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benjaminthewolf · 1 year

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The Story Of P.O.V.: Serving The Innocent (Remastered) (Private Steve Pred)

It has officially been over a year since I first published on this blog. I feel as though I owe it to you all to remaster the first season, but especially the very first stories. After the remaster is done, I do have one other huge project I need to get done before I get back to season two, but rest assured it will come eventually so please hold onto your patience.

And yes I’m tagging both Tankmaw and Monday Night Munchin because ultimately, The Story Of P.O.V. Pertains to both fandoms.

Also for those of you who know the story so far and are wondering why I didn’t add on a few tags, it’s because I wanna remain spoiler free for right now, so yeah.

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The short, sporadic, wavering breaths that are vigorously echoing within your ears as the shaky, staccatic melody to your throbbing baseline heartbeat, nearly drowns out entirely the roaring cacophony of tumultuousness and ravaging constantly compounding in upon itself within the active battlefield around you as you, swiftly, yet utterly laboriously, thrust your legs forwards across the lines, (barely geometrically recognizable lines, mind you), of the advancing Tankman army, doing your literally most possible best considering your current state, to dodge the naturally, and perhaps simply unavoidably, wholly oblivious, relatively gigantic, unaware boots of the ensuing stampede of expeditious, fixated soldiers above your miniscule form, and somehow entirely suppress your body’s devastatingly overwhelming, instinctive howls to stop.

You know you must keep moving. You know you must keep breathing. You know you must endure the onslaught before you. You knew this must be the truth, it was just fact; and if you ended up failing in these tasks, failing to meet these obligations, living to return to your recovering hometown once again was a nigh impossibility.

Your sudden, intrusive thoughts reminding you about home begin to draw up many stinging, salty tears into the wells of your eyes. You make an attempt to force your arm to move up and wipe them off as you continue to swing your bottom half back and forth, however, this attempt is only half-successful, and leaves plenty of drops rougely strewn as a result.

Finally, however, upon the watery cleansing of your shudders, you are able to spot something in the distance that may just allow for your plight to come to completion. There is an exceedingly ragged pile of debris close ahead that some of the Tankmen soldiers are using as cover to safely fire behind, although in being forced to peer just a inch around its bends in order to aim, they are not completely out of the line of counterfire. You pay them zero mind, (though mainly due to your current sheer mental incapacity to do so, rather than on account of any conscious decision), as you expend one, final burst around the corner.

Safe at last within a comparative sense, as no place is ever truly safe within a warzone, upon the moment your body has successfully made it behind, you instantly collapse from sheer exhaustion and overexertion, but again not because of your free will. This, mere desperate wish, at long last, was no longer needed to be repressed. You understand it to be quite obvious, however, that your arrival will not go unnoticed.

“Hmmmm? What the-” Private Steve, the well-known best friend of the further well known and widely respected Tankman known as Sergeant John Captain, suddenly calls out as he cautiously bends over in order to pick up your limp and bedraggled form. “What the hell? Guys! There’s…a civilian here! How did that happen?” he quickly announces to the other soldiers with him before turning to speak directly to you. “Well I have absolutely no clue how you got here, but you look frankly exhausted! Just how far did you have to run? Why are you even here in the first place? Or- How are you even here in the first place? What town are you from? Why-” he begins to positively barrage you with questions, an absolute total of zero of which you are capable of answering, of course. Perhaps quite literally all that your body can do right now is simply lay still and wait for recovery, upon which you may be once again able to act. For right now, however, that option remains an impossibility.

In all honesty, though, you were just glad Steve had managed to realize you were a civilian and not affiliated in any way with the army your government put together in opposition to the Tankmen. Both sides had been committing some rather noteworthy atrocities throughout the course of the war, as was unfortunately to be expected, and if Steve had mistaken you for one the soldiers, he might not have taken as kindly to you as he was right now. Realizing as well at this point that due to your physical state, you are currently unable to answer his questions, Steve gives a sigh and stops asking them.

“Alright, alright. I get it. You need time to breathe. Forget everything I just said. You don’t have to answer any of it. I’m sure some of those questions might be a bit touchy anyway. Still though, when this is all over, I’d be very interested to hear your story.” he at last concedes with a few short nods.

You somewhat manage to give a weak smile in respect of how understanding Steve has been to you thus far, if just so he understood that you had been listening to him in any capacity at all.

This moment, however, was unfortunately not to last, as just a few seconds later, somebody screeched out: “INCOMING!”

Steve was only given but a couple of seconds to duck before a relatively huge explosion went off. Since he was therefore unable to properly secure you beforehand, you were, as such, left to practically fly out of his glove from the force, and stick an exceedingly scathing landing containing further forward momentum against the rough, grainy floor, causing the particles to grind against your left leg, tearing off an abundant amount of skin as a result. Thankfully, the skin on your side and arm were considerably more lucky and managed to hold onto a lot more. You are only able to hear some faint screaming noises, and Steve’s echoing footsteps as he desperately cries out for a medic. Your completely disoriented and positively overwhelmed brain is utterly unable to comprehend anything as you feel something resembling someone inspecting your leg before...putting something on it? And then...wrapping something around it? You’re not entirely sure due to the precarious state of your consciousness, that which you have been barely able to hold onto in the first place. You swear you can hear Steve crying out something along the lines of: “I’M SO SORRY! I COULDN'T HOLD ONTO YOU PROPERLY!” as your mind slowly returns from its current state of haziness. That being said, it still hurt a considerable amount. The painful throbbing makes you completely unable to lift up your head as Steve scoops you back up, mindful of your new bandages, in his hands.

“Hey! Hey, I’m not sure how much of that you heard back there, but oh…I really am sorry, okay?” he apologetically whimpers out. “The medic gave you some bandages, I think that’ll help. But we need to put you somewhere where you can’t get hurt again, and…I’m just not sure where the hell that could be in a place like this…there's just absolutely nowhere- where- I just- wait.” Steve is then silent for a few seconds. “I…... think I know. Oh god I hope I’m not just losing my mind here, but I think that……...” Steve begins nervously attempting to explain before his voice weakly trails off. “Look, I know it may sound like a weird idea, AND IT IS, BUT-” all of a sudden, sounds of close gunfire practically force Steve to shut up. A couple of perilous seconds go by. And then, just like that, you are immediately shoved into his maw.

“I KNOW! I KNOW!” he instantly begins to panic. “I SWEAR THOUGH, I WON’T HURT YOU! YOU’LL BE JUST FINE! I’LL RELEASE YOU WHEN WE’RE ALL SAFE, ALRIGHT?” he finishes his mumble-shouting the best he possibly can with you inside his maw.

Though you do indeed have a few moments of temporarily and instinctively freaking out, you are swiftly able to calm yourself down by reasoning that Steve’s current behavior towards you does indeed show he’s being serious here, when he tells you he won’t hurt you. That, and, what he’s alluding to does kind of seem to be a good place to go to be safe, so you ultimately decide to openly display to him trust by casually laying down flat on his large, white tongue.

The warm, slimy, saliva accumulating against the sides and underneath the slick muscle doesn’t bother you too much, and as your bandages are waterproof enough to where the sticky fluids can’t seep through, allowing your limbs to naturally relax and uncurl themselves into a somewhat stretched out position came naturally as a result. With your hands lying open and somewhat curved around the edges of the tongue you are left able to gently maneuver them underneath its form entirely, before gently pressing your head down into the surface as if it was a pillow, and sensually rubbing your face against the wetted surface upon your leisure. You knew, of course, that Steve would be unable to give any sort of response to this, whether in words or otherwise, due to being caught up in his duty, which ultimately, took precedence over basically everything else the man had prioritized. However, as the act of protecting the innocent was indeed a part of his duty, you still deeply wished to be able to give Steve at least some form of acknowledgement of just how his actions had aided you, and to this end you merely continue to lightly grasp upon the tongue, hoping desperately Steve understood what you were trying to tell him, until the muscle silently rises up into a downwards sloping position, a signal clear as day that Steve was telling you it was time. Again, though you had gotten Steve’s message, it would only be after this battle was quelled that you would know if he had gotten yours.

Keeping the question nicely tucked in the back of your mind for the time being, you simply allow Steve to do his thing as his tongue, gently as it can, pushes you to the back of his maw via gravity, making you slowly and carefully slide downwards towards his gaping, blackened throat. You do your very best to not move around as you are cleanly inserted into the gullet, lest you risk bumping against anything sensitive such as the uvula, and therefore force Steve via his instincts to spit you all the way back out. Steve finally manages to swallow, and some sort of echoing, squishy sound effect reverberates around in your ears.

The goopy, jet black muscles of the esophagus begin to push you on down towards the stomach as you finally heave out a sigh. Feeling the powerful walls around you constantly expanding and contracting in order to shove you further down, your mind begins to meander just a little, eventually to the point where you can take note of the diligent booming of a heartbeat pounding around you. This to you, meant that you were rather close to your destination, and would soon be able to detect the growling and rumbling noises of the stomach. As you continue to be squelched further down, deeper and deeper into Private Steve’s body, this prediction was, of course, finally to come to fruition.

You do your very best to push down the rising instinctive fear of being burned alive by the stomach acid as you are visually introduced to, and soon thereafter gently squeezed through the lower esophageal sphincter. Much to your reassurance upon the oncoming splash landing, the goopy black liquids sloshing their ways about inside the churning tummy don’t seem to hurt you at all, thus solidifying the truth in Steve’s prior statement of not hurting you, and fully solidifying your trust in him as a result.

Heaving out one gigantic sigh of relief you slowly begin to nestle yourself against Steve’s cushiony, white stomach walls and, for the first time in what feels like eternity since all this warfare began, are finally, truly relaxed. The warmth and aura of secureness within the gurgling, shifting stomach have already begun to slightly soothe your headache, and release tension in your cramped leg muscles, as well as the pain in your injured left leg. You begin to wish desperately that you were able to thank Steve, however because he is on an extremely noisy battlefield, where hearing verbal cues may mean the difference between life and death, you are all safely tucked away in his tummy, and you had already given him a decidedly non-verbal cue of your gratitude all the way back in his maw, you therefore decide it would be best for all parties if you did so after the danger has passed. You then attempt to fall asleep, but even now, all of the craziness that has happened today, and just in this year in general, simply overcrowds your mind with too many thoughts, memories, and emotions for you to be able to properly sleep, so instead, you opt to try and deconstruct all of this turmoil within the safe and soothing environment that was Steve’s soft, heated stomach, and listen to its low gurgling and groaning, as well as his baseline heartbeat for the duration of the battle, instead of having to listen to more gunfire.

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