okay so this blog is primarily to host and republish older vore stories I wrote and deleted some time ago. i want people to be able to read them, no matter how grotesque some may find it, because i know some people will like it
i wrote a Matt Murdock/Peter Parker scat fic and posted it on ao3, would anyone be interested in reading because i’ll post it here if a majority says yes
a/n -- this story contains anal vore and digestion. please read at your own risk and understand that this is your final warning to click away.
summary -- Pietro finds you passed out on the beach one morning, and what better way to get a free meal than with someone who had a late night?
words -- 2.7k
warnings -- as mentioned above, this story contains anal vore and digestion, as well as mentions of genitalia, but there is no smut. 18+.
~~~
Soft crunches disrupted the flat sand that had been washed over by the tide, baked in the half-risen sun still peeking over the horizon. The heels of his feet kicked up wet mush with each firm step down, little grains sticking like pests.
He wanted to go somewhere warm, somewhere that wasn’t the below-freezing temperatures of New York. A run was a perfect excuse for that, he got to feel the warmth of another city down in the South, and he got to skip out on going to the gym and training with his teammates—the perfect way to hold himself back from making them a morning pre-workout snack. He left his shoes at the line where the grass became sand, and, as far as he knew, he was on the beach by himself. So, he eagerly took everything off and left it lazily laying on the ground for him to scoop up on his way back. It was also a good discipline to have, because, if he went too fast, he would cause a pretty unpleasant sandstorm for anyone on the beach at this hour.
Almost every day, Pietro went somewhere new. The world felt endless to him, he could go anywhere and do anything. The journey was where he got the real workout in, running hundreds of miles in mere seconds, but the slow jog around his destination was where he got to clear his head and think about anything and everything. Sometimes, it was about a close-call on a mission—like the one with Ultron years ago, he still thinks about that one—and, sometimes, it was the most basic shower thoughts on could have. Can they make the worlds fastest treadmill just for him? Do prey in his belly feel move at the same speed as him when he dashes? Or, do they simply remain at a “slower” pace than him? He would have to get Peter to go over the physics, again.
The sun slowly rose, highlighting his figure. Pietro was approaching a bend around the shore, some rocks blocking the view ahead as he rounded it.
Like clockwork, his stomach started to howl. That was the only downside of taking these little trips. In New York, he had a line of people out the door ready to take the literal fast-track into his stomach. He was sure that he had others elsewhere, some people who want to have a meat and eat with him, but the chances of someone being on this beach were slim to none. So, it seemed like he would be traveling home with an empty tank. He promised himself that he would run at least ten miles at a regular speed today, which is more than last week’s eight. Every week, he tried to do more running at the regular, average human speed. This week, he was up to ten miles at a light jog with an additional two mile walk to finish things off. The walk was only a cooldown, though, a reason to stay if he really liked the scenery.
Pietro made the decision to skip the cooldown walk since the beach didn’t really have anything exciting going on, and he was already working up an appetite for something he believed that he could only appease in New York, which was states away. But, his luck appeared to change when he saw something past the bight. It looked like a small beach party had taken place. There was a fizzled out bonfire with the embers still glowing in the blue-yellow hues of the prevailing dawn, collapsible lawn chairs faced the fading fire with two coolers of to the side. He dashed to them both, looking for a snack—empty, except for the melting ice inside and some plastic six-pack rings. The actual beer cans themselves were scattered around the fire, crushed and laying on their side to make it clear to the drunken fools that were here that they had already drank them, just incase they forgot in their inebriated ignorance.
Pietro thought the scene was empty. Maybe the group that was there had gotten scared off by a patroller? Maybe they slipped away further down the beach? He could do a quick dash down the shoreline to see, but as he readied himself, he heard someone shifting in the dune nearby. He looked over and saw you passed out on the beach, face up with an arm covering your eyes. Perfect. He’d already been around the beach for long enough to know that no one was there yet; the parking lot where he left his clothes was empty and the beach was a desolate place for miles. No lifeguards, ways for cars to even get to this part of the beach for miles, and here you were, probably too hungover to fight back.
Even thought the sun was almost risen by this point, just the smallest bit still hiding behind the horizon, two moons loomed over you. You didn’t notice them until he tapped you with the side of his foot, checking to see if you were awake. You heard him approaching, the steps of him getting close, but you must have faded back into your fleeting dream for a moment because you pulled you lifted your arm and saw him above you. Everything in between him checking out your little party last night and him coming closer to you went unseen. He was looking out to the ocean, the same direction your feet faced. Your eyes scanned over his backside again, thick legs standing spread apart to form an upside-down V-shape pointing to the sky. The part where his legs met was rounded off by a fat—yet toned—ass. Even as he was turned away, you could still see his dick and balls from the other side. You had no idea who he was, yet from seeing his sculpted backside, you could already tell that he would be more stunning than the sun reflecting on the water. He was almost like this perfect dream come true, a miracle that he stumbled upon you and with such a gorgeous ass. After your friends had left you to hookup at their place, you needed a ride back and some relief from being in the second-hand exposure to their sexual tension.
It was unlike any other feeling, to wake up in your dream, because that’s what this must have been. The sand didn’t feel irritating or itchy like it would have after laying in it until—fuck, what time was it? Who even was this dude? Maybe this was still a dream, you couldn’t be one-hundred percent sure. If only this stranger with silver hair could do a lot more than pinch you to let you know that you weren’t dreaming, and he did exactly that.
He sunk down with his feet planted on either side of you, making his ass open as it hit your nose. He had done this before with his perfect aim, but you wished that he could have missed just to rub himself over more of your face. He was packing but didn’t bring the full force of himself down. His hole was just grazing the tip of your nose. For a few seconds, you two stayed like that. Blissfully enjoying the salty zephyr along the beach as you could still feel it hitting your face, rustling loose strands of hair from both him and you.
Pietro stopped himself as he squatted down to meet your nose, still balanced on his feet. He had to think about this for a moment; his plan of attack now that he had his prey squarely trapped. He was genuinely surprised that you weren’t asking more questions or shoving him off, as if you could win against him in some way. But then, he remembered how hungry he was, and that this would be just like that time he butt-chugged a ton of beer at one of the Avengers’ parties. If he remembered correctly, this would actually satiate his appetite faster than swallowing them down past his face, and he didn’t have to worry about being recognized by this man either. He would hate to have to awkwardly sign something of yours before packing you away. Thankfully, in just moments it would be him and the beach, all of these thoughts blowing away in the breeze.
Without warning, he fully sat back, pressing all of his weight against your head. His ass blocked the wind from hitting your face, leaving the skin-to-skin contact to form heat rather quickly. It was only uncomfortable for a second, having you face squished and wedged between his huge cheeks—which only seemed to be getting bigger as the last bits of light slipped away from your peripherals, completely out of sight and entrenched in darkness and the forming perspiration of his ass on your face. The sound of the beach faded for a moment before being replaced with something else that sounded equally as wet. The air was harder to stomach, reeking of smells you couldn’t put a name to. In your troubles to stomach the scent of him, you could have sworn that he let out a soft, “Ah.”
That was followed by another shift as he kicked out both legs so they ran down in tandem with the length of your body. Your head may have been trapped between the dune and his ass, and he may have already pinned down your shoulders with his thighs, but your arms were still usable. In an effort to fight back against the man who was sure to suffocate you from this, you started reaching for something to grab. The only issue was that the only thing to take ahold of were fistfuls of sand that just slipped through your fingers, getting you nowhere. Your next thought was to try pushing him off, how hard could it be? The man had a center of gravity and pushing where he placed all of his weight would surely knock him off balance. Your arms moved to where you thought his ass was at, your hands feeling full of the solid yet thick muscle. One, two, three… and push!
Nothing. He didn’t budge. What was this guys secret—superglue? You scaled your hands around the his butt, looking for a spot where you could reach underneath and pushing him upwards since you didn’t have the strength to topple him over. You let your fingers do the observing since you still couldn’t see, or hear for that matter, and moved closer to his crack. You trailed around until you felt his hole, then some hair tufts of sticking out from it, then skin. Your skin, it had to be. Holy shit… you weren’t against the dune at all—you were inside his ass!
Well, for the moment your head was inside of him. The rest still had some fighting power—some autonomy to tell him that you didn’t want this, but you had a feeling that he didn’t really care. You had already tried to fight him off and your body kept trying to do so, knowing where it was inevitably heading. When fighting didn’t work your screamed into nothing, because, to you, it was just a void of gushing wetness. The noises didn’t go beyond Pietro’s stomach, sounding like muffled growls from an active digestive system and nothing more. The pleas and cries you let out were indiscernible from the sound of his bowels happily welcoming home future shit.
Slowly, you slipped in more and more. The only reaction coming from the stranger was a large grunt when it came to your shoulders, with some heaving breathing to slowly and surely drag them in too. This was a nightmare.
It had been almost two hours since he started this jog, so yeah, no one would be getting to see this except him. He was the only person to see you on this beach and your friends would probably think that you got lost or the tide took you with it when you would actually just end up as fuel for a hungry speedster. Pietro wanted to take things slow. Instead of horking down his food and blindsiding his prey before they could even process what had happened, which some may consider to be the more humane option, he wanted to go slow and sensually. He wanted to feel his tight ring conform to every part of your body, all for his own pleasure.
When it came to it, he was a fitness junkie at heart, and naturally disciplining himself on the regular. Pietro could eat the fattiest people around or the most processed snack cakes one after the other and burn them off, but he never considered eating something that really pushed him into the realm of unhealthy. Thankfully, that kind of diet felt far away with the speed he lived life at. And as he felt his hole flex little by little, pulsing out to take impossibly big gulps of it’s food and clamping down to make sure you couldn’t set it back by wiggling or jerking in desperation, he leaned back into the sand where you once were. He was a bit higher up, but the difference was covered by the remaining parts of your body still sticking from his ass and kicking at the sand under your feet. While you weren’t setting yourself free by any means, you also weren’t pushing yourself further into him—so, Pietro saw that as him being nice.
His theory was right, it was like ass-chugging, but with food instead of alcohol. He could already feel himself getting full as you slid through his winding bowels, still a bit away from his stomach. The small of your back was finally journeying into his condensing tunnel, fitting around you like a compressive bodysuit. All this tightness form stretching his ass to envelope you, and as he could feel you filling the space where his heart would sink, deep in his gut, he felt himself finally getting hard. Your own body appeared to do the same, betraying your legs that kicked and fought until they were sucked inside with you.
As a kindness, he lined up your cock just right so it would be pressed against your stomach on the journey into his stomach. Your hips were the last notably thick thing for his sphincter to swallow, leaving an easy pair of legs to finish off.
His ass pushed your feet so that they pointed downwards, and he felt that last of your feet slide in. Your feet did one last futile shift before his hole closed over the very tips of your toes. The ascent up to his stomach was just as excruciatingly slow as the rest of your body, slowly filling and distending his gut until every last bit of you was packed away in the taut compartment. Your body naturally took the shape of a ball from being compressed by his thick stomach walls.
Unfortunately, he could on have so much control over himself. It wasn’t like how he could choose to take a slow jog or swallow you slowly—his gut made quick work of you, the mercy wasn’t up to him. He slapped the side of his gut. “You know, you should be more grateful. If I hadn’t found you, you would have gotten a nasty sunburn.”
“My skin is burning off in here!” Your cried, finally audible from his acidic chamber. You tried pushing your arms in any direction you could, but everything felt impossible to grip from how little there was to take ahold of.
He let out a burp that shook the sand and, if he could life his head to pear past his large gut, probably the ocean, too. “It’s better for you.”
Pietro’s swelling gut blocked the sun from getting in his eyes as he laid in the same position he found you in. He would stay like this, jerk off and doze off… but he already knew how that story ended.
a/n -- this story contains safe, soft oral vore. this serves as your warning for the contents of the story below, please read at your own risk.
summary -- In the cold winter, Bucky does his job as a supportive--and clingy--boyfriend to keep you warm.
words -- 1.9k
warnings -- as mentioned above, this contains oral vore. it is safe and meant to be comforting in this story unlike my other pred/prey stories. Bucky is naked and some comments are made about his cock, but no smut happens. 18+
~~~
It was seven in the morning when your alarm disrupted the peaceful sleep of your big boyfriend. He laid on his back with you sleeping on top of him. His eyes fluttered open, flicking from you to your alarm and then back to you. Slowly, while holding his breath, he ever-so-carefully reached to the nightstand next to your bed and turned off the alarm. You could feel his movements and took a deep breath before speaking, your head never leaving his plump chest.
“Buck, I have to get up.” You buried your head into his chest, your arms still clinging around him. He was so big and filled out your wingspan in the best way. Just the way that you laid on him with the entirety of your weight, not an ounce shifting to anticipate the action of pulling away made you sound less convincing.
He could sense your lazy efforts to depart from him, “Just stay in bed with me. Let’s watch movies all day.”
You pulled away, lifting the covers to let the light in on all of the places where the sun doesn’t shine. It was coming in through the window, shining unusually bright through the drawn, silky black curtains and illuminating all of the curves and folds of Bucky’s naked body. He slept as bare as possible, being comparable to a furnace making a room hot when he was under the sheets, while you had a thin layer of pajama pants and a tee-shirt on. Even his metal arm managed to be warmer than you during some nights, like his own personal radiator receiving and sending heat out in waves under the sheets.
“I wish I could, but we wouldn’t have a bed without money. And we wouldn’t have that without a job.” It was a harsh truth you had to admit, every second of being at work was torture because you knew what awaited you upon your inevitable return—a man who was willing to do anything to be near you. You needed him just as much as he needed you, but you felt like an emotional support animal sometimes—more attentive to his needs than your own. He always talked about getting a cat. That’s how much weight you were willing to give it. You two weren’t really on that level, but he had a strange fascination with putting you in places you didn’t belong. Sit in his lap, roll over in his stomach, stay in his bed.
“Fine, just this once.” He allowed, and then he demanded, “Kiss me.”
You gravitated towards the window, snow covered the ground and now the chill in the room made sense. “Shit. I’ll be back in to get dressed for work.”
You rushed to your shared closet, consisting of two sliding doors with mirrors covering the front. You could see Bucky raising his head at your more serious tone to ask the question: “What’s wrong?”
You laughed at his reaction, unsure if he was actually worried or if he was just mad that he didn’t get any affection. “My car’s covered in snow!”
And so were your feet the second you walked out the door. Dressed in nothing but a loose pair of pajama pants that got caught in the chilly breeze, a short sleeve shirt that made you regret not grabbing gloves, and a pair of chunky snow boots that clashed with the rest of your outfit, your goal was to get this over with as fast as possible. You armed yourself with a multi-faceted snow broom. It had a brush on one end to sweep everything off with a combined handle and ice scraper on the other. With that in hand, you trekked through the snow, rounding the house you and Bucky resided in to clean off your vehicle.
At first, it was easy to maneuver around your car and sweep off the snow clinging to the windows and door handles before raising your arms slightly higher to clear off the hood and the trunk. All of it fell to your feet, feeling like extra weight the longer you stood outside. Soon, your movements became lethargic. Your arms were freezing, the muscles weakening from having to clear the top off last. Your legs felt heavy and the snow at your feet was like thick mud, harder and harder to kick up as minutes passed. Your haphazard attempt to prevent yourself from being late to work started to go sideways because now, you wanted to take your time and conserve the fleeting warmth in your body. You could have gone back inside, but Bucky’s allure—no matter if he was still in bed or streaking around the house—would be too strong. He would distract you, and this weather was the perfect mood-killer for any ideas like that.
But Bucky seemed to come to you as if he knew you need some relief. Even in the cold, he only donned a pair of ankle-high combat boots straight from your closet and nothing else. He had that super-solider advantage, the serum and his time in Russia making him not even flinch as the snowflakes whirling through the air encircled him. Everything from his muscles to his small, developing gut shook a little as he walked. His dick didn’t shrink in the cold like most would, it stayed at its impressive length even while soft. Behind that, his balls swung with him as his thighs pushed his package from side to side with every step.
You could hear his footsteps packing down the snow, eliciting a crunch with each step. Turning towards the noise, you spoke out to him. “Buck, what are you doing out here?”
“I never got my kiss, and I figured that would make you clean this car faster.” Had you really been out here for that long? Maybe you had already spent all of the time you allocated to getting ready to clear off your car. His left hand—the one made of metal—gripped your arm, making you shudder from the added cold. He had a look of concern on his face, “You’re freezing.”
He used his hold on you to turn you away from the car, and your hand had gone numb enough to drop the snow broom to the ground. You didn’t speak, so he continued. “I could warm you up fast, doll? You’ll be wishing it was summer.”
Bucky didn’t wait for any confirmation. His hot breath clouded the air and reminded you of a misty sauna, one where the fog was thick and the walls were a dark mahogany. The only thing that soured the image was Bucky’s morning breath, reminiscent of last night’s dinner with a meaty twinge to it from the saliva. But he could read your face, the features that hadn’t numbed twisted into something short of a positive look. It felt so good in contrast to the cold chill in the air, the smattering of snowflakes on your head and shoulders felt like a nice garnish to him and melted quickly from the heat inside his mouth. His cheeks bulged with your head inside, the hairs of his unshaven scruff spreading away from each other as his skin and jaw stretched impossibly. You wanted more of the warmth, the rest of your body needed to curl up someplace warm. Surely Bucky could help you out after so that you wouldn’t be late to work, this was just a little distraction.
Your mind flew in a million different directions. His lips went over your shoulder blades and you could feel saliva drenching your shirt like the complimentary hot water at a sauna; he intentionally pressed you to the roof of his mouth so your back was coated by the best sauna stone known to man. Your head passed the bottleneck of the whole process, feeling the first of many cases in which you would be encased by warmth—by slick saliva that would never freeze over. He got to your hands, happily stuffing them in and feeling your satisfied sough as they warmed up in his mouth. The rest of your body was slurped up easily, his gulping and swallowing echoing off the quiet outdoors. Then, he reached your feet. He made a point to take off your snow boots and socks to warm up your cold feet, too. He wanted you to be as comfy as possible, to slip away in a heated reverie.
Eventually, you were balled up in his gut, weighing him down without much trouble. You were quiet like the settling snow. Now that you were in his gut, the world decided that it was finally time to stop the onslaught of flurries. Since the snow had stopped, Bucky reached up, using his larger body size and frame to get the top of your car. With his metal arm numb to the frigid element’s remains, he swept off half the snow from the top. Then, he leaned forward, pressing his gut against your car and squeezing you in the process.
“Sorry, babe.” His voice bellowed from above. He grunted, reaching around to get the chunks of snow his initial brushing didn’t reach. A few uncomfortable moments later, you felt his gut sag back down without the solid force of your car to mess with it. He let out a satisfactory sigh. “There.”
“Is my car clean?” You called up, feeling your wet pajamas cling to you, and started to get sick of the heat now that you were all warmed up.
“Yeah.” Bucky stood next to your car, admiring the little work that he did to finish off clearing your car. He spun around to find the snow sweeper you dropped, making you shift around in his gut when he bent down to pick it up. After a few unsuccessful attempts to grab it with his enlarged gut—he almost fell into the snow below him, almost—he just barely grabbed it with the tips of his metal fingers, but that was all he needed to scoop it from off the ground.
You hit against the walls of his stomach. “So, let me out!”
It elicited a belch from him, and he patted his gut. “I’ll let you out… tomorrow. Your boss is going to have to deal with it.”
The big steps he took to walk through the snow were noticeable from within his gut. When he stopped, you assumed that he was back inside, and you heard the soft click of the lock to your front door that you knew all too well. It was the same noise you would hear if you were heading off to work, but now you heard it through a thick layer of fat and stomach lining.
“Buck, I’m serious!” You protested. He kept walking around before sitting down on the couch, your world shifting again as the suspension from his midsection turned into a flat support under you. From the outside, Bucky had spread his legs wide, letting his gut fill out the space where he’d normally tell you to sit or suck or whatever he wanted. He would get to keep you in his gut for the rest of the day, and in his metal hand, he held a steaming cup of hot cocoa that he slowly doused you in whenever he took sips of it. On the television, he had some movie playing that he had been bugging you to watch with him.
“Not my fault you don’t believe in layering clothes…”
a/n -- this story contains vore. specifically, graphic anal vore and digestion. this serves as a warning for those who don't like it/are not into it. continue reading at your own risk.
summary -- Mike calls a friend over to help hang up Christmas lights, but slips off the ladder and lands ass first on their face.
words -- 1.8k
warnings -- As mentioned above, this story contains oral vore and implied digestion.
~~~
It started out as a simple request—help Mike decorate his house for the holidays. He was mainly referring to the outside of his house because it already looked dilapidated from the lack of yard work he was barely able to keep up with, but a fresh layer of snow this morning hid the overgrown grass and what felt like a thicket of weeds. What better way than to compliment the seasonal weather with some bright lights?
When you got there, he and Abby had already covered the interior head-to-toe in snowflakes and snowmen and drawings of those animatronics he talked about in Santa hats that each matched their iconic color. Brown for Freddy, red for Foxy and so on and so forth. The only man you cared about donning anything Santa-related was Mike, who would look absolutely fitting in the suit given his dad-bod and generally positive vibes. He had a tubby belly to complete the look and a laugh that made it shake in a way that was hypnotizing. Not to mention, his thick thighs looked perfect to sit on.
Okay, maybe you stared at your friend more than friends normally do, if they do at all. Maybe that’s why you’re staring down the barrel of a canon, ramrodded with disappointment. Maybe that’s why you’re in the cold staring up at him—getting a full view of his backside as he stood at the top of a ladder.
Multi-colored, Mike wouldn’t budge on it. It was his sibling’s favorites—both Garrett and Abby and luckily enough, Mike’s too. He had a few nails between his lips, pressed into each other to keep them still. The flatheads of the three or so he held slowly disappeared when he needed another one to hammer into the wood between the gutters and the roof.
Every couple minutes or so, he would finish stringing up the lights his width span would let him, to make it easier on you for when he had to climb down and have you move the ladder over a foot or so, only to repeat the process once he was done hanging all that he could reach. It was a process, digging the ladder’s thick metal pegs into the snow so that it wouldn’t teeter and give Mike a broken arm or something worse for Christmas. That’s why he had you close to the ladder, keeping it steady at the bottom while he used his weight to press the top against the part of the roof that jutted a bit out from his house’s walls. You weren’t complaining, though, the view was pretty sweet. And no, you weren’t talking about the tranquility of the snow, you could only focus on the man making a cacophony of grunts and taking sharp breaths in the cold. Soft curses flew out of his mouth as he handled the end of a strand of lights. The spot where he had to hammer in a nail was just out of reach.
He started to lean, reaching farther than his body would allow. But it was just this little bit left, then he could start on a new strand. Why move the ladder for such a minuscule amount of work? He couldn’t hold a ball of lights and hang up the last bit, not with a hammer and nail to use, so he pushed on, even daring himself to stand on one foot just to get the extra reach.
“Careful, Mike.” You warned, gripping the ladder a little tighter.
It was almost expected for Mike to fall, because he did seconds later. What wasn’t expected was that there was no loud clattering of the ladder, no sound of Mike’s body hitting the snow, and no grunts of pain that would ensue. No sounds of a broken or sprained limb and a complaint that you would have to play doctor and patch him up. None of that, just the sound of fabric tearing and a brief sound of snow falling off the roof. Something came from above and obscured your view, turning everything dark like the way nights started early in the winter, only you were sure that it was around two in the afternoon. Your hold on the ladder meant that you had something to keep yourself upright, the heavy force trying its hardest to bring you down didn’t win. But, if you weren’t going to give in to the motions, something else would have to. And there you were, thrust into warmth, almost burning because of how long you had been in the below-freezing outdoors. You had no idea what had happened, your sight rendered useless because it was pitch black. The sounds were foreign but wet slurps echoed in your ears like you were squeezing your way through a warm gulch. That only confused you more, but Mike had a clear view of everything from the outside.
When he fell, he was astonished to find his ass didn’t hit the cold snow. He mentally prepared himself to waddle back into the house to get a change of clothes for himself, and possibly you, from how wet he would be. Yet, he opened his eyes to see that he hadn’t even touched the ground, unlike his light-hanging tools. He came into contact with something else, something sturdier than the ladder he was on—you. Not only that, but he damn near extended his head by engulfing your head into his ass, adding an extra number of feet to his height.
Oh, no. He didn’t mean for this to happen—he didn’t even think that it would happen with a dual layer of sweatpants and boxers! The thick fabric should have helped prevent this, being more than hard enough to rip with bare hands let alone the forces of gravity. The feeling was far from new, but he didn’t know how to control the extra limbs he now co-piloted. When he ate someone like this, he was never in this position. The imbalance sent him forward onto the ladder, still standing. He was able to get a hold on the steps and stand as he had at the very top, just a few steps lower than before. He turned back and saw that you were still on your feet, so there was nothing pushing you in and nothing pushing you out.
Mike tried to talk himself up to it. He was your friend, and sure, he planned to get around eating you at some point, preferably when he was better off in life. He had you babysitting Abby on the regular, cooking for him because he was “too tired and hungry” to focus on doing it, and even persuaded you to cover some of the bills when he was between jobs. Deep down, he appreciated everything you did and you deserved to have a slip-up, a mistake. A one-time thing where you and he had an encounter like this and never talked about it again. You could back to sharing a beer with him on the couch and watching trashy late-night gameshows. But, he was your friend. He shouldn’t have put you in a position where this would be a risk, and in all fairness, he didn’t plan for it to happen. Mike knew that you would chew his ear off for this, and there would be an inevitable talk where you scolded him for not telling you sooner about this side of him. Besides, he was doing you a favor. He caught you looking at him more than once, and he was pretty sure you were eyeing him up today during all of this. Better sooner than later, he figured.
Mike took a breath, then stepped off the ladder, fully pressing his weight down on you as you kept your hold on what you were certain would keep you steady. It was all you had to hold on to, too scared to see what had entrenched your head in a smelly and wet trench. You felt it move, sliding down past your shoulders until whatever it was wrapped around your chest. The thing swallowing you opened slightly, then pressed down on a lower part of your chest, squeezing some of the air out of you as it kept moving. Your heart sank, knowing that your situation was only worsening and Mike didn’t seem to be doing much to help you. Maybe he had passed out, or was hanging off the roof? Both of those options sounded silly, though. While you could feel yourself getting sent deeper into the tunnels of wherever you were, you tried to figure out what exactly happened. Mike fell and then… you were here, inside of something. Something warm and wet and… holy shit. You were in Mike’s shitter. Given the weather, this was the only logical explanation.
It was too little, too late for you. By the time you had come to this conclusion, Mike’s ass had sucked you in down to your waist, making your devourer look like an arachnid with his four legs and two arms. Your head was being turned left and right and up and down and stopped the resistance of a tight hole at the end of your trails. The heat radiating from it felt deadly compared to the initial feeling of Mike’s hairy ass hitting your face. His ass reminded you of the fire from a fireplace, but this heat was from sticking your hand right in the fire. You had nowhere else to put it, though, reaching forward—just like he had—into this tight sphincter to try and find an exit out. Little did you know, this was the processing plant that converted you into the thing you needed to be to leave. Santa wouldn’t deliver presents without wrapping them first, right? Well, you wouldn’t be leaving until you were less identifiable in Mike’s stomach.
Mike’s cheeks felt the cold snow as he got to your boots. Those would not be fun to digest, but it was on him for not thinking a few steps ahead in this plan. He’ll admit that, he has some humility. It wasn’t unusual for him to have things end a bit messy, with an inconsistent schedule and piling responsibilities, but at least one of the things occupying such a big spot in the mental list of his head would become a pile of shit. He didn’t need a plan to know that he would dump you in the snow, shoveling more slush over it to hide his own dirty brown sludge and any remnants of your clothes.
Steve Harrington x Prey!Male!Reader; Anal and Oral Vore.
a/n -- as mentioned above, this story contains vore. specifically graphic anal and oral vore and digestion. this serves as a warning for those who don't like it/are not into it. continue reading at your own risk.
summary -- Steve befriends a less popular student, hijinks and exploitation ensue.
words -- 4.4k
warnings -- Again, there is anal vore (shoving someone up the ass), oral vore, and digestion. Steve eats you and someone else, but not at the same time. Manipulative!Steve, 18+
~~~
The men in Hawkins all think that Steve “the slut” Harrington got his reputation, and more importantly, his ass, from being himself. Genetics and the way he was raised to constantly please everyone around him were the two ways he became who he was, but it simply wasn’t true. When he checked himself out in mirrors, people thought it was because he spent hours on his hair and body to be the best that he could be. It took a lot to sell himself to the other jocks with girlfriends, or the men too prude to feel their body touch another man’s.
No, if you went to school with him, you knew the morbid truth. Steve walked the school halls with a confidence he didn’t possess anywhere else. Some people talked about going to the police—maybe running by the chief since he was a big guy, surely he had packed away some teenage dickheads in that gut and lied to the parents about what happened, right? It would solve a lot of fear that ran through the school. He was untouchable in the halls, classroom, and everywhere his presence needed him to be. Everyone knew better than to knock him around in the bathroom if they caught him checking out his khaki-clad ass, because they could become apart of it in just the short minutes they had between classes. And dreading the time between classes would be better than dreading your mistakes between Harrington’s hairy cheeks. So, they kept moving forward, taking glimpses of it, admitting to themselves silently that they would tap that if it didn’t come with a risk.
Who could blame them? Steve stretched out his jeans so much in the back the it made his from bulge too. He could have worn a size down, but It didn’t make his ass look any less fat.
Even his little posse of cool kids got feared by extension simply for knowing Steve. That’s how you saw your in—your way of avoiding the predators lower on the food chain than Steve, and being safe from the only one that would still remain a threat after the rest were cleared. The only issue was that you needed a reason to get close to him without it being obvious. Just sitting at his lunch table or the rumor you were hanging out with him after school would be enough, but the rumors you want to hear getting spread about you only seem to happen when they’re true.
The opportunity arose early into the school year when your history teacher paired the two of you together for a group project. It was pretty simple, but Steve already seemed to be falling behind in the class as you heard him complain about it several times to Tommy in the bathrooms as he disposed of another classmate, forcing Tommy to stand outside by the stall and listen to him drone on about it between a series of grunts and groans as he pushed out partially-digested human bone. Circumstantially, you came to the conclusion that Steve only ever targeted men, but you had to be safe from that list.
“Hey!” He greeted you like the two of you were old friends. In reality, you hadn’t spoken to him once besides a random interaction in passing in the bathroom, where he asked if he had any hair stuck in his teeth. He made some remark and exited the restroom, but you never thought much of that either. Maybe there was some kind of fondness he shared for you—a sign that you would have less work to do to earn a spot next to him?
You greeted him in return, but with a much more confused niceness than him.
“Don’t be like that, dude. I’ve seen you around, you know?” He said. “Loosen up a little, I don’t bite.”
You let go of a breath you felt like you needed to cling to. Steve could take everything and anything he wanted, almost in a hypnotic fashion. The teacher set down a paper on your desk, then his. It was a detailed outline of project topics, and a rubric that broke down how the project would be graded.
You had to ask the million-dollar question, feeling like you already knew the answer, “How are we dividing this up?”
“That’s kind of the thing, I’m a pretty busy guy. I have the swim team and baseball and being popular is this whole thing, you’d hate it.”
Was this your chance to bring something up? A way to weasel into his group for your own self-preservation? You tried to lie. The last thing someone wants to do is invite a total loser to a place they don’t belong. “Yeah, I bet. I used to be a hardcore partier but… school got in the way.”
“You wanna come over to my place? Parents are gone and usually me, Tommy, and some chicks hang out when they leave. We got a pool, it’s pretty fucking sweet.”
For the rest of the class, you and Steve had a natural banter going that made you realize he was more than his mythos. The arbitrary things that define him as a predator felt less intimidating because he was almost just like you—he had his own dreams of being a professional athlete or businessman or, what you thought the was the most ridiculous, to start a world-renown babysitting service. It felt surprisingly humane that he wanted to do things that help people, the same guy that also crammed someone from your high school into his stomach almost every day, effectively shrinking the class of ’85. You shared things with him, too, but you really let him run his mouth in an attempt to prove that you would do anything for his approval without making it blatantly obvious.
Thankfully, it was Friday, so your parents didn’t question much about where you were off to. You car came to a slow roll next to another one in Steve’s driveway, his house feeling like it was ahead of its time and his car felt better than yours by comparison. Almost everything screamed that he was living better than you because he deserved it—and maybe he did.
The steps taken up to his large front door were slow and full of hesitance. You had no idea what would and could unfold once you stepped inside. Your hand colliding with his front door felt even slower than it actually was—the knock soft and undemanding, as if someone could leave you out in the cold November night for as long as they pleased. When it came to Steve, you were ready to abandon all sense of having a backbone to support yourself, so you would wait it out until someone answered the door.
The door opened moments after you finished knocking, Steve’s arrogant face revealing itself as he opened the door inwards. He greeted you with your name, followed by, “So glad you could make it!”
“No booze? Shame, too bad I have more than I know what to do with!” He laughed, ushering you inside and shutting the door eagerly.
“Everyone’s out back already.” By everyone, you realized that he meant five or so people that you barely knew, only knowing them from their face being familiar as you likely passed it in the hall. Tina, Tommy, Carol, and some other girls you couldn’t name. This was sure to be an awkward night.
Some time passed and Steve was circling the pool and checking up on everyone, being a surprisingly nice host to all of his houseguests. “Beer? Soda? Snacks?”
Carol strolled out from the house through the sliding glass door with a pouty lip as if she could read his mind, “Steve, you’re all out of snacks!”
“Anyone else hungry? I know I could go for some pizza.” He chuckled, a smile on his face that looked almost primal. He rubbed his stomach, his hand shifting the green long sleeve he was wearing.
About twenty minutes after Tommy called with an order for three or four pizzas—you were a little too buzzed to remember all of the details, only sure of the fact that he cursed out the person on the other end of the phone and hung up—did the pizza finally arrive. Normally, you would have scolded someone for doing that, but you laughed it off. To fit in, to be a part of them, you had to remind yourself when things got too tough to stomach. The buzz from the alcohol made it easier to tolerate.
Besides, they had their chance to tip the driver extra-well for the business on the phone, and you were following Steve and Tommy to the door with some extra cash you brought in hand just in case they wanted to stiff the guy of his tip. Tommy opened the door, greeting the guy with a slur in his speech. He took the pizza, then Steve moved him out of the way to pay. To your horror, Steve moved closer to the guy, his mouth unhinging with great elasticity as he went straight for the delivery guy’s open hand as he waited for some kind of cash to hit it. It never did, only the wet and warm cavern of Steve’s mouth enveloping it with ease. The man looked to stunned to react, or maybe it was nearing the end of his shift and he was too tired to process it in time, because he went to pull away from Steve only to no avail. He didn’t even try to fight your hungry peer as Steve slurped down more of his arm.
Tommy seemed to know the drill, as he guided the two inside and shut the front door rather quickly so that the neighbors wouldn’t see immediately after setting the pizza down on the entryway. The guy had practically no fighting chance as Steve was up to the man’s shoulder, his arm stretching out Steve’s throat and making a bulge through the green of his jumper. Visible signs of panic shone through the fabric as the man started to try and wiggle his arm out, the shifting visible from outside of Steve’s stomach. Steve had started at an awkward position, straining and stretching his jaw as wide a possible to fit the mans head and other should past his lips, feeling as if it were going to tear him apart. He wouldn’t always call his meals a pleasure to eat, because they weren’t. Yet, the taste of sweat and a hard day at work made him want to finish this man off with his clothes on for that extra flavor and texture.
The foyer of his house echoed with the sounds of vigorous gulps and the occasional muffled screams coming from Steve’s not-so-soundproof inner body. Steve ended off the man with a final gulp, trapping him behind his picture-perfectly plump lips. Tommy and you watched it happen with a silent agreement to not speak about it as a singular shoe fell from Steve’s mouth and on to the floor, the other one presumably still on the guy’s foot and traveling with the man as it was the last of him to enter Steve’s growing gut.
“I got one shoe undone with my mouth.” He laughed, hiccuping after speaking from either being shitfaced or either eating his food too fast. It was like some twisted version of when people tie a cherry stem with their tongue. “Tommy, mind taking the pizza out to those hungry ladies? I’m sure they’d love for you to work our magic.”
“Yeah, dude.” Tommy took the pizza and went out back, leaving you and Steve in an increasingly uncomfortable silence. That was, until Steve broke it.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he said, taking big steps as he carried his sagging gut with him.
“Will anyone notice… that you’re uh… not outside?” You asked, trying to find something to say while living through a series of things that your mind couldn’t process. You heard everything about predators except seeing them in action. Home videos were the only recorded proof and Polaroids were the only easily distributable source, but both lacked the advanced quality to really set in how real it all felt.
Steve waved off your concerns as he used the guard railing to help himself up the stairs, “Nah, man. Tommy’ll keep them occupied for hours.”
You followed close behind him to somehow catch him if he fell. Even if you couldn’t actually stop him from falling, it was the thought that counts. His fat ass managed to be the only thing in your line of site, filling out his dark blue jeans to the point where you wouldn’t react if they split down they middle. You almost wished that they did, if you didn’t know that another layer of your own safety would be gone with them as he trailed up the steps.
Once Steve reached the top, he maneuvered himself into his bedroom, stumbling and wobbling until he crashed onto his bed. You followed behind him and got a glimpse at the King of Hawkins High’s room, and it was the most generic thing you had seen for a guy with a prestigious rapport like him. The walls were bare and bland yet they featured the occasional poster for a major-league baseball player or Olympic swimmer and a framed photo on the same wall as a window that overlooked the pool. His furniture was kind of bland, too. A dresser with neatly tucked away clothes, a desk that probably went unused unless he was jacking off in the chair slotted into it, and the bed he had already taken up in its entirety. His stomach had flattened out as he leaned back, messing up some of his meticulously modeled hair, and causing it to look less round than it did when he carried himself upstairs.
“Holy shit, this guy’s a kicker.” He marveled, half-groaning and half-whining at the feeling of tightness that the big guy made his stomach feel like. “Sometimes, I like to lay down when I have this big of a big gut, dude. I could use some help with him…”
Steve lifted up his shirt to his chest, revealing his gut with tracings of hair on it. His happy trail started out as a dark and thick forest, some of his pubes peeking out over the hem of his boxers and jeans and going all the way to the center of his doming core. He had some thick chest hair, too, but you only saw a glimpse of it as you took a seat next to him on the bed. He trusted you to handle his paunch with care, and you did. Your hands played with his middle like a baker working the lumps out of dough. His gut may have felt like concrete in some areas from the literal human bone and appendages it was wrapped around, but you noticed that the longer you worked over each lump, the more they started to break. The food inside had stopped its pleading and begging to be free. Steve had helped you see that this guy was just like the pizza everyone was eating downstairs, and that he provided the same nutrients and fulfillment as eating an entire pizza in one sitting.
But, something inside you made you ask another question that burned in the back of your throat. The alcohol helped it come out a little smoother, “Do you ever think about their dreams?”
“Do I think about their dreams?” Steve asked, not understanding the question.
“You know, like what they wanted to do in life. I’m sure this guy didn’t expect to get eaten tonight of all nights.” You said, rubbing your hands over the softening mass from the outside.
Steve let out a loud burp before answering you, a product of the pressure you applied to his ball-gut, “No one ever thinks they’re gonna die, dude. Not until it actually happens to someone they know or someone they care about or they know they’re gonna die.”
You didn’t know what to say. Steve’s head must have been clearing up from the daze of foggy alcohol-induced logic thanks to the fact that he had finally eaten something, and he continue to speak, “Do you have any dreams? You seem like a smart guy.”
“I want to do something to help people some day, not sure what, though.” You replied, coaxing another burp from Steve while your hands squeezed and massaged parts of his belly.
The rest of the night rolled on without much issue. You helped Steve process the big hunk of meat he swallowed and by the time both of you came downstairs to rejoin the party, everyone had left. Steve figured it best to walk you out to your car for all of your troubles.
“It was good seeing you, dude. You were a good addition to tonight.” He praised you, the remnants of his living meal now hanging low on his stomach as it protruded from under the hem of his shirt and hung over the waist of his jeans. Your feet kicked at the larger chunks of rock sticking out from his gravel driveway.
“Thanks, Steve.” You said, smiling at him. You started to genuinely see his growth from a man-pounding—both where he fucked them and pounded them back like they were nothing—heartless creature, into something that resembled a decent person. He still had made bad choices, but who doesn’t end the hopes and dreams of highschoolers and random people just doing their job from time-to-time?
“No problem—and, hey! Don’t forget about the project this weekend. Make sure my name’s on everything.” He reminded, and you nodded as he spoke to show that you were attentive as ever.
“Will do.” You gave him a fake salute and gestured a quick goodbye, heading for your car. Doing this project by yourself would probably take up the whole weekend, but it was worth it if your reputation got boosted by the Steve Harrington. You got in your car and drove home.
The project only took a day to finish, and you were happy to enjoy Sunday without much issue. You were almost excited to see Steve the next day, because your whole view of him had shifted.
It was second period, two classes before you got to see Steve and lunch with him was right after that. Maybe he would let you sit at his table this week, and hopefully, ever week after that. Thinking about seeing him must have sent the universe a message, because, when you excused yourself to use the bathroom during second period, Steve was facing a urinal. It was unmistakably him, from his style to the outline of his perfect hair. He must have heard you coming walking in because he flushed the urinal and turned with excitement.
“There he is! Got that project done, right?” Steve approached you, walking past you to wash his hands
“Yeah, it’s in my bag. I just came from Misses Danster’s class. Uh, we could meet in the—” You tried to explain, but Steve cut you off quickly.
“Sweet, Tommy’s in that class, yeah? I’ll tell him to get it from your bag.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion, “I can just give it to you directly?”
“Yeah, well… it’ll be kind of hard to do that from where you’ll be,” Steve remarked grabbing a few paper towels to dry his hands.
You had yet to move from your spot in the bathroom, even though you were near the exit, “What do you mean?”
Steve had that same look in his eye from the party—predatory, hungry. “I think you know.”
You wanted to run, but what if he caught up to you? No one would help you, they’d be too freaked out that Steve would come for them next. There was a rumor circulating that Steve could fit more than one guy in his stomach at a time, and you didn’t want to cause the downfall of someone else. At least, if you were in his gut by yourself, you could plead or make your case like you planned to before you even ventured into depths.
“Steve, please. I’ll do all of your homework, whatever you need.” Yeah, you were painfully desperate. He didn’t care. Steve came up to you and backed your up against the white brick wall.
“It’s one class and it’s only a semester long.” He said, not really caring for your offer. “Every guy here would offer that, but you can really give me something special.”
You thought he was going to open his jaw in the same way he had done to welcome the pizza guy into his last stop, but he moved away from you. For a second, you thought he spared you with some twisted tradeoff like sex or something even worse, but nothing fatally dangerous. But, that hope only lasted second as you heard his belt being undone. His khakis fell down to his ankles and you noticed that he hadn’t even bothered to wear underwear like he planned this. Steve’s tucked-in striped polo shirt was now flowing freely.
That silent agreement returned, and you knew exactly what to do. You got on your knees, still refusing to believe that this was real. Steve waddled over, careful to keep his clean clothes of the bathroom floor, but he had no problem making you kneel down on the gross tile. He turned around, and the last thing you saw of Steve from the outside were his hairy cheeks moving closer to you. You felt like how you did at the party, reminded of his status as a predator but with a great deal of fear filling your head. His ass was swirling in your head, and now it was wrapped around you in seconds. He started dragging you across the tile, your head already deep enough to where you couldn’t pull away, even if he was pulling you with him.
“Fuck, you make my ass look fat.” He said, scrunching his face up and squeezing himself further down until he was stretched wide enough to take in your shoulders. He stopped just as he felt your collar bone slide into his ass.
Steve turned to look back in the mirror, dragging your body around without care as he faced his back to the school bathroom mirror, turning around to see how you made his ass even fatter. He grabbed and groped his cheeks, pulling them apart to see his hole circling your shoulder blades. He jiggled and bounced them, thinking about how you would make them even more thick and juicy—better for the next victim he wanted to tease and lure in.
From there, the slide down was easy. Steve watched himself in the mirror as he sat back and squeezed and clenched his ass to take more of you into him. He was already sick of you after a few minutes of having you sit idle in his ass, which was already a much needed upgrade from your unremarkable interactions with him. To Steve, talking to you was a chore. Remembering your name was a chore too—fuck, who was he even eating? His memory of Friday was blurry, and so was your face. Every time he tried to think back to the people he invited over, he struggled to recall you even being there. He made a mental note to make sure to erase your name from the project while he was at it and spin some story about how you ditched him to go party while he stayed inside the entire weekend working tirelessly to make sure it was done on time—why would you need the credit when you’d continue your school days as ass fat, anyways?
Steve checked himself out in the mirror again, flexing the upper body muscles he did have while his ass was in use. He was down to your waist, making good time of the bathroom break he was on. He would probably be returning to the bathroom during the period you had a class together to finish off your memory and forget about you. Steve winced, feeling your cock and balls and ass get dominated by his as they all were consumed by his greedy ass.
“No jerking off in there, okay?” He said, making sure that you found no pleasure in being constricted and given a full-body massage by his insides. There was only so much he could do, so he resorted to degradation to make it miserable. “Just think of all the people you’re gonna help by helping me grow this bod.”
Steve just couldn’t pull himself away from the mirror, he backed up as far back as he could to fit all of his body into the metallic frame. He didn’t even bother watching the rest of you slip away into his ass, feeling the pleasure of you slide in as fast he could force you in. He didn’t have time to sit around and take things slow, because he had to eat you and then digest you; what a nuisance you were. Steve would end up using the remainder of the period to let his stomach shrink back into a reasonable size—one that stretched his shirt out to show off his meal but also one that let him fit into the space between the desks and chairs in class. His pants were much tighter now that you had been broken down into nothing but body fat, and he couldn’t be more happy of the way his ass looked strutting past the mirrors and to the exit. There wasn’t a trace left of you in the bathroom except for in Steve’s fleeting memory, who was already forgetting the encounter in the same way someone would forget what they ate for breakfast.
Steve walked out of the bathroom with a new layer of fat on his ass—you. You were right, you would be sitting with him at lunch, smushed against the plastic high-back chairs as he sat with his actual friends.
a/n -- as mentioned above, this story contains vore. specifically graphic anal vore and digestion. this serves as a warning for those who don't like it/are not into it. continue reading at your own risk. this is written with the intention of being movie!Nathan x male!prey!reader, but I believe you can read it as any gender and either version of Nathan, be it game or movie version, and it will still function (I think, don't quote me on that)
summary -- Nate breaks into your house to steal your valuables, but he isn't fast enough and can't leave any witnesses behind...
words -- 3.3k
warnings -- Again, there is anal vore (shoving someone up the ass) and digestion. 18+, no smut really besides the mention that Nate is getting aroused by this. Use of unorthodox objects as buttplugs. Object vore.
~~~
“He’s gone… let’s go,” a whispering voice echoes from behind the cover of freshly-trimmed shrubs. Two figures stand at the back of your house, watching you leave through the grand French doors in the front. Nathan gave a nod to his accomplice, and they snuck their way inside…
Inside, that’s all you could think about as your car rolled past the gates of your country house. Big, bold, stunning, all of that described the man you had seemingly struck gold with. He was perfect, inside and out. A gentleman, he offered to drive you to and from the restaurant since you would be the one paying. Now, he was planning to take you to eat out in a different way. There was a silent agreement over dinner about who was who—you, the ass man; him, whatever you needed him to be.
The engine shut off as he turned the key and pulled it out. You could feel his stubble against your chin as he eagerly pulled you in for a kiss, refusing to let you even unbuckle your seatbelt in the time it took him between those two actions. The passion was fierce, so much so that you could have left the pleasures of the Californian King in your bedroom to have sex right here, right now in your car. You’d take the leather seats becoming slick with sweat as he drilled into you, but there was also this fear of feeling like a fish in a glass bowl. Anyone could be beyond the tree line surrounding your house, watching you at your most intimate. Hidden in the dark, they encircle you like something hungry. You needed to go inside, to feel safer. To put anything other than the man in front of you in the rearview mirror.
Each step to your double-front-door felt light, like the next step would send you into orbit. But you were already close to the sun, the light of your life and affected by the man who gave you a smile so bright that even a sunset couldn’t dim the gleam on your teeth. He snaked a hand around your waist, smoothly slipping his hand into your pocket and fishing out the keys while he distracted you with a kiss. He retrieved them and pulled away to unlock the door, but stopped short when there were just one too many keys on the ring for him to remember which undid the lock on your front door. You laughed and took the set of keys from him, positioning yourself in front of him to get the damned thing stopping you from having sex out of the way. The only issue was that your door seemed to already be unlocked.
“What the hell?” You remarked as the door swung open. The lock didn’t seem to be busted, and the handle was still on tight, only moving in the ways that mattered. You made sure of it by jiggling it back and forth while your palm was still wrapped around it.
Using it to shove the rest of the door out of the way, you slowly stepped inside. It felt like a ghost haunting. You took a look around the corner and behind the door, waiting for some kind of surprise. There was a moment of hesitance as you thought about searching the rest of your house, because someone was definitely in here. Unfamiliar, the layout of your house feeling foreign. Then, a noise came from upstairs. A drumming thud from the floor above you—right about where your bedroom would be, you surmised.Must have been on heavy ghost to make a noise like that.
In lieu of speaking, you nodded to the kitchen. Your date seemed to be a step ahead because he made a motion with his hand that mimicked some sort of stabbing, like he planned to defend himself with a kitchen knife. You gave him a thumbs up, almost smiling at the fact that this was one hell of a way to push your adrenaline even higher. Wishful thinking lead you to believe that you made this all up—you forgot to lock the door, and, by chance, your body was playing into the creepiness of it to heighten the inevitable sex you would be having. Just a quick sweep of the house, and if there was a thief hiding away in a closet, they were bound to hear and see the best sex of their life.
“Nate! They’re pulling in. Get your ass out here!” A voice spoke into the piece in Nate’s ear, packed with layers of smoke and a faint noise sounded like he was already lighting a cigar on his end.
Nate spoke with ignorant assuredness, “Sully, it’s almost done. I’ll grab everything inside and make a run for it.”
“Kid, you’ll have no time to make a run for it. They’re already here.” Sully said it in that voice Nate couldn’t stand. He was more than just a kid—he had packed away multiple men, some twice his size. If Sully kept on talking like this, he’d be joining them. “I tried to leave the front unlocked for ya in case they noticed the damage we did around back, but that looks like a shitty way out now.”
Nate sighed to himself and muted his receiver, effectively cutting off Sully’s angry whispers and warnings. If he had kept his partner-in-crime on the line, he would have heard his warnings that the people they were robbing had come home and were eager to head to the bedroom—right where Nate was in the middle of committing a few felonies and maybe a misdemeanor if the court sentencing them was feeling generous.
Just one turn to the left and—fuck yes! The safe Nate had been working on for the past hour finally popped open, revealing a wealth of jewelry and priceless heirlooms, all made of varying karats alike. Diamond, silver, gold… Nate hit the jackpot. He scooped up the treasures in his arms, having run out of pockets from stashing some sterling silver utensils from the glass cabinet downstairs and a few necklaces from your jewelry box in the bathroom. Some of it would be useful in finding an old family fortune, the rest would be taken to the nearest pawn shop to cover his own needs. He could already see the prestigious hotels he had lined up in his mind to stay at as he traveled around looking for an old world’s estate, all with endless buffets of locals and the sort. Sully by his side to dump his loads in, it all sounded like a perfect dream…
“Shit!” And that’s all it would ever be. Nate slipped out a few profanities as his hand fumbled the gold pendant in his hands. His reflections in the myriad of Colombian emeralds embezzled in it taunted him from below as he just stared at it in complete silence. His face scrunched up and he mouthed a few silent profanities since he couldn’t do much else. It had made a noise just slightly too loud to feel good about the outcome of whatever was about to unfold. Nate hoped that, after a second of silence, you hadn’t heard hit crucial mistake. But then he heard the slow steps of someone ascending the stairs.
Your first thought was to check the bedroom. Not only did the sound come from what you thought was your room, but you had also hidden a few extra valuables in your safe just in case your date turned out to be a crook. A predator that planned to dine and dash from your house, that’s what he could have been. At least, if you were going to get eaten, it stopped him from reaping most of the benefits. That meant that everything priceless you owned was practically all in one place for someone to steal, and the better chance you had to corner them if they got to your bedroom before you did.
You passed through the tall doorway and into the much taller room, flicking on the light to let anyone in the room know that they were caught red-handed. The plafond was quite high up, rafters spanning the walls just under it for some decoration. It made just the perfect thing for Nate to cling on to and shimmy across in hopes of making it to the door while you were distracted. You were quick with your movements, though, and Nate left more of a mess than he thought in his frustration to crack your safe open. Clothes were lazily thrown onto your bed, clearing the way for the safe tucked in the very back of your closet—that was your first clue that the thief, or thieves, were gone to the wind. So you dashed over to the phone. The more people out here searching the surrounding area, the more likely you would lose less of the artifacts your family entrusted you with. Nate’s eyes were faster than your movement, and he could see the house phone sitting on the desk opposite to the side of the room that leveed itself for your clothes.
At that moment, he had to make a choice. A plan of action. Each breath taken was another one where he risked you looking up just enough to see him hanging there, but if he made a break for the window, he also risked putting himself in plain sight. The way out into the hall felt like less and less of a viable option every second because Sully pointed out that you came in with someone else. He didn’t hear anyone else’s footsteps on the stairs so that only made the entire first floor an unknown risk. Nate couldn’t choose to put up a fight—he couldn’t! He’d lose the bigger things he was trying to rob you of, and if he got away, you would never forget a charming face like his.
Nate slowly dropped each of the big ticket valuables in his arm onto your bed, a soft thud disrupting the silence and pace of your footsteps. You turned and watched another one fall, then another, and another. Your stomach fell faster than the items falling from the ceiling—the thief was right above you. Looking up, your world immediately became much darker as a mass from the ceiling came hurling down at you. It was like the entire ceiling had crumbled in, without the dust and itchiness of fiberglass and inevitable rubble. The weight felt crushing but smooth, a little warm, even. It was enough to make your balance feel off, like you wanted to stumble but the thing above you kept your legs motionless. Somehow, you were still standing, so the thought of your house falling to pieces was a thought far away as something more immediate came to fruition. He must have been eating you.
Grunts of satisfaction—almost relief were faintly heard from above you. It definitely wasn’t his mouth that was doing the swallowing, that’s for sure. You replayed the moment in your head, knowing that there was little to do in the way of struggling. Gravity was quick to fill in the rest of Nate’s slowed momentum after his descent onto you. What must come down must keep going down—Nate had learned that the hard way a few times himself, but he was giving you an upfront lecture on the topic. That meant that your head—from crown to chin—was in him in seconds as well as everything to the line of your clavicle shortly after.
You could feel him resting on your shoulders like some fucked up piggyback ride, his legs dangling over your chest. Nate was impressed with himself, smirking and biting his lip at the pleasure of his accurate aim. Wielding pistols gave him a pretty good line of sight for almost everything else—from the beer pong he played with Sully to now, where he needed it to save his own ass. And he was doing more than just saving it here, he was rewarding it for the weapon that it was.
It was easy to think about the people Nate held at gunpoint—fuck, why didn’t he do it like this? To get everything he ever wanted and more with a delicious dinner as a cherry on top. Maybe it’s because you went down so easily. When he kicked people off planes in the past, he couldn’t actually make sure that they wouldn’t be a problem in the future. Nate was a testament to surviving the impossible, so maybe he could run a new heist method by Sully, and if he said no…
Nate’s head returned back to his train of thought, his ass chugging you down with ease as he slipped further down your body. He hated that he couldn’t relieve himself while doing this. His dick sprung up but Nate had to refrain from enjoying any of this. He couldn’t just leave DNA evidence behind, that would just be sloppy!
He tried to let his mind run wild with thoughts he couldn’t act on. If he could channel it out somehow, long enough to swallow you up and flee, he would be leaving the cops and your date amiss for answers. He thought about how he was stealing every inch of you away, to never be seen by anyone or anything again. Nate could think about every way he’s massively impacting just one guy by digesting you until you were nothing like how you went in, but at the end of the day, he was robbing you of everything you aspired to be. All the potential people you could help with your wealth meant nothing. Money couldn’t save you. You’re date naively searching the floor below couldn’t save you with a kitchen knife. This was the kind of force and movement that signaled Nate needed to get a job done, not sit around and think about sparing your life.
The last bit—your legs, narrowing towards your feet—slid in suddenly. Nate was too heavy as is, and with your weight piling inside him, he practically fell down the rest of his way. He fell on his ass, sending a wave of pain through him as his cheeks clapped against the stone-cold tile.
“Pain in the ass,” Nate said a little disappointed that eating a great meal like you ended on a bad note. He stood up, taking a moment to balance himself along your big bed. His swelling gut sent him forward against it, squishing the portions of you that had made it to his stomach already.
Nate lifted his head, the light in the center of the room creating a glare on the goods he was so desperate to leave your house with. He quickly realized that he would have a hell of a lot harder of a time getting down from a second-story with a belly full of life, squirming prey that wouldn’t rest a moment for him to scale down efficiently, and a handful of priceless, probably breakable, goods. He would need both hands to make it down without drawing attention to himself, or falling down and breaking an arm or a leg. He needed something with lots and lots of padding.
If he already committed to eating the man of the house he was robbing, then he could eat his valuables too. A way to reunite you with your possessions one last time before it all became meaningless. He hoped that his hole wouldn’t squeeze too tight on some of the more delicate objects.
Nate slapped his gut, “Make some—oaurrppp—room in there. And don’t break anything, or I’ll gut-crush you. Hard.”
He couldn’t afford you moving or getting revenge on him by crushing your old possessions with half-digested hands. He reached forward, finding it hard to stretch himself across your Californian King to draw the various objects towards him with sweeping arms.
The first object was an ornate, tree-shaped object made of what he guessed to be ruthenium. Just a chip off this thing was worth a couple thousand, so he had to be careful when inserting it.
Nate moved to the floor, placing himself on one hand and two knees, already feeling the weight of his stomach become nonexistent as you were enough to fill the gap between him and the floor. His other hand was reserved for teasing his hole with the tip of the priceless collectible. He tried to arch his back, but you were still in his end trails, moving closer to his stomach but at a slower speed than when he swallowed you. Enough of your body was filling his gut, and both made it just a bit too difficult to really make his hole stretch enough. Yeah, doing doggy-style by yourself with something that isn’t meant to go in your ass is never fun.
Reluctantly, Nate tried a different approach. He set the tree upright on the floor and squatted down until he felt the tip of it tease his hole. He used both of his hands to peel apart his cheeks and try and get himself to open up and take it. A second later, he was sliding it in just as he had forced you in twenty-or-so minutes ago. The notably smaller size didn’t do much to Nate’s arousal, so he felt it slide in without much pleasure subsiding from it.
Once it was nearly in, he stood up, taking it with him and feeling the last bit of the metal sink beyond his hole. He grabbed the next object, hurriedly sending it around back and stuffing it in with some force. The last object left on the bed was almost a buttplug of sorts—gold and shaped like an oval with some kind of base attached to the bottom to help it stand. He repeated the motion, wrapping his arm around and positioning the rounded-off tip right to his pink hole. It was loose enough to open right back up for the next thing it thought was a meal. He sent the last one up his ass but stopped just short of its base. The gold trinket stretched him out nicely and blocked you from even thinking about getting out. It ensured that you couldn’t plot your own escape from within him. No, he was going to make sure that you were inside. He planned to keep you until you turn to shit.
Then, he heard the steps finally start to creak. The weight of someone traveling between small inclines and up to the second floor resounded through the hall. Your date must have checked every inch of the first floor, and he would go on to check every inch of the second and never find you. Nate had pulled up his dark-colored pants and dashed to the window that seemed fruitless earlier. With a bit of finesse, he jiggled the window back and forth and shot it up as high as it could go. He had to stuff himself and his ball-shaped gut through a rectangular window that didn’t want him to fit through. He made himself fit and scaled his way down the side of your house, disappearing into the tree line. The only thing that remained of you after that was a few branch-shaking belches against the trees and a clogged toilet at a hotel the next day.
