth, rainbow eyes, messanger of gods, and what interested you the most, someone who gave shelter for free in the middle of nowhere, and onlyw ou realize... he is not human, it was not a scam. "Most demons don't want to spend time with me, maybe I should have though of finding a cannibal human sooner. I think we can make it work."

His face is close yours, you can basically can taste the blood in his lips, staining his face. "What is your name?" You have to swallow your own salive before answering. "I'm Y/N...." His smiles widden, liking not having resistance for you as he takes another bite. You will eat with him from now on.

Kokushibou:

Kokushibou just stares, eyes completely open, horror on them. It would be one thing if you were a demon, demons need to eat humans to get stronger and to keep their sanity, but as a human? How can you eat that? Eating raw flesh directly from the source, as if you were some sort of animal, as if you were a demon yourself. Just... why? Why you, a human, would feel the need to abandon your humanity in such a morbid way? What is impulsing you to do this? What would be worth doing this? He remembers vaguely why he did it, it's enough to know that he has to convince himself that it's worth it, that he could have been stronger. You can tell there is something looking at you, paralizing the second you sense it as a threat, something, a stare that is... off. After taking a few breaths, you start to slowly move your head, as if you would be attacked at the first sudden move, only to spot at the distance three pairs of gold and red eyes glowing in the darkness.

You both stay frozen, looking at each other, none of you say anything. You can't believe you got caught like this and the instinct of fight or flee is not fully kicking in besides the anxiety it causes on you. Kokushibou can only see your surprised eyes as you still are covered in blood. The taste of the flesh is still in your tongue and your jaw is still tired from the effort of having to tear it up with the teeth... Why did you do it? Being fully aware of the consecnuences that could come if another human saw you, if the blood attracted a predator. You thought the worst that could come would be a carnivore bird, Japan doesn't really have much of big predators in the animal world, but... this is not human, nor an animal. And you can just stare at each other, not daring to say a word at all, not managing to see the figura properly, but it looks very human, if it was not for the eyes you might have confused them for a man.

In the end Kokushibou just concludes that you had your own reasons, leaving within a blink, leaving you panting to try and calm yourself through breathing. "What the fuck was that?"

Muzan:

Muzan is... intrigued, mouth open by the surprise and the lack of words he has to describe the scene in front of him, to say at least. It's not his first time with odd experiences with humans, humans that, when his lays his eyes on, thinks "this one should be a demon, it's perfect for one" or "this one might be able to conquer the sun". In the second group he found Kokushibou and Douma, but in the first one? Several strong demons are from there. Akaza, Nakime, and Enmu are his best examples, and he can't help but think the same thing that filled his mind with them. "I will give you some of my blood, and you will become something great." He tells you, now being your turn to be shocked, you were eating someone, not anybody you knew, and suddenly this... man appeared into the same alley you were hiding. You don't know what to do or say when you fell a sting of pain in your forehead and your vision gets clouded.

What is this? It feels off, the digits stabbed into your skull, with a liquid flooding it in a headache. You can only tremble as the pain burns but, somehow, it also soothes. Panic strikes as you wonder how are you even alive right now? Muz- him can only smile, you can't see him but you know he is smiling at you, smiling at your hunger. You feel your skin stretch, nerves havings spasms, vains bumping fast as your body starts feeling wrong, and it hurts as it beginsg to fix itself. You can basically states your own organs in your mouth, hear your bones breaking and molding themselves, feel as if your skin was being peeled but your muscles that tangle and untangle are covered by something else. Something stronger. "This one seems to be a fast transformation, I wonder if you will make it to be part of the Kizuki." Yes, the Kizuki. His favorite demons, you must win his favor.

The last thing you feel, before losing concience, is hunger, and the taste of human flesh appears in your mouth as a memory, making you drool as you feel as if you were starved. Everytime you remember it tasting better than the last time, you need it. Every other food disappears from your brain, only needing real food, something that will make you stronger yet! You need blood. You need to eat. You need to eat humans from now on, and nothing else. Only like that you will satiate.

[anony-man]

Chubformers drabble #97!

Characters: Sunder (& Froid - IDW)

Word count: 812

(TW: implied vore)

Sight was the key to filling his belly with the food that truly satisfied him, but after a while, Sunder had begun to feel no need for seeing to feast. There were other ways to go about fulfilling his desires, and he was hellbent on finding them.

The high of the chase was addicting, and the glorious sensation of squirming bots and writhing victims clawing at his belly from the inside made it all the sweeter. Sunder was on permanent leave from both mnemosurgery and his favorite pastime, it seemed, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find ways around the promises he’d made.

Dying bots cared little for what happened in the end, he’d begun to discover. Keeping Froid company with idle chatter was enough to allow his processor to wander, to probe, and to infiltrate, and Sunder found more often than not that there were plenty of willing participants. A yearning for death wasn’t something one could easily erase, and it was up to him to erase all his past wrongs and sins by giving those grieving bots an easy way out.

It was easy to do, and it broke none of the strict code that nosy doctor inflicted on him. For Sunder’s end of the deal, he promised no more killing sprees and no more threats against unwilling victims—this was plenty for Froid, to his glee, and even more satisfactory with the loss of the mnemosurgeon’s optics.

No optics meant no setting his sights on poor, fearful prey, and that was the deal. What wasn’t part of the deal was allowing his processor to wander and connect with those desperate enough to come straight to him. They practically fell into his wide open, gaping maws every time, and Sunder had grown to enjoy the indulgence more than the rush of pleasure from screaming mechs.

For a while, Froid was none the wiser of those miserable bots creeping through windows and tiptoeing their way around corners to Sunder’s lair. The mnemosurgeon sat perched atop his berth and listened for the sound of the door’s squeals before patting his belly and beckoning with a servo and a wide grin. They had nothing to be afraid of, not anymore. It was a win-win for everyone.

Sunder supposed the problem had come up when his frequent visits to the doctor’s room were put off in favor of lounging in his berth and obsessing over the feel of his swollen, stuffed belly. It was hard to keep the nightly sound of squeaky floors and creaking doors to a minimum when his visitors were so eager for relief, and Sunder didn’t much care to conceal the reasons behind his recent absences as of late.

After a while, he just… well, he stopped caring, he supposed. It was hard to care what Froid might think or do when he was near-constantly stuffed to the brim with warm bodies and eager prey.

“Sunder,” Froid had finally said one morning, dropping into the mnemosurgeon’s private quarters for an unexpected visit. “I’m starting to worry. Are you sure there is nothing going on that I should be aware of?”

It was hard to answer that with a straight face. Sunder was practically drowning in ecstasy and contentment, his processor a haze of feel-good thoughts from all the bots who’d come and gone. Their happiness at an escape and joy for the release was starting to affect him in more ways than one.

The massive belly of excess fat and rolls of mesh that hung over his lap was no longer the only sign that something was amiss, that was for sure.

“Mmm… yes,” he said, drawing out his words as he picked his teeth with one of the insignias hanging from his neck. “Why? Feeling lonely, are you? I could fix that…”

While he spoke as though airy words and sing-song tone had little effect, Sunder could still hear the flustered stutter in the doctor’s voice. His smile grew comically at the scuffle of pedes and the clink of those ridiculously long arms crossing over Froid’s chest as he stumbled over a reasonable response.

“I—just… tell me you haven’t broken our contract,” he said—practically begged, really. “I’m serious, Sunder. If you’ve gone back to hunting Autobots down, then—“

“Please,” Sunder cut in, lifting the servo that rubbed gentle circles into the swell of his belly to pause Froid’s frantic speech. “You know me, Froid. I would do nothing of the sort.”

And he hadn’t… not really, that is. The agreement remained intact as it was, and Sunder was proving to be a fabulous patient. He could hear Froid’s huffy vents and allowed himself a snicker of his own, his servo settling back down to stroke his belly.

He was, by far, a most reliable mech—for both Froid and for his compliant and willing prey.

[blametheeditor]

Voretober Day 9 | Craving

Voretober Prompt List

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If given the opportunity, would you take the chance to go to space and travel the stars? What if the person offering to take you was someone you trusted more than anyone else?

What if that person is no longer entirely human?

MENTIONS OF SOFT VORE

Content Warnings: Soft, non-sexual vore (only mentions for now). Mentions of body horror. Mentions of experimenting on people. Mentions of death and murder, violence. Being trapped against one's will. Dehumanization. Abductions. Cursing. Darker themes/tone

___________________________________

”Hey Scott!”

It had taken several moments for Scott to register his name had been called. When he finally did, it was too late to divert the attention away as two hands settled on his shoulders, his instinct to try and duck away effectively cancelled out by the unexpected contact and left him frozen. 

It let one of Wright brothers effortlessly begin to guide him toward the back door. Away from Vincent who was elbow deep in dough that had been refusing to cooperate for several minutes. “Come outside with me, there’s something cool I wanna show ya.”

“Hands off the Scotty,” Vincent snapped despite still being focused on the mess before him. It was hard to tell if the glare was meant for whoever wanted to steal Scott away, or for the dough. Most likely both. “No one should be outside right now. It’s about to rain, and I ain’t explaining how two of you got colds and one got struck by lightning.” 

“It’s not raining yet,” the unknown brother countered. Though by the sound of his voice, Scott wanted to guess it was Daniel. “And there’s not even thunder. We’ve got time to show Scott something.” 

“Did you ask him if he wants to see?” 

Scott’s shoulders were turned until he could see Daniel’s raised eyebrows. “Do ya?” 

On one hand, he was genuinely worried about what would happen if he ended up alone with the three younger Wrights. They were never rude to him when he visited, and Vincent clearly wasn’t worried as long as he agreed to it, but he had seen how the brothers interacted with each other. Never fully understood why ‘sibling love’ included physical fights and name calling. 

On the other, Scott was worried about Vincent. His best friend’s mood had dropped the moment they got to the Wright household after he invited Scott over to play card games. Grumbled about having needed to do a few things and said the table was available to get homework done. Hadn’t once spoken a word as he tidied up the kitchen and living room, nor when he got out ingredients to make something. 

There was no mistaking the anger. Scott knew it wasn’t directed toward him, but he couldn’t help the feeling he wasn’t making things better. He didn’t want to leave Vincent alone though, so he decided to quietly watch. Didn’t dare offer to help from the fear he’d only make everything worse since he didn’t know how to bake. Misleading someone to thinking they gained support only to find out they got a liability was worse than doing nothing. 

Scott nodded his head to say he’d go outside with the hope he could do something helpful there. Maybe him agreeing could even get them inside quicker so Vincent didn’t have to worry. 

Daniel gave a wide smile before leading Scott outside. Made his heart pound when he spotted the last two brothers waiting for them. Had him praying he didn’t make the wrong decision. 

“How hard did he fight for Scott?” made him want to dig his heels into the ground to keep from getting any closer. The only thing that stopped him was the fact it would’ve been pointless considering he was the weakest of the group. Age meant nothing when someone who was younger than him could have easily picked him up, and respect for Vincent only went so far. 

“Barely. He made more of a fuss about us being in the rain.” 

“Yikes.” 

“Worked in our favor,” Daniel shrugged as he moved Scott to the side so they formed a circle, the other two not even acknowledging his presence. “But we’ll need to be done in 30 minutes, meaning Tony’s getting the berries.” 

“I want the title ‘best brother ever’ on my gravestone.” 

“Getting stuck by lightning while getting berries doesn’t earn that kind of honor.” 

“Neither does getting firewood.” 

“Would you rather not have the easiest job?” 

As the three bickered, Scott slowly began to piece together what was happening. That he wasn’t singled out because they knew Vincent wouldn’t put up a fight and therefore have the chance to mess with him, he was brought outside to help. The exact what and how weren’t entirely clear, but they needed him for something. 

“What’s my job?” he asked to effectively silence all three as they stared at him. 

“Holy shit he can talk.” 

“You didn’t explain anything to him?” 

“When would I have had time to?” Daniel growled before he turned to address Scott with a wide smile. “You are getting initiated into the ways of caring for Vinny.” 

“It wouldn’t be needed if he wasn’t such a stubborn ass,” Anthony grouses. “But he doesn’t let us help unless he doesn’t know we are.” 

“Meaning someone needs to distract him while we take care of a few things out here,” Jonathan continued. “Whenever it’s one of us, he catches on fairly quick. So since you’re here, we thought you could keep him busy for us.” 

Instead of excitement, Scott only felt terror. Because the thought of distracting Vincent for the amount of time needed, at the thought of accidentally angering his best friend to accomplish such a task, it was worse than backing out from helping even if it meant the three would never include him again. 

His fear wasn’t missed. Except instead of making Daniel upset, the second eldest Wright became confused. “Vinny didn’t snap at ya, did he?” 

Scott shook his head furiously. “N-No, I, uh, I-I'll just make things worse.” 

“You would make things worse,” Anthony scoffed. 

“It’s his first time seeing Vinny in a mood,” Daniel waved. “He doesn’t know how bad it normally is.” 

“It gets bad, Scott,” Jonathan joined in. “Usually by now he would’ve herded us inside and trapped us in our rooms.” 

“Which means we wouldn’t have even gotten this far before it was too late. But since you’re here, he’s baking instead of hunting us down.” 

“Fuck he’s baking?” 

“Trust us,” Daniel smirked. “You can’t make it worse. We’d owe ya one if you distracted him for us.” 

He didn’t know if he could fully trust them. But they wanted to help Vincent. And they didn’t look like they were lying about Scott unable to anger his best friend, even on accident. 

Scott nodded his head. Walked back to the house to see Vincent all but snarling at the dough that sat in a misshapen lump before him. 

“W-Would you mind teaching me?” came out in a near whisper, but it was heard. 

Vincent looked between Scott and his failed attempt. Raised an eyebrow like the question confused him. “I’m afraid if you learned from me, you’d never be able to make anything edible.” 

Scott took a few steps forward. “If you’re willing, I’d, uh, st-still like to learn.” 

A smile tugged at Vincent’s mouth. “I always am, Scotty.” 

He was quick to join his best friend at the counter. Watched as the dough was pushed to the side in favor of moving other ingredients to the center. Noticed just how tense the taller was as he began a new batch. 

“You look tired.” 

Vincent froze in place. Looked down at Scott’s panicked expression. Sighed as his shoulders slumped. “I might be.” 

Scott swallowed the lump that threatened to take his voice away. “Want to talk about it?” 

He was given smirk. “Sure. Were you scared I was gonna kick you out for asking?” 

Scott stiffened, both at suddenly getting asked a question and the question itself. “M-Maybe. Is school making you tired?” 

”A little bit. What did Danny wanna to show you?”

As Scott follows Vincent through the wide street lined with dozens of stalls, he can’t help but feel like an awful friend. 

It’s not like that kind of information was hard to find out. Every time he had been handed a nutrition bar, Vincent never took one for himself. And during both cooked meals, only a single plate had been made and handed to Scott. Yet he never noticed until he was told. 

That wasn’t the only thing he missed. Now that he thought about it, Vincent hasn’t slept once ever since leaving Earth. Scott had been encouraged to rest, but the bed was never claimed for the purple man to use. Even while on the bigger ship he was told readying the ship was chosen over sleeping. 

What else has he not realized? What else has been staring at him and he just never noticed? 

How is he supposed to get Vincent to tell him? 

One thing that’s clear is the purple man is still as stubborn as ever in not telling others if something’s wrong or if there’s something bothering him. Scott didn’t want to pry considering whatever happened to turn him into a giant didn’t seem like something that would have been a pleasant experience, no matter how it was done for what reason. But if he’s not being told something as important as being unable to eat and potentially not needing to sleep means he needs to ask more questions. 

It’s not to satisfy his curiosity of what happened in those 6 years. It’s not to chase away his guilt for not having noticed something so obvious. It’s to make sure Vincent isn’t depriving himself of something he needs simply because he doesn’t want to worry Scott. 

He’s brought out of his thoughts when Vincent stops walking, Scott running into him with a quiet ‘oof’. The purple man smiles over his shoulder before turning to the merchant with three pairs of arms and glowing red eyes that seem to stare into their soul. 

“Are there any venders here with nonperishables?” 

With a few clicks, Vincent leads them through the crowd, completely focused on the task at hand. He checks behind him to make sure Scott didn’t get lost, but he doesn’t say anything else regarding what he said before. 

Then again, what would there be to say? It had been stated as fact, that Vincent can’t eat for whatever reason. It’s possible there might be caveats, like the purple man can still eat certain things or only at certain times, but he knows what he can and can’t do. Scott doesn’t need to know those kinds of details.

...he would like to understand, though. 

“Are there pros and cons to not eating?” Scott asks. 

He was expecting to either be completely ignored, or getting the question verbally shut down. He had forgotten they were walking around to get supplies for the ship. Meaning when Vincent stops in front of another stall, he runs into the taller again. 

When he looks up after catching his balance, amber eyes are watching him closely, as if searching for something. 

After a moment, Vincent hums. “Pro, I don’t have to worry about meals. Con, I still get certain cravings. Pro and con for being tiny.” 

Scott jolts when the question is turned back toward him, the purple man grinning at his  surprise before turning to the vender. Left to his thoughts as a list of items is given, he realizes just how badly this can go. Because Vincent is the only giant he’s interacted with, meaning his response can reflect on how he feels about his best friend specifically. 

He knows honesty won’t make Vincent legitimately upset, but he knows Scott will overthink it. 

Well, the cons list is about a mile long. He can’t say it’s terrifying, though. He can’t admit it makes him feel insignificant either. And what kind of pros could he think of! 

Vincent snorts as he hikes a bag over his shoulder. “Did I break you, Scotty?” 

Scott attempts to scowl his features into a glare. Decides to take a page out of the purple man’s book. “Pro, nothing can touch me when you’re giant. Con, I feel like I’ll fall at any moment.” 

“It doesn’t help that I’m almost 6 feet tall,” Vincent smirks, turning to lead them to another stall. “You’d be surprised just how much of a difference a few inches make to the height at that scale.” 

“How small am I to you?” Scott asks, admittedly curious even though he has a feeling he won’t like the answer. 

Especially when Vincent is all too happy to lift his hand up. Points to the middle finger the shorter had walked on with his thumb, the same one he was tempted to kick at. “You’re a little over two inches tall. Someone who’s six feet tall lands just below three inches.” 

Lifting up his own hand, Scott tries to imagine holding someone no taller than his thumb. “Pro and con to holding someone.” 

“Pro, you’re easy to pocket. Con, I always have to be aware of my strength.” As a chill runs down his spine from the sneer at talking about pocketing him and the realization just how easy it would be to accidentally hold him too tightly, they’re stopping at another vender. “Pro and con for getting pocketed.” 

Scott can’t help a scowl at that one, though he holds back from chewing Vincent out once he’s done talking. Feels himself tense up when the creature with a hard shell and sharp claws seems to almost spit in anger as it gestures for them to back away. 

“Is something wrong?” he asks. Tenses as his best friend becomes deathly still, meeting the beady white eyes with a steely look. 

After no one moves for a good minute, Vincent turns on his heel, Scott quick to follow. He doesn’t say anything as they make their way through the crowd, only making sure he stays as close to the taller as possible. Doesn’t dare look back in case he’s accidentally left behind. 

“Sorry, Scotty,” the purple man murmurs as he slows his pace down. Sends a look that could kill in the direction they came from before offering a smile. “We’ve got just about everything we need. We can head back to the ship to drop this off, but if you’re up for it, we can take a pathway up directly to the larger market.” 

Scott almost wants to ask what was said at the stall, to know what made Vincent that upset. Enough to warrant such an intensity as well as cutting the run short.

“We can skip the ship and go straight there," he says, pushing the thought away for another time. When he wasn't going to be surrounded by giants.

Vincent turns away from the stalls toward a much quieter tunnel that has a distinct uphill climb. "You didn’t answer my question."

Scott snorts. “Pro, there’s no way you can accidentally drop me. Con, I feel like a forgotten pen.”