#wandering meatloaf

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: chitons

For last week's Wet Beast Wednesday I talked about a weird invertebrate whose name starts with "c" so this week I'm gonna branch out from that and talk about a weird invertebrate whose name starts with a "c". Chitons are marine mollusks of the class Polyplacophora that bear a resemblance to limpets, but have a segmented shell that allows for more flexibility. They are named after a form of clothing worm by the ancient Greeks.

(image id: a chiton. It is an oval animal with a flat shell composed if 8 overlapping green and white plates. Surrounding the shell is brown, soft tissue)

Chitons are similar in appearance and ecology to limpets, though they are not closely related. The shell of a chiton is made of 8 plates called valves. Valves are the name of any mollusk shell that is divided into multiple pieces. Most mollusk shells are made of one continuous piece and the only ones that have valves are the chitons, bivalves, and a few weird snails. The valves of a chiton overlap slightly, allowing for flexibility while still giving protection. Chitons can curl up into balls and flex backwards to move over concave surfaces that limpets wouldn't be able to. The valves are imbedded in and held together by a thick, muscular ring called the girdle that encircles the body. In most species, only the sides of the valves are covered by the girdle, leaving the rest exposed to the water. A few species cover more or all of the valves with the girdle. When a chiton dies and the girdle decays, the valves will separate. Individual valves sometimes wash up on beaches and are called butterfly shells due to their v-shaped appearance. The shell is used for defense. Chitons can curl up in a ball when not attached to a rock. If one is attached to a rock, it can suction on, presenting predators with no good way to attack its soft underbelly. Some species have spikes, bristles, or other ornaments on their valves and girdles that can provide additional protection.

(image: a chiton curled up into a ball. Its plates are pale pink and its girdle is white and brown)

Underneath the shell, the chiton's body is soft. It consists largely of a muscular foot that is used for movement. To either side of the foot is the mantle cavity, which consists of channels filled with gills that water is pulled through. There is no distinct head, but a mouth is present on the front end. Inside the mouth is the radula, a tongue-like appendage that is covered in teeth. The teeth are special because they are coated in magnetite, a very hard magnetic mineral that has iron as one of its main ingredients. While the metal is used to reinforce the teeth and keep them from wearing out (in fact, the chiton Chaetopleura apiculata has the hardest teeth of any known animal), it may also be used for magnetoreception. This is when an animal can sense magnetic fields. It is possible that the magnetic teeth of chitons can sense the Earth's magnetic field and help with navigation and migration. Most chitons are herbivores or omnivores that feed on algae, bryozonans, diatoms, and other tiny rock-dwellers by scraping at rocks with their radulae. Some are carnivores that target barnacles and can even eat small crustaceans and fish. They often hunt by holding the front ends of their girdles up in the water. Should an animal mistake it for shelter, the chiton will clamp down on them. Food is forced through the esophagus by a current of mucus moved by cilia.

(image: the underside of a chiton. it is oval and orange all over. Two groves filled with brown gill filaments go down each side of the body, encircling a central foot. The mouth is visible as a small hole on one end)

When it comes to senses, chitons have a few options. Like their gastropod cousins, chitons have a chemosensory organ called the subradular organ used for smell and their feet and girdles are full of sensory nerves. They also have special organs called aesthetes. These consist of light-sensing cells that are just below the surface of the shell. The aesthetes are not true eyes, only being able to distinguish light from dark, though they can tell the difference between a shadow and the effects of clouds moving over the sun. Some species use collections of aesthetes to form simple eyes called shell eyes. Unlike the aesthetes, the shell eyes can form images, though Chitons do not have nerve structures needed to form a high resolution image. Shell eyes are distinct from those of any other animal in their structure. Most animals have eye lenses made of protein-based structures, but chiton lenses are crystalline, made of aragonite, the same material that makes up the shell of most mollusks. Each shell eye is compound. The shell eyes are almost certainly used for predator detection. Fossil chitons have been found dating back to the Cambrian period. but shell eyes have only been found in fossils from less than 10 million years old. This likely makes chitons the most recent animal group to have evolved true eyes. Chiton eyes have also been found to work both in water and air, which is tricky due to the way light travels differently through both mediums.

(image: a close-up of a chiton's shell showing the eyes. The shell is yellow and lumpy with the eyes visible as darker, almost black lumps)

The majority of chitons live in intertidal or sub-tidal areas, making them a shallow water group. A few species have been found living in much deeper water, up to 2,000 meters down. Chitons have been known to have homing behavior as they will consistently return to a safe spot after feeding. How they do this is unknown. Sensing the magnetic field of the Planet may play a role, though it is also possible that they lay down chemical trails to find their way home. Chitons are broadcast spawners, with both males and females releasing gametes into the water. Larvae can swim for a while before moving to the substrate.

(image: microscope images of a chiton larva at 4 different developmental stages. It begins as a round blob ringed with hair-like cilia. As the animal develops the cilia recede and the animal elongates, with a distinct foot becoming visible. source)

I will close by bringing up an animal I only learned about recently but has rapidly become one of my favorite weird beasts. This is Cryptochiton stelleri. Its common name is the gumboot chiton, but some people call it the wandering meatloaf, which is objectively the best name ever. It is the largest chiton, growing up to 36 cm (14 in) and 2 kg (4.4 lbs). Its girdle completely covers its shell, which does make it look more like a meatloaf. They can live up to 40 years and are the first known animals to have the mineral santabarbarite in their bodies. They live throughout the north pacific and have been used as a food source by many different cultures. There may be a lot of bad stuff in the world, but if things get too bad, just remember that we live on the same planet as an animal called the wandering meatloaf that can live for 40 years and has a tongue covered in magnetic teeth.

(image: a wandering meatloaf. It is an ovoid animal with red-orange tissue covering the body. Its shell is not visible, but the ridges where each plate overlaps can be seen through the girdle)

[alliluyevas]

why am i like shaking with laughter at this

[wizzard890]

okay so picture this.

You're a man named Jim Steinman. You are one of the most prolific songwriters of the 80s. In your spirit, output and essence, you are eternally popping a wheelie on a motorcycle while a hot half-naked woman clings to you and bats wheel in the sky above.

You wrote a song in which Meatloaf plays a hideously disfigured hunk who steals a nubile lady back to his crumbling manor and introduces her to the pleasures of magic lesbian group sex.

You wrote a song in which Celine Dion sings as Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, dancing with Cathy's corpse on a beach in the moonlight; a scene which you, Jim Steinman, believe should have been in the book. (The moors of Wuthering Heights are landlocked, but you, Jim Steinman, are too fucking real to care about that.)

You wrote the song for the opening scene of the movie Streets of Fire, in which evil leatherdaddy Willem Dafoe leads his malefic motorcycle crew into a concert to abduct Diane Lane while she's wearing a skintight satin jumpsuit.

You wrote a song in which Bonnie Tyler wanders a haunted boarding school as literal demon twinks gyrate at her out of the fog.

There is no peak of goth camp that you, Jim Steinman, have not summited, no horny energy you have not tapped. They say that Alexander the Great wept when he saw there were no more worlds to conquer. But you, Jim Steinman, are not Alexander the Great. You, Jim Steinman, are better. You, Jim Steinman, have vision.

You take your most successful song, the song everyone knows, the most big-haired, white dress, gothic arches, doves flying, possessed choir boys chanting, bombastic song you have, and think: what if this, but with vampires.

And so you change the lyrics to be about death and infinity and a powerful bloodsucking lord seducing a girl who is ALL ABOUT IT, and then toss off a whole musical for this song to be the centerpiece to, and the musical is bad but it's also a weird hit that's been staged in fourteen countries and revived seven times, because nothing has ever whipped as campily, as ridiculously, as perfectly as this:

It never takes off in America. A prophet is without honor in his own land. But that doesn't matter. How could it matter? You are perhaps the most creatively self-actualized man who has ever lived. Look at that vampire. He's coming in hot and a hundred Venetian nuns gave their lives to make his ludicrously capacious lace sleeves. Look at that girl. She was born in a fog machine. She wore her best red velvet cape. She's down bad. She's singing Total Eclipse of the Heart the whole time.

You are Jim Steinman, and you have reached apotheosis.

[bedupolker]

Did you know that Chiton (specifically the wandering meatloaf chiton) produce the hardest known biologically made material? Their shells are also covered in microscopic lenses that combine to almost make their body into one compound eye. Why they need to look so much, who knows?

[atleastpleasetelephone]

I just want to say how good your stories are and I really love them they are so detailed and good!.. I wanted to request a fic. Nympho reader trying to get Elvis's attention ata family and friends dinner (the memohis mafia, their wives yk) but he denies her until he can't take it anymore and drags her off to the bathroom and fucks her hard and makes her be quiet. 🙏🏼

Maneater

A/N: Sorry this has taken me so long! I've been thinking about it on and off for a while now, and finally got something written down.

Pairing: Elvis x nympho!reader

Word count: 2.3K

TWs: Infidelity, name-calling, spanking, rough sex, mirror sex, reader is gagged, degredation kink, praise kink, a handjob, p in v sex, also probably should mention the appearance of Lamar's dick, might need a warning...

Elvis fixes you with a stern look as he tells you yet again that this is a nice dinner and you’re not to do anything to mess it up. What he means by that is that he doesn’t want you winding him up at the dinner table. He’s never met a girl like you. You’re desperate for it, all the time. He can’t keep up. Perhaps he could have, in his 20s, but not now he’s 34. He gave up trying to please you with his hands and mouth and dick all the time - his jaw started to ache and he’s getting worried about his fingers anyway from all the karate. The less said about his dick the better. He’d eventually caved and bought a vibrator, something to make you cum a few times in a row and hopefully shut you up. When that stopped being a guaranteed cure he decided he couldn’t take it anymore and broke up with you. He’s never broken up with a girl before (they usually do the leaving) and it was difficult. Made even more difficult by him finding you sucking Jerry off, not more than an hour later. So he’d taken you back, out of jealousy really, he supposes.

“You’re going to be a good girl, right?”

You twist a few strands of hair around your finger and tilt your head to the side. It’s not that you don’t want to be good. You just have these urges, and they don’t really seem to be stoppable.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He walks the few steps between you and pinches your cheeks with his fingers. “Right?”

You nod enthusiastically. “I’m going to be a good girl.” Already you’re squeezing your thighs together. He really needs to learn that you find all of this such a turn on that it’s just making the whole situation worse.

“Good. Let’s go downstairs.”

***

You manage the first course without incident, but by the time the main dish is on the table you’re thoroughly distracted again. Elvis sat you to his left so that he could keep an eye on you, and he’s been careful not to touch you or even really look at you directly that much. But there’s so much sauce he keeps having to lick his lips, more than usual, and you can’t help but think about all the other places that tongue has been or could go… You wriggle about a little in your chair, getting some friction between it and your pussy, thinking about him eating you rather than the meatloaf.

Elvis notices your tell-tale movements and reaches one hand beneath the table to pinch your thigh, hard. You squeak, but you get the message and stop moving. He clears his throat and moves his hand back to the table, returning to his conversation with Joe. You take a few deep breaths and try to get your head back in the game. Eat dinner, ignore Elvis, be a good girl.

“How’s it going, pipsqueak?” Lemar asks, from your left.

“‘M not a pipsqeak,” you hum, fluttering your eyelashes and putting your hand on his thigh. So much for being a good girl.

Lemar grins. He doesn’t usually get a lot of attention from the ladies, but you’re the exception. And he likes you because you treat him just the same as you do everyone else - as a potential ride.

“Look like one to me,” he teases. “Enjoying your meatloaf?”

You shrug, putting down your fork. “Can think of some meat I’d prefer…”

Your hand wanders a little further up Lamar’s thigh, and then you chance a look over to Elvis, who is still studiously ignoring you. Well, if you can’t get his attention you’ve sure as shit got Lamar’s.

Lamar actually blushes at your words, looking nervously over at Elvis now himself. He’s going to get into trouble for this but it’s turning him on so he’s not sure if he cares. Elvis is deep in conversation with Joe and his wife and hasn’t noticed anything, so the other man doesn’t stop your hand as it continues its journey up his thigh, finally reaching his dick and giving it a friendly squeeze. He’s playing with fire now, but he just takes another mouthful of meatloaf as you unzip him one-handed and dip your hand into his boxers, starting to stroke him.

He tries not to choke on the food in his mouth at the sensation. Your little hand is very skilled, even at this weird angle, and suddenly he realises that you could make him cum at the dinner table. And you probably will, since consequences don’t really seem to bother you. Not that surprising, since all the guys know you sucked Jerry off and Elvis took you back anyway.

You’re already moving quickly, and you don’t bother trying to cover up what you’re doing that much. No-one notices though, busy chatting and eating and drinking, not paying any attention to you. You pout, almost to yourself, and then decide you have to do something to get some attention. You hate to be ignored.

“Elvis?” You drawl, lazily.

Lamar freezes. Why on earth are you doing this? This is worse than just making him cum at the dinner table, this is making him cum whilst Elvis watches. It’s a miracle no-one has noticed what you’re doing, and you want to Elvis to notice, of all people.

“Yes, honey,” Elvis replies, coldly, rolling his eyes.

Your hand is still working Lamar’s dick and he’s getting closer and closer to release. Now Elvis has turned to look at you, he knows he can’t try to pull your hand off him, that’ll make it too obvious. But he can’t let you keep going, that’ll make it even more obvious. He panics and so he does nothing, feeling his balls getting heavier as you keep jerking him. There’s no way that this ends well.

“Are you enjoying your meatloaf?” You lick your lips teasingly.

Elvis frowns a little, thinking that something about the way you’re sitting looks weird. Your shoulder keeps moving and… something about Lamar looks weird too. Suddenly it snaps into focus and he realises what’s happening. Around the same time as Lamar cums with a barely disguised moan.

“You little slut.”

He stands and grabs you by the arm, dragging you out of your chair and then behind him as he marches up the stairs. Lamar. Lamar of all people. And at the dinner table! He’s not sure he can keep seeing you but he can’t break up with you without teaching you a lesson first.

Lamar zips himself up and tries to look innocent, although it’s not long before the other guys figure out what happened, especially when they see the stains on his pants. It’s only the presence of the wives that keep them from really ribbing him at the table, but they can barely believe it. That girl Elvis is seeing really is some kind of nymphomaniac.

Your stomach flips and you feel yourself getting wetter as you struggle to keep up with him, first up the stairs and then into the en suite. He slams the door and then rounds on you, fury etched into his face.

“Ya really just gave Lamar a handjob at the dinner table? In my house? With me right next ta ya?”

You bite your lip. “‘M sorry, Daddy. I can’t help it.”

“You need to learn,” he growls.

And this is the problem. He thinks this is a punishment, but you’re just excited. You want to be taught lesson after lesson. You like it when he gets like this, a little out of control. You want him to fuck you like an animal and keep going way past the point of enjoyment. You want it to go on and on until you beg him to stop, and even then he continues.

He spins you around to face the big mirror over the bathroom sink, pushing you so that you bend at the waist, your little skirt flipping up to uncover your ass. Pulling your panties down and off, he stuffs them in his pocket and looks briefly at your reflection. You look back at him, big doe eyes and pouting lips.

“Maybe this’ll teach ya.”

He spanks you, hard, and you yelp. So he carries on, over and over again. You can feel his rings against your skin, making each slap sting even more. Little squeals fall from your mouth as he keeps going, your ass getting redder and redder.

“Shush.”

“Sorry Daddy,” you coo, trying hard to clamp your mouth shut and not make any more noise.

But he doesn’t stop hitting you, and it’s starting to get really sore, and you can’t help yelping again and then wriggling a little, a half-hearted attempt to get away.

“I told ya to shush.”

He grabs the panties and stuffs them into your mouth. You can feel your arousal running down your leg. Jerking Lamar off was worth it for this reaction.

He spanks you a few more times but he can see how turned on you are and he can’t pretend his dick isn’t aching right now too. Dragging a finger up the inside of your thigh, he brings it up, wet, to his lips and lets you see him lick it.

“Dirty little girl,” he hisses.

You moan around the panties, drool pooling around them and starting to spill out of the sides and into the sink. He looks into your eyes and… you look… happy? He can’t understand it. After that spanking, the way he’s humiliating you, the panties in your mouth… how can you be happy? He unzips his pants and takes out his dick, pushing it inside you hard and fast. You groan at being so full so quickly but your wetness means he slides in no problem, you’re so ready for him. Even more than usual.

He grunts as he starts to thrust into you, one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, bunching it into a makeshift ponytail. Your hips bump the sink with every thrust and you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow. You’ll probably have a bruised ass, too, with the beating he gave it. You moan again, pleasure rippling through your body as he pulls your head up and arches your back, his dick hitting somewhere delicious inside you.

“Nasty little slut,” he groans, pulling your hair some more. “Look at yourself.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, hair everywhere, mascara running down your red cheeks, saliva spilling over your chin. Then you look back at him and his eyes look wild, almost black with lust and fury, his face flushed and his lip curled into a sneer. He briefly lets go of your hip to pull the panties out of your mouth, letting them fall into the sink.

“What d’ya look like?”

“A nasty little slut, Daddy.”

His eyes roll back in his head as he starts to pound you, wanting to somehow fuck this out of you. You’re such a damn frustrating little girl. So obedient when you’re taking his dick, and so goddamn wayward when you’re not.

His dick keeps rubbing that place inside you that you like so much, and you know you’ve got to be almost there now. But you can’t just cum without permission. You could jerk Lamar off without permission, but cumming was a whole different story.

“Daddy, I need to cum.”

“Ya always fuckin’ need ta cum. That’s the problem with ya.” He snaps.

“Mmmm. But now. Please. ‘M so close.”

“Fine,” he huffs, and the result is almost immediate, your walls are pulsing around him, squeezing and squeezing.

You scoop up the soggy panties from the sink and put them back in your own mouth, so that the noise you make as you cum on his dick is muffled. But he still hears it, and still sees your face contorted in ecstasy in the mirror, and combined with the way you’re squeezing him there’s nothing he can do but cum too, hard and deep inside you. He groans, staggering backwards and then managing to sit himself down on the toilet lid, legs spread, head thrown back. Fuck. That was good. You were a damn good fuck.

You spit the panties out of your mouth then straighten, legs like jelly, before turning around. Seeing him there with his dick still out of his pants you can’t help yourself. You kneel down between his legs and start to lick him clean. His head slowly moves forwards and he stares down at you, incredulously.

“What’re ya doin’?” There’s a softness in his voice now, and he finds himself stroking your cheek with his forefinger.

“Bein’ good,” you tell him, licking a final stripe up him and then looking up at his face. “Hoping for round two,” you add, more honestly.

He shakes his head. “Little girl, you are insatiable.”

You nod. “I know. Sorry, Daddy.”

He sighs and pulls you up into his lap. “What am I gonna do with ya?”

Your arms slip around his neck and you look at him with those big doe eyes again. “Spank me? Teach me a lesson? Fill up all my little holes?”

Elvis blushes at your filthy mouth, even after the things he’s just said and done to you. He shakes his head again.

“It’s this big hole,” he says, pinching your cheeks with his thumb and a finger, and then pressing his forefinger to your lips. “That keeps gettin’ ya in trouble.”

You nod sagely. “I know. Probably best to fill that up too.”

He can’t help giggling. There’s something adorable about you, even if you are the filthiest girl he’s ever met. You giggle too. You like this, this attention from him. Even though he’s not fucking you or spanking you, you like him up close and intimate like this.

He kisses your temple and then makes a decision.

“Alright. To hell with this dinner. Get on the bed and I’ll shut ya up properly this time.”

***

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas

[darkdemeter]

・okay but imagine・ STUCK IN THIS FORM

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

Nobody has ever seen you in your human form. It's unsure as to why exactly, but you never seem to ever reveal your human side, instead wandering around the compound as this 8ft hairy creature stalking around on two, large hind paws with a haunting weight that thunders through the halls. Your thick, long tail sweeps along behind you and though you have this beastly appearance, you tend to act... human. But there is a lacking to it, like an intelligent lifeform that knows how to mimic human behaviour. There's something dark in the way you drink from a bottle of water, there is an unsettling air around you when you eat the leftover meatloaf.

The smell of wet dog still clings to you even though you used half of your soap bottle in the shower, as if you try to peel away that layer from you and you fail to do so. You barely leave the compound grounds because of your condition, unable to involve yourself with the general public. You're stuck.

Your fellow Avengers have taken some time to get used to you, often wary of you and Wanda knows she shouldn't. She just knows that she shouldn't but she can't help the way her eyes drift down your body, taking in every detail she can.

At first she too was one of the wary ones who tried to avoid getting in your way. She had Vision after all and she was happily in a relationship with him. But something about you was pulling, she found herself drawn to you by this invisible tether. Nobody else but her was able to see the way your fur becomes tousled with this majestic flow in the wind.

Vision regularly reminds her that you're just an animal with no sense of your humanity. At least not enough to return to your human form. Your mind had been scrambled by Hydra to the point of no return to that aspect of your life; to find that agency that allowed you to blend in with everyone else.

But what Wanda saw was a fellow victim of Hydra. One that was secretly starved for love and affection. Nobody wanted to go near you, nobody really interacted with you outside of missions.

Maybe she pried... once or twice. In your mind, she came to know how badly you were tortured. The way you curl up into a ball and whimper, high pitched and growl in pain. You relive your time trapped in their labs as an experiment and their personal dog. Another mind tried too far and fried much like Bucky. Like him, you were forced to pay the price with your humanity.

Thus, she began to let herself closer to your presence. Whenever you both occupied the same space, she would let herself drift that little bit closer and though you would snap and snarl at her, secretly warning her to keep her distance for her sake, she only found her way around it all. She wouldn't give up on you.

She'd find the reflective shine of your amber eyes burning with this fire, sternly animalistic but it made her feel... secure. And then that sense of comfort and safety turned wayward, instead becoming something it shouldn't have. She began to feel the inkling wetness pooling in her panties, soaking her wet and leaving her in desperate want for something more. Something raw and untamed - wild.

By this point, you also let yourself get that bit closer to her. Able to finally take in the creamy jade of her eyes at a closer distance and to become fully enveloped with her scent. It was one you found calming, it numbed the pain of your memories and allowed you to finally rest peacefully. Because of this, you eventually would creep with a silent stalk into her room, body sauntering forth until you came to lay down on the floor beside her bed. She'd smile at the deep, rumbling purrs of your slumber, the way your ears would flicker and twitch and the relatively calm posture you came to have instead of your muscles being wound tensely. In the grace of morning, her hand glides with gentle brushes down the column of your spine and you stretch, shaking away the remnants of sleep. The two of you would just stare at the other for a moment, taking in the other in the rising light of the early sun. What she'd see is a hesitance, a fearful reaction that made you turn and leave quickly with a huff snorted through your dark, wet nose; like you didn't want her to see you like this.

You're stuck like this. There is no humanity within you to love.

[tuiccim]

Wrecked (Part 1)

Pairing: Alpha Frank Castle x Omega Reader, Alpha Billy Russo x Omega Reader

Trigger Warnings: Discussion of infertility, attempted physical assault

Summary: When Frank Castle found his way to your small town bar, you thought you had finally found your Alpha despite being a "wrecked omega" but when his best friend, Billy Russo, blows through town, your world tilts on its axis. You thought you found your happy ending but was it just more wreckage for your life?

A/N: Thank you to my beta reader, @whisperlullaby

Wrecked Masterlist

You were peeling potatoes when you heard the rumble of Frank’s truck as it pulled up to the cabin. Was it strange you still felt nervous when he came home after all these months? Maybe because you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You weren’t an Omega that any “normal” Alpha would want, and you know that your relationship with Frank was born more out of solace and comfort than anything else. Still, you loved him and he seemed to love you. So, you smiled when you heard his gravelly voice call, “Hey babe.”

“Hey. I’m in the kitchen,” you reply. 

“Whatcha cookin’?” Frank asks as he sets his lunch box in its spot. 

“Just boring old meatloaf and mashed potatoes,” you smile at him over your shoulder. 

“Mmm, does that mean I get a meatloaf sandwich in my lunch tomorrow?” Frank sidles up behind you and rests his hands on your hips.

“If you like.”

“I like,” he confirms as he squeezes your hips suggestively. “Do I have time to shower?”

“You have about 30 minutes before it’s ready,” you confirm as you rinse the peeled potatoes. 

“Great,” he retreats to your bedroom and you immediately miss his warmth.

You had found each other by accident. He had come to your small town by chance. Many people passed through on their way to bigger towns but he decided to stay. He wandered into your bar, drank alone, talked but didn’t flirt as you tended to him, and ended up breaking up a fight between two alphas quite adeptly. You had been impressed and a little enticed until you noticed the claiming mark on his neck. Fully expecting him to disappear into the night, you were surprised when he showed up again the next night. And the one after that. You had joked that you should hire him as a bouncer and he had laughed but then asked if anyone in town was hiring. Referring him to the two places you knew were looking, you poured him a congratulatory drink when he told you he had landed a spot. You remember back to that time…

Close to the end of the night, you were cutting off a young alpha who took offense. You were used to handling drunks and thought you had defused the situation when he walked away from the bar. A few of his friends ribbed him and the group left just as you announced last call. You shut down, counted out, and sent the rest of your staff home. As the daughter of a prominent alpha and known as a rejected and broken omega, you felt secure in the town. Perhaps that was a bit of your own arrogance. You had just made it to your car when you were slammed against it by a large body and your head was pulled to one side by the grip in your hair. 

Alcohol laden breath spoke in your ear, “You need to learn your place, ‘mega.”

“Get off of me!” You yelled, bucking against his hold. 

“Don’t worry. I don’t wanna fuck the wrecked omega. I’m just gonna give you the beating your daddy never did. Pathetic, unfuckable thing you are, I’m surprised he let you live. Shoulda- Agh!” The young alpha’s words cut off by his own scream. 

You’re pulled roughly to the ground by his grip in your hair but roll away from him quickly and scoot out of his range. He’s holding onto his side and you look up at the tire iron gripped in a strong hand. Following it up, you see Frank and breathe a sigh of relief. Frank is obviously not done yet as he lands another blow to the alpha’s stomach then one across the face.

He stops and leans over his prey, “Is that something like the beating your daddy never gave you? I ever see you here again, I’ll kill you. Understand?” 

When no answer comes, Frank raises the tire iron for another swing but the other alpha holds his hands up and wheezes, “Yes!”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Frank yells and watches as the man scrambles off into the darkness. Turning to you, he holds a hand out to help you up, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you,” you brush yourself off as you speak, trying to appear nonchalant but clearly shaken up. 

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Frank grouses at you. 

“I’m fine. That’s the first time-”

“It only takes one time. You have to be more careful,” Frank interrupts. 

“I- I’m fine,” you say again. You drop your keys because your hands are shaking and pick them up only to drop them again. 

“Hey,” Frank covers your hands with his.

“I’m fine,” you whisper again, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to fall. 

“Hey, look at me,” Frank pulls you around to look at him. His face softens as he sees the unshed tears in your eyes, “You’re not fine. Let me take you home.” 

You surrender your keys to him and nod. You tell him what direction to head in and silence stretches between you until you can stand it no longer. “So, Frank, what’s your story?”

“What do you mean?” Frank hedges. 

“I mean a lone alpha wandering into town and staying isn’t very common. What brought you here? What made you stay?”

“My truck. A good bar that pours a stiff drink and a job,” Frank replies. 

“Okay, then,” you recognize when someone doesn’t want to talk about their past. 

“How long have you worked at the bar?” Frank asks. 

“I own the bar,” you retort. 

“How long have you owned the bar?”

“Since the last owner sold it to me,” you sass. 

Frank surprises you by letting a laugh rumble out of his chest and you can’t help the smile that quirks your lips. His scent is suddenly stronger in the small space of your car, not hidden by the scents of the bar. It’s enticing and warm. You feel yourself responding to it and clench your thighs. 

“Didn’t seem like that was your first fight. Army?” You guess. 

“Marines.”

“Oorah,” you glance over at him and as headlights pass you see the mating mark on his neck again. It’s faded but definitely there. “Where’s your mate?” 

Frank’s entire demeanor shifts as if a darkness had covered him entirely. He growls, “Gone.”

“I’m sorry,” you study your hands. Feeling awkward at having obviously brought up a painful subject. 

“She and both my pups were killed. Car crash,” he says quietly. 

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine.”

“Since we’re on sore subjects, why are you a ‘wrecked omega’?” Frank glances over at you. 

“Turn left just past the highway sign up ahead,” you point out the sign. “Because I can’t have children. My mate rejected me because of it.”

“Sounds like a jackass,” Frank says. 

“He was from another pack. My father wanted me to lie to him but I couldn’t and I understood when he decided to reject me. He was very kind about it but the reason got out. It’s common knowledge that I’m broken. Take the next right and then the third left.”

“Guess that makes two of us,” Frank says reflectively. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Frank shakes his head as he takes the turns. 

“Um, you’ll cross over some train tracks and then a bridge. It’ll be the next house on the right,” you explain. He nods but remains silent. You knot your fingers while trying to think of something to say. You’re relieved when you go over the bridge a few minutes later and the front porch light on your cabin shines like a beacon. “That’s it,” you point.

He parks the car, hands you the keys, and walks you to the front steps. You go up and unlock the door. Turning back, you wait for him to follow you inside. 

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow night,” Frank turns to walk away. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, confused. 

“I’ll just walk back,” he shrugs. 

“It’s over five miles back to town,” you say incredulously.

“I’ll be alright.”

“I’m not letting you walk back to town. Let’s go,” you tilt your head towards the house. 

“I-”

“I can’t be alone right now, please,” you say in hopes of convincing him. 

“Okay,” he says as he climbs the steps. 

You let him in and then lock the door behind you. You take your boots off, hang up your bag, and head to the kitchen as you decide you need a drink. “Would you like something?” You ask as you pour yourself a glass of wine.

“Got anything stronger?”

“I have everything stronger,” you scoff playfully. 

“Whiskey?” Frank smirks.

“Ice?”

“Nah.”

You pour him two fingers of the liquor and hand it over. Studying him over the rim of your glass, you wonder what else there was to this stranger. He was good-looking and seemed decent. You hope he is considering you just invited him into your house. 

“Got an extra pillow and blanket?” He asks. 

“What for?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You lean over the counter and give him a look, “I told you I didn’t want to be alone tonight.” 

Frank leisurely lets his eyes slide down to peak at the cleavage your position was clearly showing off and smirked, “You sure?”

“Yeah, Marine. I mean, if you think you can handle me,” you toss the words over your shoulder as you walk to your bedroom. 

“Oorah,” Frank grins as he follows you. 

The two of you fell into a routine. He came to the bar for a drink after work, stayed until last call, and you invited him back to your place. After a couple of weeks, you offered him a key saying that working all day and then staying at the bar until close each night had to be exhausting. If he wanted, he could wait for you at the cabin. If he was still awake when you got home, you fucked. If he was asleep, he usually woke you up fucking you the next morning. He was insatiable and you enjoyed it more than you cared to admit. You had never had the sole attention of an alpha for any time outside of your heat (which was a bane seeing as your body still went through it despite your inability to conceive) and the betas you had dated never seemed to stick around long. Even they didn't want the broken omega.

In the time Frank had been with you, he gave every indication of being a good man who wanted a simple life. Despite his seeming contentment, you often wondered why he stayed and when he would decide to go. He knew you could never give him kids and in the times you’d seen him with them, he seemed entirely natural. He would be an amazing father, had been an amazing father you were sure. And it ate at you. Why did he stay? Your fear wouldn’t let you ask because that may hasten his leaving you. You never discussed your relationship. You just lived it everyday and, for the most part, you were happy. 

But your heat was coming soon. It would be his second time seeing you through it and it was just another reminder of  your brokenness. You would have to bring it up. 

Setting dinner on the table, you jump when you feel a hand on your backside, “Oh! How does a man your size move so quietly?”

Frank chuckles, “Maybe cause I’m barefoot.”

You laugh with him as he wiggles his toes. Most see the quiet, stoic side of this man but you’ve been allowed to see the funny and sweet side of him. It’s what made you love him. After you’d both eaten a bit, you broach the subject on your mind. 

“There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Uh-oh. What’d I do?”

“It’s not you. It’s me.”

“Heard that before,” Frank’s brow furrows. 

“My heat is coming in the next few weeks,” you say nervously. 

“Okay…”

“Will you, um, help me through it?”

“Yeah. Why are you asking? Is there someone else you want to help you or something?”

“No! I just didn’t want to assume.”

“You didn’t want to assume that I’d take care of my Omega?” Frank asks, clearly offended. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you say in surprise. 

“I’ve called you that plenty,” Frank shrugs.

“You’ve called me ‘mega, occasionally Omega, but you’ve never called me yours. Never ‘my Omega’.”

“Never, huh?”

“No,” you whisper, looking away. Guilt and shame welled in you for even bringing it up. 

“What is it you want from me, my Omega?”

You glance up at him. His face is curious but not angry as you feared he would be, “What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to mate you?” Frank asks as he takes another bite of his dinner. 

“No!” You say a little too forcefully. Seeing Frank’s brows draw together, you babble, “I don’t expect that from you. I know I’m not what an Alpha wants, since I can’t have kids. I’m not asking you for anything. Just… just to see me through my heat.” You didn’t expect it from him. You didn’t expect any Alpha to mate you. Neither of you had even said I love you. You do love him and you think he feels something for you but you would never tell him. You wouldn’t try to force him into being stuck with you. 

“I will. You would be safer if you were mated. With the bar and everything,” Frank says as he forks another bite. 

“I know but there aren’t many Alphas or even Betas out there that would take a mate who can’t have kids,” you say a bit exasperated. 

“Then I’ll mate you,” Frank says quietly. 

Your heart swells and breaks in the same moment, “No, Frank. I know you well enough to know you want children again. I know you want to protect me but I won’t take your future from you.”

“I’m happy here with you. That’s enough for me,” Frank insists. 

“Frank-”

“I’m mating you when your heat comes,” Frank interrupts before taking the last bite of his food and getting up to put his plate in the sink, effectively cutting off the conversation. He looks back and gestures to your half eaten plate, “Finish up and I’ll do the dishes.”

“I’m done,” you hand the plate to him and stand awkwardly. You aren’t sure what to say or even what you feel. You try to think of something that will take this feeling away that you’re going to ruin his future and the feeling that you were a settlement rather than a choice. You decide to pour yourself a glass of wine. 

“You, uh, remember me telling you about my friend, Billy?” Frank asks as he sloshes water in the sink. You would never understand why he won’t use the dishwasher. One of his idiosyncrasies. 

“Russo, right? He owns a security company?” You try to remember the details of the conversation you’d had about the man. 

“Yeah, he called me today,” Frank pauses.

“...About something in particular?”

“He’s gonna pass through the area next week and wanted to stop here for a few days. Catch up,” Frank explains. 

“Oh, okay. I’ll clean up the guest room for him,” you say. 

“I can put him at the motel,” Frank hedges. 

“He doesn’t know about me?” You ask, voice hollow.

“He knows. I just don’t want you to feel obligated to put him up,” Frank grouses. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Clearing your throat, you say, “Of course, your friend can stay here. Um, is there anything I can make that he likes?”

“Just keep the good whiskey out and he’ll be happy,” Frank smiles. 

It lightens your heart and you finally feel able to take a deep breath, “That I can do.”

“Oh, and Bill’s a flirt. Don’t be surprised if he teases you.”

“Noted. You should bring him up to the bar. Cecily’s supposed to be back next week, too,” you smile as you watch Frank make a face. A long-time friend who is quite the social butterfly and ends up at your bar more often than not, had tried to rouse Frank’s interest when he first blew into town but he had ignored her attempts and played off her flirtations. She had been out of town for a while but had recently texted that she would be returning. 

“Oh, god, no. Those two would create havoc together,” Frank shakes his head. 

You laugh, feeling more relaxed, “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, Bill can be a bit of a troublemaker, too,” Frank confirms.

“Oh, I hope they are here at the same time. I could use some entertainment.”

“Your funeral,” Frank laughs as he shakes his head. 

“Do you know when next week?”

“Nope. He’s not great at specifics,” Frank shrugs. 

“Well, I’ll have the room and a bottle of whiskey at the ready,” you smile. 

Frank smiles back as he dries his hands and prowls towards you. 

“What’s that look about, Marine?” You narrow your eyes and move deftly around the couch.

Frank gives a low, gravelly laugh before rumbling out, “Oorah.” He begins to chase after you with a teasing, predatory glint in his eye. 

“Frank!” You yell as you round the couch and stay out of his reach. 

He wanted a chase and you were more than happy to oblige him. Some feral, primal part of him occasionally took hold and it was thrilling when it did. He stalked you like prey around the living room until you made a break for the back door. You fly through it with him hot on your heels. Running parallel to the creek by your cabin, you make it to the tree line and weave around the trunks. He doesn’t know the woods as well as you but he’s faster. It was only a matter of time before he’d catch up. You stop to listen for a moment but know you can’t stay still long. Hearing nothing, you decide to change directions but your mistake is discovered quickly when his arm wraps around your middle and you’re lifted off your feet momentarily. You laugh and turn in his arms to face him. He kisses you and you use the opportunity to push him while his guard is down. Something you’d never done before. He stumbles over the tree roots and you turn to run again. He catches your ankle and you go down but you manage to kick his hand away and get to your feet. You can hear him half growl, half laugh at this turn of events. You thread your way through the trees again and then skirt the edge of the creek before doubling back towards the house. You were nearly back to the tree line when your momentum was suddenly brought up short and you landed with your back against a tree. Frank’s body pinned you in place as his hands ripped open his fly. He pulls your clothing away with no patience and within seconds has your legs wrapped around him as he enters your body. 

The first thrust is pure bliss. You were thoroughly wet from the excitement of the chase and he roared as he took you. He pounded into you, railing you against that tree. You clutched at him, nails raking across his shoulders and body bowed as your orgasm built. 

“Alpha, oh fuck!” You cried out as you felt your body spasm around him. The orgasm slammed through you with the same hard persistence as his cock. A few more jerky thrusts and he was groaning his release. He holds you in place as your breathing returns to normal. 

After a moment, you murmur in his ear, “Maybe I should call you caveman instead of marine.”

Frank laughs as he gently pulls away from you, “If I was a caveman, I’d just hit you over the head with a club and drag you to the bedroom by your hair.”

“Mmm, true. Guess I’ll just stick to calling you marine,” you lean in and kiss him. 

Making your way back to the house, you look up at the first stars beginning to appear as the sun sets and make a wish. It was a stupid, silly wish that you’d made over and over again since you were a young girl. One that would never come true for a broken omega. As you looked over at the Alpha you were sharing your life with, you wondered why you still wished it. He was more than you ever believed you could have. So, why wasn’t it enough?

Part 2

Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction​ for update notifications. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

[elvisabutler]

down home southern cookin'

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( fameless big daddy electrician/handyman ) x female original character word count: 3069 warnings: housewife kink. big daddy elvis. pregnant sex. minor pregnancy kink and breastfeeding kink. sex around food ( the food isn't harmed ). p in v sex ( unprotected ). minor praise kink. talk of sweat. bags thumping on floors making you feel things. author’s note: welcome to day 14 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, breastfeeding kink with spark elvis and lilly. so, hi. i've been having a rough go around on actually finishing the main fic but i have made a bit more progress after moving past the block i've had formed for a while. that being said, enjoy this little one shot in the meantime. also if you have no idea what this series/verse is, the masterlist is right here. in addition, i truly do thrive on your comments and messages and love reading them.

"Is that meatloaf 'm smellin' darlin'?"

Lilly hears the door open before she ever hears Elvis's voice but at the sound of his voice, she can feel their children inside her move about, kicking and trying to roll around. It's been getting harder and harder to bend to reach the oven but she manages well enough, free hand on her belly as she opens the oven.

Elvis's thudding steps tell Lilly that he's heading to the kitchen to investigate not entirely unlike a bloodhound and she smiles softly to herself even as the twin she has taken to calling Gladys kicks her square in the rib. Her hand rubs at the spot as she stays bent over looking into the oven when she hears Elvis's whistle, low and appreciative.

"Wasn't expectin' that sorta greetin'. Ain't complainin', though." His voice is pitched low as she hears his bag thump on the floor. The thought of moving to a standing position enters Lilly's mind and yet she's just that slight bit curious as to what Elvis plans on doing.

After all, wasn't the proof of his appreciation for her backside growing healthy and strong within her? Wasn't his appreciation for a warm meal evident by the way so many of her dresses are slightly ruined? Wasn't he her husband not just in theory but in name?

It doesn't take long for her to feel the press of his front against her behind, the warmth of his body seeping through her dress. His hand moves to cup her stomach as he guides her into a standing position, nipping at her ear as she does. "They givin' ya trouble? Gotta get a lecture from Daddy?"

Lilly's laughter is always music to Elvis's ears and today is no exception. His lips curl into a soft smile as he kisses down her neck, hands wandering across her body. She makes no move to remove them. "They only started giving me trouble when they heard you."

"That so?" Elvis hums as one of his hands settles on her breast, squeezing it just light enough that Lilly's mouth falls open in a gasp. "They just missed their daddy as much as their mama did, didn't they? Jus' wanted to say hello."

He's not wrong, Lilly reasons. Jesse is the same way, trying to come crawling at the sound of his Daddy's voice as soon as he hears it if Elvis doesn't beat the boy to it. Still, there's nothing that says she has to boost her husband's ego any more than it already is tonight. It makes it easy to just hum quietly with a small grin on her face.

"They missed daddy, I don't know if mama did." Lilly teases even as she feels Elvis's hand tighten on her breast and feels the hand that had been cupping her lower stomach move ever so slightly lower. "I had the best company all day."

A huff of his warm breath tickles the hair on the back of her neck as he starts to use his hand to pull up her dress. "Jesse asleep?"

He knows it's too early for Jesse to be asleep, knows that Lilly keeps his son up just so that he can give him a kiss goodnight and help get him ready for bed even if he ran late arriving home. Yet, he feels the need to ask, to make sure Jesse isn't crawling around underfoot in a way that gets him into trouble. Elvis knows he should be a good husband and take a shower and make it so Lilly can rest her aching little sooties. Even with them not in heels he can see them a little swollen and he's sure if he touched them they'd be pounding. Elvis knows he should be a good husband like he always is and yet he can feel his cock swelling up in his jumpsuit. Seeing Lilly- seeing his *wife* bent over making food for him all while so *full* of him does something to him. It'd do something to any man worth his salt. Maybe he'd ask Charlie or Jerry how they feel about their wives when they've been pregnant. Though, Jerry's answer is damn nearly explained with his new niece or nephew Melly's got growing inside of her.

His cock had gotten them into this mess, first with her and him against the sink and even know their twins were merely the result of his cock seeing her backside as she bathed Jesse. If he were a different man, if he were the man he was almost two years ago he'd be embarrassed, mortified that his cock's acting like it's attached to a twenty year old. And yet, right now all he can think about is how thankful he is for it. Thankful it's proven its worth to satisfy Lilly in ways he knows now she had craved during her previous marriage. Thankful it's proven its worth by providing him with a healthy gift from God of a son and hopefully healthy strong little ones in a couple of months.

"You know he's awake," Lilly murmurs, moving closer to the sink for some leverage to lean on. "Wouldn't dream of putting our baby boy to sleep without letting him say goodnight to his Daddy." She pauses and leans back against Elvis, his body heat seeping through his jumpsuit and her dress. She can feel the sweat of the day on his skin and it should be nauseating and off putting but as she inhales deeply she merely smells the unique scent of her husband. A shiver passes through her. "What are you really trying to ask, Elvis?"

An idea of what he wants is on the tip of her tongue but she doesn't want to be too forward even after a child was born that was conceived in the strangest of ways or after he pleasured her with a garden hose. No, somehow asking him point blank if he was trying to enjoy what was between her legs was too much.

"If you'd let me- If ya'd mind bendin' over again. Or if ya'd mind if I put ya between the sink and me. Mindin' the yittle ones, course."

Lilly wonders if the way Elvis talks to her and the way Elvis seems to be completely and utterly in love with every part of her is ever going to get old. If it'll ever stop making her heart race and ever stop making her lose her breath. Maybe it's just because she had gotten so used to things with Nathan that it's still novel. The twins inside her do their own separate flips as she licks her lips.

"Minding them, of course." Her voice sounds airy, like it's floating into the air as she tries to remember how to breathe. "Facing you, right?"

Not looking out the window, pleasure crossing her face at every moment as she leaned against him, her legs too shaky to support the weight of her body. Not facing the window, watching the sun go down on another day, wishing this could be her afternoons forever more. No, she'd be able to face Elvis, see his face as it scrunched up when he grunted inside of her. She'd be able to see how he works up such a sweat that it drips down on her as they fuck. It's not that she hasn't since they've been married but this is another thing entirely. This is being able to see how Elvis's face looked like when he pleasured her against the sink almost two years ago. This is a reward for a hard day's work as she cooks their little buns inside of her and cooks a hearty filling meal for him.

His hands finally reach the destination he wants them to, her underwear. A hand slides against her clothed entrance, chuckling at how drenched has already made her. The pregnancy had heightened so many things and yet somehow she surprises him even with this. With a vagina that aches and yearns for him so much it cries out every second it's not filled. He finally speaks.

"Facin' me," his voice is a murmur and a growl as he shifts her underwear to the side just enough to slide his fingers where he knows she wants them. "Maybe I'll even lift ya up on the counter."

Lilly shakes her head, not trusting her mouth's ability to form words. Another time, she figures, when she wasn't carrying these precious little buns inside her. No, she wants to be pinned just as she was that first afternoon. Her hand reaches out to grab at Elvis's wrist, her hand trailing over her swollen stomach, an action watched with rapt attention by Elvis. A quiet but noticeable squelch is heard as he pulls his fingers from her. He opens up his mouth to speak only to watch as he realized something shifted inside of Lilly when she heard that squelch of his fingers. The look she has on her face is one he's gotten to know well both through her pregnancy with Jesse and now her pregnancy with the twins. She wants him and every second that she don't have him she'll get more and more frustrated. His hands move to undo and start to unzip his jumpsuit only to have her swat them away. Lilly's hand are deft little things, suited for sewing and domestic tasks even he struggles with despite his ample skills.

The rush of the cold air against his sweaty chest has him inhaling and has his overheated body shivering just a hair. Lilly's eyes watch the action and take it to mean that she needs to hurry, needs to reach down low enough to free his already swollen cock from the confines of his underwear. Elvis opens up his mouth to speak only to have Lilly's hand finally pull his zipper down low enough to yank down his underwear, his cock bobbing out of them not entirely unlike a goddamn Jack in the Box. Lilly isn't forceful except for these times when she's needy and he's already promised to give her what she needs. How's a man supposed to talk when he sees her hand around his cock, slathering the ample precum across his length.

"Just against it, Elvis. Please," Lily begs ever so softly, though she knows she doesn't need to. Any request she makes of Elvis he does and this would be no exception. She watches as he looks down at her with such a rush of love and clenches her thighs. Her nipples brush against the fabric of her bra and she whimpers at the mere feeling of his hand against her hip as he walks her back against the sink. She needs and wants every bit of him and he's determined to give it to her.

In bed, he would take his time undressing her, watching her dress fall to the floor and watching her ample milk filled breasts spill from her bra. He would suckle at her nipples until he saw her chest heave and her body shake with release. But right now? Right now against the sink he doesn't bother to even pull down her underwear. He should, and yet he can feel how aroused she is and just how she is craving him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she's reminded this isn't proper, that she should insist he take his time and undress her and yet that voice is smothered by realizing no part of their relationship would be considered proper to her two years ago.

His actions make her happy so why should there be any shame attached to them. Her thoughts swirl in her mind with such force that she is caught off guard by Elvis removing her hand and entering her with very little preparation. A choked off sob of pleasure leaves her mouth as she looks up at him.

"Elvis," she whispers, her hands finding purchase on his chest and down his stomach. The hair on his body that rubs up against her skin every time they make love feels different in her hands in this moment, somehow softer while being just a little bit rougher. One of her hands plays with his chest, laughing breathlessly as one of his hands mirrors her, cupping her breast. "You can go— oh."

Elvis knows Lilly like he knows the back of his hand, he figures. Knows what makes his wife turn to pure putty in hands and knows how to have her pleasured in every way she had always deserved to be pleasured. It's easy to figure out just by watching her face and watching how it shifts when he thrusts just right and cups her breasts just right. "I can what, darlin'? Ya want it faster? Want your husband to move faster? Make it so ya comin' faster than anythin'?"

Lilly's eyes drift to the stove for a moment and then to the clock. She should tell him she wants him to take his time. That she wants to feel every thrust and feel his foreskin as it drags inside of her despite how aroused she is. She knows she doesn't have enough time though, knows that in about ten minutes she has to pull the meatloaf from the oven. Her vagina clenches and earns a slight curse from Elvis as he kisses her softly, waiting for an answer.

"We— the meatloaf. I don't want it to burn." As if she needs to explain why she needs him to go faster. "Tonight—If we can it can be slower."

Her skin is flushed and Elvis just takes a moment in between thrusts to marvel at the way it starts at her cheeks and how there's small splotches of it heading down to her chest. He's done that to her, not just the embarrassment she still holds on to about asking just what she would like him to do to her. His perfect wife, his lil darlin' is worried about meatloaf and can't always put into words what she desires. How had he gotten so lucky? How had God saw fit to put the nearest earthly thing to perfection in front of him? How had he found himself married with a son and young ones on the way to this woman?

"Even if 'm not. Ya— ya always know ya can get my engine revving," Elvis's voice is a murmur against Lilly's neck as he kisses and nips at it, his hips quickening their pace. "How long we got, Lil?"

"Nine," she answers, trying to buck against Elvis as best she can with her stomach and his own in the way. "I'll— I've been wanting—"

The words she wants to say are left in her head as his hand drifts down her chest and down her swollen belly to between her legs. Another time and another place she'd question what he's doing but she knows where his hand is headed. She knows before she feels the press of the calloused pads of his fingertips against her throbbing clit. It's been like that nearly all day and she knows better than to take care of it herself on days like this. Knows that what she needs is the warmth of his hands and the roughness of them to bring her to completion. So lost in her own pleasure she nearly misses the words leaving Elvis's lips.

"My perfect wife. My perfect lil darlin'. Takin' care of our yittle one and growing the other yittle buns. Could be like some of the other women and relax, sh—should be like 'em but here you are makin' me dinner and keepin' everythin' as it should be. Gonna show ya how much I love ya for this. How thankful I am for ya."

He pants it against her skin, one hand gripping at her hip while the other works against her clit as she's pinned against the skin. It should hurt, the way the counter digs into her back just a bit but any pain she feels is overtaken by the throbbing between her legs and the scrape of her nipples against her bra. Everything feels so warm and safe and loving that she feels herself starting to reach a crescendo, clawing at his chest before her hands slide to his lower back and down to his behind, pulling him somehow impossibly closer. An almost inhuman noise leaves his lips, a howl and a growl and a groan all mixed into one as he feels her clenching around him.

"That's it, Lilly. That's it my lil darlin'. God— Like a vice—" His words are lost in a haze of her orgasm and his own following closely after. Somehow both of their grips on each other get tighter as they try to catch their breath. Elvis makes sure to not lean too hard on Lilly, careful to protect their children inside of her. Time doesn't have a meaning for either of them until the shrill ring of a timer sounds signalling the fact that the meatloaf is finished.

"I— I need to get that, Elvis." Lilly whispers, still trying to remember how to breathe and walk properly. His only answer is a slow nod as he steps away. It's easy for him to watch Lilly's hips move as she walks the short distance between the sink and oven. A part of him thinks he should turn away when she starts to bend over but then he thinks of how she's leaking his release standing there and how she still likely has to finish one thing or another on the stove. He licks his lips and with a speed that surprises even him, he finds himself on his knees in front of her once she's pulled the meatloaf from the oven and set it down.

"Elvis, what are you— what are you doing?" Her voice is light and her eyes sparkle in a way they only do when she's amused at him and his antics.

In lieu of answering, his large hands grab at the edges of her dress and start to pull it up and up and up until her underwear is exposed to him. It's then and only then that he answers her, looking up through his eyelashes with a practically devilish smirk. "Felt like havin' dessert while you're doin' your work."

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally,  @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @marriedtopresley, @memphis-menace, @steph-speaks, @doll-elvis, @vintageshanny, @j-v-9-2, @sexystarfish, @jessicarcates, @chirssycrumble9456789, @shantellescrivener, @yomammalolha, @honey6578, @urmom11111111111119, @myradiaz, @elvispresleyxoxo, @joegramoe, @rainblue-art, @fav-fanficssss, @misspresley, @fallinlovewithurlove, @ash-omalley, @yynneessmons if you're missing from this list, you either changed your username or tumblr is tumblr.

[punkitt-is-here]

hello!! hope you're doing well :) i recently had a fleeting, incomprehensible dream in which i shot you with lasers (frommy eyeballs?) and you exploded (i think?? like low-res explosion.gif) and i just wanted to formally apologise and offer you this image of a wandering meatloaf (jsut a dinky little guy)

thnak you!! sorry again!!! 💞💞

hell yeah apologzing with sea critters is what im all about

[medicinal-doll]

His.

Pairing:Stepdad!August walker x reader

Summary:August just can't keep his hands to himself especially when it comes to his new wife's daughter.

Warnings:Dub-con/Non-con,p in v sex,assisted masturbation,Daddy kink,Dom/sub dynamic,degrading, Ddlg themes, teasing,mind-break,pet names,hint of spanking,manipulation,graphic depictions of sex/fluids

A/N: This one is a little dark so heed the warnings

*Please don't repost without permission If you use my writing as inspiration please ask first and credit me

..........................

Smells of cheap meatloaf and roast beef soil your appetite as you're once again subjected to the cheap musings of your mother's delirious whims to appear as a capable homemaker

A smile crosses her features, distracting from the mellow putrid undertone of the meal. You gulp begrudgingly, accepting tonight as your last day on earth, as you hesitantly heap the lukewarm meatloaf onto the plastic china plate.

As you get your fill of poison, you meet eyes with your stepfather. His poker face trumps yours tenfold. The watery green beans pour onto his cheap dinnerware, and to the naked eye, he might appear content with the cooking. But as you gaze, you can see the subtle flaws of his facade: the slight furrowing of his brows, his lips pressed firmly into a tight, dull line, and the fact that he hasn't blinked since he sat down shows he shares your sentiments."

dimly lit and old worn lights give the atmosphere a yellow tinge as you feel the cotton from the torn seats torn under you.

Dingy is what one would call your dwelling but it's home nonetheless.

As the meal commences your mother decided to grace your ears with the exceedingly interesting tales of her customers from the diner.

And you might be slightly more inclined to listen and even be interested if it wasn't for the fact that she gets the same 3 regulars every time carrying on with their usual drunken shenanigans.

The low hum of the noisy air conditioner threatens to lull you to sleep you sigh trying your damnedest to appear not bored out of your mind as you twirl the fork in the stale macaroni contemplating if running away is an option for the thousandth time.

But that's when you feel something rough and clothed rub against your center

Your instincts cause you to slightly jump and close your legs at the unexpected intrusion thankfully your strange behavior goes unnoticed by your mother it looks like she's too immersed in her rant about some guy that decided to dine and dash.

The movement starts again and you try to calm yourself as it wriggles against your cotton panties.

You glance up at August as he nonchalantly scoops up a heap of meatloaf and chews it casually not giving you the time of day.

And seeing as you have two choices listen to your mother rave on about 'Homeless Pete' or indulge your step father's perverted game you choose the latter.

Steadying your breath you slowly open your legs and you swore you almost saw August crack a smirk.

The rough contact is more direct this time as he circles your entrance teasingly enough to get you worked up but not enough to truly satisfy your urges.

You glare daggers at august as you feel the sexual frustration nag at your brain and he briefly meets your eyes he stares at you coldy almost tauntingly so as if he's not blatantly prodding at you under the table.

August pops a green bean into his mouth before turning away from you engaging in your mother's conversation which he probably cares less about than you if that's even possible.

Fake laughter fills the room and you roll your eyes August notices your disdain and moves his big toe to rub up and down your clit.

You gasp lowering your head attempting to hide the creeping blush on your face from wandering eyes.

August rolls your clit in circles hastily.

As your family dinner starts coming to a close you feel your mind start to numb as you get that fuzzy feeling between your legs.

You widen your legs more shamelessly becoming addicted to the sensation.

You thought you couldn't get any more sensitive but then August slides your soaked undies to the side.

And you feel the unclothed flesh of his foot make contact with your bare clit and you swear you could pass out right then.

The rough thumb pad of his foot thumbs at your button hungrily determined to bring you to ruin before suppers over.

Your breathe starts to shudder as you can only focus on the pleasure building in your core.

"Right honey?!" Your mom beams at you for the first time since you've sat down.

You turn your flustered face in her direction but are sure not to make eye contact.

Augusts pace only quickens at you mother questioning and you feel juice from your pussy leak onto the leather of the seat.

"Y-yeah-m...mom right !"

Your mother frowns at your odd behavior "What's wrong you hot or sumthin?" She eyes you curiously.

You slowly nod your head as you feel yourself beggining to climax around Augusts foot doing your best not to look like your currently cumming your eyes out.

"Well you'll just have to go take a cold shower powers off till daddy's check comes in" she then gets up and grabs her and Augusts plate kissing him on the cheek then goes to drop them in the sink.

"Be sure to clean up, me and your dad need some alone time" she winks at him before shutting herself into the back bedroom.

You breathe out a heavy sigh still slightly spasming from the intense orgasm.you throw your head down on the kitchen table as you slowly come down from your high.

When your heart rate returns to normal you pick your head up, August being nowhere in sight. But the faint creaking of a rusty spring mattress are all the context clues you need to get up and start cleaning the kitchen after that nightmare dinner.

You almost fall on your ass when you leave your chair but regain your composure as you run the dishes under the hot water of the sink. losing yourself in its comfort and reminiscing about your latest encounter with Mr.Walker.

............

You're on your belly in the back bedroom and thankfully your mother is currently not occupying the space. Don't worry you made sure to move the sin stained blankets.

You're re-reading a book you "borrowed" from the local library lost in your own world when you hear your mother shout.

"I'm goin for cigarettes!!" Her scream pierces your ears as another unintentional eye roll consumes you.

It's not soon after that you feel cold rough hands brush against the meat of your flesh. you gulp nervously trying to ignore the ever increasing touches.

He got here faster than usual.it's no surprise your mothers whale noises aren't enough to satiate his hunger and as you've come to acknowledge there's only one girl who truly gets him off in all the wrong ways.

Needy caresses grip your thighs. You attempt to shrug them off by burying your head in your book but that gets more difficult to ignore as gentle touches turn into that of pure carnal lust.

August roughly massaging the fat of your butt in slow circles. each cheek being toyed by one of his big veiny hands as he pries them apart and squishes them back together. loving the feeling of opening and closing his prize.

Still you try to remain unfazed knowing that any hint of what he's doing has an effect on you will only edge him on further.

Walker places sloppy kisses along your bum lowly grunting in satisfaction. Somehow you manage to focus most of your attention on the writing and not walkers highly inappropriate advances. And all is well, that is until walker sinks his head face first in between your legs bumping his Grecian nose against your wet heat repeatedly. You squeak and shoot up taken aback by the sudden invasion.

'Walker!" You say throwing your stuffie Mr.snuggles at him.

He just chuckles at you "Didn't I say you can call me August?"

He slowly slides up next to you smelling of light cologne and aftershave you shift uncomfortably wondering why he would want to to be shackled with you and your hobo mom in a dingy trailer.

You turn away not wanting to give him the reaction he wants "She doesn't like it when I call you that Mr.Walker......." August tilts your head to face him "Well she's not here now is she" his eyes are dark and filled with salacious desires as he takes in your form with his eyes before searching yours luring you to him.

he smirks at the blush beginning to stain your cheeks brushing a light hair away from your face "It's okay bunny..." he says in a dark whisper lowering his head "there's something else I'd rather you call me anyway..."

Your noses nudge one another as he nears your face you being utterly helpless to stop hi-

"What kinda place doesn't sell fuckin cigarettes!!"

As if on instinct you both immediately tear away from one another.

"August drive me downtown this shit hole gas station ran out" your mother yells from the front of the trailer.

Walker sighs in deep sexual frustration at the unexpected interruption.Then reluctantly removing himself from his place beside you, swiping his keys from the dresser before eyeing you one last time with a tinge of something unfamiliar then leaving.

.....................

Crickets chirp obnoxiously as nightfall descends upon the shabby trailer park. Your mother's cigarette smoke fills the air as you brush your teeth preparing for bed.

"Tell me when your father gets home" she mutters as she passes the bathroom not sparing you a glance as she shuts herself in the back bedroom.

After washing up you climb the ladder onto your bed which is a small ledge that rests above the driver and passenger seat it's not much but it's yours. You make yourself comfortable before resting your head and mind stirring from the events from the day and you try to ignore the fact that most of your thoughts linger on him..... and his unsolicited affection.

............

Groggily your eyes begin to peer open still unadjusted to the newfound darkness you sigh deeply as you start to come to. Brain slowly regaining it's consciousness, but there's something that feels weird though. What's that feeling betwee-Ah!

You involuntary yelp at whatever just swiped over your clit. If you weren't aware before you sure are now. You desperately try to wriggle away from whatever's causing it but big strong hands pull you back to the source and you pause. You struggle at the sense of familiarity to the situation. Whimpering softly into the pillow as August's hot salivated tongue runs itself over your most intimate and sensitive parts repeatedly.

You hate yourself for your pussy clenching around nothing. And you hate your body for this betrayal too as your womb practically begs to be fertilized by his spawn. You try to keep yourself quiet and hold it all together but August spreads your delicate petals and drives his big tongue deep into your hole.

You scream into the pillow, it not doing much justice to muffle your strangled cries of pleasure. Your outburst of course only spurs August on further as he writhes his tongue deep against your walls intent to make you lose your mind. You harshly grip on to the sheets stuffies anything to channel your energy into something that's not the multiple orgasms racking through your tummy as you coat Augusts lips in the slick nectar of your shame.

After a few more torturous strokes August has mercy on your puffy pussy and let's go of your legs. You sloppily shuffle away from him, still weak and mind extra vulnerable from the intense orgasm.

You sit up sniffling giving him the angriest expression you can muster up. But in reality it's just the cutest little grumpy pout. You meet August's eyes. His face caked in darkness and mind up to no good. it's only when your eyes drift further you see it.

Red-hot and angry 8 inch dick. So hard it slaps against the skin of his belly. Precum leaks out the tip like a broken faucet. It must be so hard it hurts. His tip twitches, seemingly getting more swollen with every lap his eyes take around your plush body.

Your eyes widen, your furious facade broken as you whine out in fear "G-go away August!-"  You stutter gripping your stuffie for dear life as it's your only defense from that monster of a cock threatening to pierce your soft guts.

August tilts his head at you. Eyeing you up like prey before focusing his gaze on the stuffie that's covering your private parts. And from the slight furrowing of his brow something tells you he isn't too keen on having his view blocked. August violently drags you by your ankle pulling your body to him. You feebly attempt to push him off as he climbs on top you.

You both fight for dominance though you can see there's a clear winner. August dodges your attempts to kick and throw him off as he manhandles your body till you're on your flat stomach.

August holds your wrists firmly above your head as he starts to peel your clothes off leaving a kisses over every area he finds. You sniffle quietly trying not to choke on your sobs as you plead with the relentless demon. "August! please-" you cry as he kisses along the sides of your ribcage "don't do this... you know how I get when you fuck me!" you struggle against him but he's not budging. Panic starts to set in when he ropes a finger around your lacy pink panties.

"August no! don't- you'll ruin me!!" you push against him putting the reserves of your strength into resisting him.

True fear starts to set in as your panties are torn from your butt completely at the mercy of Augusts sadistic wills. August snakes a hand around your hip pulling your bottom up then pressing your head down with the other. Your tears stain the pillow you mutter the word "no" under your breath like a mantra. it being the only defense you have left, but when you feel August's flared tip press against your heat you whimper pathetically at your weakness.

You feel August breach your wet little pussy painfully slow and a small squeak leaves your tender lips as his grip involuntarily tightens around your waist as your pussy desperately tries to suck him in and push him out all at once you whine shamefully as August plunges his fat cock deep inside your needy hole.

"F-fuck baby you're so tight" August grunts painfully against your ear every gasp and groan of his eliciting more of your sweet slick to drench his cock. Your body on the edge of an orgasm from just the stretch alone.

"August..please-" you say barely above a whisper as your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel him fully sheath inside of you.His throbbing cock tip knocking against your womb.

"Fuck baby-" August breathes out sighing heavily before kissing you on the sides of your temple "you take your daddy so fucking well princess" you whimper at his words sobbing internally.

"t-take it out" you pout.

August laughs darkly "Mmn..Sorry baby not yet daddy's not done with his pussy"

"It's not you- Ah!"

August removes his hand from your head and places it on the other side of your hip he pulls his cock out before thrusting it back all the way in roughly grinding his dick into every ring of your sensitive pussy.

A silent scream overwhelms you. Your body not yet fully able to process the amount of pleasure shooting up from your core. When August picks up his pace you can't stop the whimpers and whines that leave your mouth as August uses your pussy like a fleshlight.

"Aug-Ahh!! August No! Moms gonna hear it!-" you voice your complaints to him through a series of pleasurable cries and broken moans.

Little do you know August made sure to spike your mother's nightly cocktail so she won't be hearing much of anything but you don't need to know that.

"Oh no baby what would your mommy think of you fucking her husband hmm" he teases you cruelly slapping you on your ass as you yelp out.Then bending down to your ear the low tamber of his voice only adding to the wetness leaking from your pussy.

"I don't think she would like that very much dolly" he teases.

"Knowing her daughters such a slut for her step daddy"

You shake your head no furiously trying to convince yourself more than him.

"Aw look baby you can't stop cumming around me writhing those little hips and crying trying to make me feel bad"

"You're milking me dry honey look"

August grabs you leg and hoistes it in the air your exposed pussy stuffed with his cock completely on display "No! M'not...." You shut your eyes not daring to look at where you two are connected until A rough hand grabs a hold of your jaw. August forcing your head right where he wants your attention.

"Look at it baby, look at how pretty you are wrapped around your daddy" you close your eyes and shake your head still defiant but that wavers when August starts kissing your cheek and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. it's his scent and the feel of his meaty thighs smacking against your delicate ones. the subtle tickle of his mustache every time he kisses you.

"Come on pretty girl open up for me" He says in a deceivingly sultry tone.

ever so slowly you open your eyes. And as your pupils start to dilate from the erotic sight August knows you're all his.

August's hips, balls, and cock slap up against your dripping pussy all at once in a sinful unison. You whine losing a bit of your psyche every time his dick roughly pounds into that deep spot inside you.

But it's only when you get that tickly feeling in your core do you truly start to lose yourself. "Daddy-!....please.." you whine out pathetically his cock thrusting in and out of you. It being the only thing on your mind.

"No!August!! m'gonna cum-....stop it!!" August looks down at you with glazed over eyes fully possessed by lust you watch in horror as he licks a small strip up his thumb before placing it on your sensitive swollen little clit.

"Daddy No! Don't you'll break me!!" August relentlessly fucks into your flesh pussy intent on making you cum all over him rubbing your clit in dizzying hasty circles.

"F-Fuck!!ah-Ah!Daddy!!!!" You feel a foreign liquid leak from your vagina. Drenching you and August in the mystery liquid "Oh fuck baby is that all for me" he coos

Your face is red and blushed as you nod absentmindedly.

"Aw don't be shy princess give it to daddy" He teases.

"let daddy use his perfect little pocket pussy hm"

You're in a daze looking at him, far too cock drunk to say anything but the word yes.

"Make me cum lots okay baby"

You nod once again as you bounce on his dick his thrusts turning sloppy but more aggressive. As he nears his orgasm you turn into a bundle of rambles.

"Please fuck me daddy- " knock me up please! breed my little bitch hole up...."

August stares daggers into your soul as you feel him twitch inside of you with every word that spills from your lips.

"Mmm F-Fuck daddy! don't stop I'll do anything just please don't stop- S-shit"

"Look at me-" August moans, his mind just as gone as yours is if not more.

"Tell me whose pussy it is" his commanding tone sending shivers through your body.

You give him and adorable pout "it's your pu-Ah!" He smacks your ass it leaving a red hand print.

"You know what I want to hear dolly"

I-its..daddy's.. Puss-Ah!!"

Another harsh smack.

"Louder!"

"It's Daddy's pussy!!!"you cry out cumming on him all over again.

August grunts get low as he pushes your leg back down. Bracing you with both hands dug into your soft love handles and belly.

August thrusts into your pussy like there's not even a person attached to it. Dead set on making himself cum, coating every inch of your walls in hot spunk.

August thrusts his dick rapidly against your sensitive spot as your head drops to the pillow losing control of your limbs. The only thing left of you being that single mantra that runs in your mind and through your lips over and over as August sates himself with your broken body.

"Daddys..pusssy..d-addys..pusssy..dadddy..pusssy

daddyss-ah!mhn..."

August cums in the deepest part of you. Hot milk flooding into every crevice of your sore pussy.  Heavy breathes and pants fill the space as his heartbeat slows.

Your legs are shaking.Not that you notice but August does. He scoops up your trembling form like you're made of glass. Like he's not the reason you can't form one coherent thought.

"Come here dolly it's okay I know daddy's here I got you" he coos.

You sink into his warmth, sweat glistening his chest. your mind thoroughly stirred but his scent and presence calms you.

August places the sweetest tender kiss against your lips and the rest of the world ceases to exist. All you know is that he broke you, but then cradled you like you were the only thing left in the world. whatever happens from now on doesn't matter and frankly you don't give a shit.

As long as your his.

August's special little dolly.

[underfaller]

in his house of mind, dead cipher waits dreaming

Chapter 4: We'll Meet Again

Rating: T

Synopsis:

You really think you won that day/You packed your bags and sailed away/You think you left your past behind/But trust me/I'm still on your mind

A year has passed since Weirdmaggedon and the Pines family, victorious in the end, are happier than ever. Stan and Ford are adventuring at sea, making up for lost time. Dipper and Mabel are now freshmen and are ready to take on high school-- geometry, bullies, (student eating?) clubs, and all! However, things take a turn for the worst when Dipper and Mabel receive of horrific message from Ford:

Bill is back.

Stanley Pines is dreaming. 

He's in his family's old kitchen, sitting at a creaky, wooden table and teasing Ford about something long forgotten. The room is cramped and messy with a strong smell of meatloaf wafting from the oven. His mother sets down an after school snack for them, which Stanley instantly scarfs down. He regales his mom through bites of how he caught a possum in the schoolyard. He named it Jeremy. She laughs. 

This is nice. 

When Stanley's eyes snap open, he is no longer in that familiar kitchen, but rather in total darkness. The void of his own mind. 

Oh that's right, he isn't home, he's still lost. 

Stanley Pines is lost. 

Stanley groans, slightly annoyed to have awakened prematurely (or perhaps in reality, he actually has slept in-- it’s impossible to know in this state). After being locked away here, Stanley finds that sleeping is much more entertaining than being conscious. It passes the time quicker, almost like his short stint in Colombian prison.  However, as Stan tosses and turns, he is unable to fall asleep once more. 

It’s goddamn annoying. All of this is. 

The sensation he feels is similar to that of falling into the bottomless pit-- terrifying at first, then mind numbingly boring. The only difference is the gnawing anxiety that fills his mind about what Bill is doing in his body. Stanley thinks of his brother. The last time that Stan saw him was for a fleeting second with Stanford pointing his gun at him, absolutely terrified. Well, if Stan hasn't seen the pearly gates yet then Ford didn't kill him. 

Then did Bill get him? No, Pointdexter is much too clever to fall for his tricks again. Stanley has faith in his brother-- and in himself. It's going to take much more than a washed up con-triangle to take down this duo. That sliver of hope keeps Stan from slipping into madness. This nightmare will end; you can’t truly imprison Stanley Pines. 

And when it does, I’ll beat the devil out of that little shit Cipher. 

As time slips by, Stan’s thoughts wander and he thinks of his dream. For the first time in decades, Stanley thinks about his mother. It's an unexpected thought, but with nothing but reflection to do, his mind begins to drift to her. 

She'd had a soft spot for Stanley. Whether or not it was still true after he'd been disowned was another question-- one he didn't have the answer to. Stan reminisces of the lonely nights drifting between state lines when he still missed her-- almost as much as he missed Stanford. He’d always secretly hoped that she'd try to contact him during those nights. She never did. 

When Stanley faked his death-- did she attend his funeral? He always wondered. Part of him had hoped she did, just so that someone would be there-- so that someone remembered him kindly. The other part of him knew that was a shrewd thought, even for him. 

What good are thoughts like these at a time like this?

“This is bullshit,” Stanley says, aloud. Hearing his own voice in the midst of complete silence is slightly comforting. It echoes for miles before fading. 

“What’s bullshit,” Bill replies. “Is that you’re still here. Seriously, how difficult is it for one roach to die?”

Stanley whips around to see Bill Cipher frowning as he examines his fingernails. 

“Augh, seriously? It's one thing to be stuck here, but to be stuck here with you,” Stanley rolls his eyes. “Just kill me now.”

“You know I would if I could,” Bill states, curtly. 

“Can you just get this over with? What the hell are you here for?”

“Your brother was just in here looking for you,” Bill says. “It was a hassle hiding your consciousness from him.”

“Is that why you look like that? Wait, are you-- are you wearing cologne?” Stanley crinkles his nose before letting out a sarcastic laugh. “Are you seriously still pining for him? Geez, get a grip.”

Stanford once confided in Stanley about Bill and his… complicated relationship. Call it his twinstincts, but Stanley already had a growing hunch that their relationship had been less formal than Ford initially let on. Still, Stanley can’t believe that his brother actually fell for this guy. The smartest guy in the world settles for this idiot? Though, as Stan looks Bill up and down, he has to admit, if Ford was anything, he was consistent-- he certainly had a type. 

“Of course anything smells like cologne when you smell like cat piss, old man,” Bill Cipher glares. 

It’s a feeble defense and not an outright denial. It makes Stanley laugh aloud. At least even here, he can still be entertained by the obvious patheticness of his captor. Bill snaps his fingers, reverting back to his triangle form. He leans against his black cane.

“Seriously though, you’re a pain in the ass to conceal. I can’t have Sixer getting hopeful because you’re actually still here.”

“Why all the griping? Someone with your power should be able to handle all that in a cinch,” Stanley crosses his arms. “Besides, if you despise me so much, why stay here? Just go back to whatever hellhole dimension you came from.”

“I can’t do that. I’ve got business to attend to here.” 

“Building the portal? It’s useless dimwit; you still need that equation and Ford certainly ain’t gonna give it to you.” 

“No, no. The portal plan is on a back burner. I’m talking about revenge.” 

“Revenge in my body? The one you absolutely hate? I know you’re pissed about that.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not like I can-!” Bill snaps, but before he can finish, he quickly shuts up, becoming silent. 

Stanley raises an eyebrow. However, it doesn’t take him long to put two and two together. He laughs again. 

“Oh this is rich. You're stuck here, just like I am! What a joke! Did I really punch you so hard that you lost all your weirdo magic?” 

Bill hisses. His obvious anger confirms Stanley’s suspicions. 

“Don't push your luck, Stanley Pines.” 

“Or what? You gonna put me in a void for eternity? Oh wait, you already did and I'm still clowning you!”

“That’s enough!”

Bill’s voice booms, deafeningly loud in the void. He grows a blinding red, enveloping Stanley in his shadow. 

“No. I'll just kill one of your loved ones. You'll get front row seats too. Do you want to feel their blood on your hands too? We can arrange that. How about that?”

Stanley stares into the demon’s eye, just as defiant and indignant. He’ll never back down from a bully, certainly not from one he’s already beaten-- but Stan also knows when the risks outweigh the rewards of his actions. He’s a gambler, after all. He decides it’s best not to continue acting so shortsightedly with Bill, especially when Bill still has his body.  Bill narrows his eye. 

“Yeah, I thought so. Now shut up and let me rummage through your brain for anything useful to get us out of here.”

As Bill searches, Stanley watches as a small screen flickers in his mind. Suddenly, he can see all around him. He’s tied to a table in Ford’s laboratory. Wait-- the Mystery Shack? They’re in Gravity Falls? Soos is certainly still here as well and Stanley’s presence endangers both him and his family. He thinks of Soos’s wide smile when he told Stan that he and Melody were expecting. Stanley had to pretend that he hadn’t shed a couple joyful tears when he heard but now, it feels like a punch in the gut. Stanley wants to kick Ford for bringing him here. What the hell was his brother thinking? 

But then again, where else could Stanford take him? The identity of Stanley Pines is dead in every corner of the world except here. 

“He's gonna stop you, you know,” Stanley says. He’s poking the bull again, playing with fire to quell his own fears. “You may have got me, but Stanford's a whole other story. You can't possibly win, Bill.”

“Stanford just needs a little convincing. He just loves to play hard-to-get ,” Bill answers.

Suddenly, the triangle scoffs. 

“Why do you have so much faith in him anyways? It’s hilarious-- if only you knew how inadequate you are in his eyes.”

Stanley clenches his fists. 

“Listen here you little prick. You don't know anything about me or my brother.”

“I know everything about your brother.”

Bill snickers. 

“I see that look on your face. You think one little sacrifice makes everything better? That you’re suddenly forgiven? You’re an idiot.” Bill continues. “There's a decades-long mutiny in Ford that he refuses to let go of-- I've seen it myself.” 

Stanley clenches his fists. He knows that Bill is only trying to get a rise from him. That’s just what Bill Cipher did-- sow seeds of chaos and rifts between loved ones. He did it for fun-- for the spectacle. Still, Stanley will not stand for such ugly words about his brother. 

“Cut the bullshit, Bill. You know that shit won't work on me. I can see right through your lies.” 

Bill clicks his tongue. 

“Stanley, Stanley, Stanley. I'm not a cruel god, only a truthful one. Stanford is the cruel one and he certainly does not forgive; he’ll live and die by malice.” 

Stanley opens his mouth but is interrupted by the actions of the screen: Bill has found a bobby pin behind Stanley’s ear and is using it to pick his locks. Stanley tastes the old metal between his teeth as the locks clink open. He mentally curses himself, for once in his life, Stan is angry that he has the means to escape and not the opposite.

“There! That was easy!” Bill yells, jumping off the table and stretching. “I gotta give it to you, Stanley, you certainly know how to pick a lock.” 

“Now what are you going to do? I know you aren’t going to sit pretty here and wait for Ford to get back.” 

“Are you kidding? Of course not!” Bill yelps. “I’m taking this body for a joyride. Let’s go to Piedmont!” 

“What? Why-?” Stanley’s eyes widen. He stiffens as a familiar fear fills his stomach.

This whole time, Stanley assumed that Bill’s revenge would be dealt upon him and Ford. He was so stupid. Bill didn’t want to kill him. Hell, he didn’t even want to kill his brother.

Bill is laughing. He revels in Stanley’s revelation. Stan chokes on his words in a mixture of fear and rage. 

“Don’t you dare-” 

He’s back in the void. The only voice here is his own. Stanley’s breath catches in his throat. Fear soon turns into fury, Stanley wants to punch something. He should be protecting his family instead of doing jackshit in the middle of nowhere. He feels so useless.

No, he is useless. 

Somehow, no matter what, he always seemed to be. He closes his eyes. 

Please. Please let them be safe. 

If this is a prayer, it’s Stanley’s first. He always believed that prayers were for fools. Now, he’s just about desperate enough to wonder if God gives specials to first-time customers. 

Stanley is right, Bill Cipher detests his body. He can’t wait until he can regain a more fitting physical form, something cleaner and less unsightly than Stanley.  

He peers at his disheveled reflection in a small mirror as he makes his way up the wooden stairs. His skin crawls like a thousand centipedes and  Bill grimaces. His reflection is a reminder that his only tether to revenge, his path to victory, his only escape is the one person that Bill Cipher hates the most. 

Could it be any more ironic? 

He punches the mirror and it shatters instantly, sharp shards of glass fall to the ground as pain blooms from his now bloody knuckles. He can’t even revel in it-- as he looks down, he now sees Stanley’s ugly face over and over, a hundred times in broken glass. Bill can barely swallow his bitterness.He considers ditching all his plans and just throwing this body into the nearest meat grinder.

This is truly maddening. 

To be fair, however, it’s much less maddening than Theraprism. 

Half of his consciousness is still stuck in that sterile prison, the pieces that the Axolotl believed were worth saving. Bill shivers at the thought that somewhere out there in the cosmos, there is a version of him still wearing orange. Ah well, he will surely make up for their lost time and karmic debt. Someone had to shoulder the burden of his sins and keep the Axolotl satiated-- and it certainly wasn’t going to be him!

Still, Bill Cipher has to wonder-- whatever the hell is taking his other half so long to break free? That derpy salamander may be all powerful, but he couldn’t possibly keep tabs on absolutely everything happening all at once in this chaotic universe. Surely, his other half has had more than a dozen chances to escape already. He huffs. 

When you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.  

Bill pushes back the vending machine. It creaks loudly, reluctantly giving way to his freedom. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the familiar, dusty Mystery Shack air. Despite such a rocky start, Bill Cipher has wormed his way back into this rotten dimension once again. 

Oh Gravity Falls, it is good to be back.  

He tiptoes through the cabin, slinking into the garage. His eyes light up as he spies Stanley’s 1965 El Diablo. It’s not his style-- Bill prefers the color yellow, of course, but the old hunk of metal will be sufficient enough for a nice scenic drive down the Pacific Coast Highway towards child homicide. 

How should I go about it? There’s so many ways to kill them. Stanley has a collection of guns in his closet, but what’s the fun in that? Stabbing is so much more entertaining and everyone’s got a kitchen knife or two! I can’t be too quick, though, I want to make them suffer, at least a little… 

“Mr. Pines?” 

Bill twists around to see Soos, holding a broom and a very angry gnome, still gnawing at the man’s chubby fingers. 

Question Mark. Well, there’s always tougher crowds to convince.

Bill gives him a smirk, waving slightly.

“Ah, Soos, my boy! How’s it-” 

Soos doesn’t even give the triangle a chance to finish his lies, instead dropping the gnome and racing towards Bill with a raised broom. It takes the demon by surprise and before he can even dodge, Soos smacks Bill against the head with it. Bill yelps in pain. 

“Dude, what the hell!” 

“I know it’s you, Bill! Give Mr. Pines back his body!” 

The two chase one another around the parked car briefly. Bill rapidly phases left and right trying to fake out the irate young man and his cleaning weapon as the hood of the car divides them. Bill Cipher holds up his hands. 

“Wait, wait!” Bill gasps. “Just hear me out; I can let you see Stanley if you just let me speak.” 

Soos pauses, narrowing his eyes. However, he hesitantly lowers his broom. Bill smiles, sighing with relief. 

“Wow! You’re actually a rational guy, good to know!”

“Show me Mr. Pines now.” 

Bill chuckles nervously. 

“Heh heh, well I can’t exactly let you see him right now per say, ya know with the whole need to keep control of this vessel thing,” Bill hesitates. “But if you let me take this car right now, I swear that I’ll-” 

Soos leaps over the hood of the car. 

“Shit!” Bill yells. 

Soos swings at Bill. Bill grabs the broom, ripping it from him and throwing it across the garage. He cackles. 

“Ha! Ha! Now what are you gonna do-” 

Soos punches Bill square in the jaw. Bill tastes metal as his mouth fills with blood. He chuckles softly as he wipes his mouth against his sleeve, leaving a crimson stain on the cuff.

Alright, Question Mark. I’m done trying to be nice. 

“Nice punch. Did your daddy teach you how to do that?” Bill jeers before preparing his own strike. 

However, for a brief second, Bill’s whole body freezes, as if someone else, someone deep in the recesses of his mind, someone he so very wanted dead, was pulling all his nerves to halt Bill’s attack. 

Stop backseat driving old man! 

Soos realizes it too. His eyes widen with surprise but Bill quickly rips back control, using that moment of hesitation to knee Soos in the gut. He coughs in pain, stumbling back, and Bill punches his attacker across the face. Hard. Soos slumps against the wall, unconscious. 

“Sleep tight, Question Mark,” Bill sneers. 

He hops into the car, pulling the keys out from the glove compartment and turning the ignition. The engine rumbles and shakes before starting. He looks at his reflection in the rearview mirror. For just a brief moment, his eyes aren’t yellow. 

“Get it through your thick skull-- You're not in control anymore,” Bill Cipher shouts. 

He means it. Bill Cipher may be a liar, but that is the truth. He’ll die again before he lets Stanley retake his body. He won’t let Stanley Pines overthrow him twice. 

“Soos! Are you alright?” 

Stanford rushes towards his brother’s former employee, shaking him harshly. Fiddleford stands behind him, looking concerned as he holds his “raccoon wife”. 

After their talk by the lake, the two stopped by Fiddleford’s mansion to get some equipment for their plan to recover his brother. It was all Fiddleford’s idea, really, Stanford had forgotten just how ingenious his old roommate really was. 

“It’ll take at least a fortnight,” Fiddleford says, scratching his beard as he taps his pencil against his workbench. “But I think I’ve got an idea of contraption to get your brother back.”

“Should I bring him here?” 

“No. I’ll just stay at the ol’ Mystery Shack for a bit. Just like old times.” 

A fat raccoon jumps on Fiddleford’s shoulder, chattering its teeth as if it were reprimanding the old man for staying out too late. Fiddleford grins as he holds her out towards Ford. 

“Of course, you’ll have to make accommodations for the raccoon wife!” 

Ford laughs. The racoon chatters once more. 

“Of course, F.”  

Soos groans as he regains consciousness, rubbing his head. 

“Ow. Mr. Pines should have been a boxer or something. Or was that technically Bill’s power?” Soos says. “Either way, it still hurts.” 

“What the hell happened? Where’s Stanley?” 

Stanford follows Soos’s eyes, looking at the smoky tire tracks leading out of the garage. He doesn’t need Soos to explain what’s happened. He jumps up. 

“Soos, do you have a car?”

“Yeah it's in the front.” 

Soos fishes into his pockets, throwing Ford the keys. He catches it, flying out the garage. Fiddleford bounds after him. 

“Just where do you think you're going?” 

“After him, of course.”

“Running after him like a chicken with its head cut off will do more harm than good!” Fiddleford answers. “Let me come.” 

“No way!” Stanford declares. “This is way too dangerous. I can’t; I’ve got to go alone.”

“Ford, stop!” 

Ford swings around. 

“What, Fiddleford?” He snaps. “I’ve got to stop him myself, he’s my brother-”

“You’re doing it again!” 

“Doing what?” 

“Being a… an absolute fool!” Fiddleford shouts. 

Ford remains silent. Under the shadow of trees and stars, he threatens to boil over, to explode at Fiddleford, to brush away his pleading words and race off into the night, alone. Stanford is a changed man, but he isn’t a perfect one. He’s backed into a corner right now. When he’s at his wit’s end, the scholar finds himself rescinding into arrogance and ego. His hubris is his comfort.

“Can you accept help this time?”  Fiddleford asks. 

It’s a tough pill but Stanford swallows it. 

“Yes.”

You don’t have to burden everything yourself. 

You don’t have to be a hero. 

Fiddleford lets out a relieved sigh before he smiles. 

“Then let’s go. I have a plan. I'll explain on the way.” 

“Maybe this is a bad prank,” Mabel says. She’s holding one of Dipper’s pillows against her chest, rockling slightly with a wry smile on her face. “Grunkle Ford may have picked up on a terrible sense of humor while dimension hopping.” 

“No, they wouldn't joke about that,” Dipper paces back and forth, brushing aside dirt clothes with his foot. “Still, how did Bill come back to life? It doesn’t make sense. Grunkle Ford was sure that he was dead.”

Could his Grunkle Ford been incorrect? Dipper finds it difficult to believe. Deep down, Dipper has placed Stanford upon a pedestal in his mind-- a man of science that can do absolutely no wrong. He idolizes the scientist as much as he loves him. 

But even the best scientists leave room for error. 

“But that doesn't explain how and why he chose Stan to possess. It makes absolutely no sense,” Dipper says aloud. 

Unless…

“Well, we've got to go help them!” Mabel says. 

“How? They're out in the middle of the sea. Even if we knew where they were, it's not like we could get there.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know how to sail a ship?”

Mabel frowns, not answering. She sinks her face into her pillow, kicking her feet and yelling in frustration. It’s completely warranted-- Dipper wants to do the same, but he holds his emotions in, trying to think logically about their situation. 

Their Grunkle has been possessed by a demonic triangle, where is the logic in that? 

What would Grunkle Ford do…?

“Well we can't just sit here and do nothing! For all we know Bill might have already-” 

Mabel shakes her head. She’s close to crying. Dipper hugs her tightly. 

“We’ll figure something out, don’t worry.” 

The front door slams suddenly shut. The twins exchange confused glances before heading downstairs. In the hallway, they see their mother, still in her nurse scrubs and holding a bag of takeout. 

“Hey Mom!” Mabel bounds towards the woman, hugging her tightly. 

Dipper hugs her too but looks at their mom with raised eyebrows. 

“I thought you guys were staying at work late tonight?”

“We were, but we got a surprise visitor at the hospital. Your father and I have been working nonstop. It'll be nice for us to have dinner together as a family for once, right dear?” 

Their mom turns slightly as their father walks in, also still in scrubs and holding a heavy briefcase. He looks tired, pushing up his glasses as he brushes past his family towards the kitchen. 

“Huh? Yeah, yeah…” 

Their mom turns back towards the twins. 

“Besides, it's not like your Grunkle always makes his way down to Piedmont.” She beams. “We know how much you two missed him. What a surprise, hm?” 

Dipper and Mabel look at each other, faces whitening as they share confused and horrified glances. The front door opens once more and as Grunkle Stan enters the house, he looks at them with a familiar, uncanny grin and yellow-tinted eyes. 

“Hey kids. Long time no see.”

Previous Chapter

[forthelostones]

i. through the darkness - a fanfiction

꧁ since the apocalypse you found yourself living a stagnant but fulfilling life. you lived in the cabin you watched your parents build many years ago. you never ended up in a qz or sought out refuge anywhere else. living just outside jackson, on a lakefront, away from the world. you watched them build a community around you, something someone so isolated could dream of. but what would it cost? on a lone day, while you're hunting for dinner you hear a dry voice cry for help. it's a familiar voice, one you've only heard of ruffled behind static. she's helpless in your trap, unconscious in the dirt, leaking with blood, her auburn hair stuck to her fighting face.

content: mention of loss, mention of two-parent household, parent/ sibling death (implied), grief, blood, aged!ellie, fluff/angst.

an: waaaaa let's see how long this'll last. first ff since i was 13? woaaaa. also thanks guys for all the follows, that’s means sm to me!!! also any requests? let me know.

wc: 2.2k

Your stomach spoke to you while finishing your glass of herbal tea. It warmed you, but it wouldn’t satisfy you until dinner, which you were putting off. You knew you'd need to go hunt since the change of seasons left you with such little protein. But you so desperately enjoyed the weather and the coolness that allowed you to sit by the fire, read your favorite books, and go thoughtless. The crinkling of the wood created a hazy picture inside your mind of when you would sit by the fire with your mom and read her childhood books. You look around and sit alone with a copy of a graphic novel with pages that have become dusty with time. 

You close up the book and swallow the last drops of tea as you slip on your house shoes to walk to the kitchen. The floorboards creak beneath you, echoing in your ears, reminding you how quiet this place has become. Your hands wrap around the ceramic sink as you lay the glass down and peer out to the lake. Your memory floods with flashes of Christmas, the house noisy with the clattering dishes from the same meal mom made every year. Meatloaf, fire-roasted chicken. mashed potatoes, green beans, biscuits, pumpkin pie, and iced lavender tea. A meal that filled your belly up so much that you could barely stand at the sink to wash dishes. But as you stood, you so desperately wanted to lay in your father's arms, on the couch, listening to the laughter of your mom and brother dancing to a record. But instead, you looked out the window, into the never-ending treeline, watching the snow fall heavily over the deck sloppily washing.

You sniffled as you fought the distance between your mind and the present. You weren’t in the business of crying, that ended a long time ago. But when you peered out that same window and watched the sun hallow into the lake slowly you felt as if you could.

Better go, you thought. 

You strapped on your boots, tossed your rifle over your shoulder, and headed towards the door. All your gear was already set up from the day previously when you decided you would just eat vegetable soup again for dinner. You groan as you step into the frosty air, colder than you thought, but you smile, knowing Spring is knocking, waiting to come in. The world around you had become so quiet, so you constantly hummed a tune your dad taught you to keep your mind from wandering. 

♪ Open the door, Richard… 

Open the door and let me in…♪ 

You hear his voice chime in on the next line…

♪ Open the door, Richard

Richard, why don't you open that door?♪

The whistling breeze came to a brief halt, amplifying your voice and your feet crunching on the recently defrosted grass. As you walk to your post, opposite the lake, you hear coughing. For a moment you think it’s in your head, a new bit your memory made up while singing the vaudeville tune. The gurgle of trapped liquid triggered your senses causing you to leap to the ground. 

“‘Elp—“ 

It wasn’t an infected, it was an actual human. Your body jerks a gasp out of your mouth causing you to muffle your excitement that faded quickly. You set up a conibear trap down that way to ward off the trespassers you thought you’d get. You stood to your feet and sprinted ferociously to the sight. The voice yelped again, softly, as they hear you crash towards them.

Lying in a shallow ditch was a girl with the thick of her calve stuck between your trap. How long has she been out here? Her face was dirtied with earth and her body twitched from the pain. She had dropped out of consciousness as you appeared. Luckily the trap was old and somewhat defective, so her blood flow wasn’t as intense as it could’ve been. You check the surrounding area cautiously to make sure no one is hidden along the shore or tree line. You went over to her, prying the trap away with any remaining strength you had, nicking yourself and freeing her leg. Her pierced veins dripped blood, so you unwrap your scarf and tie it around her flesh until you could get her into the cabin. You hoist her up over your shoulder and walk quickly from shore, up the grassy plain, and twisting the door handle open with a free hand.

Your heart raced at the human connection. 

“I gotcha,” you say hoarsely. 

You open the bathroom door and lie her in the bathtub, hand behind her frosted neck. She's practically frozen, you thought. You remove her backpack, shoes, and additional layers down to her warming garments and grab the med kit from your living room. Your hands quake as you attempt to remember what to do. Find the source, stop the source, stay clean baby, you hear your Mom say. You cut a strip up her pant leg to view the wound. She needed stitching, on both sides of her calve, bulbs of nervous sweat gathered on your forehead, and fell quickly into the tub. Your hands were damp with fresh blood, more than you’ve ever dealt with before even when you went hunting. You reached for the spout to the tub and rinsed your hands off before delving into the kit for a needle and thread, she was going to be okay. 

You stood at her bedside, sponging her face with warm water you boiled on the stove and a clean washcloth. Your heart rate hasn’t dropped since you found her. Almost ten years since a human was breathing around you and you couldn’t believe it, you wished it didn’t go this way, but part of you was glad she did. Questions rummaged through your curious mind about how she found you, why she was here, what if she came to kill you, what if there’s a cure and they were alerting others? The thoughts didn’t stop. She was still unconscious, lying in your bed, tucked warmly with your flannel pajamas, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. You had given her a nice cleaning, wiping away the days-old dirt built up on her skin, even picking it from under her nails. Slathering her dried lips with petroleum, combing her hair after washing it, and now cleaning off her cheeks. Her face pleased your eyes, and that short hair sparked fiery against the dullness of your bedroom, filled with trinkets of the past illuminated by a flickering candle. Your sponge slowly swiped over her tattoo, it looked a few years old, faded away with time, and stretched over her aching muscle. 

Cool, you thought in the midst of then constant brain chatter.  

You dragged the loveseat from the living room to where she peacefully slept. You had been monitoring her after drowning her in freshwater with crushed-up painkillers. You had been worried because her breathing began to stagger into choking snores. But you also thought it would be a good idea to stay by her side to explain why she was here. In the meantime, you warmed up leftover soup on the stove, making sure there was enough for her when she awakened. You pulled a blanket off your couch and dragged a cup of soup to your post. As you spooned in the warm broth with potatoes and carrots to your mouth you watched her chest rise and fall, even if her breathing became shallow, you watched to make sure. She began to sweat late in the night, so you placed a cool rag on her forehead and dulled the fire. Something about her made you want to know her.

The morning broke through the sheer curtains and the birds from last Spring arrived again. You looked over to your patient who cuddled a pillow to her chest, hair sticky, and sprawled all over her face. It actually makes you smile because for a moment, life feels familiar — she feels familiar. You have a stretch and head to the kitchen to get started on breakfast, oats with apple butter. You toss more fire starter into the pit to bring more warmth to the brisk morning. A loud groan, that flowers into a scream, comes from your bedroom and you are met with the fiery woman once again. Her eyes bulging out of her head as her arms flail with her head tossed back. She searches around your room for something, anything to protect herself, and for a moment you feel the threat of danger comes as she grips the glass of water you set out for her. 

“Stop!” You holler, but your voice cracks, it’s been a while since it’s been used like this. 

Her strong arms chuck the glass at your feet, which causes you to wince and jump onto the bed. You wrap your hand around her aching, freshly stitched calf. She spits out profanities, reaching for your face, but you just squeeze her throwing arm harder. 

“I’m help, I help you, I’m helping you!” You stutter, trying to get the phrasing right. 

But she doesn’t stop until tears form in the corner of her eyes. 

Her body stops shaking the second she makes eye contact with you. In that moment you felt like Eve, full of sin, being discovered by God's wandering eye, naked, with her pupils melding into yours. She sighs as you lift your hand. 

“It’s it’s me,” you suggest, repeatedly saying your name. 

Her forest eyes settle on you as you move quickly off of her, freeing her wrist. 

“Okay. Okay.” She replies. 

Her voice is dry with rasp laced between her moans of agony. 

“You got stuck in my trap, do you remember, I-I live here. This is my house.” You explain anxiously. 

Which feels weird to say out loud, it’s just yours now.

She remains silent. 

“Your leg got caught in a trap, do you remember?” You enunciated slowly. 

“I can understand you.” 

You twitch at her unpleasant reply.

“Can you? Look, I’m sorry you got stuck. I’ll get you more meds.” 

“No, no,” she winches. “It’s fine I have to go, my people are probably worried, how many days has it been?” 

You shrug your shoulders, which wasn’t sufficient enough for her, and she spits a nasty what at you. “I don’t know and what do you mean people? Is there someone coming here, are you…” 

You couldn’t even finish your sentence at the possibility of this girl attracting people to you. 

“No, no one knows I'm here exactly. I wouldn't willingly walk into a trap.” 

You keep your post near the door, away from the broken glass as you observe her attempt to sit up. She looks around the room and you feel a wave of embarrassment. Posters from your youth are plastered on the walls, crooked and dusty. 

“You won’t be able to make it far with that leg.” You distract her. 

She pulls the sheet away from her now bloody gauze. The sight makes you jump into action and elevate it. You thought your stitches would hold, but they didn’t. The glass crunched under you as you leaped to the loveseat where you moved the kit for the night. You frantically removed the swatch of gauze and unraveled it in your hands. 

“Give it.” She demands. 

But you’re not listening to her words, you unravel the fabric to see your stitches in place, just her movement made her bleed a little more. 

“Give it,” she reached for your hands.

“Let me do this!” You scream, shutting her up. 

She sits as quiet as she can, sucking her teeth, as you change her bandages. You look up to her and she looks away, avoiding contact with your eyes. You silently walk to wash your hands and grab the broom. 

The room falls quiet other than the hay sticks scraping the wood. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Her voice breaks through the silence and you just freeze, squatting on the ground, over the glass, out of her view. Once the glass is in the metal dustpan you walk it to the kitchen to dispose of it. 

“It’s okay. I would’ve reacted the same way.” You sigh, propping yourself back in your chair. 

“You alone?” 

“I am, have been for the last ten.” 

“Oh shit.” 

Her reaction pulled at a nerve you didn't think you had. 

“Ten years,” she adds. “By yourself? What…” 

You just nod, thinking of how your mom would’ve handled this situation. Brought breakfast to bed, made a natural creme for her wounds, and played soft music to awaken her. She wouldn’t have attacked Mom. 

“I’ll get started on breakfast.” 

You watched her devour a bowl of warm oats. The spoon entered her mouth swiftly, clattering against her front teeth and scraping as she pulled it away. You added milk into her oats to be more filling, lots of cinnamon, and apple butter to hide the stale taste. Her tongue even rode the ridges of the bowl where the thick, sweet glue dried and hardened. Her breathing was sporadic, almost like she would die if she didn’t devour the food immediately. You were still on your fifth spoon, almost halfway through. You deducted from her hurriedness that she was outside for at least three days. She sat patiently against the headboard and waited for you to finish. You had forgotten how to speak to someone. The only time you spoke these days was when you read to yourself, acting out the scenes and trying character voices. As you try to speak to her your voice caught in the back of your throat. But you could ask the one question humans asked each other upon first meeting. 

“What’s your name… by the way? The by the way you added hurriedly as you remembered from the movies you watch that they say that. 

“Ellie.” She replied. 

“Ellie.” You repeat. 

You smirked as you took another spoonful, hiding your mouth, you liked the way her name sat at the tip of your tongue. Instead of worrying, you just thought Ellie.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

I ordered an empanada at a restaurant and do you know what they gave me? A FREAKING MEATLOAF WITH THE SHAPE OF AN EMPANADA 🤧

Anyways how’s your day ma’am? Can I ask for a mind controlled hero whumpee? Feel free to ignore if you don’t want

The villain tilted their head, clearly amused.

They sat in front of the hero who was well-behaved and listening to every word they said. It was true, they could be quite charming when their rebellious side wasn't constantly getting in the way. This version of the hero was much more manageable.

"Isn't this fun?" the villain asked. "We're having fun."

No answer, as expected.

"I could tell you to break your hands in front of me and you would do it without hesitation. How romantic." The villain scrutinised them. Their hero didn't look like they missed anything. They got food. They got time for themselves. The villain considered themselves a kind captor. "The loyalty, I mean. Takes me back, really."

They smiled to themselves softly. When they looked at the hero, they were still the same person. Still the former best friend they had had a crush on. Still the same eyes, still the same scars. The villain didn't know what to do with it, didn't know where to put their feelings. It was such an old wound, long surmounted but never forgotten. A deep scar that would never really heal.

"You followed me like a dog. I can't really blame you, can I?" The villain started to play with the seam of their shirt. An old habit they could never get rid of. "I played that part pretty well."

Their gaze wandered to the window. It had been grey all day.

For the past few weeks, the villain had perfected their abilities to manipulate the hero, controlling their mind and taking it apart. It had been fun, indeed. Until it wasn't anymore. Once again, they looked at the hero who was listening, yet not responding.

"All these years I had to let you humiliate me. I had to watch when they cheered for you," the villain mumbled. They were talking to themselves rather than to the hero. However, some part of themselves wanted the hero to listen to this.

"Is it too much to ask for? Some silence? Some peace?" they asked the hero. They knew no answer would come and no reaction would follow. "Is it too much to ask for, truly?"

The oppression they had endured had been crueler to their heart than they wanted to admit. The whole world was against them. They had been abandoned, betrayed, tortured. They didn't even have words left for their own actions. Although they wanted to be protected again, the villain knew they didn't deserve it.

Eventually, they sighed and stood up, walking around the table. They sat down next to the hero and remembered that awful night when they had kissed. For months, years even that memory had become a nightmare. Once the only thing that gave them comfort, now a painful thought.

But the hero...they were still beautiful.

The villain moved some strands of hair out of the hero's sight.

"Sometimes I wish you weren't here anymore. Sometimes, I want to wake up and see that you're gone. You've been hunting me, haunting me for years and I..." The villain swallowed. "And I want you to leave. I thought imprisoning you and treating you badly would give me peace but...I'm not sure how I can kill these feelings."

They felt themselves become more emotional than they usually allowed. They took in a deep breath and closed their eyes, counting till five. Their hand was shaking. Tears gathered in their eyes.

"I lied a lot back then. But I never lied about my feelings for you. That wasn't a game to me."

They took the hero's hand and squeezed it. The villain wasn't surprised when the next morning, they found themselves alone in their apartment.

[klbwriting]

Broken Prism

Chapter 21

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: o this chapter has some fucked up stuff in it, mentions of body mutilation, child death

Summary: Batman and Red Hood go to the scene of the crime, then find out about another murder

Taglist: @amberpanda99 if you would like added to the taglist let me know!

The GCPD didn’t trust Red Hood, so Batman was the only one allowed at the crime scene. Jason waited across the street, not sure what to do honestly. Who killed a family like this? What kind of absolute monster? It made him sick. He paced, watching the cops, who were watching him back. He saw a mix pride and anger depending on the face. He figured they either loved that he had taken out Joker, saving them some work later, or hated him, wanting to get the big score themselves. He wanted to walk over, get as close a look at the scene as possible, but he didn’t want someone to get trigger happy and try shooting him. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, Batman walked over to him.

“Gordon is willing to let you walk the scene with me,” he said. Jason nodded and followed him, the cops parting enough so they could get through.

“Since when is Batman friendly with murderers?” “Who does this idiot think he is? A Nightwing ripoff?” “He killed Joker, we should be groveling at his feet right now.” He wanted to scream at them, tell them what had happened, why he had become this person. He shook himself, they wouldn’t understand, ever, and he had made his bed, now he had to lie in it. He followed Batman into the dining room and stared. The family was seated for dinner, the food still on their plates. The parents were eating meatloaf, looks like the kids were having chicken nuggets. Their throats had been slit, which was the only decent thing this monster did. The rest of the scene was haunting.

“Emily Dervish, Dexter Dervish, their children, 7-year-old Amelia, and 4-year-old Tyson,” Gordon explained, voice coming out staggered at the sight. “We will have to wait for the coroner to be sure.”

“Sure of what?” Jason asked, unable to take his eyes off the children.

“To be sure if they were alive or dead when the killer cut off their faces.”

After another hour scouring for evidence and finding nothing Jason and Batman were about to head back to the cave, see if they could find anything there, when another officer came over to Gordon, whispering to him. They watched his face grow ashen and he nodded solemnly.

“There’s been another murder…not completely the same, but they left a note,” he said. “You two better come with me.”

Across town at the McCreary’s Pub there were cops keeping curious onlookers away. Despite it being early morning at this point people were still curious when they saw police tape and a medical examiner’s van. They brought out phones and started taking pictures when Batman and Red Hood arrived. Jason was really glad he hadn’t done the whole social media thing now, he couldn’t imagine what Twitter looked like, him and Batman working together. All those concerns left his mind when he entered the bar. There were at least a dozen bodies, all seated like they had been enjoying a night out, lifeless eyes staring up the ceiling, posed as if gazing towards Heaven.

“What the fuck,” Jason muttered. Batman wandered the room slowly, looking at different angles. Jason started, but then his eyes were drawn to the mirror behind the bar. Once again, a message in blood, the shaping of the letters completely different from the last crime scene.

DID YOU SEE HIM YET RED HOOD?

Batman stared at the message also and then looked at Gordon, nodding his head for the room to be cleared. The commissioner sighed and called for his guys to vacate for a few minutes, letting the vigilantes have the room. Jason started looking at the faces of the patrons, wondering who he was looking for. While Jason looked at faces, Batman looked at him. He could feel the man’s eyes, probably trying to read his body language, see how his mind was at the moment. He wouldn’t lie, his mind was fuzzy, the sight of all this death was almost too much for him to handle and he had been an assassin once. He was trying to avoid staring at the gaping holes in the victims’ chests.

“Why do you think they took the faces and the hearts?” Jason asked, trying to focus in on the case, ignore the dread rising in his chest.

“I am not sure, but we are most definitely dealing with at least two people who are very annoyed at you,” Batman said. Jason didn’t like that, that Batman was already blaming these deaths on him. ‘If you hadn’t killed Joker all these people might be alive’ he could Bruce’s voice in his head, the accusations stinging. “Do you know someone here?” Jason shook his head as he rounded to the back of the bar and stared.

“Ya, I do,” he said, eyes falling on Auggie Valentine. “This guy, um, he was my best, well my only friend in Crime Alley, before you took me in.” He looked at Batman and Batman stormed out of the bar. This was bad. Very bad. If this person had killed one of Jason’s friends that meant they knew who Red Hood was. They knew where he lived. He took off running, climbing on his bike and driving like the devil possessed him back to the cave. He had to know if YN was safe.

You were watching the monitor with Alfred, Dick, Barbara, and Tim, listening to Bruce and Jason talk about the murders. You were horrified by the family, and the bar just made things worse. Then Jason mentioned knowing the bartender and your blood ran cold. Someone knew. Someone knew Jason was Red Hood. The others noticed also, and they started looking around, maybe for listening devices, cameras, maybe for a person hiding in the shadows ready to attack. You sat the computer, staring at the live feed video from Batman’s cowl. You looked at the body of the bartender, noticing that you knew him too. He had been a loyal informant against Black Mask back when you were looking into him. Did the bartender know more than he said? Bartenders knew a lot of things that most people didn’t realize, and he had been willing to talk for no money, just the idea that Gotham would be safer if he helped. Auggie was a great person, you could see how Jason would have been friends with him as a kid. He was a good person; he didn’t deserve to be murdered and have his heart ripped anymore than those children deserved their deaths. It made you sick and you could only imagine what Jason was thinking.

The familiar sound of the Batmobile and Jason’s bike came from the ramp into the cave, and you went with the others to meet them. Jason was off his bike, helmet tossed aside and running towards you, taking your face in his hands, looking frantic.

“Are you alright?” he asked. You nodded, reaching up and taking his hands, holding them in yours. “I thought…they know who I am…”

“Shhh, I’m here, we’re all safe,” you whispered, hugging him tight. He gripped you like he used to after a nightmare, like you were going to vanish if he didn’t hold you tight enough. The others went to the Batcomputer to start discussing the samples Bruce had brought back and the other clues from the crime scenes.

“You’re not safe, please take some time off, please stay here,” Jason begged. You nodded, anything to calm him down. His breathing was hitching, and he was going pale. You guided him to sit on the floor, sitting next to him.

“I won’t go anywhere, I’ll stay here, take deep breaths,” you said, rubbing the back of his head gently, petting his hair, catching the white streak and massaging the spot it sat on. He leaned his head into the touch, matching your deep breaths with his own.

“It was awful,” he said, finally calm again. “It’s my fault.”

“It is not your fault. You are not responsible for these monsters. You are a hero,” you said. He shook his head.

“I killed Joker, they saw it as a challenge. I thought it would end with him, but instead I just created a new threat. One head is cut, two more grow back,” he said. You leaned to his shoulder, arms around him.

“Jason, you killing Joker didn’t bring this about, this city is rotten, we all know it. Something in the air here breeds horrible criminals. No matter what happened they would be here, they just picked you because you are doing the most good right now. Just like they went after Batman,” you said, desperate to stop him from spiraling down into self-loathing again. You could see the signs, his eyes distant, his body fatigued from worry and despair.

“I need to go to the others, find out if they have any idea who did this,” Jason said softly, getting up. He walked away, leaving you there.

[lizstiel]

Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table eating meatloaf when it all sort of hits – and he’s desperate to remember it exactly how it happened.

With his fork raised halfway to his mouth, a dollop of meat and sauce perched precariously on the tines, his eyes wandered over to where Cas stood by the sink in a pair of ratty pajama bottoms and one of Dean’s old t-shirts. (One of Dean’s old t-shirts, because once Cas gets his shoulders into them they never really sit the same way.)

He’s got soap up to his elbows, scrubbing methodically at the dishes Dean just dirtied, his brow a taught, concentrated line. He’s bringing the same kind of meticulous focus to the dishes that he used to bring to leading the armies of Heaven; that singular kind of attention, both unnerving and admirable. (Dean had once tried to explain that he didn’t need to wash them quite so vigorously, to which Cas had deadpanned, “Do you know how many food particles remain on the dishes you wash, Dean?” It quickly became his job, after that.)

It’s early July. About 6:30pm. The window over the sink is cracked, and the front door is wide open, letting the sound of cicadas and crickets drift in with the summer breeze. The sun’s starting to set behind the field, casting the world in that particular orange glow that has always made something in Dean ache. In the other room, the record player Sam got them for Christmas plays a beat up Janis Joplin record he’d found at a secondhand store in town. The opening chords of Me and Bobby McGee have just started, and the cicadas are humming, and the crickets are singing, and the sun is setting, and Cas is standing in old pajamas washing dishes Dean just used to make them dinner and –

Cas tilts his head.

This isn’t revolutionary. He does it a lot. A very ingrained behavior, some might say. But he isn’t confused, he’s reacting. To the song. He doesn’t react to music the way Dean wants him to, never has, but in his own way, it’s almost like he’s leaning closer to hear it. An infinitesimal thing. The smallest gesture. The corner of his mouth twitches, and Dean has never loved him more than he does at this moment: backlit by a summer sunset in their house in the middle of nowhere, hand washing dishes and listening to Janis Joplin.

Cas turns when the sound of Dean’s fork clattering on the plate sounds, but Dean just scoops him into his arms, chases any worries away with a kiss, and then another, and then one more for good measure. Cas laughs against his mouth, desperately trying to keep his soapy arms away from Dean’s dry clothes. “Dean,” he chides, squirming and chuckling, trying to extract himself from Dean’s grip. “I’m not finished.”

“I’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” Dean promises, peppering sweet little kisses down the line of Cas' throat. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. It tickles all the way down. “Love you so much,” he says, because he wants to. Because he’s so full with it he’s overflowing. Because if he doesn’t tell him right now, in this moment, and every moment after this one, he might die. He needs him to know. It’s vital that he knows.

Cas’ laughter warms, and he slides one soapy hand to the back of Dean’s neck, eyebrows raised in challenge when he shudders at the sensation. When Dean doesn’t immediately shoo him away, he slides the other soapy hand up Dean’s arm. “Dean?” He’s not worried, the timber of his voice is honey-smooth and light, but he’s confused. Not that Dean doesn’t tell him often, and loudly, how much he loves him, but to be fair this did kind of come from nowhere, so he understands. It’s just much too much. It’s not enough and it’s everything. It’s everything in the world Dean has ever wanted.

Janis Joplin is singing freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose, and Dean’s arms are loose around Cas’ waist, and he loves him, god he loves him so much, so he kisses him on one corner of the mouth, and then the other. Janis says, nothin’, don’t mean nothin’ hon’ if it ain’t free, no, no – and he rocks their bodies together, slow, to the beat of the music. Cas’ arms come to wind around his neck automatically, and his smile starts to sprawl into something reserved for only the really good moments. Wide and gummy and for Dean – and feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues. He presses his forehead to Cas’ and they just sort of sway there like that, smiling at each other like this might be the last chance they ever get.

Cas says – “I love you, Dean,” just as Janis is singing, you know feelin’ good was good enough for me – and it occurs to Dean that he’s dancing in the kitchen with the love of his life. He thinks back to the longest, loneliest nights he spent staring up at the night sky, believing wholly he’d die bloody and alone on the backend of some random hunt, and how the smallest (but loudest) part of him had wished for exactly this. For someone to hold him and see him and dance in the kitchen with him, barefoot and covered in soap.

He kisses the tip of Cas’ nose, the lines under his eyes. Doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas is wiping tears away with the pads of his thumbs and soothing hands through his hair. He’s crying, too. Laughing and crying and telling Dean he loves him, he loves him so much, he’s loved him from the first moment he saw him.

It settles in Dean then – really settles deep, and true, and good – that he was meant for this. He wasn’t born to be a weapon. Wasn’t born to be a son, or a father, or a brother. Wasn’t born to save the world or to end it – was just meant to dance. His arms were meant to hold. To sway them both around the cheap linoleum floor, to sling low around Cas’ waist and spin them both ‘til they were dizzy with it.

They laugh and kiss and Janis is saying – good enough for me and Bobby McGee – and Dean is thinking – Yeah. Yeah, it really is.

[siberat]

could i request some ratchet belly rubs? :3

Retirement Present

ratchet x first aid. Cw: stuffing, belly rubs

The best time to enjoy having a day off work was the night before. This way, your evening could be spent doing fun things, like drinking, wild parties, and berth acrobatics.

Well, perhaps if you weren’t the former CMO, that is.

Of course, he was invited out for drinks at Swe/rve’s. While he made an appearance, he reached his limits after only two drinks. No, he wasn’t sloshed. His days of getting overcharged were long gone.

He had a more homey plan for the evening. The tired medic was looking forward to spending the evening in a habsuit being tended to. His admirer promised pampering, and Ratch/et knew what he was getting into.

Well, kind of.

Fir/st Ai/d was a very dedicated doctor… but he was diligent in ensuring his once-superior was properly taking care of himself. The younger medic put 110 percent into everything he did. While this can be overwhelming at times, Ratch/et appreciated the mech’s good intentions.

Once he received the ping that Ai/d was ready, Ratch/et bid his farewells to his buddies, exited the bar, and headed to the other’s habsuit. His mind wandered as to what was to be served, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

Once before the new CMO’s door, Ratch/et knocked, entering only when Ai/d told him so.

“I told you, Rat/ch,” the younger medic chided. “You do not have to knock to enter my space. You are always welcome.”

“I know… just habit.”

“Well, take a seat. Supper will be plated up momentarily.”

Ratch/et did as he was told, parking his frame at the kitchen table. The aroma was tantalizing, thick with the mouthwatering promise of deliciousness. The first breath nearly made him salivate: his belly gave a loud, demanding grumble. Servo’s went to the source, gently rubbing the needy paunch.

“Was that your tummy I heard?” Ai/d giggled, walking out with a large plate of freshly made meatloaf- his signature dish!  Upon setting the plate down, Ratch/et admired the big log slathered in thick red sauce. His tastebuds were in for a party tonight!

“How big a slice you want?” Ai/d asked, serving utensils at the ready.

With a grin on his face, Ratch/et answered while slapping his belly. “Pile it on.”

“Atta boy.” The smaller medic beamed, cutting several thick slices of meatloaf and stacking them on the other plate. Scoops of creamy mashed potatoes and a hearty serving of crystal veggies filled the remaining space. “Here ya go!”

A plate was served for himself, and mugs of energon joined the mix. Once his host picked up his utensils, Ratch/et dug in. And that first bite was divine—the flavors tantalizingly dancing over his taste receptors. The meat was ever so rich and savory, and the sauce had just the right amount of sweetness!

Ratch/et loved Fir/st Ai/d’s cooking. To be honest, he did not have high hopes for the first dinner offered, but the younger doctor was full of surprises. And once it was known how much the former CMO loved them, the other went overboard. Lunches were soon packed, and even breakfasts to be consumed during the workday's first break.

It was no wonder Ratch/et put on weight.

No sooner was the first dish cleared were seconds offered and devoured. And Ai/d couldn’t keep his optics off that belly as it grew taunt. Of course, the chubby mech teased by rubbing his servo over that stuffed belly as if daring the other to jump from his chair and pounce.

Surprisingly enough, the overenthusiastic mech showed restraint.

At least until dessert was served. And how could anyone resist a triple-layered vanilla cake slathered in rich chocolate frosting with geode crumbles littering the top? Despite being so full, Ratch/et couldn’t pace up a slice of cake!

However, Fir/st Ai/d knew the other doctor would need help, and he was eager to provide assistance. So, once the wedge of cake was served, Ai/d walked behind Ratch/et and wrapped his arms around that broad, wide frame.

His servos went to gently knead at the accumulation of fat that swelled over hips. The love handles were always such a delight to play with- so soft and squishy! Ai/d nearly squealed with joy as his servos slid between the deep roll adorning the side- it was so warm and welcoming! But the best was feeling how taunt that tummy grew from the feast.

This was not only a sign of a good meal but a good cook. And Ai/d took pride in being able to pamper the other. How many vorns had he sat back and watched the former CMO take care of everyone else and neglect himself? And yes, Ai/d was aware that doctors tended to do that, but now it was the other’s turn to be doted upon.

What better way to show you care through one’s belly- be it filling it up or rubbing it down?

And Ai/d's hands explored all over that large, now grumbling belly. And any grumbles were chased down and soothed, all while the other worked to finish the giant slice of cake. When Ratch/et began to slow, those servos gave gentle pats, working to best burp that belly.

The now-CMO just loved how embarrassed Ratch/et became upon releasing those belches. His cheeks would redden, and he’d always excuse himself. But this just encouraged more burping. After all, the trapped air was better out than in —it made more room for cake!

But the sound of silverware dropping on an empty plate signaled the completion of the meal- same with the seated medic leaning back with a sigh.

“Have your fill?” Ai/d asked, giving the shoulder a loving pat.

“Stuffed. That meal was my favorite…. And I think I overdone it…” Ratch/et looked at his swollen midsection, ghosting a servo over the now-angry beast.

“Awww, poor baby.” Ai/d coaxed the older medic to scoot his chair out, then spread his chunky legs. Naturally, servos rested on those plush thighs as Ai/d got to his knees. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands. I’ll take care of this achy belly for you.”

And that is just what the newly appointed CMO did. Now that he had the best seat in the house, his hands roamed over the rounded and firm belly crest. The touches were soft and tickling at first, making the older medic stifle some laughs. But soon enough, those palms stretched out flat and slid in circles over that belly.

Every spasm and quake were felt in the medic’s hands. The grinding of gears whined out as such a large meal attempted digestion. Plating bulged and seams widened. It wasn’t long before that strained belly paneling was removed, freeing the swollen protomesh that was stuffed within.

Ratch/et leaned back, relaxing at the touch. The belly rubs were awkward when first offered. No mech had ever offered them before, and he did not see the appeal of rubbing a stuffed belly. But Ai/d assured him the touch of servos on an angry belly was the best remedy.

Of course, Ratch/et claimed Pep-to was, but Ai/d eagerly proved him wrong.

Never again did Ratch/et slap away those prodding hands! He loved feeling the warmth they provided as they explored his growing frame. It was as if he could feel all the care and love emanating from those servos, and nothing relaxed him as well after a hearty meal.

The aching soon died away as those servos worked their magic. His belly was patted, pinched, and caressed all in the name of soothing. Burps were stifled as tired sighs exhaled. These touches could really put a mech to sleep!

Another sensation joined the mix. It was gentle yet wet and followed by a sucking sensation. Glancing down, Ratch/et discovered the younger doctor happily mouthing at his abdomen. Of course, those servo’s still roamed over his belly.

Those lips tickled as they placed soft kisses down the rounded abdomen. That tongue tickled as it traced long, zig-zagging stress marks.  That mouth felt inviting and warm as it sucked the pliable flab at the bottom of the tummy.  And those teeth pinched when biting at said flab.

“AH AH!” Ratch/et chided, wagging a finger, but still wearing a smile on his face. “What did I say about biting?”

Ai/d rolled his optics. “No biting.”

“There’s a good mech.” Ratch/et patted the top of the other doctor’s helm, relaxing back into the chair. However, this was short-lived. A new sensation was felt on his belly, but it wasn’t a bite. It was a long, hard-sucking sensation.

And by the time Ratch/et realized the other was placing a hickey on his chub, there was no stopping it.