HUNGRY SKELLIES @soiburger - Tumblr Blog

Captain Becomes Judge-UNDERTUM FELL PAPYRUS sort of thing

This was an idea from

@agentlacey-universe

! The initial concept was great! I just...don’t think I executed it well enough. Sorry, Lacey! I tried!

WARNING! This fic contains kinky biz for people who like feeding and tummies and stuff like that, but there’s also some very mild sexual references and cursing so if you’re easily triggered by that please DO NOT READ!

You have been warned.

Also let’s chuck in another apology before we begin, heh...so I’m sorry! /n\;;

Story under the cut for reasons, lol.

Summary: Papyrus accepts a favour from Asgore a little quicker than he should have, and he pays the price alright.

"FUCK!" Papyrus stormed up and down the living room, cursing and muttering to himself.

"calm down, bro." Sans sipped his mustard from the settee coolly, and his eyes moved left to right, following his brother's incessant pacing. "it sounds pretty fun to me."

"WELL OF COURSE IT DOES TO YOU, SANS." Papyrus desperately leaned against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose. "YOU THINK WITH YOUR GUT, LIKE SOME KIND OF DOG! OF COURSE THIS SOUNDS BRILLIANT TO YOU!"

"heh, lay off a bit, boss, i can't help it. besides, ya need ta let go a bit yerself. this assignment will be good for ya."

Papyrus was momentarily surprised by how serious Sans was behaving. Where was the heckling? the torment? The 'I'll show you my belly and you'll see that having one ain't so bad' conversation?

"I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO EAT FOR ANOTHER TWO DAYS, THOUGH." The taller confessed, "I COULD MESS UP MY...BIOLOGICAL RHYTHM!"

"rhythm?" Sans started to laugh, and he accidentally squeezed mustard out of the bottle as he shook with deep, rapturous giggles. "the fuck, boss? look at yourself, you're a seven-foot tree branch who eats once every blue moon." Sans swallowed his amusement to get serious again. he did care about this, quite a bit. "it's amazin' how you even stand up."

Offended, Papyrus started to choke out rambling protests, and Sans swilled his sauce bottle with a troubled frown.

"look, bro, i need ya to trust me and know that you're eating habits are not all that 'kosher' by any standards...an' i know ya like bein' all slender and menacing, but ya have ta look things a little more thoughtfully. you're getting weaker, and so soon, yer gonna hafta worry 'bout what's gonna happen if someone overthrows yer position or wounds ya in battle? is havin' a bare spine gonna save ya then?"

Papyrus' hand had slipped to partially cover his mouth. he'd never been confronted by his brother like this before...had he fed him too much recently? Sans only got powerful when he'd eaten enough and Papyrus tried to avoid being out-ranked by his own brother by...well...limiting his access to food in the house. He was at first angry that Sans had somehow become strong enough to feel like he could criticise his lifestyle like this, but he knew, at the end of the day, Sans was right. Papyrus had a fragile positioning, being the captain of the guard and all, and he'd noticed himself getting more badly wounded whenever he got hit.

"D-DAMN IT, SANS!" He came over and flopped down next to his brother, collapsing to rest his head against his padded shoulder. "I HATE IT WHEN YOU'RE RIGHT."

***

Earlier that day, Papyrus had been summoned to the castle upon Asgore's request. thinking it was an emergency, he'd rushed to New Home with the mindset of panic and impending justice if anything had gone wrong.

Asgore addressed Papyrus like an old friend:

"Captain, I'm glad you made it."

"I MERELY ANSWERED YOUR CALL, SIR."

The king nodded, and folded his hands regally. "I asked you here to do me a favour. you see-"

"OF COURSE. WHATEVER IT IS, YOUR MAJESTY, I ACCEPT WITH THE HIGHEST HONOUR!" Thumping his hand to the left side of his broad chest, the skeleton stood heroically before the throne.

Asgore's eyes widened a little, but he cleared his throat and continued.

"Excellent! You see, I've fallen quite ill, I'm barely strong enough to leave this chair. Tomorrow, that robotic entertainer has paid me to judge his cooking competition, but obviously I won't be able to attend. You must replace me. I would have declined the request but he did offer me many perks that would also make your life a little easier too, my son."

Papyrus swallowed thickly. A cooking contest? No...no the 'great and terrible Papyrus' never attended things like that! Plus, it meant he'd have to break his fasting cycle and ruin his body! He'd be so humiliated...

"I...I SEE. BUT OF COURSE." The skeleton stammered and avoided eye contact suddenly, but Asgore didn't appear to notice or care.

"Doctor Alphys shall pay you for your expenses, and I shall look forwards to hearing about your experience...oh and...try not to mention my condition. With you out of the ranks, I can't trust that maniac Undyne to be wholly trustworthy if an assassination were to be attempted."

"INDEED. I UNDERSTAND. THANK YOU, SIR."

Papyrus had left the castle as relaxed as the stillness of the empty walls, and then run straight home, to panic.

***

Since that conversation with Sans, Papyrus began to doubt his way of thinking. Maybe he did have an eating problem? The word 'weak' replayed in his mind a lot as he looked at his reflection in the mirror, and he almost teared up. He'd do this...for the satisfaction of his brother and the rewards from the king. He wanted some kind of praise after this sudden, and very harsh epiffany.

The dawn of the event came, and Papyrus found Sans asleep in the kitchen. He made himself coffee and left feeling butterflies in his empty stomach. He was so nervous, and he found Mettaton insanely intolerable to boot. That...lustful and unhinged tin can was flirtatious and violent and Papyrus could sense that he was also a coward, which was something he hated.

His nerves made it hard for him to act his usual intimidating self, and he practically held his breath until he found himself hugging his chest, leaning against the wall behind the front stage with the floor crew, listening to the terrifying sound of hundreds of audience members, cheering for a show.

His stomach, although not present, had begun to put pressure on his spine, telling him he was starving hungry. The cavity under his ribs throbbed and his magic felt low and weak like Sans had warned. The smell of food was frankly intoxicating, and yet behind the alluring thought of a full stomach lurked a pitiful demise similar to the state Sans usually came home in after a binge at Grillby's.

Mettaton's voice soon blared over the noise, shutting everyone up, and Papyrus suddenly noticed something strange about his situation:

He was the only judge.

"UM..." His sharp red pupils darted about the room, and he started to panic again.

"Can I help?" A rabbit monster with his hat pulled too low on his brow squinted under his floppy bangs at the much taller creature standing worriedly above him. Papyrus' face flushed a little and he barely managed to speak properly. He knew this was no behaviour for the captain of the royal guard to display, but he was oddly emotional since the previous evening. It felt like these was a barrier missing within his soul.

"WHERE ARE THE OTHER JUDGES? I CAN'T BE THE ONLY ONE..."

"M'afraid so." The crew man said, and cracked a toothy smile. "It was supposed ta be the king but uh...I hear he had other business?"

"YES...INDEED..." Papyrus turned back to the door of the stage, and felt his soul jump a little with the nervous energy. This wasn't fair!

"SO, BEAUTIES, OUR VERY SPECIAL JUDGE FOR OUR BIGGEST TURNOUT EVER IS NONE OTHER THAN THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD! HOW DELICIOUSSS~" Mettaton, running his shiny metal tongue over his lips, held out an arm to signal for Papyrus to enter the stage, and from that point Papyrus knew he'd made a poor decision agreeing so thoughtlessly to Asgore's request.

He sat at a long table, and tried not to faint as about fifty monsters all tried to pile onto the stage at once, all holding platters of food they'd made ready for him to try.

A cold, hard hand pressed against his shoulder blade and the poor skeleton shivered.

"Ready, sweetheart?" Mettaton whispered, and even though Papyrus shook his head the robot still allowed the first contestant to approach the table. "You have to finish every one, and mark it on this form." The robot explained, and the whole time, inside his head, Papyrus was yelling for help. He'd kill to have Sans there with him, because he knew his brother was good at this sort of thing...but that wouldn't look very good on his report, would it.

"LET'S GET THIS OVER WITH." He announced in character, before swallowing thickly at the sight of the plate presented to him. The girl who'd made it looked confident in her skills, and laughed smugly.

"There's no way you could deny that this won't totally demolish the rest of these amateurish dishes." She said, and Papyrus tried to remain cool. He exhaled his stress subtly, and lifted a forkful of pasta shells from the plate.

"WE'LL SEE."

It was drowning in melted cheese, so much so, that the stuff stretched and snapped off in delicate strings as he lifted the mouthful to his lips and accepted the first bite of assumed hundreds. Beneath the cheese happened to be a delicious surprise of conventionally salty marinara sauce, peppered with olives that released waves of delicious, hot juices when bitten into.

Papyrus swallowed, and grinned slightly. If he couldn't get out of this situation, he might as well enjoy the moments like this that were pleasant... Although, 'pleasant' was a weak description of the gorgeous, rich flavour of one of his favourite dishes, as he quickly managed to finish the entire plate within the next five minutes. He was soon scraping the plate clean and savouring the last of it by slowly drawing the fork from his mouth- at last, a tongue to make things easier too.

Unaccustomed to eating on a normal basis, Papyrus' stomach squeezed delightedly around the food it'd been given, which was regrettably slightly painful, and he sucked in a breath to try to ease the soreness. The happy sounds his belly made to welcome the well-earned meal were so excitable that he could physically feel the ripples on his ectoplasmic skin.

"So?" The woman demanded hopefully, eyes flicking from Papyrus to the paper he had to mark her food with. "What was it like? Was it good? Huh?"

"SHHHH." Papyrus breathed steam through his mouth, eyes and nose, and smirked. "IT'S NOT UP TO YOU." And with that, he scribbled down a few numbers in the marked boxes, his spidery handwriting depicting a lowered score for manners. "I'D SAY IT WAS GOOD ENOUGH. THANKS."

Crestfallen, the woman was ushered away to wait for the results in the crowd, and the next contestant stepped up. This one was as cocky as the first, and offered up a large plate, bearing four round balls of doughy white bread, hot and stuffed with shredded sweet chilli pork that melted against Papyrus' tongue at first contact. He felt like he was melting in bliss, as he pushed the rolls one by one past his teeth and swallowed them hungrily, marking them down only for the lack of diversity. He enjoyed every last mouthful, and when he'd finished he moved a hand to feel the unfamiliar and shallow curve of his comfortably full stomach, bathing in warm, carbohydrate bliss.

"ENJOYABLE. THAT'LL BE ALL." Papyrus chuckled to himself, finding a little satisfaction in putting the competitor's hopes down with those kinds of blunt remarks, and hiccuped unexpectedly. He cupped his mouth and his stomach at the same time, and had to swallow a little extra air to stop himself from burping. He'd never stoop to that level... He hoped not, at least.

Papyrus waded his way through another few entries, and they were all good, but lacking after the first two, which were particularly satisfying. Now that he was full he was harsher with his responses, and the more stuffed he felt, the more pissed off he began to feel. His stomach began to ache and gurgle accordingly, and he felt embarrassed all of a sudden, cheeks flushing redder than before. He chugged the tumbler of water provided at his side to calm down before accepting another wave of servings: six now, in total, which meant six whole dishes- each worth one meal- tightening the buttons on his shirt beneath his thin black sweater, and causing him a world of discomfort in terms of complete fullness. He felt he might pop, and so surely sometime people would notice how full he was getting, and perhaps stop the contest to let him off.

He forced himself to finish a particularly doughy pastry at one point, which left him with the real need to free up some room. The thing was about thirty centimeters long and thicker than his bicep; thick, crisp pastry that'd been slightly under-cooked on the inside; stuffed fuller than Paps' gut with various vegetables and oozing juices from cooked meat. It tasted okay, but it was big and dense and a hefty thing to cram into an already very full stomach. The crust of the pastry was like a twisted band, taking up a third of it's mass an simply solid dough, of which, Papyrus had to eat by mandatory obligation. Damn Mettaton's rules and Asgore's faith! His belly was getting awfully tight, and the bulge was visible under his clothes for definite. Inside, a melded mass of unconverted magic goop churned and bloated his body. His belt cut in and sorely stoppered any further expansion, and whilst he hurriedly unclasped the buckle under the table, awkwardly shifting his weight to get to it faster, bubbles of swallowed air somehow dislodged, and squeezed their way up to his gullet, where the poor skeleton could no longer attempt to prevent anything for occurring. He saved himself slightly by muffling the burp with his fist, and he sighed heavily after, groaning.

"That's it." Mettaton chuckled darkly, "You're doing better than we thought."

"WE?" Papyrus turned to face the metal man, eyes glaring with dangerous ferocity, but the machine continued to laugh, though quieter.

The skeleton growled, and ate his next meal with a scowl on his face. What did Mettaton mean by 'we'? His thought process helped him finish it quickly and without much consideration for his overstuffed-ness, however, he could not ignore having to belch again: louder and lazily covered with his hand. He moaned softly, and wriggled his waistband down his hips to allow his belly to splurge into his lap. This was certainly more comfortable, in an uncomfortable sort of way.

He ate through Fresh Tortillas stuffed with spicy fried goods that made his mouth water uncontrollably, juicy burgers sandwiched between toasted buns and raw fish and rice that was so salty his mouth alternated between being a desert and a waterfall. His tongue had gotten so fat that he had to pant for air with his hanging from his mouth like a dog, the space available for air within his rib cage was shrinking by the minute, and the sickening mix of salt, fat and dough had forced his stomach to swell and put more pressure on itself under all his clothing. He regretted wearing a buttoned shirt underneath his jumper, but at least it covered most of 'the damage'. The rounded dome of his glutted-out abdomen sloshed and swirled, full of small and uncomfortable bubbles of gas that refused to come out even if he tried to burp, and it was getting harder to squeeze more food into it to replace them. Sans had once mentioned something he called the 'binge barrier', where apparently if one were to eat enough, they'd stop finding it so painful... But Papyrus had never seen himself so big, nor felt so full, and before being served the first dessert dish he tried to ease his hands down his sides, and rub the curve of his tight underbelly, which bulged in an undignified manner over the top of his jeans, which were growing horridly tight around his hips again. "You have to try this." The young man serving his dish planted his hands on the desk abruptly, startling poor Papyrus and giving him much unneeded hiccups. "*HIC!* ugh...I WILL...JUST A SEC-UUURRRpp!" What had become of him? The captain of the Royal guard, helpless and overfed, at the mercy of literally hundreds of monsters of a lower class than himself. "PARDON...mngh..." "Oh jeez." The dog-like animal's eyes grew slightly, but instead of backing off, he leaned in a bit. "You really are full, huh." "SHUT UP, YOU- *HIC!*- YOU FUCKER- *HIC!*- AGH..." "Oy, don't get mad at me." The contestant tried not to sound terrified, and started acting shy. "I guess I shouldn't make you eat this..."

"OUTTA THE WAY, FLUFFBOY!" A woman made of slime sloshed up onto the podium, and slammed a huge bowl of dessert onto the table. The noises her viscous body made whilst moving sounded a little too similar to the unhappy gurgles coming from inside himself, and Papyrus started to feel like he might not be able to keep it all down much longer. "EAT THIS, 'CUS I GOT A SCHEDULE TO RUN HERE." "Hey, um...I don't think he's doing so good, I think-" The fist contender tried to talk sense into the woman, but she was as stubborn as everyone else. "Who cares what you think? He's gonna eat this, even if I have to make him!" She wielded the spoon, and drove it into the layers of whip cream, thick custard, sponge and fruit jelly and withdrew it with a satisfying slurping sound. Papyrus receded from the spoon like a vampire would from garlic, but this person was persistent as hell, and force-fed him mouthful after mouthful against his will. The poor man could only sit there and hold his fattened stomach whilst a button of his undershirt burst apart with each laborious gulp, groaning for mercy that he knew wouldn't be awarded until the bowl was empty. It took a painstaking ten minutes to get him to finally accept the last mouthful, and he held it in his mouth instead of swallowing it. His stuffed gut really couldn't hold any more food. It was supposed to be full of magic, but he's eaten so much in such little time that it was also weighed down with food still in it's physical form. He felt like a lead balloon, and he squeezed his hands down his swollen belly, whining to Mettaton to make it stop between burping up tastes of all his previous meals in one and then moaning all the more. The robot in address just stared at Papyrus' helpless, struggling form and blushing red face, as well as listened to the weakness and agony conveyed in his voice, unevenly mixed with some kind of satiated pleasure the skeleton seemed to be experiencing as well. The microphone dangled from his hand as he gawped in disbelief, that food...of all things...had brought the great and terrible Papyrus to his knees so effectively. If he didn't look so irresistible at that moment, Mettaton might have been inclined to bring out his chainsaw and create a fun evening for himself...but instead the machine took advantage for his own personal gain by violating the captain like he always wanted to do whenever they were near. He wrapped up the contest, hurriedly ran through some information about results, and then snaked his extendable metal arms around the bulging, gurgling, full waist of his skeletal victim and hauled the seven foot monster backstage. "F-My you're heavy!" Mettaton breathed, a little too lustfully in Papyrus' silent opinion. he verbalised nothing and did little more than try and walk with such a disorientating weight to his body. Every move and touch caused upset to his stomach, especially when Mettaton's grip squeezed him too tight. He just hoped he could make it home without being sick...if that was even possible. He wasn't sure. He was dropped into an armchair in Mettaton's bright red and yellow dressing room, and he sunk into the upholstery as if he wanted it to swallow him up... Ooh, 'swallow'...that word brought him more discomfort to remember. "I must say, I'm rather impressed, beanpole." The robot winked, stepping closer, eyeing Papyrus' parted legs- splayed to support his stomach- and his flushed face and short, exhausted breaths. "I wonder what that gut will feel like when I..." "F-FUCK OFF." "What was that, darling?" Mettaton snarled, maintaining his sadistic grin. "I...I SAID...*hURP!* mn~, FUCK OFF." Angered, the offended stormed closer to Papyrus, and slapped both hands against the taut sides of his rounded middle with the intent to cause pain. "Why you little-" "ey, tin can." Everyone's eyes shot to the door, where the slouched figure of Sans stood casually, a little smirk on his face. "S-Sans?" Mettaton stated robotically. "How did you...? Why?" Sans chuckled and tied Mettaton's wrists in cuffs of his red magic, shaking his head at his forlorn brother, still sitting helplessly in the chair. "what kind of brother do ya think i am? lettin' pap come here on his own with you? jesus christ, metts, cut me some slack. m'not stupid." "SANS, YOU FOLLOWED ME?" For that moment, Papyrus seemed to have entirely returned to normal, already telling his brother off. "i'll explain later, bro...but yeah, i did." "YOU SAW EVERYTHING?!" "that too." Sans' eye sockets went dark and prepared for yelling, but instead of a raised voice he heard only a deep sigh.

"I NEED TO GO HOME." Papyrus admitted, face burning with both embarrassment and anger at the same time. "AND I AM NOT WALKING.”

Yayyy! You got to the end! Thank you for reading and I’m sorry if it’s not up-to-scratch. Like I keep saying as an excuse, life for me is very busy right now and I’m trying my best. Love ya beans, -Soi <3

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