#kinnies!

[snoodlebeans]

mild tw for to/ony fla/tte/nin/g underneath just in case

birthday gift for :@squishybellies that i had a lotta fun doin!! first time doin flattenin art too so hopefully i did a good job…

(pa/ra/no/ze belongs to @squishybellies)

[snoodlebeans]

i. have not posted here in a long time fhsbdnjfm but hi turns out i kinda like navel stuff so i posed somethin with me and @squishybellies kinnies

(mo/om/in belongs to to/ve ja/ns/so/n and t/m/n/t belongs to ni/ck/el/od/eo/n)

[snoodlebeans]

valentines gift for @squishybellies that i've been workin on!!! tried to do some dynamic lightin but i accidentally made it look a bit flat sadly…

also here's the captions just in case you can't read it: "allow yourself to enter a state of impossible bliss…" "… that's it, good pet~" (bi/ll/ie bu/st u/p belongs to gi/dd/y go/at ga/me/s and mo/om/in/s belongs to to/ve j/an/ss/on)

[snoodlebeans]

tw p*/z/a t*/we/r, humanoid vore, mild body horror

so i may have made a sequel to one of the drawings @squishybellies​ made recently,,, (i DO NOT condone/support the problematic aspects or devs of this game, if you wanna play the game PIRATE it)

[snoodlebeans]

@squishybellies​ ATTACKS YOU ATTACKS YOU ATTACKS Y

[snoodlebeans]

so it’s the fourth anniversary of me and @squishybellies bein gorlfs so!!!! i made her another fanfic of our kins being gay >:3c

Bedsheets fly off the Pyro's body as they wake with a start, lenses wide and breath hitched as they realized something - something so important that it woke them from an otherwise deep slumber, something that their mind had to address right now.

Despite dating (and now living with) their companion, Westley, for years, not even once had they been able to see him eat.

He has to have a mouth, right? Every living organism needs some kind of sustenance, and they assume his physiology is more like the animals they see every day in between the gory battles against the BLU team (they could never figure out why there's another Pyro there, they thought they were the only one of their kind!) than plants or microbes. So where is his mouth if his entire head is seemingly a giant eyeball? Sure, they could ask Medic about something like that, but one: he'd likely brush off the idea of an alien even existing, not to mention living in RED headquarters out of sight from the rest of the mercenaries, and two: if he didn't consider the idea to be nothing more than the silly fantasy of the team's strange, masked pyrotechnician, then he would definitely capture the poor Watchdog and slice him up to see what the anatomy of an alien is really like - alive, too.

Their flesh, akin to rubber in texture and elasticity but more like human skin in chemical structure, shrivels in abject horror at the thought, and they shake their mask-like head in an attempt to distract themselves with the question in hand. If we're going off the reasonable assumption that Westley does have a mouth, then where would it be? It can't be on his eye, they can't really comprehend how that would work, so it has to be somewhere else on his body. Maybe somewhere else besides his head, since that seems to only have room for his eye in the first place? That has to be it.

Tomorrow, they're going to put their little hypothesis to the test.

----------

"You made all of this... for me-?"

"Mrrhm!"

A proverbial feast is laid out before the tiny Watchdog's eye: golden-brown rolls of buttery bread accompany a pot of rich beef stew, complete with celery and carrots among other vegetables, and just a pinch of parsley to give it that earthy aftertaste (Pyro has known for a while now that stews and soups are Westley's favorite food, so it only makes sense to spoil him with it during their little experiment; he does deserve such a treat, after all!); each and every plate and bowl containing the table's worth of food almost shines in the afternoon light, ceramic handstakingly painted with delicate swirls of pinks and blues among realistic depictions of flowers such as roses and violets alongside a leaf or two, and the silvery flatware completing the dishware set is carved with flowery images to match (they made sure to at least try and arrange the silverware in a manner resembling the figures shown in that old etiquette book they found in Spy's library of the fine arts, but they could never find a soup spoon or a salad knife, so they had to make do with what was available).

And for dessert? An entire batch of peach cookies, and they even resemble their fruity counterparts! In the center of each one is a dollop of rich Italian cream gluing the halves together, and a few mint leaves are placed between the very top of the crease for a whimsical garnish. There's easily about twenty of them, each about the size of the average chocolate-chip cookie. Yes, Pyro is a bit of a cook, despite the sheer ruthlessness of their kills in battle - they find the act of making tasty dishes to be quite therapeutic, honestly, and when it comes to baking pastries or making candies they're even more enthused. All the intricacies of how every ingredient works together to make something truly decadent, the recipe's instructions serving as the backbone for the entire process, the creativity of finding new ways to use both old and new ingredients to spice up a tried and true recipe, harvesting the fruits of their labor by either tasting it themselves or sharing it with the other mercenaries...

Oh, they're zoning out again, and Westley seems a bit eager for something besides the two awkwardly staring off into space to happen.

Pyro quickly shakes their head with a slight mumble, giving the alien a wave with one of their glove-like hands in a display of sheepish apology. Not that such a gesture is needed, he's aware of how Pyro tends to become lost in their own thoughts occasionally. Honestly? It's kind of cute.

The living suit gently pushes his chair closer to the table for him to reach the food resting on top of it - the two had to find a few books to elevate him high enough - and offers the platter of freshly-baked bread rolls before pouring out a hearty portion of stew with a prideful "Hrah-dah!"

"Mrah burmf phrew! Huddah harrof, mrehery, horfom, hurrdamof, mrabbahs, hammah bims ah barsee!"

"Ooh, really? Sounds good - but, well, this is an awful lot, but then again I am really hungry..."

The spoon is comically large in his crimson-gloved hand, and he has to fiddle with it a bit before getting a good enough grip to take a scoop of the dish; already he can smell the earthy tones of parsley and potato, and he ends up needing to remind himself to blow on the spoonful before raising it to his head...

... And bringing it right into his eyeball.

Pyro is just barely able to hold in a gasp at the sight - THAT is his mouth?! How does he see?! Already their hypothesis has been blown out of the water, and just as quickly as it was snuffed out like a candle it has been replaced with even more questions. They watch in awe as their love takes another spoonful, followed by another and another, and soon he's tilting the bowl to slurp it up with fervent delight! Normally they'd be delighted at the obvious success of their cooking, but the curiosity swimming through their head about Watchdog anatomy has pushed that thought to the back of their goop-filled head.

"Man, that was good! Mind if I have some more, dear?"

The sight of Pyro excitedly bringing the entire pot over for Westley to indulge in makes him nearly jump out of his seat; if he didn't know any better, he'd say the fire-obsessed creature had a hint of a pinkish-black blush along their cheeks!

"Oh! Well, there's nothing wrong with a little splurging here and there...~"

With that, he starts to work away at the batch of stew, taking a bread roll and dipping it in the rich, flavorful broth here and there and nibbling on the resulting treat. It all tastes so good that he barely notices his stomach gurgling as he reaches for his fourth bowl, subconsciously taking his free hand to rub at the somewhat swollen organ; his body is working on autopilot now, mind absolutely entranced by the deliciousness of the meal and using all of its energy to consume more and more in greedy bliss.

After what feels like an eternity (to Pyro, at least), the pot is emptied, and every single roll is packed away in the Watchdog's belly along with nearly eight bowl's worth of soup. He pauses, leaning back in his oversized chair and exposing his round gut for the world to see: it sticks out about three inches from his body, and judging by its turgid appearance it's quite well-fed. Pyro can't help themselves from running a finger along its curved surface, eliciting a tender sigh from the stuffed extraterrestrial as he leans into their touch, eye half-lidded in sleepy delight at the massage.

"M-Mmf, right there, hahh...~"

Goodness, he looks adorable like this! And while Pyro knew Westley had an appetite larger than his small stature, they had no idea he could pack away that much in one sitting!

Hmm... maybe they can see just how much more he can eat. For science, of course.

----------

He can smell it when the very first cookie is offered up: a rich, sweet aroma like that of ripe peaches combined with the scents of sugary cream and fresh mint, and the surprisingly attractive combination is enough for the Watchdog's salivary glands to start up again, even after such a heavy meal beforehand. The pastry is greedily snatched up, and he takes his first bite moments later...

... And at once his tastebuds are hit with a sugar cookie's warm embrace alongside the richness of buttery cream and the refreshing coolness of mint, with aromatic and juicy peach serving as the bow that wraps together such a little gift.

His eye widens, and for a moment he no longer is hiding away in the somewhat dilapidated barn serving as RED's base, but in his own world of absolute, flavorful indulgence.

"... This is amazing."

He can't even bring himself to whoop in joy at how it all tastes, the experience of tasting the cookie simply leaves him too awed and immersed in it all - and Pyro is more than delighted at the feedback they've received, no matter how little; here, Westley's silence speaks volumes about his views on the little treat. They have to restrain themselves from causing a scene with raucous laughter and potentially catching the attention of the others, yet their emotions of intense joy leave their body to resort to flapping their arms while giving a soft giggle as they gaze at their companion lovingly.

They're so cute when they do that...

... Oh, the cookie's gone already.

Not wanting to miss out on the wondrous dessert while a plate of it still rests right in front of him, the alien proceeds to take a handful of peach cookies, popping a couple of them into his mouth in an attempt to make a compromise between his desire to savor the taste or stuffing as much of them into his eye-mouth as he can without so much as a single pause for flavor out of pure gluttony. Once more, he has to keep himself from chewing fast to refill his mouthful, letting the varied tastes rest on his metaphorical tongue for at least a minute before swallowing his bite. Pyro watches all the while, enamoured with the sight of Westley somehow being able to make room for what they can only assume is another amount of calories equal to, if not greater than the amount he previously ingested with the stew and bread!

Each handful devoured adds to the alien's already bloated middle, which slowly inches forward into his lap as he makes dents in the plate of cookies piled high before him; he has to pause here and there to give his belly a good rub, making room in its already packed insides for even more. It gurgles in mild protest, of course, but those soon fade away with the application of warmth and pressure aiding to digest what he's already consumed. Besides, the sensation of massaging his full stomach feels nice - it's actually quite relaxing! That, and he thinks it's cute how the suit-like assassin watching him develops an even stronger blush with each rubbing session.

Halfway through, and his lap only has a few inches of room left before being swallowed up by engorged stomach-flesh; Westley's breathing has slowed due to the weight of his stomach pressing into his lungs, but it's not enough for him to be in any sort of danger - it's only dropped to his sleeping rate, maybe one or two breaths above it. The little discomfort he feels is concentrated in how his dinner rests in his stomach like a boulder, weighing him down further and further as the remaining batch decreases to a quarter of its size, then a sixth, an eighth, until none are left - and by then Westley swears he can hear the chair creaking under his weight.

"Mmngh... urp-"

Did they push him too far? He's clearly in discomfort, and the concept of Pyro inadvertently harming their love as a result of their own curiosity causes their limbs to grow ice cold and their stomach to curdle. Rushing to his side, they begin to add to the rubbing, whimpering and practically sobbing the entire time before Westley places a crimson glove on their own.

"I'm fine, honey! Just... maybe overdid it a bit, hehehic-!"

Oh, thank goodness. The abomination nearly melts onto the floor as they go limp with relief, but is quick to resume the aftercare once their emotions return to normal. Their love's stomach is taut and almost spherical; they can feel it churning away several pounds of food underneath their clawed fingertips - it's honestly a fascinating sensation. Pyro coos in a mix of wonder and affection, leaning over to nuzzle the Watchdog's overtaxed midsection with the snout of their face as a low, gargling purr rises in their throat.

"Aw, you really like it when I'm all full like this, huh? Guess we should do this more often, then.~"

They consider the experiment a success.

[snoodlebeans]

so i made a little fanfic for my gf @squishybellies cause i suddenly got a huge desire to write about our kinnies being gay >:3

(tw for implied violence and some gore)

"Darling, I'm home!~"

The monstrous figure's baritone voice fills the halls as he enters through the front door, having to hunch down in order to keep from destroying its frame. The tips of his horns just barely scrape against the ceiling as he lumbers towards the living room, toothy grin wide and eyes gleaming in delight. He had just returned from a very successful hunting trip, with one hand the size of a human's torso dragging in a blood-soaked bag holding a decent amount of flesh inside. The pungent smell of iron begins to fill the house - a four-course meal to his senses. Once he reached the kitchen he turns his gaze towards the massive cauldron resting in the left corner; dropping the bag besides it, he goes to fetch some water. It would take a few hours for it all to boil and simmer, especially when adding the spices and vegetables - they'd have to soften up, so preparing today's meal had to start early.

Only when his back is turned does the floor directly beneath the now unattended meat turn an inky mix of purplish-black. Wisps of energy seep out into the air as a clawed wing emerges from below, its gold-embedded skin shining in the dying light of the day. It gropes around for a few moments before catching a feel of flesh held inside burlap, after which the upper half of the creature comes forth: fur lavender in hue, ears and horns hidden by a bicolored jester's cap, a body donning a suit of the same pattern... and an expression that goes beyond hunger into pure greed. As soon as the acrid scent hit his nostrils saliva begins to seep from his jaws, and he glances towards the distracted, hulking figure ahead of him before proceeding to tear into the sack, reaching for the treats inside and stuffing a hunk of raw meat into his mouth before he can be seen and have to wait before food is ready-

"Impatient and impulsive as ever, I see."

The jester froze mid-thievery, cheeks stuffed with flesh as his eyes trailed up towards the coy grin staring down upon him. Sure, Marx's shenanigans can get irritating sometimes, especially when Neil is trying to get things done. But there's something about the jester's actions that render them oddly endearing in a way. What's the word he's looking for? Cutely annoying? That sounds about right.

Marx proceeded to gulp the chunk down whole, slowly retracting his grip from today's catch while maintaining eye contact. His pupils were pinpricks , face crimson now that he's been literally caught red-handed.

"I was hungry-"

"You're always hungry, dear."

There was a pop as the gluttonous comic pushed himself free from his shadowy, multidimensional hideaway, licking his talons clean as he hovered in place, watching as his love worked.

"What'd you get? Some poor guy who just happened to come across you and was an easy catch?"

"A hunter, actually. His screams as I ran my claws through his skin were delightful.~"

"Aw, now I wish I coulda heard 'em..."

With the water poured and the fire beneath starting to glow, the gentleman of a beast turns his attention towards the other parts of the stew: carrots, celery, onions, potatoes, a little bit of parsley just to give it that earthy flavor...

It all gets pushed into the water as it begins to boil, adding to the lovely sound of it bubbling with each chopped piece plopping into place. Soon a lovely aroma fills the air, steam wafting through the open window and into the evening sky.

grrrrmble.

"Still hungry, I assume?~"

Neil gives a deep chuckle before heading over to give Marx a soft kiss on his fluffy cheek. He always seemed to taste of cotton candy - not exactly Neil's absolutely favorite flavor, he's always been more of a savory kind of monstrosity, but it's quite pleasant in its own way.

The jester giggles a bit in sheepish joy at such a gesture, which he quickly reciprocates with a smooch back.

Y'know, I can never put my finger on what his flavor is...

... Why don't I just get a better taste?

"C'mere.~"

Marx embraces his love in a tight hug before opening wide, jaws popping out of place audibly as his bloated tongue snakes out to gently coil around the chimeric monster's neck, maw closing around Neil's head as he gives a muffled shout of surprise. The jester then begins to swallow noisily, throat bulging outward with his companion's bulky frame as it slides down his gullet inch by inch.

Oh, right. Gotta taste him.

Saliva-coated tissue flicks against Neil's chest and limbs, flavor molecules hitting the jester's tastebuds as he finishes devouring his boyfriend with a loud GLRK. His clothes rip almost immediately, seams around his burgeoning middle tearing to reveal a few fluffy bits of turgid fat, belly nearly touching the floor. Eh, he needed to get a new suit, anyway; he can just use this one for lounging around the house. He sighs, hunger now satisfied and feeling that perfect sensation of overfullness when his gut is stretched to its near limit, warm to the touch and making it harder to walk in that lovely, bloated way-

"Marx honey, I was working on our dinner for tonight, but it seems I can't do that now..."

"Eh, you needed a break. You've been working pretty hard today, so how about I finish it up for you? You can take a break right inside here.~"

Marx pats his overgrown belly with a smug grin, just to emphasize the mischievous situation his love has gotten into.

"Well, I suppose you could-"

"It's settled, then! Just relax while Chef Marx gets it done.~"

Hoisting up his gut with both arms before letting it flop back forward with a noisy SLORSH, Marx snatches up the soup ladle before beginning to stir. A few moments pass, and he abruptly snaps his claws as realization hits him.

"Oh! I figured out what you taste like, sweetie!"

"... And what exactly is that, dear?"

"Kinda like fish with lemon juice squeezed on top of it!"