Grocery shopping wasn’t usually part of Hans Kareem’s day. But when it came to quality meats and complete silence, he preferred to handle things himself.
Towering, broad, and chiseled from stone, Hans looked completely out of place pushing a shopping cart. His black T-shirt strained over dense muscle, sleeves hugging biceps that could snap necks without effort. His dark beard was thick but neatly shaped, matching the intensity in his eyes behind sleek, silver-framed glasses. A long scar ran from the edge of his left brow to just above his jawline, adding another layer to his air of silent authority.
He didn’t speak unless it was necessary. He didn’t like crowds. He didn’t tolerate disrespect.
And someone had just made a mistake.
Hans was in the refrigerated meats aisle, examining a bone-in ribeye roast when a sudden slam struck his back. The jolt made his arm twitch, though he didn’t stumble—he never stumbled.
A store employee wheeling a pallet of boxes had clipped him hard with the steel frame. The man—late thirties, thick build, bald, with wireless earbuds in—barely slowed down. He didn’t even glance at Hans.
“Jesus, man,” the worker grunted. “Move your ass. Some of us are working.”
Hans didn’t respond immediately.
He simply straightened up.
The worker stopped mid-step when he noticed just who he’d bumped into. His smirk faltered, eyes flicking over the man before him. The towering height. The beard. The glasses. The long scar. The way Hans’ pecs stretched taut across his shirt. Something primal in the man’s brain screamed at him to walk away.
Instead, he scoffed. “You’re standing in the middle of the aisle. Maybe think about—”
Thick fingers curled into the man’s collar and hoisted him up effortlessly off the floor. Boxes crashed behind them. The worker squirmed, red-faced, boots kicking weakly as Hans held him up like a sack of flour.
“You should’ve apologized,” Hans said flatly. His voice was low. Deep. Pakistani accent faint but sharp. “But you kept talking.”
“W-wait, wait—dude, put me—”
With a single flex of his jaw, he opened wide. His lips parted far past human limits, stretching open with a low, inhuman crack.
The worker’s scream echoed for only a second before Hans shoved him in headfirst.
A massive swallow dragged the man’s chest past Hans’ lips. Another gulp sent his torso deep down into the warm, stretching maw. Hans tilted his head back, throat bulging with thick outlines as the adult male slid lower and lower.
Kicking boots flailed out of his mouth.
He clamped his hands around the man’s thighs and shoved—a wet, greedy slurp rang out through the aisle.
Hans exhaled through his nose, jaw snapping back into place with a quiet click. He rubbed his hand down the growing swell of his gut, which bulged outward like a heavy medicine ball, round and alive. Inside, the swallowed man squirmed desperately, yelling curses that were muffled beneath layers of thick muscle and skin.
“Settle down,” Hans muttered, patting the struggling dome. “You’re only making it harder on yourself.”
A shopper turned the corner and froze.
Hans gave them a look over the rim of his glasses. One brow raised. The stranger backed away immediately without a word.
His stomach gurgled deeply—wet, full, the noise vibrating through the aisle. The outline of a hand pushed from the inside, only for Hans to flex his abs tight, pressing it back in.
He casually reached for a pack of steaks and tossed them into his cart. Then two protein bars. Then a gallon of milk.
His belly churned louder, stretching his shirt as it rounded out fully—imprints of a shoe here, a hand there, all desperately shifting inside. Hans only looked down at it with cold amusement.
“Loud for someone who couldn’t say ‘sorry,’” he murmured, slowly rubbing circles over the surface of his stomach with one heavy palm.
The worker inside kicked. Hans responded by giving the side of his belly a short, firm slap.
He continued shopping, belly swaying slightly with each heavy, deliberate step. Shoppers cleared out of his path like he was a goddamn tank.
By the time Hans reached self-checkout, the man inside had quieted down to faint twitching.
Hans scanned his items slowly. Paid in crisp bills
And as he walked out under the gray sky, his gut still round and gurgling, he muttered under his breath:
“You never know who you’re bumping.”
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