Do you have any Piers pred prompts? Same-size, oral, preferably?
Definitely! I don't think I've done much for him but he actually is one of my favorites of the G.alar region.
A belch blasts out into the mic, making the loud noise echo throughout the stadium. The crowd goes wild regardless and the slightest of smirks crosses P.iers's face. His normally lithe gut is bloated out in front of him, stretched tightly over a person curled up deep inside. His growling stomach had been caught on mic mid song, and while he tried to play it off, it didn't take long for him to get offers to fill it. He'd been hesitant at first but gave in when he saw how eager people were, helped a random fan up onto stage, and devoured them. The crowd sure seemed to love it, even more into the performance than they had been before. Maybe this was just the thing he was missing for his concerts. Once he gets back into the swing of things, he barely even notices his stomach, other than when his mic stand occasionally presses into it and works a belch out of him. By the time P.iers' performance is coming to an end, his gut is a gurgling dome hanging off his middle, the size of a pot belly. If the crowd hadn't seen him down an entire person, he might have been easily mistaken for just putting on a bit too much weight. But his gut sloshed wetly every time he moved, and the imprints of a few bones hang low in his guts, including a skull. He would have left the stage there to go finish his meal in peace, but the cheering for an encore kept him around. "I just need another meal to get through it," he says into the mic, already drooling a bit as he eyes up the front row. He immediately has more people leaping up, all offering to help him get through the next song. P.eirs hoists one up by the front of his shirt and opens wide, devouring them with a lot more greed than the first. Thick gulps and slurps echo through the mic, and he presses it down against his stomach to listen to the way it groans and sloshes as his second meal drops in with the remaining gunk of the first. When he belches into the mic this time, pressing the stand against his stomach, it's on purpose. The crowd is going wild, and P.eirs can feel excitement coursing through him. He's found a new way to liven his shows up, and he seems to have a near-endless supply of people willing to become a part of it. He's drooling all through the last song, wondering if he can snag one more meal before he calls it quits for the night, all while his tank gurgles heavily over his second course.
P.iers is almost a little disappointed, but in the end, it only serves to prove him right. Trainers rely too much on the use of D.ynamaxing to get through their battles, so when forced to go without it, they can't keep up. But that's why he's one of the last gyms on the list. He weeds out those who are actually skilled trainers and those who have been coasting through on luck and gimmicks alone. He make sure his mic is tuned to pick up everything before he starts--four trainers stand in front of him, their entire teams currently padding out P.iers' own. They'll be following suit soon. He doesn't spare them any words, just a slight shake of his head and a sigh. Then he walks up to the first own, grabs him by the shoulders, and swiftly engulfs his head. The crowd is at least excited, already cheering the gym leader on as thick gulps are caught by his mic and echo across the gym. P.iers' stomach bloats outward with a noisy slosh and he gives his chest a thump, belting out a deep belch that echos through the stadium. The last three trainers are just staring at him...well, his gut, at least, which is now taut over the first course. He already looked stuffed to his limit, but as he begins to scarf down the second trainer, it's clear that's not the case. The second trainer goes down just as easily, and now the crowd is chanting P.iers' name as he devours another prospective trainer. The belch he lets loose after sends a sneaker flying out of his jaws, dripping in slime as it lands on the ground. When he grabs the third trainer, the frightened loser starts to beg for a second match. The mic picks up his frantic voice as it turns into muffled screaming, just barely frowned out by the wet slurps of P.iers guzzling him down. The fourth trainer is shaking, praying that, somehow, the gym leader has hit a limit and can't eat him. But then that gut is pressed against him and he's being lifted over it, into those drooling jaws, to be slurped down all the same. When P.iers slurps down the last pair of twitching feet, he does feel a little sick, and he brings the mic closer so the wet belches can boom over the sound of the cheering crowd. Then he presses his mic to his stomach, letting it pick up the muffled screaming of his meals and the thick churning of his tank. "Churn them! Churn them! Churn them!" is chanted over and over by the crowd. P.iers belches again, his guts rumbling loudly, and beginning to pump the trainers away. Muffled screams are broadcast to the crowd as P.iers' guts work fast, steadily growing smaller and working away those defined bulges. Screams are replaced by heavy gurgles and groans, and the crunching of bones, but eventually P.iers is pressing his mic into a thin gut, as if the four trainers never existed at all. It lets out a low rumble and P.eris gives one last encore, belching loud enough to shake the ground under him. The crowd explodes into cheers as he walks off to his locker room. His gym doesn't need D.ynamaxing when he can make noise like that.