#sarge is a bastard

[harbingersecho]

grif: locus you're not, you're not blushing right you wouldnt.. u oudnt not, sarge?

locus:

grif: please pleas eno

[majorpepperidge]

uh oh! Cheri is fond of Yet Another Fictional Horse!

[jumbledthemes]

Ngl I was expecting All the baby bastards to be from them so the first two surprised me that they weren't so I gave up on it

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Even Educated Fleas Do It

A Sarge & lil Mama episode (wedding night)

Warnings 18+ -smut! breeding kink, innocence kink, cream pies, unfortunately historically accurate portrayal of female naïveté regarding sexual acts, male entitlement to female bodies, copious dirty talk, virginity loss. This is mostly fluffy and tender and sweet with a few VERY rabid moments and feral sentences. 20k of smut and it’s surrounding auras…I have a headcanon that Baby Elvis resorts to being a bit of an ass in order to maintain his slipping control, whereas a more mature era of the man he only chooses to be a bastard out of the fun of it

Credits: my supreme thanks to the indefatigable @prompted-wordsmith for editing this mammoth and her few choice additions of sentences, and also to my discord wives: Christi, Ally and Birdy who cheered me on and really made this happen with their feedback, suggestions and enthusiasm. Lastly, to all my darling readers who’s hype for this has carried me through and now we are all saddled with this monstrosity. Y’all are the best, I live off your comments and love. Xoxo, Marina 🌹

Elaine’s fingers glide admiringly against richly black, quartz marble countertops, glinting back at her almost as brightly as the gold mirror and the gold faucets and gold tub–everything is golden up here in the master bathroom. Even the sink is gold plated, she realizes with a giggle, and stares at her reflection in the basin, flushed face and curls hanging about her features as she looks downward, distracted by the opulence and the shininess and the ability to finally breathe. An endeavor which would be aided if she obeyed her new husband—heavens to Betsy, she has a husband!—and took off her wedding gown and girdle.

She chose a simple dress to be married in, long and slender, the style and measurements entrusted to the Smith cousins and delivered by them with remarkable effect. Demure yet elegant, she felt it was a nod to the silhouette of the future, prom crinolines and ball gowns abandoned for a more streamlined effect that set off her waist to perfection, or so her wedding guests told her. And for tonight’s purposes, it had a handy zipper down the back of it that she now tugged loose to her immense relief.

It was a little puzzling, the way Elvis had torn her away from Dodger’s admonishments and hurried her upstairs to sleep, only to then shoo her into the bathroom to undress herself. Some silly part of her thought he might kiss her when they arrived up there alone, maybe dance a little, maybe help with the zipper. But he had looked very feverish and a little scared when he told her she was looking worn out, and then ushered her upstairs as the whole house party fell dead silent below them in their wake. Funny, the whole thing had felt a little funny, and they’d been having such a nice little party after the vows, daddy had been a little weepy and Elvis had looked so handsome and she had to pinch herself a dozen times that this event she’d planned was her wedding.

Her wedding—it didn’t feel real. Not without mama here, she realized, that was the missing part to it all. Mama. Hers, and his. They were both missing them. She worked at the brassiere clasps and stifled the little cry she felt coming up her throat, memories flooding in of the first time she saw Graceland.

Elvis had tore down to the studio in his fancy car, begging any and everyone to see the place he bought for his family. Father had been too busy with Cash but mama was not. So, she and Elaine had piled into his pink Cadillac and let that happy puppy of a boy whisk them away to a world of antebellum dreaminess for the afternoon. Gold, there had been so much gold even then, and Mama had ribbed the boy mercilessly about his decor choices as only Mrs. Phipps could get away with,

“Elvis dear, it looks like a tart’s bedroom up here,” she had teased him in the master where Elaine’s groom was now waiting for her daughter to make an appearance.

He had turned bright red before dissolving into hiccuping laughs that her mama had joined. He hasn’t changed the decor, gaudy chandelier hanging above a gold damask bedspread, gilt mirrors everywhere on the walls with black padded headboards and doors. It was… unique, and a little ominous if she was being honest, although maybe that had been her nerves over him rushing her up here so fast, so…urgently.

“June’s gonna love it, E!” Elaine recalls gushing to him on that first house tour, entirely unsure if June would indeed love it, but certain that anyone would be honored to be mistress of such a place, though that honor had then been firmly Miss Gladys’s right at the time.

Now it’s all hers.

Elaine swallows hard and rubs at the angry red lines on her belly and breasts that show in the mirror from her girdle, thinking of the weight of that. Thinking of how she had been wrong. This—kingdom—wasn’t for June, this had been for her.

Elaine pulls on the silky, shimmery slip he had given her the money to treat herself to, watching it as it spills over her curves and drapes her kindly. The soft baby blue color makes her skin look tan even in the wintertime and her eyes shimmer dark and smokey in the dimmed vanity lights. It takes her aback a little, the prettiness of the picture she sees in the mirror, hair freshly loosened from its pins and looking like it does when he’s had his hands in it. The kiss-nipped red of her lips is no cosmetic allusion, he’d devoured her lipstick right off a few minutes into married life, clutching her to him in the foyer, acting like hiding by the front door made them discreet.

She touches their puffy vibrancy with a small smile, thinking of him, thinking of being loved. Thinking of mansions and gold sinks and graves dug, thinking of the boy outside the door who did far more than fall in love with her. He provided, and he did it with intent. A great deal of intent. Her heart does a flip at that.

It gives her the bravery to fluff herself in the slip and ignore the nervous tremble threatening to keep her holed up in here, her skimpy attire making her blush for reasons she doesn’t know. Such silliness. She looks pretty, and she is loved. She sets her shoulders back and turns the knob.

Elvis has been pacing a furrow in the plush carpet of his bedroom and berating himself for many things, chiefly having shooed his wife away into the bathroom the first private moment they’d had together.

He is an idiot, he concludes, a prize idiot.

He should have trapped her against the door and kissed the daylights outta her, maybe laid her out all romantically on the bed and caressed her like the movies taught her to expect. At least helped undo the damn zipper. But no, no he panicked, and trying to be a good man, he had sent her into the bathroom alone to strip while he talked his heart and cock into some semblance of restraint. He tears at his hair and tosses his suit jacket on the chair and tries to think of what he’s gonna do, how he’s gonna manage this. He had come across Dodger and Elaine in a tête-à-tête and heard the words from his Grandma:

“Make sure that boy licks ya nice and good ‘fore he tries to stick his pecker in—”

and had proceeded to panic and grab his new bride and hustle her upstairs for “sleep”. He’d caught Mr. Phipps’s pleading eyes on the way up and now he felt like a first team all American pervert. Gone was the sweet, comforting weight of the wedding vows, the religious aura the day had carried with it. Replacing that was a deep seated shame for how often he’d wanked to the thought of this night and all it entails.

In his dreams it had been fun to shock the girl by bending her over and putting it in, watching her eyes go wide and her struggle under him to adjust, but that was before he loved Elaine, he thinks. Now he tears at his hair, paces his bedroom eyeing the bathroom door like it’ll open and release a lion, and wonders how he’s gonna cherish her like he should, when his wants and his adoration keep vying for the upper hand. She boils his blood, shoots lightening up his spine and keeps him stiff at all times, and simultaneously, he is warm pudding when she smiles, and bluer than robin’s eggs when she’s sad.

The weight of getting all he ever wanted, the weight of actually having married himself off, the weight of mama’s hope coming true and her buried right under the window—he feels a little unhinged by it all, and he starts mumbling out incoherent prayers for guidance and self control and a capacity to not fuck up Elaine Presley’s first time. Because that’s just it: she’s Elaine Presley now, and he has a duty to the woman he married ‘afore God to make it good, t-to…

The bathroom door opens and the shimmering vision of Elaine and her feminine assets clad in nothing but a silk slip stops him dead in his tracks, his mouth liable to catch flies it gapes so at her beauty. She looks poised even jiggling and nipple perked in a light drape of silk, and he inwardly curses when her initial confidence seems to flag upon noticing the state he’s in.

Fully dressed with just his suit jacket discarded and here she is near naked—it’s not kind, he knows that, and curses again at his self absorption.

He looks like he’s gone a little mad, she thinks, and she can tell he’s been tearing at his hair in that fidgety way of his when he’s working himself up to a frenzy. It won’t do him good, she knows him, knows he’ll start hyperventilating and that always panics him.

It’s this urge to calm him that has her forgetting her bashfulness and crossing the floor to embrace him, his warm and clothed body pressed against hers in a hug he returns fervently.

“Ya look like an angel,” he rasps his praise in her ear and she is so pleased by that, and by the look of awed admiration on his face that makes her forget to blush, too pleased to be coy.

“Do ya have a new bird, Elvis?” she asks him, trying to distract him from whatever it is that has him so anxious she can near feel him vibrating against her.

“Uh, umm, a bird?” he is truly thrown by that and more than a little distracted by the feel of slippery silk curves molding to him in his arms.

“Dodger was saying—”

Dodger was talking about “peckers” he recalls, and is fast to cut her off in a great rush,

“No, no uh, I haven’t got no bird—sides you,” he jokes weakly and fails to add more, just staring down at Elaine in his arms, Elaine who stares back, her expression curious and amused and maybe a tad unsure.

Of course she’s unsure, you fool, he berates himself after finding his way back to steady thought. God, he should… do something.

“Elvis,” she pipes up and her voice is small but hopeful, “can I help you get comfortable?” and she thumbs at the ruffles of his dress shirt.

He feels his flush paint his neck and his body feels like it’s alight, but it’s perfectly reasonable for her to ask. It’s just that he knows her sweet confidence stems from her not even knowing enough to be bashful, and that’s… heady.

“Yeah,” he croaks and squeezes her to him once more before letting her set work to undoing the ruffled shirt he wore, sans tie.

She’s methodical and steady undoing the shirt, even as she flicks those lined eyes up at him, desperate for his assuring little nods and pleased smiles. He takes to stroking her cheek, running his knuckles across the high bones there and over her bitten lips, she kisses them with each pass.

Last button undone she spreads the fabric apart and places her hands on his chest, a wild delight showing on her face as she runs her hands across his pecs and collar bones, down to his belly, swooping up and down his arms, taking the shirt with it.

It falls to the ground and yet her hands continue to glide across his fevered skin entranced by the warmth and the contours. She’s wanted to feel his heartbeat for a long while now. Watching that tattle tale vein in his neck thump was the closest thing she could content herself with all these months. Her hands drift to his neck and sure enough, it’s thumping like a race horse at a gallop.

She excites him. That thought makes her eyes flick down to his trousers, recalling that strange spurt against her backside on the swing. He’d called that excitement, too.

She moves to open the button of his slacks and his belly sucks in with the breath he holds, she can feel it against her knuckles as she undoes it. She rubs her knuckles soothingly against the fine trail of hair disappearing into his waistband, it makes him shudder instead.

So far, everything on display she has seen before at the pool with him, but more, the prospect of more makes her heart speed up and her curious mind whirl. She’s a little preoccupied with all this as she starts to push the pants over his hips and while he doesn’t prevent her, his motion is a bit jerky when he clasps his hands around her jaw and tilts her eyes away from his hips and the curious bulge there, up to his face.

She hears his belt and the fabric thud to the floor just as his lips descend to meet hers, and then she grows distracted by the kiss he melts her with.

“Hey you,” he whispers hot and breathy against her lips, pillowy plushness rubbing together, kiss-slick and scorching.

And he’s right, it feels like finally seeing each other for the first time today. They’ve a decent rapport together when surrounded by friends and acquaintances, a very seamless dance of social politeness and steadying closeness. But nothing compares to the way they sizzle and melt when it’s just the two of them, like their inner selves are finally allowed to make a showing on their faces in the form of dazed smiles and in the slump of their shoulders, the bellies no longer held in nor the sighs longing to spill out.

“Oh, Elvis,” she manages to gasp, grinning and huffing at the proximity, the way her nipples rub against his chest from the crush of his embrace, just a silken layer between them, and it sends electric static down to her very toes.

“Ya happy?” he dares to ask because she is grinning so silly and sweet right there in his arms.

“Terribly happy!” she doesn’t bother with aloofness, her hands kneading his shoulders and he breathes again, recalling that this is Elaine, sweet Elaine who has gentled him back into the land of the living these last few weeks by simply knowing and caring for him, and while it’s a terrifying responsibility to do right by her—it’s also the best thing to ever happen to him. Elaine, here, in his arms, in his room, as his wife.

“Just ya wait till I get some champagne in ya,” he teases, waggling her chin in his hand and she looks surprised and a little excited by that.

“Elvis I-I’m too young,” she whispers, a guilty and hopeful little thing that suggests she is very amenable to champagne.

“You naughty lil thing, I see that hopeful glimmer in’ya eye,” he clicks his tongue and she giggles, “It’s lawful if your husband pours it for ya.”

“Is that so?” she bites her lip and her eyes twinkle up at him, falling easily into the banter, “Then I’d like to try it—since it’s lawful and all.”

“Mhmm, champagne, an’ a record, that’ll set us up jus’ right, I think.” He’s nearly buzzing himself, feels a little drunk even though there’s not a drop of alcohol in him.

“Don’t want ya to have to go down to the kitchen and leave me, though,” she admits, a little shy. His gut clenches at the confession, the way her lashes dip and fan over her cheekbones. He’d get beat by his mama if’n she knew of the unholy thoughts the pout of her lips made him think. He reels himself back to the present with a persistence that few things in his life made him exercise. For Elaine, his patience was boundless, because she doesn’t wanna be alone, or, rather, she wants to be alone with him. The simple acknowledgement sends his heart racing in hope that he’s managing to do something right, enough that she can’t bear for him to even pop down to the kitchen for a minute.

“Guess what, sugar?” he grins while fluffing her hair away from her face and she perks up, that mouth lifting inquiringly, “I got a refrigerator in the closet.”

“No!”

“Yup.” Elvis’ boyish grin grows until it’s a dazzling, proud smile and he begins to back up, she goes with, still clinging to his arms and giggling in excitement as he backs them into the gargantuan changing room.

“Where?” she cranes her neck this way and that, soon spinning in his arms as she tries to spy a refrigerator amongst the rows and rows of custom suits and well stocked shelving.

He holds up his finger for her attention, and gathering all his showmanship, backs away from her until he reaches the built-in cabinets and with a dramatic flourish flings open the wooden door to reveal his mini Frigader.

“No. Way,” she enunciates dramatically as her pretty mouth hangs open in delight and his own heart clenches and-

-God! Elaine! I can give you so much, he thinks, hang in there with me, I can give so much, I'll make ya fall in love.

He throws her a wink before bending over and retrieving the planted bottle and chilled glasses from inside. The fact he’s bent over double in just his briefs only registering when he’s already got his head half in the refrigerator, and her burning stare threatens to light his ass on fire. He straightens up and spins round to present her with his ribbon adorned findings, noticing her blush scarlet and flick her eyes back to his face.

-My, my, Miss Elaine, what a curious little mind you have.

He kicks the fridge closed and closes the distance between them again, handing her the glasses while taking her other hand in his and leading her back into the dimly lit bedroom. She sets the glasses on the sideboard top and goes to put the needle down on the record after he tells her “Ella’s already on there”, while he smoothes down the profusion of crinkle ribbon around the bottle neck in preparation to open it.

Elaine adjusts the needle and gets the record going and soon Ella Fitzgerald croons warmly:

-Birds do it, bees do it

She turns back around and watches as Elvis begins to gnaw on the champagne cork with his million watt, pearly white money-making teeth.

“What on earth are you doin’?” she protests, hurrying back to him. He’s like a rabbit with the thing, she thinks humorously.

-Even educated fleas do it,

He pulls the spit slicked cork away from his mouth to explain in a loathing huff, “Forgot to bring an opener up here.” And he doesn’t want to leave his baby, goes unsaid, doesn’t wanna leave her since she said she didn’t want him to leave.

-So let’s do it, let’s fall in love

Elaine’s lip wobbles into a fond smirk even as she tries to maintain some sternness, “You’ll break a tooth, E!” she warns even as her heart throbs at the sweetness of it.

“Nah, nah I’ll get it, my baby wanted champagne n’ she’s gonna have it,” he insists as she makes aborted little movements with her hands to try to aid him but is unsure of what to do or hold. “Here, hold the end, I’m gonna try’n pull it out, probably gonna gush so, be ready.”

And so Elaine finds herself in a laughing fit, holding onto the bulbous bottom of a champagne bottle as Elvis Presley himself buries his nose in the thatch of ribbons and gnaws the cork loose, like a dog with a bone, yanking this way and that while growling playfully around it.

“This is the silliest thing—” she wheezes even as his jaw’s yanking motion makes her feet slip closer, her light weight losing ground in this tug-o-war until suddenly there’s a pop and down he goes, flat on his ass, cork in mouth, champagne showering him from above.

He’s curled in on himself at her feet, all long tan limbs contorted and white briefs quickly becoming transparent, crunched in half from the force of his laughter and partly to shield his eyes from the alcohol rain. She watches in a bit of a state, though she’s unsure of what kind, as golden alcohol glistens over that heart, pools in every divot of him and even sparkles tauntingly on inky lashes.

“Quick, quick catch it baby!” he waves at her frantically through his wheezing hiccups, “With your mouth, put it in yer mouth!” he explains and she suddenly snaps her attention away from watching his underwear cling to him and brings the bottle up to her mouth.

She chugs on command, her throat working rhythmically and her eyes wide at the new taste, bubbly spillage glossing up her chin and chest and down her slip, a dark trail that makes his mouth dry out with thoughts of other things. She pulls away with a gasp and a wet pop as he struggles to his knees, cupping himself like that’ll detract from his obvious outline, thanking heaven his jitters seem to have kept him half mast.

“Here, it’s fizzy,” she informs him like that’s news to him before bringing the bottle down to his lips and tipping the champagne into his slack mouth. His hands fly out to rest on her hips, steadying himself as she pours the celebratory drink down his throat. “Cheers!” she giggles as he taps out his max capacity on her hips, his breath fully gone and his cheeks bulging with the fizz.

“Here’s to you, Mrs. Presley,” he gasps after his swallow, smiling up at her stupidly sweet.

Elaine isn’t sure if it’s his breathlessness, those fathomless blue eyes looking up at her adoringly or the way he’s proving he’d do anything to please her, but she’s suddenly filled with a burning compulsion to eat him up. And she acts on it, bending down to slot their mouths together, one hand gripping his sticky shoulder and the other still holding onto the bottle neck.

He rises to his feet in an effortlessly smooth motion, hands dragging up the curve of her as he goes until they tangle in her hair, his arms criss crossed over her back and then the real kissing begins, the kind he had figured he’d gentle her into but she seems to have already found a taste for. It’s open mouthed and sloppy and she nearly lets the bottle slip from her hand as she seems to levitate right out of her skin and upwards to some hot and hazy sphere where a pink tongue dances with her own.

And sweet Lord, she loves the way he kisses her, large hands yanking her head back by her hair so he can pour his passion into her keening mouth from above, his arms encompassing her shoulders and pressing her to him, his plush mouth working her up to a frenzy. She squeezes his shoulder, in retribution or encouragement, she doesn’t know which, for the ache he always manages to spark in her belly. Speaking of, his soaked underwear is pressed to her belly and dampening the fabric of her slip so it, too, becomes tacky and drags as he shifts against her, almost like they’re riding waves together, grappling in a gentle struggle for leverage in this caress.

-electric eels, I might add, do it, though it shocks ‘em I know,

She’s a responsive little thing, his new wife, and fiesty in her affection, too. Her nails dig into his back and make him hiss pleasurably and he finds he can’t help but hump the little curve of her belly beneath the silk, wet briefs tantalizingly coarse against his cock. It occurs to him this is a precious moment, for many reasons, but particularly for the fact that never again will she kiss him without at least some anticipation of more to follow. What’s a kiss that goes nowhere? A kiss that devours and consumes and grapples and bites but has no destination? Her whole body conforms to his in an effort to get closer as they sway in the middle of his bedroom floor, but she knows of nothing after this, she doesn’t know it’s leading anywhere. The kiss is all she knows. It’s like she has an incomplete map, one he gets to draw the big red ‘X’ at the end of. He wonders if a body can combust if kissed long enough, if he can make her shatter apart just by ignorant need and a searingly good necking. He pours more energy into plundering her mouth and ignores her whimpers begging for a breath.

Elaine finds her free hand sliding from his shoulder down the plush side of his ribs, tacky with champagne, and thumbs at the soaked waistband of his briefs. It makes him break their kiss at last, near drowned for air and his eyes wild as he rears back to study her face.

“You’re getting me sticky,” she whispers smilingly and watches him lick her spit from his lips with a languid tongue.

“Ya could just say you want me nekid,” he quips, and nearly swallows his tongue in horror right after, holding his breath to see how the joke lands.

Elaine is… taken aback, judging by the way her eyes widen and her cheeks flame bright in the dim light of the bedroom, but she truthfully shrugs and murmurs while staring past him, “I would really like to see ya, E.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he whispers back earnestly and she flicks her eyes back to meet his before her smile returns and she makes a motion to one handedly strip him before thinking better of it.

She takes another chug from the champagne bottle instead and he chuckles, making a motion with his hands to hand it to him when she’s done. She gives it over and he gulps down the liquid courage while trying to go somewhere else as Elaine begins to carefully peel his soaked tighty whities down his legs. Her yittle fingers make it mighty difficult.

-God, I hope she’s at least seen a penis before, he prays. Or, or actually no. I hope she hasn’t, I hope she has no fuckin clue about any other man, most certainly no trimmed up, affluent, all American, circumcised one.

While he’s busy making his nose burn with the bubbles he’s downing like water, Elaine takes a moment to feast her eyes on tan thighs and the boney cradle of his hips, defined by a lean belt of muscle descending from his abdomen and that faint dusty trail of hair that was pointing downwards to a destination after all. He’s pink and soft and harmless looking down there, very much like the anatomy sketches she’s seen in the medical books. A limp little tail-like thing that hangs between his legs with a sheath of skin covering it, pillowed atop a very heavy looking sack that’s a couple shades darker than the shaft thingy. Maybe men have a bladder on the outside, she ponders.

She finds herself a little relieved, and also stupidly endeared. It’s his privates, she should let him be, they’re not like hers that have a dual purpose of child bearing and peeing. They’re just his soft parts and he’s terribly sweet to let her satisfy her curiosity about them, and so she rises back to her feet with a pleased sigh, having refrained from the stupid impulse of reaching out and grabbing hold of them. Elvis lets out a ragged sigh of his own and looks like he’s trying to read her brain as she presses another kiss to his lips.

“Thank ya,” she chirps and he raises his eyebrows in surprise that this is going so well.

It goes well until it gets weird. And by weird Elvis means his sweet young wife starting to circle him like he’s a damn statue, her hand trailing over his skin and letting out appreciative little noises at the way his muscles twitch beneath her fingers. His ribs tickle and his arms jitter and his back tenses and then there’s that throat closing feeling of her palming the swell of his ass, admiring and entitled as you please. He feels a bit like a prize horse, being eyed up at auction, Elaine the buyer that’s testing to see if he’s a well-bred stallion. Seeing if he’s a good breeding partner, if he’s made of good stock.

Elaine’s appraisal halts at his other side, she’s got a hand gliding up his sternum like the feel of sparse chest hair is equal to the most priceless Persian rug, and her other hand keeps petting the swell of his ass as she presses kisses to his shoulder—oh god help him, he likes it, much as it makes him squirm, this entirely unexpected review of his assets has him standing at attention and hoping she approves. Something else starts to try to stand to attention and it’s through a helpless sort of mortified resignation he feels little Elvis twitch in earnest. The sorta twitch that’ll lead to precum sputtering out soon enough.

She notices. Of course she does, he feels her lips fall away from his shoulder so she can peer over it at the growing developments, and with unerring accuracy she repeats the motion she had just made, expecting a similar result if providing the right equation. His cock is feeling benevolent if a little demure tonight, and he can’t help but flex his hips as the next rush of blood makes the thing move again. Oh damn, he thinks, they’re getting somewhere now, and he’s not yet given a single lesson.

Elaine had long harbored a rather inordinate curiosity about the male figure, her swimming hole adventures and glimpses of mechanics stripped down covered in grease had all inspired a rather alarming curiosity in her girlish head as to what the male form looked like… unimpeded. She thought it silly that there was such emphasis on men’s tastes being visual, on pinups and advertising girls selling dish soap that had nothing to do with the bikinis prominently filled out. For her, Marlon Brando swaggering around in a sweat soaked singlet had done more to convince her to move to a New Orleans tenement than all those skimpy dressed floozies ever had ever convinced a regular ole father of three to buy Lucky Strikes. But to touch? To feel searing hot masculine blood pumping right beneath that terribly smooth skin and the dip and give of his muscles beneath her palm? Her chest aches and her hands move of their own accord, wondrously eager to make him wag between his legs again, like a happy tail swelling and jerking with each squeeze she gives his butt.

“Elvis, you’re so pretty,” she gushes the admiration swirling around and around in her mind and feels the whole long, lean, glorious length of his shudder at the comment.

She’s enchanted with his body, he realizes, he’s pleasing to her, and her hands flutter in a hopeless want to touch him everywhere and it’s all he can do not to seize a dainty hand and wrench her away from this sweet perusal and make her grip him here he needs it. He wants, needs, filthy things from her. And she just thinks he’s pretty. The moan he stifles with his hand is only fuel to her fire.

“Uh—” he begins, figuring he better get somethin about the mechanics of things out before this sweetness turns him feral and the tempting thoughts to just… sneak it in her… take precedence in his brain.

“What’s it doin’?” she interrupts instead, and he savors the feel of her holding his bare waist while he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking steady breaths, forcing some blood back up to his brain.

“I-i-it’s, it’s gettin’ excited,” he figures is an honest start, “F-firmin up.”

“Why?” she asks curiously, sounding ever so child-like, still petting his sides like, like—like he’s her pet.

He wouldn’t mind being her pet. He’s foolin’ himself thinkin’ he isn’t already, she’s just embracing her role with innocent confidence, unencumbered by silly knowledge of roles and shit, like he is.

“Well, uh, it’s, it’s—” he bites his lip harshly before gently grabbing her arms and moving her round to face him, stroking her neck soothingly while keeping her at a safe distance where her silk clad belly won’t encourage little Elvis any faster. “It’s gotta firm up as, it’s, it’s, it’s my key, baby,” he explains gently, watching with burning concentration for any flicker of understanding flitting across her earnest face.

“Your key?” she repeats gravely, that nagging feeling returning that there’s more to this… marriage business… then she’s been told, and she’s about at the end of her patience with being fobbed off the topic. “Elvis—” she goes to appeal for an answer to his generous nature, the lush set of his features above her sweet and sultrily eager as her own, encouraging her that he’ll humor her—

“Elaine, we gotta have a business meetin’,” he declares, effectively cutting her off, and it’s the voice he uses at conference tables with the colonel or with reporters but she knows it’s him scrambling to grab hold of some control. Ever wary of the delicate state of his emotions these days, she holds her peace. “Bout, b-bout marriage,” he clarifies and for the first time since coming up here, a cold shard of fear slices through the gooey warmth of his presence.

“Alright,” she agrees, firmly supportive, squeezing his arms to emphasize that she’s on his side in this, she takes her cues from him. It’s what good wives do, and it’s what all of humanity does when Elvis Presley starts to direct a thing.

Her compliance has the intended result of soothing him, his jitters calm under her hands and the light beam of her encouraging smile. He gives a few small nods of his head as if agreeing with an unspoken suggestion, and Elaine is entirely certain he’s got a self affirming monologue running up there in that pretty head to drown out whatever has him so panicked.

Alight with her touch, with thoughts of her and her lil house and making it good, making sure it takes, of finally having what he’s dreamed about for goin’ on two years now, he feels his knees near buckle and he murmurs hurriedly,

“Let’s sit on the–the bed for a minute.”

Hand in hand, and at a head clearing distance from each other, they mosey over to the canopied wonder that is his bed, decked out in black and gold, tufted pockets of down beckoning for a bounce amongst, and Elaine can’t help herself. Maybe it’s the champagne or a stubborn desire to keep the jubilant atmosphere alive but she slips her hand out of his with a parting squeeze and launches herself into the downy sea of gold.

His stride falters and he watches with a fondness he feels deep in his gut as his Elaine bounces into the bed like a giddy child, her long limbs splayed artlessly and the swell of her ass rippling under baby blue silk, a sliver more of inner thigh visible as it rides up, kicking her footsies gleefully for good measure before she lifts that darling face and grins at him beckoningly through a curtain of chocolate curls.

God he loves her. And this is what he’ll get to see and feel and love for all the coming nights, for the rest of his life. He moseys up to the bed and reaches out, caressing Elaine’s shiny locks back in place, matching her smile in an endeavor to help keep this mood as joyous as it should be. She grabs at his wrist that is petting her hair and pulls him atop her. Weak and wanting, he goes, registering with searing clarity the first feel of his long limbs being pressed atop every inch of her smaller frame, the bedspread tufting beneath their combined weight.

He is burning hot atop her, and so much larger than her own body, she realizes with a thrill that tingles down to her very toes. She resumes her petting of the wings of his shoulder blades, smooth and sweaty beneath her hands and she wiggles beneath the new sensation of his thighs pressed to her own, and his hips cradled by her hips, fitting together effortlessly. It’s delightful and she acts on the urge to tilt his face out from the bedspread and seek more kisses from those cherry red lips of his.

Elaine keeps undulating under him, spurred on by a thousand heady new sensations, slippery as an eel in her silk, and Elvis’s mind blanks at the feel of her eager and squirmy body beneath his. He forgets about lessons and marriage and sacred duties and instead acts on his most natural instinct which is to kiss her back ferociously and buck against the cradle of her hips ‘till his cock weeps for joy at finally being heeded.

As natural as riding a tandem bike, after the initial wobble for balance, Elaine quickly finds his rhythm and grinds along with him in a unified dance for propulsion, feeling something besides his champagne-sticky skin begin to slick up her nightslip.

That’s the wet smear of his excitement, she realizes, and rocks up more vigorously to encourage him. His penis is a throbbing pipe between them, and while she can’t see it, she can feel the thing growing and digging into her belly and she thinks of keys and she wonders, and aches. The whine her groom lets out, once hazily recognizing the fact she’s actually trying to aid his pleasure like a good wife should, is pulled from deep in his gut into her open mouth, sending a triumphant shudder through her.

“Sweet—lord—fuck—Elaine,” he blasphemes into her ear in a pained cry, his hand a mere agent of his cock as it fumbles between them frantically to pull up the hem of her slip.

Her hot breath fans against his face in shocked gusts and if he cracked open his screwed shut eyes he’s pretty sure he'd see her looking a little scandalized, which is why he doesn’t open them. He’ll save that for when he’s balls deep inside her and there ain’t a lawful thing she can do about it. For now he just doggedly hikes up her slip until it’s halfway up her belly and his balls are rubbing amongst the pettiest thatch on a beaver he ever did see. Not that he sees it now, mind you. No, his eyes stay closed and he forces her into another kiss lest she protest, but he recalls the particulars of her cunt like that addled inspection he made of her lady parts was yesterday and—

—her lil house, his promise, his duty! It all comes crowding back to his mind with an icy damper just as her hands glide down to land with a strong and naively lecherous grip on his ass and he—

—he might have made it if it weren’t for that grab. It’s not a good precedent to blame one’s wife for a loss of control but he’s afraid that’s just what it is, a precedent when, heedless of her confusion, he grips her delicate shoulders in each of his hands and leverages up, one pump, two pumps, three pumps amongst the slick petals of her pussy and then, then it’s white hot satisfaction and… Elaine.

Elaine, Elaine, Elaine—oh how I love you, oh how I want you, Elaine, Elaine, Elaine, you drive me nuts.

“Oh, oh wha—oh,” through the ringing haze of busting a nut against her, Elvis can hear her bewildered enjoyment as he spurts and slicks her up real messy, grinding against her pearl with powerful, heedless strokes.

He stops his whimpering moans and sucks in a breath, still somewhere else in his bliss and utterly unmoored, but not so useless as to stop moving along to her guiding hands on his butt.

Her breathy gasps are—they’re everything he’s ever fantasized about, and to make up for blowing his load like a green boy, he keeps up the pace she wants, slippin’ and a’slidin against her, listening intently as her pitch spikes when his cock smudges her clit with his head. She begins to replace each gasp with a noisy inhale.

“Wha-what’s oh, Elvis what’s—” she finds her voice just enough to babble as her head thrashes in a confused protest a few times amongst the golden tufts.

Then her hands clench on her handful of backside before the head of his cock slips in its glide and snags against her untried door. The bitten off shriek of surprised ecstasy she lets out, and the cruel bite of her nails in his butt, the rigid spasm of her thighs beneath his, tells him she’s gotten a taste of the heaven he just indulged in early.

“That’s it, that’s it, it’s nice feelin’, ain’t it?” he preemptively shushes her worries, the ones that gather even now on her brow the minute her pleasure ebbs away enough for rational thought to raise its pesky head.

“Elvis, I—what was—” she pants and can’t find the words or courage to finish her question, she just blushes beneath him instead, and for the first time tonight he can sense her feeling insecure.

“That was actin’ married, baby,” he answers simply, cupping her face and letting his thumbs rub soothing circles in her hairline. “You alright? Did I scare ya?” he whispers, terrified in suspense as Elaine seems to give his question thought, reviewing the recent memory of her first orgasm with typical, analytical detachment.

“It felt… tingly,” she decides, having to acknowledge no harm was done and this sated feeling of her melting into a puddle beneath him is rather lovely. “I liked it,” she decides, then insists as he still looks down at her, chestnut hair falling into his eyes and his worried mouth wobbling like a scared baby’s. “I liked it a lot.”

“Ya liked it?” he perks up, his lip curling in a smile, eager as a puppy, and she remembers him asking her the same thing, in the same eager way, about the grand staircase when he first showed her Graceland.

“Yes, yes I did,” she nods emphatically, ignoring how something seems to hang in the air about them now, something more that prods her to ask, “What now?”

Because “more” feels like a third person in this room and her curiosity has been too long deferred.

“Now we have that business meetin’,” he replies gravely, as if he suspects her of plotting against the meeting and its solemn necessity.

He tries to pitch his voice down in a bid to sound authoritative, but all she can think of are his pitiful little whimpers as he wet her belly. She smirks and reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes. “Yessir, Private,” she teases, immensely pleased with herself when he lets out a throaty laugh and rolls his eyes in response.

He pulls his body away from her, forcing himself not to cringe at the goopy mess he made of her pussy, or the resiliently adhesive string of spunk that refuses to break the connection between them as he pulls away. She is watching his every expression, he knows, every movement, the bat of his eyes, all being used to form her own opinion of this and he is careful not to show any reaction that might have her embarrassed, or worse, thinking the act gross. Sex is nasty, and he fuckin’ loves it for it. And if he can help it, so will she.

He twists off her and rolls on his side, sitting up where his legs dangle off the bed and he flips her slip back down in what he hopes is a subtle but swift enough gesture to be considered gentlemanly. She sits up beside him and folds her hands expectantly in her lap, her legs swinging off the bed beside his own and if he thinks too long about the fact he’s probably dribbling down her primly closed thighs, he’ll go insane all over again.

Get this part done and then you can go nuts, he tells himself, then it’s free reign. Or, well, nearly.

“Elaine baby,” he begins, this time his voice is naturally deep and earnest as it often is when discussing something very important, she recognizes it and gives him all her attention, “Do ya know anythin’ bout what mamas and daddies do when they go to bed?”

Her head is still fuzzy from whatever trickery they just engaged in, the way his hand now descends to her thigh making the pounding between them worse than ever even as the pleasure is sharper, more satisfying than any she’s achieved. It clouds her mind and stalls her reply. She thinks that she could answer smartly that he just showed her what they do, or she could say she knows they sleep, or she could rattle off a buncha scared suggestions that might make her seem a little less lost, a little less dumb about this whole thing. But she trusts him, trusts him to be kind and patient, to want to be married anyway. So she bites down her pride and shakes her head adamantly, not a shred of flippancy left.

“Well, part of bein’ married is makin’ babies, right?” he responds, “And that happens in a marriage bed, or least—that’s where it happens first time ya try,” Elvis explains the best he can, his voice gentle and his drawl persuasive like it had been when he showed her cords on the guitar. “Now we uh, we’ve talked bout your lil house already,” he notes and she nods with sober and locked on fascination, waiting for him to drop a hint of something that will make practical sense, “and I done told ya bout my key. You felt it gettin all firm, yeah? Then sprayin’ ya belly—sorry bout that, jus’ got me so excited, went ahead of myself—well, baby, ya see…” He twists his lower lip with his fingers in one last pained procrastination before getting the rest out in a measured slur, “To make a baby the daddy’s key has gotta go inside the mama’s house a-a-and unlock her.”

He holds his breath and watches this lesson land home on her sweet face. He takes note of each stage of comprehension as it morphs her face. First there’s her squint of concentration, then the eyebrow quirk of confirmed speculation, then the lip bite of second guessing his meaning, then crystal clear compression that seems to freeze her features in one of disbelief until they reanimate in a frenzy of emotion that culminates in her heavily fringed eyes darting down to stare at his recently spent, half mast cock. His key, he corrects himself, and like a damned pet, it wags under her wide eyed study.

“Oh ha, oh.” She tries to master her gasps and they just come out in a tumble anyway, staring at that strangely animate part of him that is nothing like any one of hers. The longer she looks the larger it grows, the sheath drawing back and revealing a tender looking tip, so vibrantly red it matches the flush splotching down his chest. It looks like it’s aches, and she suddenly has sympathy for the eager thing. At her aborted movement to touch it, she sees it sputter out clear fluid, as if weeping for her attention.

A great many bits of hearsay, of anatomical layouts studied, some Bible passages about “goin into her” and a few racy lyrics flash through her mind like star witnesses confirming his account of married life. She suddenly wants to laugh at the absurdity of not putting it all together until the wagging heft of the thing swelling beneath her stare makes her suddenly hope he’s wrong. Or, or -teasing, he’s gotta be teasing.

Oh course he is! Her shoulders loosen up and she lets out a great big sigh before meeting his stormy eyes and poking the soft rolls of his belly warningly, “You had me there!” she tsks and begins to laugh the more she thinks of the idea of him shoving his… his pee pee… up her to make a child.

Elvis doesn’t laugh, he looks suddenly quite alarmed and her merriment dies on her lips, stuttering out at the sight of his earnest face.

“You. Are. Teasin,” she repeats with a pleading diction, “You don’t really -oh gosh y- you ain’t pullin’ my leg, Elvis?” she almost whimpers, her mother’s proper nomenclature gone right out of her pretty mind at the idea of that chubby snake thing inside her.

“I ain’t pullin’ your leg sweetheart.” he swears, no hint of mockery in his voice, “That cream ya felt…coming out, the sticky stuff, i-it shoots up in ya a-a-and fertilizes y-your eggs. I-it’s called making love, baby, cause it’s-it’s makin…love.”

Elaine feels her face growing hot at that visual and would like all these components to make less sense right about now. It all comes together in her logic like a missing piece of the human puzzle, but far from being the Devine enlightenment she was expecting, she finds it’s a sticky, bobbing, whining, gushing, squelching process that isn’t remotely medical or Devine. It’s comedic, and her jaw clenches in protest at the absurdity of it all. God really must enjoy a good laugh, forcing folks to spew and shake apart like idiots just to keep the human race alive.

“Why’s it growin?” She demands hotly, resigned to the logic but quite unappreciative of the fact that the more excited about making babies his key gets, the more likely its growing size will make it impossible to fit inside her.

“It’s getting firm so it can go in,” he defends his offending boner as meekly as possible, eager to get back in her good graces and refusing to listen to little Elvis’ cries of offended honor, “A-a-and so it’ll feel good inside ya.” he makes sure to tack on and notices her incredulous left eyebrow shoot up to her hairline.

“That so?” she asks, utterly sarcastic.

“Yes!” he pleads and her face softens a little at his hurt tone, at his obvious honesty, “Once inside it’ll rub ya all nice like it felt a minute ago. ‘Member that? this’ll be like that just… even better.”

“I-I-I do, I do recall,” she softens at his worried face, realizes he thinks she’s gonna back down from this and curses the fact she’d really rather. Impotent anger rises up in her for a brief flash that she didn’t have more time to prepare for this, that no one told her so she might settle her terrified little belly to the thought of him—

—it’s too awful to be pondered for long and she takes a great deep breath and holds it in the way she learned at the hospital, to calm a bout of panic, staring off across the room at the portrait of Jesus he has hung by the closet door. She thinks about how best to fly away while he does what is necessary, she thinks about babies, she thinks about how pretty and sweet he is. She thinks about her mama, and wonders if the procedure is so awful, why didn’t she and every woman in her life warn and prepare her for it? Now her aunt’s words make sense. Be good and let him do what he needs to. If this is what he needs to do, then she reckon’s she’ll just have to let him see to it.

“Elaine?” he begs her to look at him, his warm hand gently grabbing her chin and turning her face to his like an ornery mule by its bridal. “Elaine, what’s in that pretty head? Talk to me please,” he puts his face all up in her own’s business, hands cradling her face and noses brushing, she can feel the brush of his lips when he speaks again softly, “Ya don’t think God would tell folks to be fruitful then make it awful for ‘em, do ya?”

It’s as if he’s read her mind, her own rationalization on the subject and she gives a slow nod of dissent, “no,” she agrees, and realizes due to her watery voice that she must’ve started crying somewhere along the way. It rankles her, being so skittish, being so troublesome for her groom when she’s not even been married a full day.

Lord, instead of being angry, he’s nuzzling her tear tracks across her face and swearing never ending tenderness to her. Her heart does another flip as his lips trail down her neck, and she warms again, her ache returns and it reminds her of his own. She tilts her head so he can better suck at the soft skin of her neck and casts her eyes down to his lap, finding him still eager. His key looks so desperate and needy, and despite her grievance against its size, her hand darts out instinctively to swipe at the leaking mushroom head like she would anyone’s tears from beneath their eyes.

It has a rather startling effect on her young husband.

Elvis lets out a choked cry and crushes her arms where he holds them, his kiss bitten cry turns into a chomp on her shoulder as the shock of his reaction makes her squeeze his member harder, eliciting a yet greater amount of pleasurable anguish from him. The way the previously dribbling precum gushes over her knuckles is entirely the most heady thing she’s ever managed to feel in her life. That molten warmth in her belly ignites again, and she kisses his own neck in delight at the responses he gives her, even as she drags the flat of her palm up and down his key, taking notes on the way he bucks against it.

“Elaine—” he garbles into her throat and she kneads his neck comfortingly even as she continues to watch the way this new friend throbs and gushes under her tiniest attentions. Like a personable pet or a responsive baby, it’s a joy to have something react to her with such inordinate eagerness.

“Alright, I believe ya,” she whispers soothingly as she thumbs at his leaking slit and strokes down his foreskin, noticing a definite ridge and then a puffy head differentiating the head from the rest of the shaft, “Just the tip has to go in, right?” she surveys the bulbous little head and calms herself. It’s not that big, just awfully wide. She can manage it, for the babies.

“N-no baby.” he stutters into her throat, miserable and worried sick about repeatedly having to be contrary, “S’all gotta go in.”

“But, but you can just spray up once it’s in!” she cries out, laughingly incredulous and a single sentence away from reverting back to suspecting him of playing a trick, “Why’s the whole thing gotta go in when it shoots the stuff a foot or more?”

That’s- that’s a worrisomely valid point, he thinks, but he can only deal with the logic of her hand fondling his cock right now and so he insists, “No baby, it’s gotta go deep, way up in your belly so it don’t get lost with all the cake ya ate.”

“That ain’t gonna get very deep.” she’s rather unimpressed with his length and it brings him right back down to earth with an Elaine shaped thump, “It’s the girth that’s unnecessarily…plentiful.”

“Ya sayin’ God didn’t know what he was doin when he made me?“ Elvis feigns outrage and pulls away to grin at her, to confirm she’s grinning, too.

She rolls her eyes, then that famillair, sweet smile overtakes her face as she flits her eyes all across the lean yet soft, pale yet golden, masculine yet boyish whole of him, -she finds him very good. “I reckon he knew what he was doin’,” she murmurs wryly, her stare dragging up his form, “I just object to the practicality of so few brains and so much—”

“Elaine!” he growls, gripping the back of her neck, “Kiss me, woman.”

She kisses him with the same gusto he’s previously seen her reserve only for football matches on the lawn. She catapults forward and it knocks the wind outta him, lands her solidly in his lap, a smooching, hair tugging goddess of a mad woman, and he scrambles to keep up, to assist the gearshift that just occurred. Zero to sixty it seems. Elaine can’t seem to hold still when she kisses, always leveraging up and wiggling around and it makes for two of them writhing, to the immense satisfaction of his cock that gets wedged between his belly and hers during this heavy make out.

Eventually she seems to notice -Elvis wonders what gave lil Elvis’ position away: the incessant twitching or the gallons of precum dribbling down the front of her gown.

She pulls away from the kiss and looks down, suddenly reaching and straightening his cock against her belly and through the haze of ball tingling appreciation for her touch he realizes she’s measuring the depth against her belly. That thought makes him spurt so violently he’s not sure if he’s cummin’ a lil or just, just gushin’ like he’s never seen himself gush before. Thank God this sweet little girl seems to like the fact he’s a messy, sensitive, uncut hick of a boy.

“We’ve just gotta try our best, hmm?” he stifles his anticipatory giggle at the size comparison to her abdomen and thumbs at her throat coaxingly, “I’ll try’n get it real deep, and you’ll be good and lemme, right?“

She will, for the babies, he already knows that. Knew it the minute she agreed to marry him. It’s why he wants her.

“Right.” she agrees and tries to not make it sound like she’s being condemned to torture, “I’ll be good for ya.” Be good and let him do what he needs to.

“And I’ll make it nice,” he swears adamantly and she nearly believes him, “It won’t hurt much, not at all after the first time, I’ll make sure you enjoy it, baby. Have ya begging for it in a few hours, you’ll see. It’s gonna be nice, remember?”

“Yeah.” Her tone is unsure but she waggles her eyebrows conspiratorially.

Then, before another promise can be made, she bends away from his lap and flops on her back, legs spread, baby blue silk riding up to show her wet curls, hands serenely crossed across her chest, face expectant. “Well, c’mon, gimme those babies.” she eggs him on, somehow keeping the wobble out of her thin voice.

“Elaine, honey, you’re shakin’,” he worries, noticing the visible battle in her body between desire and fear.

“I am a little chilly.” she replies very decorously, and with a liar liar pants on fire smile of assurance.

“Bullshit, you’re terrified,” he murmurs, petting her spread legs that are still partly in his lap, sliding his warm palms up her inner thighs and noting with satisfaction the way it makes her nipples pebble helplessly beneath the silk. She even rocks her hips towards his soothing attentions and that’s perfect, that’s how he’s gonna handle this, just soothe her into it, her entirely absent prudery a great aid. Although this next little detail he’s gonna teach her may push her to the limit.

“Now, ‘fore I go in, there’s a great deal of prep’s gotta happen or else I’d not be a husband, just a mean bastard, you understand?” And he watches closely as Elaine’s chest heaves in relief that she’s got a little more time before the main event. Come to think of it, he should buy her more time, maybe a bath to get her all loosened up and pliant. “How bout we take a bath first, ya wanna take a bath, baby?” he suggests and knows that it was entirely too random a segue the minute it leaves his mouth.

“Not–not right now.” she whispers honestly, her hands still crossed across her breasts and she makes a motion that hikes the neckline a little higher, telling him all he needs to know about her shyness. He’ll let her leave the slip on for now, the fact her cunt is considered husbandly property but her breasts are sacred maidenly assets makes him feral with want. “I’d like to just get this over w- to, experience it,” she does a decent job at damage control of her initial sentiment but he figures it’s understandable to want it over and done with, like a procedure, like a tooth being pulled. “Honestly Elvis, I’m too nervous to enjoy anything till we do it,” she admits, no pretty turn of phrase, just that precious honesty he appreciates so much about her.

Boy does he have a surprise for her, then. He grins and he nods understandingly, “I getcha, baby, we don’t gotta do nothin you don’t want,” he swears, “Just gotta prep ya then we’ll get on with it. Hey, stop shruggin’, ya just might like it.” He pinches her thigh and it makes her giggle, she gives him another unconvinced shrug that he takes as a gauntlet thrown to turn her into a whimpering cock slut.

“I-I’m gonna pull this up a lil,” he narrates gently, figuring it might put her at ease as he matches his words with the action of rolling her hemline up to her ribs. Her soft belly caves in with the breath she’s holding and he lays his searing palm on it, coaxing her to settle for him.

She can feel his calluses and the grounding weight of his broad hand on her womb, and the rightness of it turns her body pliant. That dreamy submission he first coaxed from her to make her sleep after her mother’s funeral -she can feel it coming over her again and settles glady. He’s never steered her wrong yet, and he’s let her keep her breasts modest, a sweet concession she is eager to thank him for with obedient compliance. She focuses on his large hand and the way it’s now petting, no, more like digging gently, with his fingertips into her lower belly, little digs and pulls upwards over and over again. She can feel each tug downstairs in her little house, like his fingertips are tugging at her little button’s string from the outside in. Her head truly sinks back into the gold tufted comforter and she absently palms a heaving breast. This part of being married is lovely.

The awed look overtaking Elvis’ cherubic features as he stares down at the freshly undressed slit between her legs is reward enough for her. Life is suddenly dreamy and hazy, like she’s viewing his rich coloring and decadent face through a stocking over a lens, like the girls do to minimize their pores in photographs. He looks like that naturally, too rich and pretty and lovely to be true, now muddled and smeared from the feelings his hands excite, he looks otherworldly and she lets slip a moan of appreciation.

“You’re so pretty.” she babbles again, unsure if any of it actually made it out of her head. It seems very pressing to tell him, maybe in lieux of the “I love you” he’s dying to hear but made her swear she wouldn’t say till she meant it.

For Elvis, the entire picture of Elaine, melted ivory skin with a halo of chocolate curls and a wisp of sea foam silk covering what he’s dying to see -she is like an erotic painting brought to life just for him to lick and squeeze and split open on a sea of gold. He shudders and keeps his finger tips massaging her giving belly, this ole trick of Johnny’s obviously not half bad, judging by the way she goes boneless and her long legs begin to spread of their own accord, knees bending out and her pink petals beginning to make an obvious flutter beneath the curls.

“You recall what Dodger said.” he asks her very softly, mumbling it into the soft skin of her inner knee as he gets her used to the feeling of his lips creeping closer to the place he’s about to devour, “remember her sayin I was to lick you?” he prods, knowing that bringing up his grandmother is not ideal seconds before slurping at his wife’s beaver, but he guesses rightly that he might benefit from some moral backup for what he’s about to propose.

“Y-yes, yes before a pecker o-“ Elaine’s already a little incoherent as he permits his hand to stray from her belly and scratch amongst their curls, digging and tugging at her outer lips from afar, making them glide against each other in a soft stimulation, like a foreskin getting rubbed over the glans.

“Pecker’s jus’another word for key.” he whispers into the butter soft skin of her twitching thigh and her hips jerk from the tickle of his voice.

“Oh is it?” she manages to laugh, even as it’s a far away little sound, “dear Dodger.” is all she adds.

“So like she said,” he carefully moves himself to a crouch, taking care not to jostle her out of her docile trance, crouching like those mountain cats between her legs, he carefully replaces his hand with his cheek as he rubs his face against her belly -entirely cat like, “like she said I gotta lick ya. See, cause….’‘fore ya use a-a key in a new lock ya gotta grease, it, right?”

Elaine Presley is so bewildered and terribly hungry for something, anything, Elvis could suggest just about any sort of fuckery right now and she’d agree. As is, she thinks she’s read in the Bible about a man kissing his woman down there, a vague reference to pomegranates that King Solomon might’ve thought real slick, but wasn’t subtle. There was certainly more of an illusion made to it in the good book than anything about chubby snakes going up inside a girl. She has no qualms against it, also very few brains at her disposal right now it seems, and she finds it’s nice having one’s mind wiped blank after such a hectic two weeks of planning and organizing.

“S-so I’m gonna lick ya down there, a k-kiss sorta a-“ Elvis is explaining, unnecessarily thorough in a pained, urgent, desperate whisper that he uses when he wants a thing bad but he wants you to think you want it badder and she-

-Later on in life, later on the next day even, Elaine could never quite tell or explain where the urge or the bravery or the biblical amounts of entitlement to his services she suddenly felt in that moment. All either of them had was the memory of her fresh as a daisy self, steering her groom by his hair till he was face planted between her legs, doing his duty. Licking her open, pink tongue wriggling and lapping.

Terrified shitless that somehow, somehow he’d mess up the one thing he was certain he was remarkably good at, Elvis’s skilled tongue had bolted into her wet heat like a colt through the starting gate with a lot to prove. And he maintained that ferocious pace and fervor for a undocumented and unrecalled amount of time. He was not sure how he managed to breathe down there for the hour or more he spent sucking and licking and jabbing his tongue into Elaine’s long dreamed of cunt, living off fumes from the sweetest pussy he’d ever tasted, hair tugs of gratitude his only payment and the sounds of shock and awe spilling out of his new wife at every bout of pleasure he tore from her.

The sounds she was making -they were the same as when the two of them went down to the flower festival in New Orleans, while he was on set, where she’d gasped and cried and exclaimed joyously over five street blocks worth of Lilies and Dahlias and the stringy flower bushes Elvis’ didn’t retain the name of.

“So, so nice, oh, oh right there”. This frantically happy compliance, this unabashed enjoyment by a virgin girl smashing his face into her snatch -it was more than Elvis’ wildest, most self indulgent fantasies could have hoped for.

He had noticed in Elaine a peculiar sort of common sense that most people didn’t have in common. If a thing was not harmful or explicitly forbidden, she had no objection to it, in fact, she considered it free game. And bucking her hips up to meet his tongue and utilize his nose against her button -was obviously one of those non prohibited joys of life. And he set about to make it so addictive that she would be collaring him for a lick every day of her life for the rest of their days. His hands slowly gravitated up her belly, squeezing and appreciating the firm give of her sides and up to her breasts that she still guarded with panting lassitude. He didn’t know if he had snuck his hands under hers to knead the firm mounds or if she’d allowed him under of her own accord, and placed her hands atop his in blessing. But either way, he stayed bent like that, hands groping at her tits and jaw near unhinged to swallow her down, his own hips rutting into the mattress, the seams of the bedspread chafing his cock pleasurably.

“Can I have another?” she would ask eagerly after having shook apart and dribbled over his tongue for the tenth time.

Who was he to deny her?

He worked his fingers in gently, but after the amount of spit and slick they had produced together, it was a mere pinch for her when he snuck in first one long finger, then another. Careful to keep her revving, he dallied for a while with just the two, scissoring them and spitting inside the tight little hole until her objectioning mewls turned to breathy sighs again. Working in the confines of her wet heat near drove him mad, feeling how tight she was around just a few digits had his cock aching and groans of his own came pouring out of his mouth, buzzing her clit and causing her to writhe.

He took to curling his fingers inside her, her walls giving under more readily after his patient coaxing and he rubbed the calloused pads of his fingers up and curled untill he found a soft, giving little spot unlike its surroundings, spongey in a way he’d only ever heard about. Her reaction to his touch there was also something that had before only been mere hearsay from the boys on the road. Her hips leveraged off the bed like she was possessed, and through the smash of her thighs about his ears he heard her scream, and perverse determination was entirely to blame for the way he forced his fingers to keep curling as her little house clamped down around them and suddenly his head was being crushed like a melon between her legs and a jet of sweet, Elaine flavored goodness was spewing at his grinning face.

“Sweet Jesus would ya look at tha-“ Elvis heaved in a dozen breaths the minute her legs fell apart again, propping up on his forearms and watching his stunned wife tremble violently, her belly and thighs shaking like they were motorized, her pussy still gushing feebly and her hands patting herself down as if to make sure she was still all there. He’d only ever heard of squirting, and here he was now, half blinded by her spray.

The sight of the teary eyed, mortified yet pleasure dumb confusion clouding her exquisitely clever face had given him no other option. He had to have her, had possess her, had to take, had to fuckin’ take his due. Now.

She was in no position to deny him, shaking in pleasurable shock and splayed out boneless and unsuspecting. Through a tunnel of starry spots she saw his glistening wet face come in to view, hovering over her own, and felt the warm weight of his body settling over hers, famillair and steadying. She tried to raise her floppy hand to pet his rosy cheek, to somehow convey how lovely he made her feel, but her hand wouldn’t respond beyond flopping around a few inches from the mattress like a beached fish. She began to giggle and could not stop, thinking she should stop so he could kiss her: ya can’t kiss a giggling woman as her lips aren’t available when she’s giggling and he’s gonna kiss her —

—he didn’t kiss her, instead he had gripped her cheek and it steadied her enough for the giggles to die out almost as effectively as the sobering feel of a blunt, slippery, heated thing pushing at her entrance.

“No, no, no” Elaine’s mind whimpered in betrayed protest, “no, no it had been so lovely, it had been so lovely, it had been nice acting married.”

Tears that had gathered and spilled from the nerve wracking ecstasy he had forced out of her, now spilled afresh down her splotchy cheeks. Her dark eyes glittered like dazzling pools of hurt, her head tilted to the side in disagreement with his plan.

Of course, of course, she thought, there’s always something more to be asked of a woman, a banquet can be enjoyed but there are always dishes afterwards, you get your pretty breasts but you have to bleed every month for them, you can have your house licked to madness but it’s only so that a hungry boy can more easily split you apart.

No, no, why? it had been so lovely…

Elvis had of course thought about fucking Elaine Phipps until she cried, he sometimes dreamed about her thrashing from too much pleasure her eyes streaming tears and her mouth twisted as she tried to let him finish, as he made her enjoy it more than she thought she had the capacity to. He’d thought of it, but it wasn’t the same as trying to push into a hole belonging to a girl mindlessly whimpering “No, no” beneath you.

Having an innocence kink, Elvis was discovering, was a lot sexier in theory, before stupid feelings emerged and pesky consciences nagged and the shuddering terror of your wife beneath you was abundantly tangible. That was a fantasy best kept between himself and his fist, and rock hard as he was, and nearly unhinged from waiting, he just couldn’t manage to do it this way. That old insecurity, that burning awareness that he had always wanted her more than she had wanted him came crowding into his mind, making his own eyes burn in rejection and fear.

“Shhh, shhh baby, it’s alright’ sweetheart, hey, hey it’s me, me c’mon, look at me.” he had begged her, hands engulfing both sides of her face, “I’m sorry, Elaine, I’m sorry.” it spills out in cry of his own because he doesn’t know how else to admit his long harbored expectations of her, the carnal weight of what he has wanted all this time, and all the wasted years he’d never told her he worshiped the soundboard her yittle fingers so cleverly levered , “I’ve loved you ever since I came back and found ya grown. I’m sorry, I’ve -I-I’ve wanted to have ya for years. You’re the most perfect thing alive. I-I-I just gotta have ya, I just gotta. I-I’ll d-d-die if ya don’t want me, too, honest I’ll die.”

When she looked at him then, looked and truly saw the soul of him stamped on his face -suddenly she saw everything she once doubted existed. He loved her. Elvis loved her and she was at peace.

It was Elvis. Dear ole Elvis, the boy at the studio who liked her sandwiches, the boy who she could most likely find sitting on the couch with his mother talking about his day, the boy who brushed her hair out for her the day they buried mama. It was Elvis, who was gonna give her babies, who’s gonna make sure she never wants for a thing, who is never going to let her be lonely or purposeless again. Elvis who was the most beautiful, exquisitely potent man she’d ever known, laying on top of her, shaking in desire to be inside her. He wanted to be inside her, so badly in fact, that all his power and his verve and his pride were shaking and shuddering above her.

“Oh my darling, you made me feel lovely.” she whispered to him, wanting that said before he split her open and took away her innocence. “Your love makes me happy, so happy. How could I not want that?“

“You want it?” he begged against her lips, he begged to hear it again while grabbing his tip and smudging against her clit, making her jerk and bow up in his arms. A reminder of what he can do to her, what he can give her, why she should be obedient.

“Yes, yes I want it.“ she repented of thinking anything unkind about her husband’s cock that’s gonna water her garden and grow her a family, that’s going to pry her open so children can pass through.

“Alright, ok.” he gathered his wits one last time, terrified to think of how he’s gonna lose all grip on himself once inside her after expending so patience beforehand, “Here's what we’re gon- we’re gonna let you control it.''

His brain pumped out fragmented explanations but he managed to sit up and bring her with him, landing her in his threatening lap, his arms cradling her little self, and he scooted higher in the bed until he was sitting upright, the padded black headboard at his back.

“There, here… we’ll, we’ll get it in like this.” he took to referring to his own body like it was a stranger, heaving in ragged breaths like a snorting racehorse. “At’cher own pace, baby. Ya-ya can…ya can sit on it.” He was no longer bothering to make sense, and thank God she seemed to realize that.

Being naive did not mean she was a fool. The novel concept now explained it was abundantly obvious in mechanics. Elaine grasped the slippery length of him firmly again, relishing the aliveness of it, holding it as she had when measuring him against her tummy.

She bit her lip with savage determination. Babies, he’s gonna give her babies.

Her husband’s face was all lash fanned anticipation, his pouty mouth grimacing in barely contained fervor and his eyes crinkled in a wince of pleasure from her grip. She saw a single tear escape his thicket of lashes and run down his prominent cheekbone, headed towards his hairline. She swiped at it tenderly with a thumb and had her hand grasped by him in response, tremblingly guided to his shoulder.

Leverage, she realized, he was giving her leverage and she raised up with her thighs like she would in the saddle, felt his hand meet her own down there to line him up, the size of his head against her giving her a thrill of horrored excitement.

Gently hovering and squatting, she gentled the puffy, leaking head of him in. The burning little sting of it only served to confirm that Elaine was about to be split apart when the rest followed. Now nestled far enough to need no guide, he grabbed at her other hand and put it in place on his shoulder, their noses touching, their legs bent atop the each other’s, arms encircled -suddenly this embrace made it feel completely essential to Elaine that they be connected in that remaining way. As if he could feel her submit around his first inch, his eyes flew open and a hungry azure gaze burned her up as her hair curtained around their faces and—

“You were made for this.” he reminded her as she whimpered at another little bit of length inserted, “You w-w-were fashioned u-up i-in heaven f-for this m-moment.” and the young man who couldn’t be made to stop wiggling in a Church pew tried to hold still as his drippingly tight wife cringingly lowered herself more, “In the doll factory u-up above, h-he m-m-made this lil house to t-the direct d-demensions t-t-to squeeze me d-dry —oh fuck, baby c’mon! That’s it, m-more come on, take me. Take more of me!” he groaned, his head bowed and watching where he began to disappear inside of Elaine, the culmination of all his madness.

“God Elvis it’s-its already awful.” she admits, staring at the stupid black headboard and registering every pulsing inch and vein and ridge of his rock hard, half jammed penis inside her tiny canal. “I dunno if i can-“

“Aww no ya don’t! No -don’t ya dare.” his snarled and gripped her hips as she began to raise up and dismount -it was only going to make it worse to try again and he was gonna make her finish this for her own sake, “Good wives don’t get off their husband’s cock till he says so. We’re ruinin’ ya for anyone else, babydoll, course it's gonna hurt something awful first time. Gotta see it though, don’t ya lose our progress.”

He saw a vicious emotion flash across her face -and he recognized it. It was the one from the mirror before a show, that wretched look of ambition that keeps him from fleeing from a crowd when all he wants to do is hide and puke his nerves away. He barely had time to brace his back before she was impaling herself on him again with teeth gritted ferocity, seething in his ear something about how she’d rather get kicked by Trojan -her gorgeous quarter horse. It made Elvis think of horses and her thighs working in the saddle and horses and stallions and stallions mounting mares and fuckin ‘em full and he-

“You’re gonna, you’re gonna take me.” he declared inexorably as she whimpered, “You’re gonna do what God made ya for, you’re gonna take my cock.”

“I can’t.” she wasn’t even whining, she could just feel him hitting a barrier and she couldn’t take more. “Please E, be nice, I-I ca- it’s not gonna fit, E!”

“It will, you’re my wife, ya will. You’ll take it all.” he kissed her check while reminding her steadily.

Then he snapped his hips up to meet hers in a powerful pump that tore her right through. She landed flush in his lap, a gush of virgin blood pooling between them, full to the brim with his thick cock nestled inside. Not even a cry let past her lips, just open mouthed shock, as if he’d punched the scream right out of her diaphragm.

Holy shit, his mind supplied, she was the tightest, most spectacularly tight -tightly wet pretty- tight woman. His whole body shook in delight at the wet, moldable grip of her walls, and he held her closer, blessing her for being so perfect, mumbling in between her still clothed breasts that he was gonna ruin her cunt for any other fella.

Elaine recalls just trying to breathe, even while clutching at his shoulders and listening to the filth pour out of his panting mouth, filth that confirmed his confession that he’d had designs on her body long ago. It made her shiver, which rubbed him inside of her and she doubled over into his chest, whimpering at the fullness and the burning sting of her stretched entrance. A thought flashed across her mind that he was mean to make her take all of him, the tip would have done just as well, and now she feels like she’s impaled on a pipe and his hips won’t stop squirming to force it that much deeper. He sounded like he was enjoying himself, maybe even having a vision of heaven buried inside her, and in that alone she took joy and made herself disentangle from him enough to glance down at the marvelous union they’d made.

It made her gasp in awe. She had swallowed him whole with her own body, taken him down to the root, his sack warm and full beneath her petals, absorbed him till there was no longer a he and she in the bed, but merely them. The Presley’s.

“Lord almighty, you’re tighter than hell.” Elvis moaned in appreciation of the absolute restructuring of her privates that he’d just done, gripping her back with his sweaty hands and letting his eyes roll into his skull in ecstasy.

“Tight yes -great balls of fire E, it hurts like hell.” she reiterated, a little petulant over his enjoyment of her wounded kitty, but he could tell even now she was recovering from the initial tearing open. “It’s not, it’s not supposed to -I can’t believe it fit.”

Curious despite herself, Elaine snuck a hand between them and gingerly felt the stretched ring of her hole and the thick base of him where they were flush, dark curls meeting together. He put his hand on top of her own and encouraged her exploration, making her pet herself and making her squeeze him despite the pained whimper she let out each time her pleasure made her please him.

“Jus’ ruinin ya for anyone else.” he repeated and she shivered in his arms, flicking her eyes up to meet his and sensing a beastial sort of claiming in them she had never seen before, “My wife,” he gloried in the title as his hips began to gently rock her in his lap, making her mewl, “my pretty wife, my good wife, look at you takin’ every damn bit of my cock, look at ya makin yourself useful, pleasin your man, ya like pleasin me dontcha? I know ya do, I’ve felt ya shiver when I praised ya before, I feel ya watchin me to make sure I like a thing you do. I know you, ya might not love me but ya love to please me, I know what you want. You wanna please me, always have since I first saw ya. Ya know what pleases me baby?” he tilted her face to his by her chin, her cheeks wet with tears and her mouth panting as he ground inside her deep and hard as granite, ignoring her whimpers -only her eyes showed the wild revelry she was feeling at being spoken to like this, “Know what makes me happiest?”

“No sir.” she gasped, respectful and suddenly aware of how helpless she was in his lap as his huge hands engulfed her plush hips and made her to swivel and grind on him, the motion tugging her lil house apart even more.

“Pleasin’ God by pleasin myself by filling you up. That’s what. That’s what makes me happy” he stated, the look of girlish shock she showed at his language shooting straight to his cock and making him jab up into her body until she clung to his shoulders and wailed, painfully aroused by the concept and terribly hurt by the process.

“Please, please.” she sobbed into his neck as he gripped her ass and leveraged her up and down on his thick shaft, his groans mounting joyously and her body trembling at being used so presumptuously. It’s too much, he’s too much of a man and her womb aches from his thrusts.

“Please use me?” he grinned into her neck wildly, “That wha’ you’re tryin to say, lil one? can’t get it out with a cock in ya, can ya? So yittle I bet I’m clean up through to your throat, ain’t I? My poor lil wifey.”

It was his glutted acknowledgement of the fact he knew she felt like he was spearing her beyond her capacity, yet he wouldn’t stop, loved her too much to stop driving himself into her, making himself fit in her. He wanted to be a part of her so bad he’d grab her wrists and bruise her hip with his grip and snap his pelvis against her own ruthlessly -just so he could be close to her. Just so she would be his.

It had her moan again, this time from something besides pain.

“Elvis.” she moaned out, trying to tell him, to somehow alert him to the fact she was willing and good and could feel her body had begun to give into its natural purpose, she was slumping into his chest, and her pussy still burned and ached but had surrendered to the veiny little conquerer plundering her depths. “Elvis I-I- yes, yes, use me.” she managed and was given a proud and searing kiss in return for her submission. “You’re so pretty.” she said it like it was some dazed explanation for her obedience.

With Elaine’s pussy giving and wet from blood and slick, he knew he could begin in earnest now. So, gently, he tipped her backwards out of his lap again, laying her on the golden sheets and falling deeper inside her as he got back on top, never pulling out through the whole maneuver. Her eyes rolled back as she felt him lay atop her, buried to the hilt, her legs pushed apart to bracket his waist and allow him deeper. She threw her arms around his neck and breathed in like she was about to be dropped on a rollercoaster, some imminent adventure obviously looming as he buried himself deep and got a thorough grip on her shoulders before kissing her ardently.

It was when she was kissing him back and thinking how wonderfully sweet he was that she first felt those famous hips pull back, then drive himself inside of her with shocking precision. It made her cry out, and before she could suck in breath to replace her cry he was pulling out and pumping in again, little gusts of shock mined out of her at each powerful and measured pump and her back began to rub against the bedspread, her whole body seemed to shake from the force of absorbing his vigor.

“Thank me.” he required, aiming to find that spot that had made her spray his face, determined to wipe that pained grimace off her face and replace it with pleasure.

“Thank -thank you?” her tone was dazed and he wasn’t sure if her confusion stemmed from what she was supposed to be grateful for, or if she disagreed. She gripped the comforter, hands above her head and out to the side, absorbing the ripple he drove into her flesh.

“I've made ya a woman.” he reminded, proud and smug as only a 23 year old boy can be when tumbling his pretty young bride in the sheets beneath him, “So thank me.”

She pensively watched him as he swayed above her, blocking out the gaudy chandelier, his hair flopping into his eyes and moving with the cadence of his body, his body was unforgiving and driving into hers with a steady, slow beat, but his face was still desperately insecure, searching for approval and a hint that he was doing well. She loosened one hand from the counterpane and brought it to his cheek. He melted, a huffed out whimper of his own, in sharp contrast to the rigid power of his desire.

“Sweet man.” she whispered, “So good to me, always so good to me.” she assured, and he gave her a wet kiss full of wanting, letting her pet down his neck, over his back, stroking the swell of his flank, remembering the reaction it had elicited in him and figuring she’d thank him once he managed something worthy of it. Which he was very close to doing, she sensed, if he could relax himself. “Elvis,” she nuzzled his nose with hers, propping herself up on her forearms, to look down the length of her belly at the place where he speared her, “gimme those babies, and I’ll thank ya.”

Her daring grin had the intended effect, his nostrils flared as he heaved in a breath and his pupils blew wide, he pried her other hand from the bedding and interlaced it in his much larger one, pressing the knuckles to the mattress,

“I love you.” he swore before gripping her hip and tilting her pelvis off the bed, to the angle of his satisfaction before he drove his hips in with the purpose of finding that place that made her wild, the one his fingers had discovered and got her to spray for him.

He knew he’d brushed it when her face went from sweet compliance with the discomfort and placid curiosity for the proceedings to eyelash fluttering shock.

“E!” she gusted out urgently and a little unsure, unsure that this horrid taking of him could really be morphing into the spine tingling thrill she was now feeling each time he drove in, the tug and ache of his size still apparent but almost serving to heighten the aliveness of her feelings down there. “Right -right there it’s, it’s oh, it’s-“ she hadn’t a word for it, as the feeling was growing in strength and any moment there might be some shift that turned it back to pain, his speed was picking up and it scared her as much as it excited her. Like when he started speeding on the winding roads of North Carolina just to hear her shriek, conflicted between excitement and fear.

“Yeah?” he huffed, shining with sweat and heat above her, his hair darkened and his eyes darkened and his lips darkened and he- he looked so flushed and dark and decadent and she moaned at the sight of so beautiful a creature possessing her, pleasuring himself with her body, like any animal or male would do with a mate. He could have just hunted her down on a forest floor, chosen her for her scent alone, pinned her fist to the ground and her hips up to his pelvis and -it was that primal. She loved it. Like all the energy and raw potency of life he had in him when performing was now being driven into her aching belly. “Yeah? Yeah that’s where ya like it? Tell me how ya like it, jus’ tell me and I’ll do anything. Anyhtin’ for ya, Elaine. I done told ya, told ya I’d make it nice.”

Nice was a pathetic word for what he was making her feel and she found herself wishing she had an extra hand to stifle the sounds that began to wail out of her throat at his unforgiving depth. His own moans and breaths were shuttering across her face and the intimacy of what they were doing filled her with a serene joy she’d only felt on crisp, tea drinking early dawns in autumn. It made her squeeze him closer and she could just feel the comfort he took in it, his whole body melding to hers. Elvis’ slow and long pumps had her adjusting well and the unerring accuracy he maintained when noticing something she liked soon had her clenching from pleasure rather than pain.

“You’re in me.” she stated the obvious with a little shock in her voice, turned silly beneath him as he shuddered and pumped in her, “Oh god you’re in me, and, and it’s, it’s -you’re so good at this…”

There was a kind God above after all, and she let out a giggle at the joy of it, at the joy of taking Elvis Presley to the hilt like she’d been born to do. The pride on his face came through the feral pleasure painting it, his hands beginning to map her own body, feeling the jiggle and give of her as he fucked her up the length of the bed, shock coming across his own features as he registered something new that first made a flash of panic burn through him.

He was in her, entirely bareback. And, well, he knew that of course but suddenly, the mind bending intensity of sensations around his cock made sense. It was the first time he’d been inside a woman without a barrier, no condom to distract from her silky grip, his precum gushing and spluttering, slicking up the way for his cock to drive in, turning their love making into a lewd cacophony of sounds that made the man in him exult. It’s my wife, he reminds himself both jubilantly but also to keep the reflexive panic of going in raw at bay, it’s my wife and I need to give her babies. To keep her I gotta fill her up.

“Look at that perfect face.” he groaned aloud to himself, and he meant Elaine’s “taking-cock” face, which he had imagined a million times, but her open mouthed, eye fluttering, hands in hair image below him was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in all his life, “Look at that perfect fuckin lil face.” he repeated as he forced himself in her all the way, bumping at her crevice and making her let out some form of sob.

“Y-you’re in deep enough?” she gasped out an inquiry, suddenly able to recall what this was all for, accepting of her purpose and close to feral in desire to accomplish it well.

“Ya can take more?” He asked, truly about to lose all grip on himself and wanting her blessing for it, “Gonna lemme get deep, baby? Make me a daddy, hmm? Gonna make me a daddy?”

He sped up with each sentence, her frantic nods and her “yes, yes Elvis, give me more, all of you!” spurring him on till he was driving into her and making those gorgeous breasts of her’s bounce wildly beneath her much abused silk nighty. “Get it deep, please, please get it deep.”

In theory he knew she wanted his swimmer's up past the cake she ate, his own perverted lesson suddenly coming back to bite him with a vengeance as her pleas sent him careening towards his own orgasm faster than he had any intention of blowing. But he was a man, and all his cock heard was “deeper.” And so he drove in deeper and harder.

“S’good.” she continued and her perfect diction was now slurred, her tongue heavy in her mouth and nothing but Elvis Elvis Elvis in her view and in her mind and in her body. “Gonna be good, it’s so good I-come on E, gimme those babies, please please, yes, you’re so good to me.” she was looking up at him in awe, her body spasming and shaking so hard he wasn’t sure if she was coming constantly or having one terribly intense build up. The sweet darling certainly had no clue, and that thought made him grip Elaine harder and he felt his mind grow hazy at her praise, “Elvis you’re, you’re so pretty like this!” she cried out, her neck strained as she clasped her hands around his face and stared deep into his eyes as he plowed her, those carmel colored eyes holding an intensity he’d never seen in a woman.

It shook him to the core and plunged him somewhere deep and subservient, the world felt like it was tilting and he was fading to a place where he was a pretty boy and a useful stud and he-

“Fuck! Elaine you-“ he wanted to tell her she couldn’t, she couldn’t say such things to him, it would turn him mindless, he knew the symptoms. He’d no longer be the strong husband she needed but her goddamn slave, a whimpering pathetic mess. He was going to come.

He pulled out abruptly, and as if his cock stuffing her pussy was filling the whole of her with strength, like a doll with batting. she deflated against the bed in confusion at the sudden halt and withdrawal.

“Baby?” she questioned him in a forlorn whimper, her entire consciousness begging for more as he patted her thighs soothingly and fought to grapple his sanity back in place. He couldn’t slip and turn ‘little’ tonight, he simply wasn’t able to do that to Elaine. He stared down at her freshly gaping little hole and swore he didn’t mean to be an ass, but he was just a man, and she was his wife to do with what he wanted. She wanted his babies, and she didn’t know better than to let him do whatever it took to give her that. And right now, he couldn’t handle the adoring looks and innocent dirty talk pouring out of the mouth of a virtuous girl he had long harbored such obscene intentions for. It turned him very desperate and perhaps a little mean.

“Forgive me, mama.” he muttered when leaning over Elaine and kissing her hard before he gripped his bride’s delicate waist and flipped her onto her knees. “It’s better for breeding this way.” he gritted out at her confused gasps, palming her ass where her slip had ridden up to expose her. He lined himself up with her pussy and watched with savage enjoyment as his girth slowly stretched her pretty pink rim beyond all seeming capacity and her following whimpers were music to his ears, her trill of confused enjoyment as he slid to the full, the cutest thing imaginable.

Immediately she missed the sweet intimacy of his embrace, the pleasurable sight of his face above her, also. And this angle, this method, it was deeper and tugged again at the petals of her house that had just gotten used to his usage. She thought to object, to tell him she didn’t like it this way -he had told her to tell him what she liked. She assumed, hoped, that stood for what she didn’t like, as well.

Elvis is a good boy, she heard her father say in her head, Elvis is a good boy -even as this good boy lined his inordinate organ up with her sore little place and thrust inside again. She was going to have to tell him she didn’t like it this way.

That is, until she lifted her head from the sheets he had tossed her in, belly first and face down, and noticed the mirror hanging opposite them. In it she saw a perfect view of her own face, a face she knew but hardly recognized, so…matured…was it in the gilt reflection. Her face was flushed and richly colored and her mouth gaping like one of those steamy movie posters where the woman has succumbed to the man’s embrace-and god knows whatever else it was the man was doing to her below the waist where the posters always seemed to cut off. The man was snapping his hips to push himself inside the woman, that’s what they were all doing. Now she knew, and she watched enthralled as Elvis mounted her from behind like a damn stallion, his broad hand gripping her shoulder and yanking her back against him as he snapped forward, the other fiddling under her hemline until he found her little button and began to play.

Nevermind, she thought, focusing on trying to breathe as he began to set a demanding pace again, pain and pleasure in this act equal parts for her as she propped up on her forearms and watched him watch what he was doing to her virgin hole, -nevermind he can keep at it, she decided.

His calloused fingers were petting and swirling and tugging so perfectly in her little nub in time with his strokes she began to happily anticipate the next thrust, rocking back on her own accord, feeling the bliss build again but this time stronger than what he had given her before with his mouth. In the mirror she could see how the strap of her slip had fallen off her shoulder and now lay partway down her arm, her gaping neckline now exposing a whole breast showing how it jiggled obscenely with each of his movements. It made her cheeks burn.

Elaine tried to right the strap but holding herself up with one arm made her nearly wobble face first into the sheets again and it made him lose his rhythm and suddenly it was entirely too good like that, face in the bed and hips propped up, and she needed that hand to stifle her shrieks of pleasure as he pounded into her without a hitch at the new position.

“Ya like it like that, hmm?“ he gritted out as she folded and screamed beneath him, speeding his fingers up on her clit as her thighs began to clamp shut. “God look at these hips, anythin’ but cradlin’ babies would be a goddamn waste of ‘em.” he squeezed at their plush width while yanking her back on him again and again.

“T-t-they’re gonna hear me.” she wailed once, and he realized she meant the guests downstairs, that once she realized that he wasn’t going to stop just because her pleasure had her in a place where she could no longer be in possession of herself, she had begun to fear for their reputation.

“Let ‘em.” he growled, taking his wet hand from between her thighs and running it up the length of her bowed spin, relishing the way she was drenching his thighs too, “They all know what I’m doin’ to ya. They knew what you were signin’ up for, even if you didn’t.” that thought made his balls tingle and he knew he close, that and the fact Elaine’s had her pretty little face barely propped up enough to watch them in mirror, watching as he plowed her from the back in tear stained, shocked, pleasured obedience to his wants, “Whole world’s gonna know what a good wifey you are, soon enough. They’re gonna see ya swellin and fillin out and they’re gonna know how good you are for me, how well ya take me, how much ya enjoy splittin’ yourself on my cock.”

“Oh God!” she screamed at the thought and at the thrill of his praise and buried her face into the golden bedding in abject submission and ecstasy, no longer able to compute the image of her dear, sweet Elvis mounting her body and snarling in pleasure in the mirror as he used her to chase his relief.

Elaine, to his lust clouded mind, had the prettiest ass on earth and it filled his hands perfectly, and her overstimulated shrieks and mewls and squeals sounded every damn bit like a Disney Princess. And somehow, that thought really did it for him.

Elvis hadn’t given it a lot of thought before, mind ya, hadnt spent time contemplating what it would be like to make Snow White touch her toes while getting skewered or how it would be to push Cinderella’s sweet face into the sheets. But he was pretty sure that if one of those doll-like little ladies had ever been made to take cock after true love's kiss, they’d sound rather like the squeaking little thing writhing beneath him right now.

He jabbed harder just for the fun of that, just for the enjoyment of the fact he was balls deep in a virgin cunt about to blow his load inside a woman for the first time ever. His jabs and swivels and fucks made she squeal more, clinging to the foot of the bed, no rich alto moan left in her with every inch he made her take.

She sounds like Tinkerbell, if Tinkerbell ever had the sweet misfortune to be loved on by Elvis Presley. He grins at the mirror, grins at the bowed figure of his little wife, gives a passing prayer of thanks for this perfect woman he is gonna spend the rest of his life loving in this way.

Take this, Tinkerbell, he thinks excitedly, ramming home once more and feeling himself drain inside her at last in long, pulsing, gushing spurts.

She knew that feeling, she realized in a daze. Yes she had felt it just this night when they were writhing against each other but -this hot gizer of warmth shooting inside her… the porch swing. He had wasted his seed in his pants on the porch swing. He wasted so much wanting her without telling her, it makes her heart ache for him. She spreads her trembling legs apart and tries to wiggle him in deeper, pushing back onto his key as he shudders to a halt, trying to be of help for him, to get it where it needs to go. No more waste. No more pining. It makes him sob and groan as she milks him, her sweet boy returning as he drapes over her back, a boneless weight before gently rolling onto his back and taking her with him, still impaled. A stopper of sorts, to keep it from leaking, from wasting.

There is not a single part of her body that does not tremble, nor of his either, they cling to each other, fully equal in post-coital vulnerability now and try to remember what world they belong in. His hands cradle her lower belly, pressing her close to him and swiping his thumbs along her spine, just as she pets over his arm and nuzzles into the hollow below his throat. She’s so touchy, caressing him and squeezing him like she needs the contact as badly as he does, and it’s exactly what he always wanted, hoped, didn’t dare ask heaven for but he’s got it. She’s here, she’s his.

“You’re my wife.” he marvels, and he is referring twofold to the act that just made her so and he means it wondrously by the way she lov- cares- for him so well. “You make me so happy.” he says against her lips.

“Thank you.” she whispers, cracking open her eyes to see him soft and gentle right there beside her, “For choosing me.”

“Didn’t have a choice.” he croaks, “Never has been a choice with you, I had to have ya, was more your choice than it ever was mine to lemme be yours.”

“You are mine now, aren’t ya.” she muses and he sees the way that thought sparks some life back into her heavy lidded eyes.

It’s good to belong to someone, he thinks, comforted as he brings his mouth down to hers. “Yeah, always, always gonna be yours.”

He kisses her long and slow and she returns it, her body sated beneath his caresses in a way his masculine, virulent one could never be when laying beside her, buried inside her still, newly laying claim. It is a gentle rocking when he begins again, quite helplessly, to move inside her, and she is so busy tugging at his cropped hair and nipping at his lips that she doesn’t seem to notice that they’re swaying vertically until he draws her leg over his hip and begins to drive up again in earnest, her moans a sweet melody she pours into his mouth. It’s quiet this second time and unrushed, and she has grown used to the ache, he thinks he should tell her soon to use the restroom, but he’ll have to take his fill again first.

He wonders when he’ll find the time to tell her to go between telling her he loves her. She asks him if they can do this often.

“Bout as often as we can manage.” Tumbled out of his lips happily.

“And how often’s that?” she urged him breathily, her eyes losing focus they were so close to his own.

“Enough times to lose count, Laney.” he promised, “Gotta fill ya up, best we can. Gotta be diligent.”

There was no soaring crescendo to this session, he merely clutched at her harder on one lazy upstroke, her fingernail had caught his nipple and zapped him straight to heaven like a thunderbolt to the frenulum. And then she felt him spilling inside again. Warm and hot and soothing the battering of her walls. His fingers took hers and pulled them down between her legs to pet the damage again, smearing him around like ointment on a wound. They had acted married twice now, she figured. They’d done marriage twice. The second she had liked even better than the first as he held her all the while, even though no searing height had happened to her.

“When you were with other girls,” she whispered into his chest later as they dozed between bouts of kissing and cuddling, “this isn’t -you didn’t…” she faltered for a moment before lifting her face to gaze down at him with warmth and gentle pleading, “-you didn’t do this with them, did you? You don’t act married with them, right?”

Perhaps most men would have chosen to lie. Elvis had no need despite his experience and his reputation. He had, a dozen or a hundred times, wrapped himself in latex and put it in a dozen or hundred women, some he cared for genuinely and some who were life preservers in a sea of lonely travels, but he’d never acted married. He’d never done this sort of intimacy before. He figured he was practically a virgin too, in that sorta way. In making love with the intention to bind himself, trap himself forever to one single soul. It ought to have been terrifying, that commitment, but feeling himself drip out of Elaine into the cradle of his hips he just felt right, like he was home. Like he’d just given himself to someone who actually wanted him. “No honey, I didn’t act married with any of ‘em. You’re the only one who gets my seed. I swear, really I do, now or ever.”

She could tell he meant that promise, and now he’d taught her how to express herself in this new language, she thanked him the only way she knew how, by gleefully rolling atop him again. It was a language she realized she was seeking most of her life, ever since anger and joy and want had flared in her and had been summarily instructed to be curtailed.

Propriety. Mildness. Rise above it all. She was good at the art of it all, and had been praised for it. Yet here was a man who coaxed vehemence out of her, taught her to inflict it on his body, who found pleasure in this grappling, wrestling, messy way that made such sense to her now she had found it.

I could love you, I’m going to love you, I’m very much in danger of loving you, was said with each swivel of her hips and lick of her tongue down his neck. “Oh Elvis.” sounded sweetly in his ear as he bounced her like a doll in his lap and made her fall apart.

Elvis had kissed her temple as he panted his breath back in again. Kept himself plugged in as long as possible till he shrank to nothing and slipped out. His destructive cock a now harmless, wet little thing that she cooed at in a most embarrassing way for him, but he was too happy with her laying on his chest to protest the curious fondling she gave his sensitive cock.

“This new house by Fort Hood, the one that agents of your’s got us,” he had murmured huskily while swigging from the chilled bottles of water retrieved from the mini fridge -with Elaine riding on his back to the closet and then the bed again, refusing to be apart, “it’s got a split layout, ya see. Top and bottom floor’s got a kitchenette, might not be the easiest for cookin’ but it’ll give us -space.” he assured, and she bit her lip imagining what he’d want the privacy for. “Wouldn’t ya rather a lil privacy ‘stead of a big ole countertop? I-I-if not I-I can-“

“Sounds perfect.” she sighed dreamily, thinking about making him meals and him coming home to eat them, gallant and lean in his pressed uniform. “You’re real handsome in your uniform, ya know that?” she figured it didn’t hurt to admit it, her man seemed to thrive off compliments from her, and he never did seem to get a big head from them. Except for the other little head that twitched and swelled at any compliment at all.

It was getting late, or early more like, and as she felt his interest grow yet again, Elaine played at denial. A silly, jokingly, little sort of thing where she wriggled away from his grabby hands and tried to make it out of the bed -headed to god knows where, the champagne bottle or the record player or downstairs, she didn’t know as she had no real intention of fleeing. But being seized from the back by her husband and playfully thrown back on his bed, made to sprawl out on the corner of the mattress , her legs hanging apart and her pathetic little slip still hanging onto her modesty for dear life, it was rather thrilling the way he had muttered,

“Oh no ya don’t, good lil wives don’t run.” and put himself back into her overused body, relishing her moan at his first thrust in and the fucked out compliance of the grinning girl beneath him. “I wanna see my pretty wife’s tits,” he asked as he watched them bouncing and jiggling with each absorbed fuck, “C’mon baby, be good and lemme see those pretty pillas of mine, you won’t deny me will ya? Come on, baby, so pretty, so round, gonna make ‘em blow up soon enough, whole world’ll notice ‘em. I wanna be the first to see ‘em before it. Up we go, lemme, come on yittle one, thas it, lift it up.”

He watched as this woman of his who was currently impaled on his cock blushed and smiled and bashfully pulled up her slip till her buttermilk soft mounds were bare, pink nipples pebbled and a scared, hopeful look on her face as her slip bunched at her clavicle.

“Goddamn, I’m a lucky man.” he had groaned and not missed her relieved smile. Then playfully flicked the slip up and over to hide her bright red face before folding himself enough to suck on a rosy little nipple while pistoning in and out. Soft, pliable flesh giving beneath the weight of his jaw and the nudge of his nose.

It was bizarre to Elaine, her sight obscured by the slip, her breathing hampered by the same, sound and feeling her chief senses this time. Just the sounds of him enjoying himself alone had a warm feeling curling in her chest and her belly, too, his hums and groans sending delightful zaps through her previously respectfully ignored nipples. His hands running up and down her ribcage, sometimes seizing her waist to pull her on him, sometimes fluttering over her diaphragm to feel himself moving within, nearly up her lungs he felt.

She felt as if she had finally been given privacy in which to truly feel and enjoy this, veiled by her own last shred of modesty, she let herself feel -and what she felt was astounding. She felt cherished. And she felt ravaged. And as if no one was here or anywhere on this earth to judge the way she screamed in delight, she yelled it and heard him answer her:

“that’s it, lemme hear ya” his teeth snapping at her nipples as he talked around them with his movements causing him to miss, sparking a fresh wave of noise to humidify the satin covering her face,

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

She chanted in happy panic as her legs drew up on their own, up and up and trying to close against the delicious onslaught, only to realize too late that it made the fit even tighter, the friction even stronger, the glint in her husband’s eyes wilder. He pinned them to her chest, with a single hand, to keep them out of the way. Slapped at her clit instead, made her scream in a way he didn’t think she was capable. Thought about doing it twenty years from now, thought about how he’d have the rest of his life to make his Tinkerbell scream. He slapped her there again and this time no scream, just a hissed in breath that had no exhale, her whole body clamping up in rigid ecstasy, tightening so strongly he couldn’t even keep his thrusts going to help her through.

Almost alarmed by her lack of breathing, he thought to pull at her slip, up and over her head till her face was visible again -she looked as if she were in some great agony, and his smug heart flipped at the sight, before leaning down to kiss her.

He was all chestnut hair aglow, wicked dark eyes and sweet lips, hovering down into her hazy view and her body wasn’t her own anymore, the damage had been done and the cliff she was teetering on gave way beneath her sanity when his lips met hers, his warm chest rubbing against her spit chilled nipples. For the second time that night she sprayed him, and through the eye rolling, rapturous tingle of it she heard him asking if she was “coming.”

“Oh goddamn, goddamn look a’that, oh fuck me sideways that’s hot as hell.” he blabbered, pulling out just long enough to wiggle his cockhead against her petals and force another jet out, coating his own abs with it, relishing the way her belly shook and her legs clamped together straight in the air, her hands clawing at the slip like she was trying to fight her way out. “Sweet Jesus you’re so sensitive.” he praised, pushing back in despite her hiss, and the way her feet tried to plant themselves on his shoulders to push him away. “Gotta lemme back in darlin’, I got another deposit to make.” he joked, loving the way she was clawing and wiggling away from him on pure, over fucked insinct, red painted nails dug deep enough to rip into the gold bedding. “Come on, be good, be good for me, lemme in baby, lemme in , doin’ so good, so good I know you’re so damn full, just a lil more, lil more. Don’t want any to go to waste do ya?”

He was wicked for using those magic words to make the shaking girl open up and let him in again, but he made up for it by the kisses, he felt, and in praise, and promising her if she stayed good she’d have those babies. Careening headlong towards another orgasm of his own with the sounds she was making and the lewd squelch of how wet she was down there, downright squelching with all his contributions and her own slick, he swore she was everything he’d ever dreamed of. She smiled at that.

“I’m gonna come.” he promised her almost in a beg, pleading for her to understand why he sped up and started to pound her again in earnest, erratic thrusts.

“W-whats coming?” she whined, her eyes screwed shut and her thighs shivering beneath his shoulders, “Y-you’re already here…”

The more he drained his balls, the more his mind seemed to leave him as well, all catered sentences and prim vocabulary gone straight out the window with his last shred of self restraint. “This-is-comin-“ he punctuated as he drove himself in, then felt his balls draw up and try to offer up residual bits of spunk but nothing seemed to come out. Served him right how white hot and painful it felt, sputtering dry inside her. He hoped she didn’t notice the deposit was a blank check. Also hoped she didn’t hear the pathetic whimper he’d let out as lil Elvis heaved his last attempt at it. By the way she was humming and petting at his hair, cradling him gently as he sagged atop her on the corner of the bed -he was afraid she’d heard and felt it all.

“Why’s it called that?” she whispered in his ear, and he wondered that she had any energy at all.

He burrowed his face deeper into her neck and mumbled, “Damned if I know, darlin.” he thought on it a little while longer while also thinking of the drip, drip, drip of their mess melting between them, “Unless it’s cause it makes ya feel like you’re havin a ‘come to God moment’, ya know?” he suggested and laughed when he felt her poking his cheek. “Do ya- do ya like it when…when ya-“ he couldn’t manage it now in the gentle afterglow, starting to get a chill after all his sweaty exertion cooled and left behind clammy skin and pooled secretions, feeling how naked and soft and lonely he was suddenly upon feeling sated for the first time tonight.

“Can we really do this as often as we want?” she asked instead, and her tone held no dread in it, only hopeful excitement. Suddenly the lonesomeness was gone again.

He felt her hands stroking his back and down to his ass again and he had giggled happily, not able to hold back his relief. “Yes, darlin.”

“Gosh.” she mused, petting him still, “To think I-I didn’t know about this and now it’s…” he propped up his chin on his hands to give her an inquiring look, begging her to finish, “it’s all I wanna do now.”

“That so?” he quirked his eyebrow and she flushed and began to shake her head, her tone pleading:

“Oh, not now, not right now -oh, please, please E, I’ll die if ya do, give me a minute.” she laughed and kissed him again.

“We should sleep.” he mused, half asleep already, pillowed on her boobs, his legs still technically still standing him upright as his upper body lay across the bed, across his new wife. “And bathe.” he realized.

“It’s very sloppy.” she agreed, and the thought of how uncomfortable she must be, stuffed with a half a dozen or more cum shots roused him to action.

He picked Elaine up bridal style and carried his now gloriously naked woman into the en-suite bathroom, seating her on the chilled marble countertop and grinning at the way she melted, spineless and used against the mirror, a soft smile lighting her dear face.

She liked watching his long lean, boyish figure, hard in some places and soft in others, strangely inviting in its combinations, ripple and flex as he bent and turned on the tub faucets, snagging gold embossed towels off the rack.

E.P. they read, gold thread glowing on the black cotton.

E.P.

For the both of them. It could be for either of them, it probably had been in his mind when he’d had them made, stocked his home full of monogrammed luxuries with her future initials on them E.P. --and all the while she had been fretting of dying a loveless old maid.

She laughed happily and found she couldn’t stop, catching sight of his embossed robe, hung on the door with the same initials. E.P. She was wanted, she was so very wanted here with him. It made her slide her jellied legs off the counter and hug him ferociously from behind, pressing kisses into his spine, and the freckles that smattered his shoulder blades.

“E.P.” she whispered and he got what she meant, turning round and grinning at her.

Once in the bath she dozed in his arms, near suffocated by bubbles and relishing his embrace, the warm water and his massaging hands soothing the ache between her legs.

“We haven’t washed the babies out have we?” she asked, groggily staring into the receding bath water as he tenderly toweled her off once stepping out of the tub. “I-I-I want those babies.“ she insisted and it must’ve been the lateness of the hour or the sheer amount of muchness she had been subjected to tonight but her lip started to wobble at the idea she’d carelessly risked her hopes down the drain, swirling away with the last of the bubbles. “Elvis I-I- didn’t mean to rinse them out!” she wailed, near hysterical with fatigue.

He tried assuring her but she wasn’t easily pacified. “I-I could give ya more.” he finally offered timidly, entirely uncertain either of them were capable of enduring another round.

He was toweling off her calves as he said it, pressing kisses to her knees and noticing the tremors in her thighs. To his shock she dropped to her knees beside him on the bathmat, eyes half mast and nearly insane looking in their fatigued determination,

“Please, please give it another try.” she nodded before spinning around on the bathmat, shakily swift and presenting him with her shapely ass.

‘Better for breeding this way’, came back to mind. God she was a quick study, and he prayed for strength and some shred of self restraint in indulging her. Instead, he found himself burying his face between her cheeks and licking at her devotedly, afraid they may have washed her slick away and worrying the burn of entry would be too much for her, fresh out of the tub and swollen from overuse as she was. No woman had let him do it this way, his face near buried in her bath warmed ass and his tongue kitten licking at her slick hole, but Elaine bore it with decorous appreciation, entirely unaware of being anything but eager in her responses, her spine arched and a rosy cheek pillowed on her forearms. Her yittle hand came down to pet Elvis’ diligent head as he worked between her legs.

“That’s it, I love it, E, like that, I love it when you…” she was mumbling in a slurred litany of praise he gobbled up ravenously, just like he did the shuddering little trickles of sweetness he coaxed out of her. “I’m -I’m, yeah yeah-“ he felt her grind down on his face as she shook again, and then it was as if the top half of her body nearly melted into the mat, just his hands keeping her ass in the air. “Please put it in.” she whispered, her hand still down there between her legs and reaching for something else of his now, her tone so soft and polite, like Cinderella asking for cock.

He aimed his cock into her waiting hand and watched with barely suppressed desire as her palm rolled over the rip and her nails gently raked across his veins as she moved to grip him and point him where she wanted him. There was a lewd sucking noise this time when he went in, like her body was finally trying to swallow him willingly, and he saw her head toss on the mat, dainty fingers woven into gold shag and her neck craned back to see him as he pressed in deep. Her face was flushed deep red and the makeup had worn off and she looked so innocent, so young beneath him, a single curl plastered dark and wet against her cheek from the bath. He’d unmade her, turned her back to her simplest form. He snapped his hips, lost his mind, noticed happily how her hand went to her hip and joined his there. He held onto it like a handle and jerked her back on him again and again, her cheek rubbing against the mat and her teeth sinking into her other fist to hush her cries. Those cries of hers, maybe something was very sick inside him that he liked them so much but he did, he did and he worked hard to draw more from her just as he dreamed of this, dreamed of her fluttering pink hole trying to take more and her eyes rolling back from the fatigue of it, her body unable to deny him.

“My poor belly,” he thought he heard her whimper, yet unsure he reached down and pulled her fist away from her mouth, it pushed him deeper in, bent her more starkly, speared her cervix, “Oh god, my belly, my poor belly.” she kept saying for sure this time.

“You alright, Lany?” he draped over her and brushed the damp strands off her face, her face that was red and splotchy from sensation and blood flow. She gave him a whimpering nod.

“You’resodeep” she accused him even as he felt her squeeze and shake around his girth, her mouth gaping for a brief moment at the unexpected little pleasure. “My poor belly.” she said it over and over again and he couldn’t stop. It was more just a bewildered mantra to comfort herself, as her mind betrayed her and wanted him but her body was so well used that was she was just…taking it

“You poor little thing,” he cooed, making sure to move slow and deep in a way that had them both shaking and stepping into madness, bent all over her bent frame himself, “you’re takin’ my cock so well, so obedient, never was a more righteous wife, never was, you’re a goddamn wonder, that’s what you are. I’ll thank God for ya every day.”

His praise always soothed her and he kept it up, not even sure what he was saying anymore as he chased his own release, focused on the bent little thing beneath him and the way it made her waist look minuscule in this position, her pink face, too. At one point he saw tears instead of bath splash on her face and as he felt himself begin to spurt he shushed her the best he could with the first thing that came to mind:

“Don’t cry Tink, please don’t cry.”

The nickname tickled her consciousness like a feather on the neck, some goosey thrill that tickled up her spine and added to the satisfied throb between her legs as he splashed hot and thick inside her.

“Tink?” she thought she had asked him, bewildered and charmed to have been christened. Maybe her words got lost in the bath mat.

He did not answer her, must’ve not heard her at all, but picked her up with his own shaking arms and like a couple of bambi's they toddled into the massive bed, throwing themselves under the covers quite unceremoniously. He tried to swat at the lamp as if that would turn it off, and realizing she was the more capable of the two -he seemed almost insensibley drained by that last encounter- she leaned over his chest and pulled at the lamp string, dousing the glow that surrounded them, only to realize dawn was splashing a violet haze through the crack of the window curtains.

“Good morning, Mrs. Presley.” he had teased softly, noticing the dawn too, his head tilted on the pillow to watch her shut off the lamp.

“Good morning, husband.” she murmured, wriggling on top of him as he held her fast, arms locked over her back and her head pillowed on his chest.

This cuddling was familiar, this drowsy holding of each other until he stilled and fell asleep, an art she had perfected since his mama died. But now she was the woman in his life, and strangely now that the hunger had been glutted and abated, they entwined around each other like babes or twins in a womb, this naked closeness the most natural of assurance in the world. Something Elvis had been missing since his brother had left him, since Jesse entered the world before him and chose not to stay and endure it with him, fell into place.

My sister! My spouse! -King Solomon had called his lover, and Elvis had felt that supremely odd when snooping through the Song of Songs as a boy. But now he knew -too many roles did she fill to be confined to one, and Elvis felt tempted as Elaine fell asleep atop him to whisper, “my brother, my spouse!” into her hair.

Sometime later, when deep unconscious, dreamless sleep had possessed them and held them fast, but not a long enough time for Elvis to be remotely cheerful about it, a obnoxious clanging sound broke in on their peaceful repose. Elaine jerked awake atop him with a startled little squeak and he put his hand to the back of her head to shush her, encouraging her to lay her cheek back on his shoulder. The noise resounded again and this time he was lucid enough to determine it was coming from outside the bedroom door.

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

Elaine huffed and rubbed her tired face into his chest, his sparse hairs there tickling her nose and making her sneeze. That made him laugh and with neither able to keep up the pretense of sleep, they raised their heads and looked towards the door with matching, raised and unimpressed eyebrows of displeasure.

“If this is the boys idea of a practical joke,” he growled with sleepy morning grit in his voice, “they won’t be boys much longer.”

“Will ya put them in boxes and give them to me?” she inquired and he realized with a self satisfied smirk that her melodic voice had gone hoarse from all the screaming he’d made her do the night before.

“Heavens Mrs. Presley,” he marveled, “ya sure have gotten comfy askin’ for things -I like it.”

“I could think of a thing or two I want right now.” she bit her lip and her eyes slanted hungrily and some scared part of him that worried she wouldn’t want this as much as he did got buried teen feet below the earth, locked away forever.

“Breakfast?” he acted dumb even as she propped herself up on his chest and gingerly tried rolling her hips along his thickening shaft, hissing at the soreness of her own petals.

The sheets falling away from her and pooling round her hips like some goddess that had condescended to come down to earth and make use of her spied after Adonis, Elaine was ethereal and happy and Elvis sank his head back into the pillow and watched her, wishing to pinch himself but the roll of his foreskin against her bud told him it was real. “Breakfast and water, breath mints and fresh air-“ she listed while speeding up and causing his cock to begin to weep and slick her way along-

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

“What?” he yelled fearsomely at the door and she shivered in spooked delight at his temper.

“I’m comin’ in wi’ breakfast,” came Mary’s unmistakable drawl through the door and to his horror he watched the gilt knob begin to turn, “y’all’s best disentangle yo’selves cause I done waited till two in the afternoon to feed yous, and I ain’t taking chances for waitin’ any longer-“ Mary stepped into the room about at the same second Elaine accomplished a dismount and roll that the would have made the marine corps proud, diving beneath the covers, only a bride sized lump to be seen by the cook as she came in with a heavy laden tray, her ingenious cowbell left behind in the hall. “Lawd Mr. Elvis, you’re wearing that loved on look just nicely, if you’ll lemme say so.” she admired his marital blush and scratched shoulders as only a proud auntie could, “Miss Elaine, you best come outta ‘der, I got bagels and cream cheese, jus’ as you like.”

“Oh Mary, you didn’t!” Came Elaine’s moan of appreciation beneath the bedding and it was altogether too close to his pelvis for Elvis’ sanity, “You’re much too good to us, you know that?” Elaine wriggled till just her head peeked out and bestowed on Mary a smile of such adoration the lady forgot the ache in her arms from carrying the tray upstairs.

“Yeas, well, wouldn't do to have y’all’s dying of malnourishment.” she huffed bashfully patting Elvis’ beet red cheeks while unconsciously setting the trey in his stiff lap.

He groaned. In appreciation for the eggs and burnt bacon, Elaine had to presume.

“Don’t you take your fill again till you’ve taken your fill, you get what I mean?” she wagged her fingers at them, first at Elvis, then at his bride as if she was second guessing who here was the more likely instigator, the groom seemingly meek and the bride grinning altogether too widely than was proper. Delighted, Mary couldn’t help her matching one, “Eat up.” She nodded, backing away while eying them suspiciously, as if at any minute they might overturn her carefully prepared victuals and begin to maul eachother anew.

“Wouldn’t think of letting it get cold!” Elvis assured her adamantly and to prove his point, stuck a bagel into his bride's mouth before getting into the eggs himself.

Satisfied, Mary left them and shut the door. They heard when she picked up her cowbell and the retreating sound of her footsteps down the hall assured Elvis it was safe. He moved the platter off his lap as if it were scorching him, flinging the offending sheets off his erection and patting his thighs, jerking his chin at a wide eyed Elaine.

“I’m a very talented man, I’ll have ya know,” he told her as she settled in his lap, his chest pressed to her back, “I can feed and fill ya at the same time.”

“So,” she began genially as she wiggled him in and got comfy, sucking cream cheese off his fingers and taking advantage of his compromised blood flow, “Is Tinkerbell gonna my nickname?”

Elvis choked on his bacon, and proceeded to cough into a pillow case. “I’ve no idea what you're on about.” he denied.

“Hey,” she grinned at him without wavering, “if you can enjoy splitting me in half, I can enjoy a nickname that outs ya for bein’ a lil nasty about it, hmm?” and she chucked his chin.

She -she had a point, Elvis supposed. “Sure, Tink, whatever you say, Tink.” he droned.

Masterlist

Taglist

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

[precious-little-scoundrel]

|| Marlon

Summary: after a strange interlude during one of their latest bike excursions, Elaine is left reeling at the new reality of sharing, and the insistence by the men around her that no more discussion is needed on the matter. Bereft, adrift and not a little curious, Elaine’s rather sure she’s finally crossed that damnable line that Elvis first nudged her up against.

Warnings: 18+ only -smut, hot tubs, pats threesome mentioned, sorta a foot job but only because that’s the only discreet body part nearby?? not trying to make that weird. public play, emotional (and some physical) infidelity. Elvis is in his Bastard era, be warned.

Authors note: this is a fragment but it may be all j ever produce on this subject, we shall see. It was requested and so here it is, such as it is. I always love answering Headcanons and theories so if this sparks interest, confusion or anger, lemme hear it. And Honestly? For those of y’all not into this? It’s not essential enough to be read or considered canon for Sarge, the breakdown of their marriage having only a small part to do with this. This entire side quest is a bit more of an exploration of Elaine, so feel free to leave it be if it’s not for you.

Apologies ahead of time for the poorly edited and misspelled content lol 💋

Circa: 1967ish

“I just saw the silhouette of a very attractive woman ridin’ an attractive man I thought I’d lend a hand.” Marlon answers her straight, Elaine deserves that with all the bullshit she has to deal with these days -threesomes included. And the kitchen is finally empty of kids. He knows whatever arrangement the Presleys have with the redhead has to be more concession than ideal. The least he can do is admit something he’s never hid before, even from Elvis himself: Elaine Presley is uniquely capable of giving him the hots and something about Elvis Presley mismanaging her magnificence tickles the masochistic tendencies Marlon has had it suggested to him by therapists might have a root in childhood perversity. Neglectful parents and weird nannies and that sort of shit.

Marlon doesn’t know. Sat at her kitchen bar, drinking her daughter’s lemonade, Elaine is owed this much, an answer to why he opened that tent flap and slurped cunt when he’s barely so much as held her hand before, not even during mealtime prayers. She’s got to be some sort of neglected if she can’t shake it, or maybe she’s wickeder than those gentle eyes has them all thinking.

“That’s not enou- thats, Marlon, you said yourself everyone used to…go at it..during those trips!” she hisses the last part as if there’s some shame left to this household where the man of the place flaunts his dalliances like it’s part of the press tour for the latest trash comedy. His wife’s dignity and pain be damned.

“Ma’am, I’m just a man.” Marlon insists- Elaine is in love with her husband, after all.

“That’s rather my point!” Elaine warms to it, “-there were a lotta couples you coulda lent a hand to and there were a lotta men loiterin’ about but only you chose to ‘lend a hand’ and you chose…us! Why! Why?”

“Have you seen the couple you make?” he asks levelly.

“What was that, Marlon? What was that?” she begs again, eyes no longer soft but wild and shimmering.

“You’re not this stupid, Elaine.” he takes a sip of lemonade Daisy made just for him, “Even if he likes it best when you act like you are.”

She doesn’t even bat an eye at it, and Marlon thinks it’s a damn shame, a crime really, for any man to wear a woman down this far. Maybe Marlon is as bad as her husband for pushing on the bruise he made. Can’t be helped, he’s always been an opportunist. He can be honest even if it’s a ugly, masculine, virulent truth that makes a mockery of vows and roles and institutions like marriage and dreams.

“Wanna show me just how clever you really are, little lady?“ he’s risen from his seat, sauntered over to her by now, no contact, except for his thumb that tugs at her bottom lip, thumbnail at the root of a tooth. Her eyes are brimming with tears -they both know it’s not sadness. If she were a woman to cry from sadness she'd never have a dry eye.

“The house is full.” Elaine sounds hoarse.

What a flimsy little objection for so virtuous a woman. The way Elaine chases his thumb as he retracts it tells him -try again, when it’s empty, test me once more.

Summers are long in Palm Springs, there’s always more lemonade to be drunk. He’ll be back, they both know that. For now, the house is full. He sits back down at the table. Elvis and five children and a buncha good for nothings he calls friends come in wet from the pool twelve minutes later. Marlon curses, he could have brought her to climax twice in that time. If only she’d stop looking at him like he’s planning to steal her from her husband, give it a few months and she’ll not be wary but eager for it.

Summer turns to Autumn and Autumn to Winter and the Presleys choose to ring in the new year in the gentle climate to California after a bracing Graceland Christmas.

Marlon doesn't know what a Presley Christmas is comprised of except for hearsay from Daisy’s long over the phone account and the toys shown him when he dropped by as soon as they were in town. He’d brought his own kids, the ones near at hand, to play for a bit and the rest had taken to them well enough while Daisy sat beside him and told him about the roller blades she’d gotten. He imagines a sickeningly happy affair with stiff smiles and a great deal of bling bought by Elvis and Elaine getting fucked in a Santa lingerie set.

Marlon doesn’t know about Presley christmases.

But he’s learning about their New Year’s -it’s past twelve, the kids are abed and champagne has been toasted, wishes swapped and the nighttime air rustling the palms has been obliging enough to even be a little brisk and chilly. Just for atmosphere, he guesses.

It’s nice as the hot tub they’re all in is bubbling like hell’s cauldron, with the jets on full blast and their buddies -Elvis’ buddies from the way Elaine is the only woman amongst thirteen men- are stacked in it like sardines. Marlon is here because he hasn’t driven himself home yet, he supposes, otherwise she’d be very alone.

The guys, the other twelve, they’re swapping stories and being loud, noisy and obnoxious as Elaine relaxes in her seat, frothy bubbles lapping around her clavicles and her neck, that lovely neck laying back on Elvis’ outstretched arm as he nearly forgets she’s there. She’s such an extension of him by now, her face lax with this chance to relax even as there’s hubbub all about.

Marlon, he can’t stop watching her and the way her eyes flit and flutter when the jets hit right, the way she melts into Elvis and the way he tolerates her adoration even here. Even at the beginning of a new year. Marlon wants to smack the man for telling anecdotes when he should be-

…

-hell Marlon doesn’t even know what he expects that Elvis should be doing, it’s not like he’s doing anything wrong or mean. no not at all in fact, he’s acting like a longtime married man and letting Elaine Presley vibrate beside him in euphoria unadmired. Talking to his buddies when Elaine Presley is turning to a puddle next to him and all Marlon knows is:

-if it were him, oh if it were him.

If it were him, Elaine would be melting sure, and he’d be watching every second of it like it were the meteor shower of the century. Turns out, even though she’s not his, he’s still watching all the same.

he’s still watching and forgetting to laugh with the cues when everyone else does. But she forgets too, floating away somewhere that makes her lips curl up a little and her face shimmer with sweat and steam. her legs float to the top of the roil from the jets, there’s a little giggle at the buoyancy. pink painted toes surfacing right in front of Marlon’s face opposite her.

He sees her, she looks to Elvis. To see if he notices.

He doesn’t.

That precious giggle of hers is lost in a roar of manly laughter over some unfortunate movie set story, as is the way Marlon’s hand reaches in the foam and puts his palm over the little pruned toes right in front of him, snapping at them with his hand like she’s a kid and he’s playing shark amongst the bubbles.

Elaine’s head swivels from watching Elvis to sending a questioning look towards Marlon.

She catches his eye, holds it. curious and pleased he’s in the same mood as her, stories and memphis mafia forgotten. A connection fizzles between them and she giggles again at having found a playmate.

But then he doesn’t let go, even as her foot goes down in the water, on the ledge, near between his legs and suddenly this isn’t playing shark.

Her posture goes rigid as Marlon starts to rub that dainty foot, engulfed in his warm hand, hidden by the discreet bubbles. He dared. It took her aback, it was offensive and flattering and she felt a violent fear at being suspected and then a pang of jealousy over the unlikeliness of it.

Between the warm water, the firm press of a man’ hand and the pummeling of the jets, her head starts to crane back again against Elvis’ shiny, toned bicep and the picture of a woman enjoying herself next to her husband but not from him shouldn’t make Brando so rash and angry but it does.

She fights for a minute but only in the way of guarding her face. but it’s been awhile since she’s been the center of someone’s universe -beyond a peg that this whole carnival that their life has turned into revolves around. perhaps a step of infidelity to let Brando see the pleasure he gives her, to see her the way Elvis once told her only belonged to him, but it was Elvis who cracked the door first, back in that tent, back in the spring.

Elvis notices, at long last, not the eye contact of a friend and his wife but the mewling body language of his woman. Not that Brando is holding her foot beneath the churning surface but that she looks nearly to the brink of orgasm from the jets. And snuggled up to him as she is -Elvis smirks. Of course his widdle baby is excited, sensitive little creature that she is.

Elvis thinks he’s being secretive when he keeps chatting with the guys but sneaks his hand to her bathing suit, not even looking over at her as his fingers find her seam and wiggle under.

Just the motion of his arm visible and Marlon sees the reflection in her face the minute her husband's hand begins to stroke her. His grip tightens on her foot involuntarily and she moans.

Her eyes are utterly focused on Marlon and it’s well that they are, if she were to tear away that frantic gaze he’s mad enough to make a scene right here and now, hopeless and damaging as it would be. But he has her eyes and the power that is in the caress of his thumb. He can see it, Elaine is imagining he’s stroking her instead of Elvis, using that suggestive tempo on her arch as a conduit to replace the coax of Elvis’ calloused pads against her bud.

Elaine braces her hand on Elvis’ thigh as she nears, just a reflex as he speeds his fingers up and she’s grips his thigh, almost wanting him not to intrude on this moment even as the brink nears. And Elvis, he thinks she’s trying to reciprocate but he is hardly in the mood for it, that would ruin his little game so he takes her hand away, puts it firmly back on her own lap and keeps up his pace against her slick petals.

When she comes, Elvis can feel her bow up beside him and without even looking he is smirking around his cigarillo, her legs kick out in a spasm and he feels bad for whoever’s crotch is opposite her. He smacks at her pussy once, twice, before quite obviously turning away from her to ask Charlie something related to arrangements.

It’s a damn game he likes to play with Elaine, seeing as she don’t mind it, she gets some benefit from it and he’s seen that face a million times, he doesn't need to look.

But Marlon.

Marlon’s gaze on Elaine is heavy enough it feels like the caress of aftercare all on its own, and some stinging part of Elaine’s battered heart feels loyalty to him for that. for watching her, delighting in her even as everyone else snickers or ignores.

She flexes her foot in his hand.

Her flex touches tender flesh and up to where he is pulsing and firm between his thick thighs. It startles her, somehow not expecting either the usual anatomy or else -not this level of arousal. Not to this degree, not in public, not when her husband just claimed her so casually. Her eyes sting at being flaunted as his little plaything, the one she’s been happy to be since that honeymoon train ride down to Texas. It feels belittling suddenly, and it’s Marlon’s aloof admiration to blame.

She flexes her foot again, heel firm to his base and eyes unwavering. A little repayment, a little show of thanks. It’s too much.

Marlon covers his eyes with his hand as if to wipe the mist away. Her coal smudged eyes are scorching his face and her foot, such a lowly part of her, and yet it’s pressing and he’s wanted her to admit to wanting for such a longtime and suddenly there’s the feel of his warm release flashing against Elaine’s foot in the broiling hot tub for an instant. Only an instant splash and a thob, then it swirls around them all, lost and sordid and utterly misused.

A waste. A deadbeat hope. A torn confession.

It’s late when they all get out, Elaine can barely meet his eyes now, dazed she willingly did that herself. Up in their room Elvis shucks his wet shorts off, relaxed and in a good mood to tease her about her being so needy for him in the tub as he leaves the shorts where they drop on the carpet and puts himself in her, into his wife, his plaything, his darling.

And God help her, for the first time in her life Elaine’s mind wanders to someone else as Elvis’ face is buried in her neck, huffing in pleasure over her swollen state.

After a long while of waiting for them to show again downstairs, the Memphis mafia laugh it off that the mister and missus must’ve gotten distracted -and it’s lights out and manly predictions about a noise complaint and a happy start to the new year.

Marlon goes to his damn car, he exits that beautiful house into the balmy night air with its twinkling stars and strong humidity that will now forever be tied to the curls at the nape of her neck and the beads of moisture on her nose, and he saunters away from Elaine Presley’s house where Elvis Presley gets to go home. Go home to lose interest and gain interest in that gorgeous woman at whim. Brando leaves it and gets in his car and stares at the single light in the house that’s still glowing for far too long.

Upstairs, throbbing and staring at the beamed ceiling and its whitewashed villa tile, Elaine startles at the sound of a car starting and pulling out of the drive. It’s late for a loitering guest, but Marlon was always one to loiter when it came to her family. Loiters with the kids and loiters with Daisy, accepting her adoption of his Godfather responsibilities with ease Elaine wants to hate him for, and he loitered in the tent on their motorcycle drive when Elvis and Elaine should have been left alone to be husband and wife, yet -he loitered. That once he had stayed. And no one speaks of it, that night gone by, though it tumbles around in Elaine’s mind like the jets that battered her flesh tonight, fresh as anything: the feel of Elvis’ shock at Brando’s presumption and then her husband’s pride warring with his excitement and for her -the feel of a man licking at her while her husband was inside her. How Elvis can think such a night can be tabled for all further discussion is beyond her, and Elaine stares at the ceiling and prays for forgiveness for this wild curiosity that has finally led her astray. She’s as bad as the papers would make her. Voracious and untamable in her appetites, finally it’s gone beyond Elvis alone, even if he was the one to crack open the floodgate with his hubris.

Now she wonders about an older face, a broader chest, almost fleshy shoulders and a hairy belly in the glow of the jacuzzi lights, Marlon had looked a man, older and impressive and unfamiliar compared to her precious and ever more pristine husband. And she had seen behind the screen of his hand the flash of agonized ecstasy her touch had caused him. She had made another man lose it. Someone besides Elvis. She knew, hypothetically, that a whole generation of boys had grown up tugging themselves to pictures of her, half of the barracks has been besotted and not in a wholesome way. But to have an older, impressive, commanding man enjoy her, want her?

Elaine throbbed.

There had been an emotional and sexual adjustment that Elaine had to make when she went from marrying a controlling manchild to being his emotional ballast and superior after losing Jo. Elaine hadn’t had a chance to think twice about how suited to it she was, how natural it felt to ease Elvis through it, whether she herself found it nice or not, whether it’s what she needed or not. Or what all she lost as she did so. It had been like pulling teeth to have him back in her bed at all, to have him something besides manically cheerful or pitifully morbid. She understood him. She didn’t even blame him. But it didn’t change how very -open, it left her to the slightest firmness of intent shown by another.

She’d been enjoying stepping into Gladys’ shoes, she’d been enjoying tossing off the role of being Elvis’ dolly and becoming his nanny, all of it had been a show of his trust in her until the load had become too heavy and when she turned to someone to rest her head, she found her husband's head already in her lap.

Until Marlon.

Until a grunted “huh” above her in the stuffy garage as she worked on the bike, only for her to look up and to find it wasn’t Charlie or Marty snickering at her for being all greasy again. It had been a wide stanced superstar looking at her like she was a specimen he wanted to inspect.

It had been Marlon and he’d come to meet her, to talk to her about bikes, to admire her shape in leathers and he stayed because Daisy liked him so.

Or maybe he’d stayed for Elaine. That had been reprehensible to imagine before tonight, perhaps only because if there was a man out there who would dare try to take her from The King, it would be him. And before now that had been impossible, not even fathomable or feasible, if she didn’t think it she wouldn’t invite it, she was sure. Marlon Brando wasn’t a good man, but he could be kept contained if kept at arms length.

Now though, that vision of him staring tonight, the feel of his hand stroking her, competing with her husband for her pleasure -there’s no ignoring now how he looks at her, has looked for some time, the way he loves to see her riled but not at him, strange how he’s never infuriated her like Elvis endeavors to on a daily basis. As if he knows his very presence is thrumming enough for her. And he wouldn’t want to see her vibrate apart. Not fully. Only because she’d hate that so. But if she ever asked he’d take her apart like a little marionette and then glue her back.

Rattling, that was more Elvis’ speciality, rattling her apart. She was tired of buzzing. If only he could always be one thing, but lately he was a myriad and she felt married to a performer more each day until she lay beneath him and wondered how Marlon would feel penetrated deep within her.

Elaine hears Elvis and his shower turn off at the same time she strains to hear the mechanical creak of the gates opening to let Brando out.

“Still layin’ how I left ya, hopin’ f’more, baby?” her husband asks her as he turns the light out and lays against her warm and familiar and moist.

In the drive, Brando bites his lip and forces his gaze from the rearview and the darkened house in it and speeds out of the hills. Daisy will call again soon enough, the call again and again, and if he’s lucky he’ll hear about how Elaine is from time to time or even hear her voice briefly as she answers before passing the receiver off to her little girl. Those are certainties in the new year.

It’s wicked of him, but his hopes are entirely different. They’re of her calling, and not another excuse being made.

Just Elaine calling to tell him “the house is empty.”

Taglist:

@prompted-wordsmith

@powerofelvis

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

[imperatorrrrr]

Good morning. Let's make it a fun and engaging activity. I think you'll find it entertaining and rewarding

"Who do you think is the movie or film character that best mirrors Nico's personality, and why?"

Good Evening Anon, thank you for this lovely question.

Unfortunately, you have stumped me. I have been thinking for days about this and essentially my brain has gone empty and I'm not able to think of any movie or television character at all.

But.

I will use your ask, and apologies for co-opting your ask, to finally do my SteveBucky // JackNico are Parallels of Each Other Tangent aka the SteveBucky to JackNico Pipeline

...am I saying Nico is Bucky Barnes? No. Am I saying that Jack and Nico together are very Stucky coded? Yup.

Some things off the bat...Nico has clearly never been brainwashed (the concussions don't count), nor does he have a metal arm, nor has he ever been incorrectly labeled a villain (the Florida Panthers doing this also doesn't count), so like lets just put all of that aside okay and focus on the characters at their core.

1 - Jack Hughes is the undisputed star of the New Jersey Devils. He is a superstar. He is the main focus of media. He will always be the big draw. He has, what is it, the second highest selling jersey throughout the league.

Whomst else is the main focus, the star, the dude who is put in front of the cameras? Steve Rogers.

2 - Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers are typically seen as being evenly matched in the powers department. Yes, Bucky got the bastardized version of the serum whereas Steve's was pure, but they're pretty much even in terms of the powers they have.

Nico Hischier is also a first overall draft pick just like Jack Hughes.

3 - Bucky Barnes is known to do the spycraft, the jobs that Steve as Captain America can't do or can't be seen to do. He does the dirty work, the behind the scenes stuff. Steve is leading out front with the shiny shield, but Bucky is in the background being stealth getting the job done without anyone noticing.

Nico Hischier is known to do the "dirty work" in hockey games. He goes to the corners to win puck battles, he's net front grappling against opposing players. He's known to be a defensive forward and one of the best in the league (you'll get that Selke win soon!) and he does all this stuff throughout the game that no one is privy to. Most importantly, Nico is matched up against opposing team's lines in such a way as to give Jack Hughes the room to do his Jack magic and give us that flashy highlight reel offense whether it be a silky pass or an unbelievable goal.

Nico in the background. Bucky in the background. Jack in the foreground. Steve in the foreground.

4 - Steve Rogers is known to be an absolute bitch, a mastermind strategist.

Jack Hughes is known for his pithy and generally cunty responses to the media and also having an insane amount of hockey knowledge and being able to see plays and see the ice like no one else.

5 - Bucky Barnes is a caretaker. He looked after Steve when Steve was poorly and sickly when he was younger and in the comics he kind of collects these kids/orphans that he takes under his wing. He also was the dude in charge (under Steve) as Sarge during WWII. He herded Steve and the Howling Commandos and kept them alive.

Now think about Nico Hischier as a Captain. Every quote about his captaincy talks about how he's a better person than he is a player and he's a remarkable player so he must be a fairly amazing person. He cares about making sure his guys are okay and that his guys can come and talk to him about anything not just hockey. He wants to push people to be their best. Coaches, throughout Nico's career, have placed the worst/worse players with Nico because Nico makes them better and takes responsibility for them.

6 - Bucky Barnes' thighs. Nico Hischier's thighs. Do I have to say more?

7 - Steve Rogers, all American, blue eyes, blonde hair. Bucky Barnes, brunette who holds such sadness in his eyes and is incredibly expressive with his face.

Jack Hughes, all American, blue eyes. Nico Hischier, Swiss brunette, who has a face made for tragedy.

8 - Steve Rogers gets into fights. Bucky Barnes pulls him out of them or finishes them for him.

Jack Hughes will find himself the target of an opponent trying to get in a hit and Nico Hischier comes flying in to defend his honor (see: the Nico coming after TK when TK tried to go after Jack incident).

9 - Bucky Barnes was known to be a charming ass mother fucker back in the day. From the comics especially.

Whomst is a charm offensive on the ice and off the ice? Ah, yes, Nico Hischier.

10 - A lot of teammates, when talking about Jack Hughes, say that how he plays and how good he is inspires them to go out there and give it their all. He leads with how good he is on the ice and his hockey skill. He motivates through his sheer skill level. He scores a goal and it turns the entire game around.

Steve Rogers is also known to be quite inspiring as Captain America with his rousing speeches.

11 - Picture it with me now, folks. Pre-Serum!Steve + Pre-War!Bucky Barnes and Jack Hughes + Nico Hischier.

12 - Steve Rogers is the sun and Bucky Barnes is the moon. Jack Hughes is the sun and Nico Hischier is the moon.

I think twelve is a good place to stop right?

It really is no wonder that I so seamlessly transitioned from SteveBucky to JackNico.

[hail-americas-ass]

Hi sweetheart!

Fot the ask game, I need to know about the Howling Commandos and the gayest coverup :)

Im such a sucker for those crazy bastards 😭😭

Thanks for tugging me <3

Thank you for asking me lovely!

It's actually based on a tumblr post that I can't find at the moment! I imagined multiple scenes for each POV where the commandos are each interrogated (maybe by the US brass) individually on the nature of Steve and Bucky's relationship, and they each come up with increasingly wild stories that baffle their interrogators so much that they drop the subject. Maybe the commandos find a way to blackmail the brass into shutting up.

I just really love the commandos and the idea that they'd be supportive of cap and the sarge together. And I need a bit of hilarious chaos injected into it.

I haven't written it yet, but I'm definitely planning on it soon!

Ask me about my wip's

Edit: it’s completed, here is the link!

[bucks-metal-arm19]

“I’m going to need you to stop throwing knives at me, doll.” Bucky grunted as he caught the knife that was an inch away from cutting his ear off.

“I’m going to need you to make me, Sarge.” You huffed back, grabbing the knife that was tucked into your boot and throwing it at his other ear.

It missed. Again.

But his body pinning you to the workout mats a couple seconds later was something that always hit perfect every time. The thick thigh pressed between yours and the teeth in your neck always hit perfect, too.

Nearly six weeks and two pink lines later, and you realized that his aim really and truly was perfect every time. The two lines didn’t really scare you; no, the thought of his reaction is what terrified you the most. You expected anger.

Fear.

Worry.

Yelling.

Losing your favorite person in the whole world.

You never, in a million years, expected him to turn into the world’s best father almost over night.

He was beyond excited to be a father, and he thanked every god he knew that you wanted to be the mother of his child. He really was one lucky bastard.

You gifted him a daughter; the most perfect little girl in the entire world. The entire universe. All of the universes combined.

Every fiber of his being was wrapped around both yours and his daughter’s pinky fingers. The two of you were his world, his life, the meaning behind his every breath.

And it was safe to say that you were both daddy’s girls.

[louiseazy]

Red vs Blue Season 17 Swear Count

Their is 103* swears in total this season (*if you don't count shinso) and the first swear was said by Tucker.

Swears used:

tits, cock once; crap, bastard twice; dick 7; ass 10; damn, bitch 14; shit 15; fuck 37

Ranks:

Last place non-swearers Lopez, cosmic powers and Caboose

11th place is a tie Doc and Church(being dead 3 times over couldn't stop him) with 1

10th place is Felix with 2

9th place is Chrovos with 3

8th place is Huggins* with 4

7th place is Simmons with 5

6th place is Sarge with 6

5th place is a tie Sister and Carolina with 9

4th place is Donut* with 10

3rd place is Washington with 11

2nd place is a tie Tucker* and Genkins* with 13

1st place is Grif with 16

[halsteadlover]

Locked In pt. III

*Gif not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x F!Reader.

• Requested: yes by anon.

• Warnings: angst, lots of swearing.

• Word count: 4198.

• A/N: so this is 3rd and last part of Locked In and I want to apologize in advance for how this turned out. I hope you’ll like this one and if you want please comment, like and reblog, it’d be amazing. Thank you so much for your support, constantly, you are all serious the best I can’t express in words how happy you all make me with even a reblog or a comment! Love you all so much ❤️

<- Part one - part two

Four days passed since your assault in the prison and you’ve never been happier in your life to go back home, starting to lose your mind in that hospital room.

That bastard had really messed you up: head trauma, rib fractures, bruises around your neck and all over your face, split lips, bad knuckles, internal bleeding. The pain relievers and meds were helping to keep the pain at bay a bit but they certainly couldn't stop the twinges between your ribs every time you stood up or even took a deep breath.

You were so excited to go home, although aware that weeks of rest lay ahead, weeks in which you knew you would certainly lose your mind.

And the situation with Jay didn't make things any better.

After the bomb he had thrown at you, in fact, Jay had completely disappeared.

It was no use writing him message after message, calling him and every time the robotic voice started the voicemail when you called him, you felt the anger growing more and more inside you.

He never came back to see you, not even once and this, in addition to giving you uncontrolled anger, made your heart break, because you’d never, ever have imagined he’d behave like that.

Your mind travels in every direction during those four days, you thought of every possible scenario but none of them helped you find a plausible explanation that could have justified his behavior.

His words kept running through your head for every second in the days following the attack and, given the evolution of the situation, you began to think they were just a lie, a dirty lie.

He said he loved you, he said he had feelings for you, what kind of person acts like that? What kind of person confesses their love and then run away like a coward and disappears?

You couldn't help but cry, God, you cried so much in those days, tears you didn't even know you had. You cried because you felt like an idiot, because you felt so vulnerable, because of the fear that ran through your veins when that prisoner kept hitting you again and again, because you needed him so much but he wasn't there next to you, you needed one of his hugs, because you loved him so much it started to make your heart ache and your stomach twist, because the only person who could make you feel better was the very person you were crying for.

You were standing in front of your hospital bed while packing the last things in your bag when suddenly you heard a knock on the door of your room. You quickly wiped away your tears, trying to act like you weren’t just crying.

“Come in.”

The door opened and your heart started pounding as your subconscious hoped it was Jay. That hope, however, quickly vanished when Voight’s figure appeared in front of you.

For an instant you felt so stupid for even one second hoping it was Jay.

“Good morning sarge,” you greeted your boss with a slight smile as you closed your bag's zip.

“Good morning to you. How are you feeling kid?” Voight asked, hands thrust into his pockets.

“I've been better,” you replied with a light laugh “But med’s are working so it will get better.”

“I'm sorry,” was all your boss said. “But you're about to get out of this horrible place. Come on, I'll take you home.”

“Oh, no, no, you don't have to sarge. I can ta-…”

“I won't take no for an answer kid, I didn't drive here for nothing,” he interrupted and you could tell from his tone there was no room to argue.

“Okay,” you sighed “Thank you,” you continued, slightly embarrassed.

Since you were hospitalized Voight – as well as the rest of the team – came to see you every single day, always asking how you were and if you needed anything.

“You didn't have to come, really, I could’ve taken a cab home,” you said as you and Voight walked to the car. Needless to mention he even insisted on bringing you your bag.

“It's not a problem for me Y/N, after all it's my fault you got yourself into this situation.”

You turned your head to the side and looked at him in confusion. “It's not your fault sarge.”

He sighed, looking at the ground for a moment before returning his gaze to the road. For the first time since you started working in the unit you saw a side of him… Did he feel guilty?

“Yes it is, Halstead was right, it was my fault I decided to send you alone, if there had been someone else with you this probably wouldn't have happened.”

You tried to ignore the thump in your heart just hearing Jay's name provoked you. “No sarge. You have no idea of the chaos there, you’d most likely have been dealing with two injured agents instead of one, there is nothing you or anyone else could’ve done to prevent what happened. It was just bad luck that I found myself there at the very moment of a riot.”

He looked at you for a moment but didn't answer. He just nodded.

“Sarge can I ask you something?” you asked. You were in the car, en route to your home.

“Sure.”

“Jay…” you whispered, almost afraid to ask about him, “Did you hear from him?” you continued, playing with the fabric of your jeans and nervously torturing your nails. You looked down, as if you were afraid of his answer.

There was a moment of silence before Voight answered. “He just texted me four days ago to say he needed a few days off, but I haven't seen him or heard from him.”

You sighed, not knowing whether to be worried or just angry at that point. You had a whirlwind of emotions circulating inside you that you didn't even know what to listen to first. You were so mad at him for the way he was acting, for the way he walked out on you without even giving an explanation, and you were damned worried at the same time, because it wasn't like him to disappear like that.

When you got home, Voight insisted to walk you to the door and at that point you figured the guilt he was feeling must be really strong.

But when a “Surprise!” literally made you jump on spot as soon as you entered your apartment, you really understood why Voight had insisted on accompanying you. The whole team, along with Trudy, friends and other colleagues from the department were there to welcome you back.

One by one they hugged you and you couldn't hide the emotion especially because the person you most wanted to hug, unfortunately, wasn't there.

-

The following days were pure hell.

Although staying at home allowed you to rest, you began to terribly miss going to work, catching criminals, chasing them and even starting to count the days until you returned to the district.

You hated sitting and lying on the couch every day and zapping from one channel to another became unbearable.

And not hearing any news from Jay made you even more furious and angry towards the world. You found yourself checking your cell phone every minute of the day with the hope of finding a notification of a call or a text but nothing.

What if something happened to him? What if he's not okay?

These thoughts continued to haunt you and not having your mind busy during the day made these thoughts and your worry even more amplified. You were so anxious to the point that, desperate, you decided to go looking for him.

You dressed quickly and with no little effort you left the house, heading towards your car. You drove to his house but Jay wasn't there, neither was his car. You went to Molly's but he wasn't even there or in the other usual bars he used to go to.

At that point you went to his brother's house, the only person who could know where he was.

When Will opened the door he was surprised to see you there. “Oh, hi Y/N, how are you? Can I help you?”.

“Sorry for popping up unannounced Will, but have you seen Jay by any chance? I haven't heard from him in days and I'm a little worried.”

A totally surprised and confused expression came over Will's face at the same time, as if he had no idea what you were talking about. “What?”

“Will, if you know where he could be please tell me, he doesn't answer calls and messages…”

“He called me a week ago telling me he was going out of town and he needed some alone time,” Will replied. “But I thought you knew that.”

“No, he ran away shortly after I woke up in the hospital and I haven't heard from him since.”

“He usually goes to the family cabin in the woods when he doesn't want to be disturbed.”

“Can you give me the address please?”.

“Y/N…”

“Will please, I would never ask you that if I wasn’t so worried. I just need to know that he's okay,” you said, a lump in your throat as you tried not to let your emotions overwhelm you.

You avoided telling Will you would’ve most likely strangle his brother as soon as you saw him.

He looked at you for a moment, watching your features contracted in a worried expression and finally nodded. “I will text you the address.”

The car ride to this cabin would’ve been quite peaceful if it hadn't been for the incessant rain that prevented you from seeing even a meter in front of you. It took about thirty minutes to get to this cabin and you internally breathed a sigh of relief when you saw his car parked in the driveway.

“Fucking asshole,” you muttered through gritted teeth, already feeling the anger building inside you.

You parked your car behind his and got out. From your car to the cabin it was only a two minute walk but that was enough for you to get wet from head to toe, given the intense and excessive rain.

You knocked on the door of the cabin and if you hadn't been so angry, you would’ve taken the time to admire the beautiful view that surrounded the house.

Jay was lying on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, one leg resting on the other and his hands intertwined on his stomach when he heard a knock on the door. He was lost in his thoughts and the sound of the rain against the windows was the only thing that kept him company.

Dazed, not expecting anyone to visit, he walked to the door but when he opened it he expected everyone to be in front of him, but not a soaking wet, furious but mostly beautiful you.

His expression turned into one of pure bewilderment, so much so that he couldn't even formulate a single sentence that made sense.

“Are you fucking kidding me Jay?! Are you serious?!” you exclaimed loudly and if that cabin hadn't been the only house within miles, everyone would’ve heard you.

“Y/N…-“ he stammered, not knowing what to say, totally bewildered.

“Y/N?! That’s all you have to say?! Are you out of your fucking mind disappearing like this?! Do you have any fucking idea how much I was worried about you?!”

“I know but listen to me for a moment please…-”

“No! Like hell I'm listening to you! I don't want anything to do with you anymore!” you yelled in anger, your hands in the air and trying to ignore the pain that your injuries caused you “I can't understand how you were able to disappear like that without giving a damn about anything or anyone…-“

“Y/N, please…” he tried to speak, but in vain. He'd never seen you this angry, not once in all the years he'd known you. You were a fury.

“No, no ‘please’ Jay! You have no right to ask me please, you have no right to ask me to listen to you not after what you did! Do you remember what the fuck you told me?!”

“Of course I remember Y/N how could I not?” he replied, “But let’s go inside please, you're soaking wet and I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“Why do you care?! Do you care the slightest about me and what happens to me?! I'm not going into your fucking cabin!”

“Of course I care about you Y/N what the fuck are you saying?!” this time it was he who raised his voice.

“Great fucking way to show it you asshole,” you spat, running your hands over your wet face in frustration “You know what Jay? Fuck you, I don’t want to see you ever again.”

You began to walk away towards to your car, intending to leave. You were so angry that not even the heavy rain could distract you.

“Y/N! Wait damn it!” exclaimed Jay as he ran after you, instantly soaking himself from head to toe. “Y/N please let me talk to you!”.

“No Jay I won't let you talk! I've called you a thousand times, sent you a thousand messages and you haven't bothered to answer me not even once! Not even to know how was I! What if I was dead? Huh?” you exclaimed stopping abruptly and turning towards him. You tried to ignore how beautiful, disarming and bloody breathtaking he was even in the pouring rain, with his hair soaked, his clothes clinging to his body, water droplets falling on his face.

“I'm sorry Y/N! I know I was an asshole but there hasn't been a second I haven't thought of you believe me...”

“Believe you?! Are you serious?!” you laughed ironically “No I don't ducking believe you Jay and I can't even believe you could even say such a thing! I don’t believe a words that’s coming out of your mouth. You confessed your 'love' and ran away like a coward, when I needed you most Jay! How can I trust you?!” you nearly screamed, trying to hold off the tears that threatened to stream down your face. Some managed to escape, but they mixed with the water on your face. “Did you even think what you said?!”.

“What the hell are you saying?! How can you even think that! Of course I love you Y/N how the fuck can you doubt that!? Do you think it was that easy for me to say or admit it?! Huh?!” he exclaimed, waving his arms in the air, also getting angry.

“And where the fuck were you Jay?! Where? Where were you when I needed you? You abandoned me damn it, you don't do something like that if you love someone!” you yelled “And don't you dare try to blame me now! You're the one who ran away, you're the one who left me in a hospital bed knowing I couldn't follow you!”.

“I'm not blaming you, my god,” he sighed in frustration running his hands through his hair “Y/N can we talk for a second without yelling at each other? Please? I want to explain everything to you…”

“No,” you replied in a dry and decisive tone “I don't want to listen to you Jay, I don't care what you have to say and the fucking excuses you want to give me. I just came all the way here to see if you were okay but you seem to be doing more than perfect so I'll get out of the way.”

“Sorry Y/N! You’re right about everything! I was…”

“A fucking bastard that's what you've been!”.

“I know! I know damn it, you're fucking right!”.

You interrupted him again. “I don't care Jay! I don't believe a single word you say! I'm not going to stand here and get dumbfounded with few sweet words and get mocked by someone who pretends to profess love for I don't know what kind of reason!”

Jay looked like he'd just been stabbed in the chest—in fact, those words were more painful than any stab wound would ever be. He was silent for a few moments but that silence infuriated you even more.

“I hate you so much Jay Halstead, I'm hating you so much right now because you're a fucking bastard! Because I cried so much for you and I was so scared that something had happened to you, because I thought I could always count on you, that I could always find you next to me when I needed it most,” you cried, now completely lost of control of you “I hate you because when I was in that damn prison and that bastard was beating the crap out of me all I could think of was you! How much I love you and how I would never be able to tell you and if only you weren't ran away like a coward I would’ve told you! That I love you so much and I was fucking scared of ruining everything!”.

Jay was paralyzed as he felt every word you spoke cross his heart and enter him. His eyes never left you for a second as he scanned every inch and inch of your face, the way the water slapped the hair against your forehead, the way your brows furrowed with anger and the way where your lips moved as you spoke.

He felt like such a piece of shit.

And you were right.

You were right that anything he said would’ve been of no use at the time.

So he did the only thing he thought it was right, the only thing he'd wanted to do ever since he'd set his sights on you.

He grabbed your hips and pressed his lips to yours and for the first time since you'd arrived at that cabin silence reigned supreme again, if it hadn't been for the sound of the rain.

It was all so surreal. It looked just like the scene from a romantic movie, the classic kiss in the rain. But there was more to that kiss than romance.

With that kiss Jay tried to express all his displeasure, he tried to tell you he too loved you more than anything else in the world, he tried to apologize because you didn't deserve to suffer, especially because of him.

Your lips were even softer than he ever imagined and no matter how many times he imagined what it would be like to kiss you, the imagination was in no way comparable to what actually kissing you made him feel and he knew right then that kiss would change his life forever.

You tried to fight it but you couldn't, because even before your mind could understand what was happening, your body had already reacted to that kiss and without realizing it you were returning that kiss you so ardently desired.

Your lips moved in harmony against each other, as if you did so many times.

Your body was boiling despite the cold and shivering that wet clothes and rain gave you and, God, that moment was even better than any scene in a romantic movie.

In a moment of lucidity, however, you broke away from that kiss by placing your hands on his chest in an attempt to push him away but his hands instead continued to squeeze your hips.

“Jay no, please don't do this to me…” you begged, crying as you pounded his chest as if to push him away, even though your subconscious wanted nothing more than to be close to him. “You're an asshole...”

“Shh, it's okay, come here,” he whispered, hugging you, one arm around your shoulders and the other hand resting on the back of your neck as he stroked your wet hair. “I'm so sorry, so fucking sorry, I hate to see you cry and know that I hurt you.”

You cried on his chest and it was absurd how the person who was causing your discomfort was the same one who was hugging you and whispering sweet words.

He broke away from that hug shortly after but his hands cupped your face, so that you were forced to look him in the eyes.

“I'm sorry baby, I'm so sorry,” he started to speak “You didn't deserve this, especially at a time like this where you were vulnerable and needed me. But I was so scared Y/N. I got overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment, by the fear I had of losing you and never seeing you again. As soon as you woke up I let my heart speak for me but then I realized it was hasty and selfish of me, that you didn't deserve me to tell you I love you on a goddamn hospital bed and the thought that I could’ve destroyed the relationship between me and you, which is the best thing that has ever happened to me, drove me out of my mind and I panicked… The fact that you couldn't feel the same threw me into such a spiral of fear I didn't dare to even look at you because I knew I would be crushed to hear you say you didn't feel the way I do...”

His thumbs continued to caress your cheeks, as he felt tears streaming down his face. “I know all of this probably doesn't even make sense but please don't ever doubt what I've said to you because Y/N… I swear… No one has ever made me feel the way you make me feel and I love you in a way I never even imagined I could love someone. I know I was a piece of shit for leaving you alone in such a delicate moment, when you needed my support and I will never forgive myself for that. I've been a coward and there's no excuse for how I've acted towards you, you have every reason to be mad at me but please, please, you have to believe me when I tell you that I love you, that you make me feel things I’ve never felt before...”

You remained silent, not knowing what to say. You kept looking at him, your eyes alternating between his bright green eyes. You couldn't stop the tears and in that moment you thanked the presence of the rain.

“Please say something,” he whispered, his stomach twisting with anxiety. He had probably ruined the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to him, and he would never forgive himself for it. He understood even just from your look what you were thinking: you didn't believe him and how could he blame you, he had been a real coward.

“I…I have to go Jay,” was all you said, taking steps backwards. You stood there for a few seconds looking at each other. A sad and pained expression was painted on Jay’s face and it broke your heart seeing him like that. But you needed to be stronger, where was him when you were crying for him? Damn it, he didn’t even bother to ask if you were discharged from the hospital or not, if you were okay, if you were home or not, why would you believe him? What guaranteed you at the next hitch he wouldn't run away again?

“Y/N…” he whispered your name in a prayer as you slowly continued to back away. You wanted to go, you desperately needed to, but it was so damn hard, you couldn't walk away in cold blood like he had and you knew that broken look on his face would haunt you forever.

“No Jay, I can't. I can't believe you, I really can't. You are so good with words, messing me up and leaving me there without even an explanation, without even waiting for what I had to say, you thought what you wanted to think and now these are the consequences. Who guarantees me that next time I’ll need you, you won't run away again?” you cried.

“Y/N I swear I will do anything to make it up to you, I’ll prove how much you mean to me, how much I love you…”

“I don't care Jay,” you cut him off. Your gaze moved for a second to your muddy shoes and you took a deep breath to try to regain control of yourself, ignoring the intercostal pain that crossed you, “I'm leaving now. I’m happy to see you’re okay. Goodbye.”

And that was how you walked away, never looking back, because you knew if you did and you saw Jay cry as he tried to stop you, you wouldn't be able to do it and you probably would’ve fallen for it.

He stood there for quite some time after he watched your car pull out of his driveway cursing himself for probably forever pushing away the only person who knew him most, who had always stood by him, even when everyone turned their back on him.

He knew he ruined the best thing that has ever happened to him, you.

Tag list: @burgstead, @bebataylor84, @ares-kelani-wayne, @lxna-mikaelsxn, @sande5098, @smoothdogsgirl, @withakindheartx, @jess2013, @maddu-oliveira, @lovemesomepietro, @onechicagodrawings, @jinxfan18, @xeleni-nurse, @ready-hit-it, @rainroo2, @tinfoilhat2719, @hehurst23, @upsteadlovingheart, @secondaryjob, @nevaehstreater18, @sophiatellerrhodes, @dedlund82, @kellykidd, @rippl3s, @stephanie708, @annahargrove, @smutl0ver, @kuroe-san, @caroldanverwife, @cbaby, @nosy09, @luvreading67, @danielmarie, @saiyuo12, @alexxavicry, @nachodaze, @waywardhunter95, @fighterkimburgess, @ephemeral314, @mads-weasley, @itskellysev, @lovemedlife, @atarmychick007, @amazedbyitall, @glodessa, @xeleni-dutchnurse, @ossypooh, @itriedtoexplain, @randomwriter1021, @resanoona, @averyhotchner, @ellavanderberg, @mrshalsteadxx, @junevoidzombie, @nocturnalherb16, @croissantthief, @jayhalsteadsbadge, @youngblood199456, @dreamss-wavess, @halsteadloversworld, @halstead-severide-fan, @laaaauuraaaaa, @firerusher, @hngbrooks, @mrspeacem1nusone, @itserickalove, @23victoria, @slytherlight, @goingwiththewind, @notanordinaryprincess95, @mel0809, @cadyfanninger

Click here to be added to the tag list ❤️

Jay Halstead Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Support me on Ko-Fi ☕️

Ask me anything 🌹

Side blog → @halsteadloverslibrary

[butchdykenormallen]

such an eepy bastard. "a kitten just born" as sarge just dm'ed me as i write this caption

[sleepyfan-blog]

Mercy

Author's note: this is the first part of a six part series. Next

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets

Warnings: character death, mentions of torture, mention of child torture, infected wounds

Summary: Cedric is pressed to giving the Final Mercy to a badly injured civilian.

Cedric took in a deep breath, squared his shoulders and stepped into the drop pod he'd been ordered to report to. This was the first major engagement that the young Astartes was going to be participating in. The Imperial world that he was hurtling down to the surface of, the drop pod shaking a little from the force of gravity that gripped it causing him to shift a little, was beset by foul xenos - Drukhari, who were taking a perverse delight in torturing any human who was unfortunate enough to be found by their cruelties. The detachment of Astra Militarum on the planet had tried their best - and was continuing to fight against the evil witch-xenos, but needed the aid of the closest Astartes chapter in order to fully drive the bastards away.

Cedric had never seen any kind of Eldar before - beyond the holo-pictures and brief blurbs on news stations as a young child, and occasionally during his training as an Aspirant for the Black Templars. No matter the challenge set before him and his brothers in arms, they would take up the challenge and they would win. For the Emperor! For the Imperium!

~

It was nightfall when Cedric charged out of his drop pod, power-sword in one hand, blaster in the other. Thick black smoke choked the sky as the nearby village had been set ablaze by laughing xenos. The young apothecary lined up a shot as the slender being continued to laugh and stalk after several humans, each of whom had clearly been injured - their legs broken as they crawled on their hands and knees through the blasted out landscape. One of the humans spotted where he and his fellow Templar-Aspirants had landed and yelled out "My lords! Please, save us!" 

Dovo, who had been named squad leader for this mission growled into his vox "Agrald, Sevros, Rodron, aim for the xenos, try to kill it, or at least drive it off. Dessias, help Cedric find a spot with at least a little bit of cover to patch up the civilians."

A chorus of "Yes sirs!" came from Cedric and the rest of the squad as they immediately obeyed orders.

Cedric's eyes flicked from one blasted out pit to another, his training immediately kicking in "There's a copse of trees a klik and a half from our current location - but I suspect that's been left there as a lure by the xenos... And I'm not sure those civilians can make it that far. Not with how much they've likely already bled."

He was grateful for the internal vox messages, as the roar of a ship's engines blasted overhead, causing the six of them to duck and roll before popping up again - a friendly ship, given that they hadn't been shot at. 

Rodron called out over vox "Xeno down! To the civies, sarge?"

Dovo nodded a little "Yes, move quickly and carefully! These particular xenos like leaving traps that cripple and injure scattered around, as they enjoy the suffering of others. It may even give their witches power."

~

It did not take long for the six of them to get to the injured civilians. Dovo, Agrald, Severos and Rodron started to secure the perimeter as Dessias helped Cedric corral the civilians in one place for treatment. Two elderly baseline humans, four women, trembling and glassy-eyed, and a half-dozen children, none of whom were older than ten years old. The youngest was a four year old little girl, and in the best shape, having been hidden by one of her older brothers from the worst of the xenos' cruelties. Each of them had their legs and fingers broken. Many of them had been stabbed, shot and electrified by what looked like the business end of a cattle prod multiple times from the size and location of the burns.

They'd been tormented by the foul xenos for weeks judging by the infection that had already set into many of their wounds - the swollen redness beneath the skin, the foul greenish-yellow oozing puss that Cedric lanced with sterile needles, having administered just enough pain relievers to keep the civilians from screaming, without them going unconscious and forcing them to guard them for much longer... Additionally, this was only the beginning of what might be a weeks if not months-long battle, and Cedric knew that he needed to ration the supplies that he had carefully. 

"Please stay still while I set your bones, please." Cedric ordered levelly as he gestured for Dessias to hold one of the civilians down as he gripped one of their legs in his hands. 

The middle-aged human woman shook and whimpered a little "My... My lords what-"

Cedric cut her off, explaining with a touch of impatience "The bones in your lower leg have begun to heal, but they are improperly set, and will prevent you from walking properly. I will need to re-break and set them properly, for your own good. Afterwards, I will wrap them to help the bones stay in place. I have given you some painkillers to take the edge off."

"Y-yes my lo-AAAAH!"  The woman screamed as Cedric re-broke and set her tibia and fibula mid-sentence. 

His hands were steady as he used some of the tension-bandages in his pack to set her bones in place. He turned to the two elderly baseline humans, looking them both over critically. The man was feverish and had been showing signs of mental confusion. His breathing was fast and shallow, and as Cedric checked the civilians' legs and arms... Generalized swelling and sweating. Cedric swallowed hard, his stomach sinking a little. While he could treat what had afflicted this civilian... It would take quite a few of the supplies he had on hand, and -

There was another roar of engines and Dessias dragged him away from the badly injured elderly baseline human as the sleek, cruel shape of a drukhari landing vessel swooped low overhead. A half-dozen of their pitiless warriors dropped down onto the ground and stalked towards them.

While the rest of his squad immediately opened fire on the approaching Drukhari, Cedric returned to his civilian patients. The older man was in too critical a condition for him to work on him, not when most of the rest of the civilians also needed patching up and were in much better shape, despite their own broken bones.  May the god-emperor's light guide and accept his soul Cedric thought as he deliberately turned away from the older human man to work on patching up the teenagers and children. "Please keep as quiet as you can, xenos approach, and will likely try to close the distance faster if they know that you are beyond the shield-barrier my brothers are providing you."

"W-We'll try, m-my lord." One of the teenagers stuttered, tears running down her face as she held down one of her companions as he re-broke and bandaged their legs. The sound of bolter fire did help cover the sounds of pain and fear that left the baseline humans he tended to as best he could. Within minutes, the only one he had yet to fully tend to was the older human man... Who was currently shivering as a rash was spreading across his body. Cedric bowed his head for a moment as he checked the old man's vital signs, hearts sinking. "My apologies, elder. You need more help than I am able to give you."

The old baseline human looked at him steadily, nodding shakily. He sat up and said "I don't... I don't want to be left alive for the xenos to find, my lord. I-"

Dovo spoke to the squad over internal vox, so as to not panic the civilians "We need to move - the bastard xenos have a bunch of those twisted animal reinforcements of theirs. Cedric, are the civilians able to be moved at speed?"

"... Most of them, sir." Cedric answered honestly, keeping his voice steady. 

"Understood. Get the civilians capable of moving going. We need to get these civilians three and a half kliks to the north-east to the extraction point. Anyone who can't keep up will need to be left behind."

"To the Drukhari?! That's a fate worse than death, Dovo- I mean Brother-Sargeant!" Rodron spluttered, sounding equal parts horrified and unhappy. "Civilians aren't that heavy, surely we can carry anyone who can't move on their own?"

"We need to be able to shoot and cut down the enemies in our way, Rodron. Having your hands full of civilians increases the possibility of all of us being killed or worse." Dovo countered "Are you disobeying my orders?"

"Of course not, sir. I just-" Rodron spluttered, bristling a little.

Cedric suppressed a wince as he could hear the whole squad beginning to argue about what should be done. As the Apothecary assigned to the squad, it was his duty to tend to the sick and injured to the best of his abilities... And to grant them the emperor's final mercy, should that be needed. He turned to the elderly human man, bolter in hand as he murmured "May you bask eternally in the Emperor's light." 

The elderly baseline human nodded, a grim smile on his lips "Thank you, my lord. For not leaving me to the xenos."

Cedric nodded and fired once at the elderly human man's chest, exactly where his heart should be. The civilians' body jerked backwards with the force of the bolter round entering his body and the youngest of the baseline humans began to cry and whimper. He stood, holstering his bolter for a moment as he offered a hand to help the baseline humans up "We need to get moving quickly. There are more xenos encroaching on our position and we have an extraction point to get you to. But you need to get there on your own feet, while we keep the filthy xenos from inflicting more pain and misery upon you."

"Y-Yes my lord..." They stuttered, one of the teenagers timidly taking his offered hand, staggering up onto their feet wincing as their broken bones likely protested their weight. Cedric and the rest of his squad formed up around the small group of injured civilians, with Dovos leading them to the extraction point.

[writingdump12]

Simon “ghost” Riley x female!OC

Haven’t exactly fleshed this out yet but I had to get this out of my head first. This is long, and may will be shite. First fanfic I’ve written in about 12 years - so go easy on me :) Not proofread sorry!!

Callsign: Rusty

“Hey, Sarge. ‘Mon join us.”

Johnny’s voice called out to her as she passed the rec room. Still-damp hair, tied into a braid, swung around her shoulder as she turned to face her fellow sergeant.

He was standing around the dimly lit pool table, a bottle of something in one hand, a pool cue in the other. Beside him, Kyle Garrick was focused on the coloured balls on top, chin balanced on the cue as his eyes flickered between each one.

“You can be on my team - even the odds a bit!” Johnny spoke again, jerking his head back to coax her in.

Shrugging, Sergeant Aoife Kirkpatrick stepped into the room, passing a few other soldiers draped over couches and armchairs. It was late, by barracks standards. But a rare day off awaiting intel provided the base with a much needed reason to blow off steam - curfews be damned.

Approaching the pool table, Aoife noticed a shadow lingering just behind it, opposite Johnny and Gaz.

Ah, even the odds…

Lieutenant Riley was propped up against the wall, his own pool cue by his side. A dark hoodie covered his head, while the painted white of a skeletal jaw and chin poked out from underneath. The whites of his eyes just barely shining in the overhead lighting.

“Cheers, Lass. I’m getting my arse kicked with these two.” Johnny took another swig of his bottle, before stretching and passing her a spare cue and blue chalk.

“Mate, you were the one bummin’ and blowin’ about not needing an extra person, don’t be acting like the kicked puppy now you’ve got an audience.” Gaz rolled his eyes with a smirk as he finally settled on his target. Bending at the waist he locked eyes with Aoife, ticking his head up in greeting, before refocusing and aiming his shot.

“Och, away off with ye. I didn’t exactly think LT would agree now, did I?”

“Fair warning, Soap,” Aoife spoke as she rubbed the blue chalk along the head of the pool cue.

“-I’m a little rusty.”

A small huff came from the back wall. Aoife glanced at the lurking shadow, making brief eye contact before settling a bit behind Soap as he prepared to take his turn.

“Where were you coming from, Sarge?” Gaz asked before lifting his own bottle and bringing it to his lips.

“Showers. Was down in the range for a few hours, but the heat in there would have killed ye. Could murder one of those though.” Nodding her head at the bottle in each soldiers hand.

“Got you covered.” Came a voice from behind, before being handed a glass bottle, cap already off. Aoife looked from the bottle, to the skeletal fingers holding it. Her gaze travelled up the arm, before locking eyes with Ghost.

“Oh, cheers LT.” She said, eyes crinkling in a small smile. She hadn’t even noticed him leave his corner, nevermind his trip to the fridge. Taking the bottle, she pressed it to her lips, taking a long pull.

“My turn.” Ghost murmured, confidently pressing himself against the table, securing his target, and with the deadly accuracy she’d come to expect from her Lieutenant, pocketed not one, but two balls.

“Ye wee bastard!-“Johnny crowed, running a hand through his mohawk. “-Sir.”

Aoife snickered, watching the tall man saunter back to his corner. She was up next. Passing her bottle to Soap, Aoife studied the table. Not really much to go on, but luckily she’d been bluffing slightly when she said she was rusty.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Fuckin’ Rusty, my arse!” Johnny cheered as he potted the remaining black ball, signalling their win.

“What the fuck was that?!” He whirled around to Aoife, who was standing with a small grin on her face. Shrugging, she took another long swig from her bottle.

“We used to play back at Curragh. Got pretty good at it in between modules,” She shrugged. “And me Da used to take me with him to the pub when he was off duty. We’d have spent hours down there, talkin’ shite, ‘til Mam had to come down and drag us both back by the ears. Crazy woman.” Aoife laughed, shaking her head. You don’t mess with a woman from Belfast, her Dad had always whispered to her on the way home.

Her fellow soldiers chuckled, before the four of them settled into a comfortable silence.

“Up for another?” She asked, looking around at Gaz and Johnny.

“Not a chance, mate,” Gaz laughed, setting his pool cue into it’s holder before plopping down on the worn sofa near to the table. Aoife turned her gaze to Soap with a questioning eyebrow.

“Nah Lass, I can’t stay much longer - I’m taking drills tomorrow morning,” Johnny sighed, slumping next to Gaz and thumping his feet up on top of the battered coffee table in front. “That, and I’d rather keep my dignity intact.” He added, throwing her a wink.

Aoife threw him her middle finger, before shrugging, “suit yourself.���

“I’ll play.” Came the rumbling voice of her LT.

Aoife’s head whirled around to face him, eyes crinkling once more in a smile. “You’re on, Riley.”

“Oh now this’ll be good.” Johnny piped up from the sofa.

“Thought you had drills in the morning?” Gaz laughed, poking his elbow into the sergeants side.

“Aye, but this I have tae see.”

Aoife watched as Ghost reset the table, nimble fingers grabbing each ball and placing them inside the little black triangle.

“Who goes first?” He asked, lifting the rack and placing it on the shelf underneath the table.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Affirm.”

“What do I get when I win?” Aoife smirked up at the taller man, his brown eyes focused on their hands before flitting up to meet hers.

“Don’t get cocky, sergeant.” Damn, rock beats scissors. Ghost would go first. He stayed rooted to his spot in front of her, though. Close enough for her to see his blond eyelashes peeking out from behind the soft balaclava he wore.

“Seriously though. What do I get?”

“What do you want?”

“The mask. Take it off.”

“Show my face?”

“Yessir.”

“Negative.”

Aoife scoffed, turning away from him as he huffed air out of his nose again, his brown eyes amused.

The two soldiers took it in turns, potting a couple of balls between them. Soap and Gaz were still watching, providing commentary on the game, and talking quietly amongst themselves between shots. The game was pretty well tied by now, neither willing to lose to the other. With only 2 balls left, if Aoife could make these next shots, she’d win. However, time was marching on, and she was beginning to feel the effects of two beers, and a long day at the range. Her shoulder was beginning to grow stiff, and she had already had to stifle a few yawns behind her hand.

“So what do I get when I win?” Came her lieutenants voice as he finished his go. His voice sounded like it had dropped an octave, the rich timbre pleasant to her ears. Looking up at him, she met his gaze again, and narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t get cocky, LT,” Aoife repeated his line back to him, making his brown eyes shine once more in thinly veiled amusement. Aoife’s stomach did a little flip. Had he always had such pretty eyes?

“Not cocky. Just curious.” He rumbled, turning to face the pool table again. Aoife narrowed her eyes at him playfully.

“Alright. Well, I’m too tired to think of anything right now, so I guess you can take your pick. Whatever you want. Within reason!” She added on quickly, noticing Johnny perk up at the suggestion. The scot chuckled, before settling himself down again beside a softly snoring Gaz.

“Copy.”

Aoife nodded to him then stepped towards the pool table once more. Lining up her shot, she had to bend a bit further at the waist than usual, her weight balancing on her toes to give her enough lift.

Steady…

Pulling the cue back to shoot, Aoife felt a tap to the inside of her foot. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough for her foot to slide further away, her shot pulling wide, causing her to miss the ball she had aimed at by a mile.

Righting her balance, Aoife whipped herself around to see Ghost standing not too far from her - definitely closer than he had been - his eyes twinkling from under his hood.

“Bad luck, Sarge” He said, voice that same deep tone.

“Bad luck?! Yer a cheat, Riley!” Aoife laughed in disbelief. She watched as the top of Ghost’s balaclava shifted, as he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Prove it.”

“Johnny! You saw that didn’t you? He kicked my foot?”

“Sorry, Lass, missed it.” Yawned Johnny, looking up from his phone and giving it a small wave.

Aoife scowled at him, before whirling back towards her cheating lieutenant and closing the gap between them slightly.

“I’m watching you, LT,” she muttered, poking her finger into his chest.

“Solid copy.” He said, gloved hands wrapping around her wrist and gently pulling it away, touch lingering as he brushed past her to line up his shot, and pot both balls to win the game.

Aoife rolled her eyes before conceding defeat.

Soap cheered, clapping his hands on his thighs and standing up, jostling poor Gaz.

“Wellp, better luck next time hen,” he said, pulling his friend up by the arm and started off towards the door, patting Ghost on the shoulder on their way out. That left Ghost and Aoife on their own in the rec room, the other soldiers having left long ago. The two of them tidied what mess they’d made, putting bottles in the bin and restacking the pool cues, before meeting again in the middle of the room.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you back.” Ghost nodded to the doorway.

“I think that’s the least you could do after pulling such a dirty trick.”

“Don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Uh huh.”

The two soldiers lapsed into silence as they walked the long dark corridors back to their respective halls. Aoife yawned a few times more, so ready to pass out onto her bed. Soon enough, they came to her door.

“Thanks for playing with me, LT. I had fun. You’ll have to let me know when you want to cash in your winnings,” Aoife winked, stifling another yawn with the back of her hand. She gave him a little wave, and turned to unlock her door. Only, a gloved had reached out and grabbed her hand, turning her back to face him.

Aoife watched as he held her fingers in one hand, then lifted his other hand to slip underneath the balaclava at his neck. She held her breath as the black material whispered against his neck, fingers dragging it slowly past his chin, to rest on top of his nose.

Aoife’s eyes drank in what details they could in the dim corridor. Pale skin, barely there stubble, a faded scar spearing through his lips that parted slightly as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

The sergeant held her breath as Ghost lifted her fingers towards his lips, and damn near saw stars when he placed a warm, gentle kiss along her knuckles. His eyes met hers as he pulled away, watching, and waiting for her reaction.

Finally taking a breath, Aoife met his gaze. His dark brown eyes searched hers as he lowered her hand again, giving it a small squeeze. Coming to her senses, Aoife squeezed his fingers back, making sure to not break eye contact as her lips lifted in a small, shy smile.

“Night, LT.”

Ghost let go of her fingers and took a step back from her door, giving her a small nod, eyes crinkling imperceptively under his mask.

“Night, Rusty.”

X

Well, there it is. I’m not 100% happy with it, I wanted to add something more about her callsign, but fuck it it’s 1:30am and I’m knackered. Maybe I’ll add to it, who knows. Anyway - taadaa????

[jade-kyo]

RvB 20th rewatch: s12

Aaaagahhahhsjshaj the mid point to the end…. Fucking agony

I never noticed the cabose written in bullet holes on the wall. Nice reference.

“I AM FUCKING AWESOME” that single moment made me fall in love with Felix…. Yeah that didn’t last

“Yay I have friends!” Me too Caboose

“You’re oddballs that don’t exactly fit in” I feel like the Chorus trilogy is just a love letter to what these characters represent to… well people like me who found comfort in a group of loser assholes finding strength and connection in each other

There is a warthog that is absolutely freaking out in the background AGDKHAKSHS

AYO Ray and Michael cameo!!!

SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKER

Grif’s mental breakdown

Hmmmm thinking about Locus and Felix not being able to return to normal life after the war…

AAAAAHHHH THEIR STRENGTH IS THEIR IDIOCY

I do feel that sometimes they overuse animation in this season… I think animation should be reserved strictly for the most necessary and funniest of bits and bad ass action scenes

Caboose gets to be the one with a good bad idea!!!!

WHY SNOWMAN

DR GRAY!!!!!! MY BELOVED

It really was a big brain move to make the feds actually not evil at all and kinda just as pathetic as the rebels

HOLY SHIT HES BILINGUAL PLEASE DONT KILL ME

“You give meaning to meaningless objects and meaningless people and then risk your lives to protect them, where’s the sense in that” I’m telling you this arc is a love letter to what this show means

Gray is unhinged- she fits right in!

Bro just got incinerated

FELIX YOU RAT BASTARD

I felt so betrayed- in hindsight I really should’ve seen it coming but I thought Felix was funny

Yo I never actually caught that Locus hands the grenade to Carolina- for some reason I always thought she just had a grenade on her

CAROLINA BABYGIRL!!!!!!!

YOU FUCK!!!!! (Just so we’re clear that was an absolutely necessary animated bit 👍🏼)

AAAAHHHH EPSILON AND CAROLINA MY BELOVED AHSKHAKSHSKHSKSH

THEYRE SO SILLY

DELTA!!!!!!

THETA!!!!!

I love the fragments ajkdhakshksh

“Just you and me sis” I AM SO NORAML ALANSKLA IA AMANA SNORNSMNSK JAKAHSNLAJANKSJSKSHWKBSKSNKSHWKSHMSK

PSYCHOANALYSIS FOR EVERYONE!!!!!

Love that Caboose is the only one who didn’t do something to the ship

I AM AN EMOTIONAL TIME BOMB Jesus Christ

“I believe he said he was paid in babies”

Lopez a real one for being the only one to remember Doc

Love the conversation between grimmons back at the crash site. nuance about Simmons and leadership or something… if you catch what I mean… Restoration (what who said that)

“MY LIFE JUST FLASHED BEFORE MY EYES!! IT WAS AWESOME!!!” Quoted line

AAAAAHHHHHHH TUCKER AND WASH!!!!!!!!

Dr. Gray my beloved

TUCKER CABOOSE MOMENT!!!

Wash was pretty dumb to just accept Freckles without question but also I never questioned it either so I can’t exactly judge

CABOOSE MY BELOVED AHAJSJAKDHKSJSKDN

SO SHUT UP AND GET OVER IT!!! Caboose finally gets to be the one to tell someone to shut up!!!!!

“Just say you’re sorry” agskahkshskjsksAJGDKAHSKHDKSGSKVDKDJKSN THEY CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER SO MUCH

CHURCH TUCKER MY BELOVED!!!!!

“Seriously? That’s it, no ‘I’m sorry’ nothing?” Carolina I feel you but also if these guys weren’t completely emotionally constipated at all times I probably wouldn’t love them as much

Also Tucker and Church’s little moment of poking fun at Carolina is so cute omg

Trocadero you are truly something to behold

TUCKER YOU ARE THE BEST OF THEM!!!!!!!

Imagine if Tucker and Church had also gotten caught in Locus and Felix’s teleporter… wouldn’t that have sucked please god I already have a big fic I’m planning I don’t need another

COLONEL SARGE

Why is Carolina so damn BIG next the chairman in that picture ajhdkahsj

P.S. suck our balls

Being completely honest I do think s12 is a little bit of the weak link in the chorus trilogy. It’s not bad but I just find more enjoyment in s11 and s13 but it is possibly Tucker at his best GOD I love him… anyway, pain 🙂

[rubykgrant]

RvB Fusion AU? Caboose and Grif becoming like a fun lazy guy, Tucker and Kai becoming THE sex-crave fusion, Sarge and Carolina becoming the most competitive fighter ever, etc.

Oh man... there have been a lot of fun RVB Fusion AU scenarios people have come up with through the years... I think Kai and Tucker fused would weirdly sort of balance both their two extreme flirty attitudes, and they are somehow SUPREMELY charismatic in an effortless way (like, they aren't even TRYING to flirt with anybody, and don't even notice all the heart-eyes. they're also really funny and giggly and affectionate, but in a relaxed way). Caboose and Grif fusion is super chill, but also? They have all of Caboose's weird, reality-bending concepts, and Grif's gift with words, so they're just there being all philosophical, possibly unlocking the secrets of the universe. Carolina and Sarge is BEYOND competitive (and has the same attitude of Aqua from Brave and the Bold; very valiant and enjoys the thrill of battle! unless you tick them off, then it is just. a massacre).

Church and Caboose fusion is a fun one, because Church has to like... come to terms with "loving himself", not in a false-bravado/ego-trip way, but actually having good self-esteem? They also freely share how much they love everybody else, but still has Church's potty-mouth. Everybody thought they should worry about a Tex and Carolina fusion, but again, they are just sort of balanced out somehow? Simmons and Church fusions is sooooooooo smug. Any fusion with Doc means they also have O'Malley in there... Kai and Doc genuinely have a lot of fun fused, and the result is a such a subtle smart-mouth sense of humor, enhanced by O'Malley being their "anger translator". Donut and Simmons fused is sort of a mess... all of Simmons' anxiety makes Donut ACUTELY aware of his own insecurities, and they just keep over-apologizing for everything. Wash always thinks he won't "mix well" with somebody when fused, and it is true that a fusion with him will like- just start crying at some point, because it is like having an internal conversation where one gives the other a chance to open up. Yeah, even Sarge. In fact, Sarge and Wash seems to have all the serious/professionalism of both, but will just give out very deeply emotional compliments to the others, said with a calm matter-of-fact tone. Kai and Carolina is TERROR, just full-on rebel, with the muscle to back it up. Tucker and Donut is the most prettiest and flamboyant fusion.

Oh, and I can't talk about RVB fusions without showing some of the awesome art by @creatrixanimi !

[oddluver]

RVB: Restoration Spoilers! It's a long one.

Dr. Leonard Church still finding ways to fuck everyone over.

Classic Grif having an existential crisis.

Classic Simmons being a kiss ass.

Caboose knows Spanish? Also Lopez speaking in English. The language swap is funny.

THE PHOTO FRAME OF THE CAT FOR WASHY 🥺

MY BABY THETA AI.

Caboose is the biggest threat, Grif. SOUND THE ALARM!

Hi, Sheila.

8. Caboose is the answer to life's greatest mystery.

9. Oh wow.

10.I honestly forgot about Gamma and how much of a lil bitch Sigma is. LEAVE MY TUCKER ALONE.

11. Why is Dr. Grey acting stranger than Wash? They made my boi sound crazy 😰

12. HOW THE FUCK IS 479ER STILL ALIVE?!

13. I FORGOT ABOUT THE CONFETTI THAT COMES OUTTA CABOOSE'S GUN. MR. FRECKLES!

14. OOH SOMEONE IS WFH ON A BEACH. DAMN TECH DIFFICULTIES.

15. WTF SAVE CABOOSE ALREADY

16. "DON'T FEEL BAD AFTERWARDS. I FORGIVE YOU."

17. WDYM SARGE WENT OUT LIKE THE BASTARD HE IS?! WHAT WAS THE REASON?!

18. "COME WITH ME." ALRIGHT LISTEN HERE YOU SON OFA-

19. WASH THREW HIMSELF OFF A CLIFF?!

20. CABOOSE TELLING THE STORY OF CHURCH, ALLISON, AND CAROLINA 😭

21. GRIMMONS CASUALLY DYING IN BATTLE WITH THE META. HOW ROMANTIC.

22. SIMMONS LIKES BEING CALLED SIR.

23. WHO YEETED THE WARTHOG?! THAT'S SO FUCKING FUNNY.

24. TEXAS! YEE MOTHERFUCKING HAW! 🤠

25. CAROLINA! WHAT A MOTHER & DAUGHTER REUNION!

26. TEXAS' FUCKING THEME! OH SHIT.

27. "PROTECT ME CONE!"

28. TEX KICKING THE META'S NUTS!

29. CAN THEY HAVE THEIR HAPPY ENDING? I'M GONNA FUCKING BAWL MY EYES OUT.

30. OOH IM UGLY CRYING YOU BITCH