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#austin!elvis
floralcyanidee · 7 months
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˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―
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! please remember, in order to participate in kinktober, you must be 18+ as there will be nsfw material involved. anyone not following these rules will be blocked!
✧ hello! it's that time of year again (: I did my first kinktober last year, and it was a success (and still is), except I never fully finished it ): I'm hoping this year will be different because I'm starting as early as feasibly possible. if you think you've seen this post already from another account, you're correct. that's my account, except it is currently shadowbanned. so, I made this new account and decided to redo this masterpost as I'll probably be posting kinktober here. also, the prompt list has been edited as 28.08.2023.
✧ here is the taglist form if you'd like to be tagged in my kinktober works! click meee!♥
✧ prompt list is below!
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day one. cockwarming with: Cillian Murphy
day two. nipple play with: Jonathan Crane
day three. blood play with: Charlie Walker
day four. orgasm control with: Stu Macher
day five. praise kink with: Mickey Altieri
day six. degradation with: Jonathan Crane
day seven. bondage with: Billy Loomis
day eight. edging with: Ethan Landry
day nine. breeding kink with: Roman Bridger
day ten. mutual masturbation with: Austin Butler
day eleven. throat fucking with: Ethan Landry
day twelve. threesome with: Stu Macher/Billy Loomis
day thirteen. knife kink or gun kink with: Gun Kink/ Tommy Shelby
day fourteen. sex toys with: Cillian Murphy
day fifteen. hate sex with: Jonathan Crane
day sixteen. thigh riding with: Richie Kirsch
day seventeen. sex tape with: Roman Bridger
day eighteen. squirting with: Neil Lewis
day nineteen. public play with: Jackson Rippner
day twenty. voyeurism with: Ethan Landry
day twenty-one. corruption kink with: Jonathan Crane
day twenty-two. daddy kink with: Cillian Murphy
day twenty-three. spanking with: Austin!Elvis
day twenty-four. shower sex with: Mickey Altieri
day twenty-five. roleplay with: Austin Butler
day twenty-six. face sitting with: Raymond Leon
day twenty-seven. dom/sub with: Ethan Landry
day twenty-eight. drunk sex or high sex with: High Sex/Stu Macher
day twenty-nine. phone sex with: Ethan Landry
day thirty. anal sex with: Jackson Rippner
day thirty-one. mommy kink with: Jonathan Crane
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surferblues · 2 years
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cherry red blow ! ˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
dilfelvis! austin butler x fem! reader
notes if you have a problem with 5-10 year age gaps , do not read 😵‍💫 because when i say i like dilfs... i mean DILFS
warnings smut (18+ only, minors dni), unprotected sex, intoxication, dom! elvis, praise, p in v, unestablished relationship, implied age gap, spelling errors, and obviously sexual themes.
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Elvis knew who you were. Hell, all he could think about was you. He wasn't the one to get caught up with one girl, he was the type of guy who would sleep with any woman who offered .
And he was Elvis Presley, he could sleep with any woman if he could - all, but you.
He knew best to not fall under the impression you wanted him, that you were doing all that dressing up for him. You were a nanny hired by Priscilla, you made it clear the first day you were hired that you had no ill intentions of ruining the Presley name.
The way you walked around his home with those satin little dresses that covered only so much. The way you covered your lips in that damn cherry red lipstick. He couldn't help to think you knew what you were doing.
You u loved your job. truly, there was good pay, you got on so well with the presley family, the house was big and luxurious. people would kill to be in the position you were in.
You did what you usually did in preparation of coming in for your job. You made sure every hair was in place, you made sure that your clothes came from the finest sellers, and your lips always were layered in that cherry red lipstick.
You had been hired by Priscilla, her hopes of hiring a nanny to watch Lisa from time to time so Elvis and herself could rekindle the faded spark in their relationship.
You had some knowledge of their difficulties of their relationships, as you got front row view to the arguments they shared every night Elvis came home drunk with a groupie under his arm.
The pills, Elvis never being home, and the women were just helping points on why Priscilla found it so difficult to be in a relationship with Elvis. So it was safe to say you weren't surprised when Priscilla packed up her things and left Elvis, it was bound to happen sooner or later.
A part of you was relieved when you found out Elvis was a single man, another part of you was worried about it. Elvis always made it clear he went for younger girls, and with the ten year age gap between the two of you - you knew he had to think of you in such a dirty way.
it started off as a little crush, but you never pursued in actually doing anything with the older man in fear of risking your job. he was smart, and you assumed he wouldn’t ever go for the nanny of his daughter .
that was until you’d catch him eyeing your cherry glazed lips, the subtle touches near your hips when he would pass by you, and clever flirty comments began to slip out of his mouth.
something in your dynamic just... shifted.
it was one night when he arrived home from a long night of partying, and Lisa Marie was sound asleep in bed — he’d find you with a halfway full bottle of wine in your grasp.
your cheeks flushed, your words sloppily said.
"you've been out all night mr. presley."You giggled with a rasp, your eyes look over towards the door where the man stood, the slam of the front door indicating he just got to Graceland.
you took in his appearance as he came into eye view. the dark messy hair that was messy just in the perfect way, the way his tan chest peeked from the behind the white button up that was unbuttoned slightly, bloodshot eyes indicating that he may have partied a bit too hard.
just as you took him in, he took in the sight of you. your red lipstick smeared from your lips ever so slightly, your hair tousled, and the straps of your little dress falling off your shoulders as your back rested the marble table that stood in the middle of the fancy kitchen.
he began walking towards the small island where you stood, your eyes following every move he made.
"wasn't today your day off, darlin'?" he questioned curiously with that thick country twang, letting out a breathless shot of laughter before looking towards the direction where you were. "priscilla asked to me watch Lisa, she had some plans." you admitted.
he walked towards the the wooden cabinet where he kept his liquor, grabbing a empty small glass and a much larger glass full of burning liquor.
some part of you was telling you two remove yourself from the room, get as far away from Elvis as you could - but another part of you was screaming at you to stay, screaming at you to pursue your dangerous urges.
"If you prefer me to go, I can, Mr. Presley." You offered, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you watched Elvis's face for any sign of discomfort.
he stood on the other side of the kitchen island, his body standing right across from you.
you saw the way his jaw clenched at the way you said his name, but that happened everytime the simple saying slipped out of your mouth, "oh, mr. presley."
"no, no, the more the merrier." Elvis's slurred out, pouring a shot of whiskey in his glass, hesitation laced in his voice but he quickly covered it with a shaky scoff.
"you know, it's good to call me just elvis." he met your eyes, cooing out his words. the playful expression that was on his face moments ago replaced with a more hesitant one.
"good for you or good for me?" you murmured out, your lips quirking up so riskily and daringly.
you were writing out a check you couldn't cash.
"it would save us from a whole 'lotta trouble." he raised his brows and tilted his head with a careless shrug, bringing the glass of liquor to his lips. his Adam's apple bobbing as the stinging liquid entered his body.
"trouble? i thought you liked trouble, mr. presley." you cocked your head, your words rolling off of your tounge so surely. you began readjusting your hips, the end of your satin dress riding up with every move you made.
he couldn't read the expression sprawled on your face, but you sure as hell could read his. his knitted brows, his eyes looking at you so intensely... reading you for any source of confirmation that the sinful thoughts in his head weren't only racing through his.
"i like a lot of things, sweetheart." elvis chuckled, setting down the glass of dark liqueur. his eyes taking a quick peek on the dress that was now bunched on your hips - a momentarily peek, a peek that was so quick that he was sure you wouldn't have saw.
"yeah?" you purred, deciding to be the one to make the first move out of the unspoken need you two shared. you decided to grab the glass he sat down moments ago and bring it your lips, the liquor was strong but you wouldn't show him that.
"uh, y... yeah." elvis choked out, clearing his throat as he felt sudden pressure on his cock. "good things cause a lot of trouble." he purred sinfully, he knew what your intentions were, he knew he wasn't reading this situation wrong... the next move was up to him.
he quickly recovered, shaking off the flustered state you put him in and returning to his cocky self. "good girl's, cause a lot of trouble." he teased in a readily manner, he lustfully over where you stood, watching you with nothing but pure amusement.
"oh, mr. Presley, kill me if im wrong. but i would assume your saying im a good girl?" you cooed, you quirked one of your brows, questioning the man infront of you. you sat your body on the counter, legs dangling as you looked at him curiously.
"isn't that you call a pretty little thing such as yourself, a good girl?" he rasped it so readily, his feet moved him few inches, just so he could stand in between your legs and look at your face.
your chest rose up and down in a needy way, your eyes watching the way his slowly wandered towards your bare hips. "i can be whatever your want, mr. presley." you handed him back his glass of liquor, a barely visible coat of cherry red lip stick on the rim of the glass.
"you’re gonna be a good girl for me, yeah?" he purred as he nodded, grabbing the glass from you, but never did he dare to look away from you. keeping his eyes on you as you felt his finger tips tap your soft thighs. those three taps, gesturing for you to open your legs so he could stand in between them.
and you listened, never did you hesitate. he looked down at your parted legs, oh god, how many times has he thought about this exact moment. he didn't know where to start, he just knew by before the night was over he would have kissed every inch of your body.
"how do you want me, baby?" one of his rough hands gently squeezed your hips, while the other finally began reaching the soaking lace panties that covered your pussy.
you felt his duo of fingers applying light pressure to your clit, causing a shaky whimper to leave your mouth.
"i... i just, " you trailed off, you looked down to see his hardened cock poking through his leather pants - you took a peek, a peek so quick you thought he wouldn't even notice.
"just need you inside me, mr. presley." you whimpered, rolling your hips up towards where he needed attention from you most - causing breathy moans to slip from his and your lips as you felt his needy dick rub you through your lace panties.
"that'ta girl." Elvis teased, he began slipping the wet pink lace off, a cocky smirk on his lips as he pickpocketing them. your hands traveled towards the zipper of his black leather pants, the sound of the zipper unzipping could be heard alongside your's and Elvis's needy breaths.
"so eager, baby?" he chuckled, the sound of the leather dropping to the floor - and just as quick as his pants were off, so were his boxers. there was nothing holding him back from fucking you.
precum on the tip of his hard dick, his body telling him he needed this more than anything.
" y'look so pretty like this, mama." he breathily cooed against your neck, placing sloppy kisses all over your collar bones as you and him were chest to chest. you felt his hand gently hover over your lower abdomen, pressing ever so gentle - leaving you slightly confused.
his dick began grazing over the slit of your pussy, his precum mixing with the wetness of your pussy his words he squeezed out of you. your hands gripped his shoulders, getting yourself ready and steady.
he then lined his dick with your hole, he looked at you for confirmation. you nodded readily and quickly, moving your hips that he had been gripping up a few inches. "please." you whimpered, his tip in your hole, you just needed him to completely to enter you.
and as soon as you whimpered, you felt his dick slowly filling you up. his dick was bigger than any other dick that had entered your body before. you felt your walls tighten around him, your nails burying into his shoulders as his hands squeezed your hips.
"pussy was made for me." he didn't move, letting your needy hole get used to the feeling as you both let out incoherent whimpers. his eyes squeezed shut, head buried in your shoulder, and hot and heavy breaths following.
his dick hadn't left your hole all the way when he then snapped his hips into yours, taking you by surprise as you felt his hand lift your thigh around his waist - hoping to get access to the spot that would drive insane even if he slightly grazed over it.
he set a harsh but slow pace, each thrust was better than the other. you felt yourself subconsciously rocking against his, breathy whimpers and moans slipping from his mouth was only encouraging you to continue.
He was making you feel so good, like you expected him to. His dick seemed to be made for you, all of its veins and curves hitting the right spots inside you.
you felt his hand pressed against your lower abdomen again, but this you felt something else other than his hand.
he wanted you to feel him, inside and out. so you saw the bulge of his dick with each time he slammed into you, you could basically feel that familiar Spring coil form.
"s... so damn.. " he cut him self off with a harsh thrust in your pussy, causing you to let out a high pitched moan. " tight, just for ... me."
and just if you thought that was too much, you felt his fingers press against your swollen button. pressing and tracing circles around your wet clit as his dick dipped in and out.
This pleasure filled encounter couldn’t last forever, even if you wished it could. Soon enough your walls began to clench around him, making his thrust slow down to enjoy the way you squeezed. He was choking out moans into your ear, his voice raspy and shaky.
"elvis... m'close." you whimpered shakily, his hands guiding your hips as you felt his dick pulse, the familiar feeling of your pussy getting sensitive with each time his fingers and dick did their most.
and he made sure to touch that g spot, pushing his dick into so deep that you were sure to cum any moment. "fuck!" you breathlessly moaned, everything around you went hot when his dick hit that spongy spot.
"that'ta girl." he pressing down lightly on your lower stomach so you really felt him whilst shushing you.
it was like all of the juices you had been collecting had finally released just by his dick grazing that sweet spot, your vision went white, and your body jerked into his - his arm wrapped against your body, hugging against you as he rode out his high.
you could hear the sound of yours and Elvis's cum mixing, the shaky pants you two shared, something you would never forget.
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tag list . . . !
@marinarose12 @rysssaa @domaniquessidehoe @wistoric @givemehickeysplease @mr-aurum @feral4austinbutler @pandora-journey @kissingrhi @ash-omalley @queendelrey @heartsbomb @djarinlgc @austinbutler4life @adoreyouusugar
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dreamersparacosm · 1 year
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austin butler - clumsy
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warnings ; none
prompt ; in which your celebrity crush causes you to become a flustered, blubbering mess.
a/n ; a little something fun i wrote during the fall but never published! it’s basically anxious!reader and honestly how I imagine myself reacting to meeting aus so enjoy xoxo
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Okay, don’t panic.
Do not panic.
It’s just a man. A man with blonde, curly locks, blue eyes, over 6 feet tall… but still, a man. Nothing special. You could probably find ten of him walking down Rodeo Drive.
Except that’s probably not true either.
It is Austin Butler, after all.
You hike the tail of your dress higher as you descend up the stairs to the red carpet, inhaling as much oxygen as possible to tame your nerves. It does nothing for you beside provide a placebo effect of calmness. Your publicist, Jane, stands next to you with her eyebrows furrowed in permanent worry, a crinkle she’s had since the day she took you on. “[Y/N], did you get a chance to look at your seating arrangement?”
“Uh, no, not yet,” You respond slowly, wincing slightly as you brace yourself for her reaction. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before turning towards you.
“You know what, that’s fine, sweets. Just go stand on the carpet so we can take these pictures,” She goes back to her clipboard full of tedious things like timing and interviewers and stupid seating arrangements, and you’re trying to stay focused, but how can you do that when Austin Butler is standing 8 feet away from you, posing on the red carpet?
You’re pretty sure you’re drooling.
Whoever keeps leaving his shirts unbuttoned is a menace to society and needs to be locked away for endangerment to the general public.
This whole idiotic schoolgirl crush began relatively long ago, when he was still deeply in love with Vanessa Hudgens and playing a teen heartthrob on The Carrie Diaries. You weren’t even famous at that point, just a mediocre commercial actress trying to get her big break. Once you finally booked your first big role, the crush faded away (only the tiniest amount) but that all came crashing down like an avalanche when you saw Elvis with your best friend.
They probably could’ve posted the entire movie on a porn website and made the same amount of money. And, thus, your crush ensued, full throttle and invading your every thought at the worst moments. Including this one.
Jane kicks the back of your leg, cursing under her breath as you tear your eyes away from him. You’re not new to this scene, you’ve been in major leading roles and you’ve been nominated for Oscars. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that at your core, you are a complete and utter mess. A klutz. A loser with some money in the bank.
So, you take the pictures, with not too many mistakes as you expected, just a few shots of you blinking while smiling. You’re sure they’ll end up on Twitter where your fans will laugh about it while saying how much they love you.
This part always goes by fast. It’s camera flashes, smiles that are strained under the bright lights, talks with interviewers that always go far longer than expected, and then before you know it, you’re being ushered into a tight room with celebrities you had only dreamed of seeing in real life. Jane is glued to your side as you wait for your turn to enter the theater.
Despite the cool temperature of Los Angeles, you’re somehow drenched in sweat. You’ve done this before, you know that. But that doesn’t stop your entire body from going into fight or flight mode, teetering towards flight.
“What’s the hold up?” You hear a female’s voice yell out, and you almost think it’s Jane before you hear her chuckle beside you.
“Speak that truth. I am so sick of these fucking Oscars dimwits wasting my time,” Jane says loudly enough for the girl to hear it, and before you know it, they’re enthralled in a full-blown conversation. If you weren’t trying to fan your armpit sweat, you might’ve joined.
Maybe it’s a good idea to find out where you’re sitting. Probably will need to know that before you enter. You can only assume they’ll sit you next to your last co-star, Timothee Chalamet. What a delight that would be (and that’s not sarcasm, he always smells like cashmere and some type of forest.)
You turn your body slightly, eyeing Jane and the girl she’s talking to. She’s a redhead, also wearing a suit and clearly another publicist that has been in the position for far too long to enjoy it.
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a male figure standing next to the redhead. Hm. A black suit. Your eyes trail over his body, a soft black lace shirt that is half-unbuttoned peeking over the hem. How nice. You love that look on men.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck.
Your body freezes. Mouth runs dry. Sweat shrivels back up into your body only to start forming at impossible speeds. Heart palpates so quickly you think you might be going into cardiac arrest.
In front of you, is Austin Butler. And he completely, totally, entirely, caught you checking out his entire body, head to toe.
There’s a smirk on his face that is undeniably directed towards you, eyes glimmering with amusement. You can’t even believe that you’re looking directly at him. He can’t be real, he has to be a figment of your imagination.
“Come here often?”
You did not just speak.
No, you didn’t. That couldn’t have been real. That couldn’t have been what you just said. After years of dreaming about this moment, that can’t have been what your brain and tongue agreed on.
He chuckles, a deep one that rumbles through his chest, and says, “I try not to make it a habit. You?”
You entangle your fingers with each other, hoping the sweat that has gathered on them just slides right off. “Me either. Trying to cut down on my presence and all that.”
He raises his eyebrows quizzically, that soft smile that curves upon his lips widening a little, “Well, can’t say the Oscars is the best place to do that.”
“Yes, well…” You trail off. Thoughts empty. Brain just a shallow void with nothing but dirty, filthy fantasies about him floating around. Oh god, get a grip.
And he should end the conversation right there, then back around and not acknowledge the weird girl who clearly hasn’t had enough media training. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and says, “I’m Austin. Austin Butler.”
“I know,” You say almost immediately. His facial expression contorts into something unreadable, and your lips flap again to try and salvage the rest of your dignity. “I’m [Y/N].”
You shake his hand, praying to some otherworldly creature above that he won’t feel the sweat on your hands. It’s a little weird, when you touch his hand. Feels like you’re envisioning yourself with him, like you’re some kind of wizard that can tell it won’t be the last time you see him. It feels a little like something out of a rom-com, with the electricity zap and the sounds of your hearts beating erratically.
You both pull your hands away, smiling to the ground. You really, really, really hope he’ll keep talking to you.
“Nervous?” He asks, taking note of the way your thumbs twiddle and the sidestep you keep doing with your heels.
“A little. Kinda. Maybe,” You let out a sigh of relief. “I’m not really the most organized.”
“Hm. Well, I’m sure you’ll be great,” His grin widens just enough to show off his pearly white teeth that glimmer under the remaining sunlight that California has to offer.
“Thanks,” You smile back. “How about you? Nervous?”
“Always,” He responds, almost taken aback by the transparency he’s having with another celebrity. He’s never had a conversation about nerves, never felt validated enough by someone to open up about the fear that comes along with being at this level of fame. “It’s my first Oscars.”
“Right,” You say, “Well, I’ve been to a few, and honestly, I’ll let you in on a secret. Even Leonardo DiCaprio shits himself a little when the nominees are announced.”
He lets out a laugh, a real one, one that sounds like all good things in the world and you would be more than happy to capture it in a jar and keep it on your bedside forever. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” He switches gears, shifting his body around a little. “What afterparty are you going to?”
It’s a simple question, one you’ve been asked numerous times by other people in the industry. It usually offers a sense of dominance over who got the better invite. “Er, yes, that would be a question for my lovely publicist, Jane, because I don’t have a rat’s ass idea of where I’m supposed to go.”
He laughs. Again. Part of you is enthralled, part of you is confused as to why he thinks you’re a comedy show. Maybe he thinks you’re a joke. Yes, that makes good sense. “That honestly makes me feel better because I don’t really know where I’m going either,” He admits.
“Are you kidding?” You ask incredulously. “You look like that and you don’t know where you’re going? I think the President of the Academy Awards has a personal invite waiting for you.”
Okay, maybe you shouldn’t have said that. But really, it has to be blamed on the fact that there are a swarm of murderous bees flying around in your stomach that are making you feel woozy.
His cheeks turn a crimson glow, “Like that?”
“Oh, you know…” You trail, slowly laughing to brush off the fact that you basically just admitted your undying love to him. “Just…. That’s a great black shirt. I’m gonna buy one for my brother.”
His lips curve upwards a little more, blue eyes sparkling like little oceans. “Thanks. And, you know, you don’t look bad yourself.”
You blink twice. Did he just say that?
Before you even whip up a flirty comment, or even a funny one that’ll have him doubling over in laughter and proposing to you by tonight, you feel Jane gripping your forearm tightly. “Stop dicking around, [Y/N]. We need to go in.”
“Right, yes, totally,” You smile awkwardly over to Austin, and he returns it. You feel soft and warm and glowy inside, like you might levitate off the floor.
And then you really are levitating off the floor, because your feet miss the step and you’re falling before you even have a chance to stop yourself. Your arm extends to try and delay your inevitable fall, but it doesn’t work and you’re really sprawled out. Immediately, Jane rushes down to try and drag you up, hurriedly asking if you’re okay.
You nod slightly, balancing yourself on your knees. Thankfully, you think the vast majority of people have entered the theater and missed out on your embarrassment of epic proportions.
Well, maybe not everyone.
Suddenly, like a light peeking from beyond the clouds, you see an outstretched hand to your right. It’s tan, a male’s hand for sure. You look up to see who could possibly be nice enough to help you up. Maybe it’s God telling you it’s time to pass away.
It’s Austin. And he has a really worried look on his face that you’re shocked by, but his expression falters once he sees the look on your face. You’re smiling, a real big goofy one, because it’s so ridiculous and he’s so ridiculous and you’re pretty sure one of your heels is broken.
You place your hand in his, and his other hand wraps around your waist to help you up and steady yourself against him. Once you’re finally standing, he grins, leaning into your ear, “Remember, even Leonardo DiCaprio shits himself at the table.”
You don’t even realize his arm is still wrapped around your waist until you notice the absence of it. You giggle lightly, biting your lip. “Of course. And I think I saw Brad Pitt throw up in the bathroom last year.”
“Austin, we gotta go,” His publicist grabs his hand, and you feel a pang of disappointment. You almost think he does too, his blue eyes turning grayish as he looks back at her.
“Right,” He clears his throat. “Well, good luck tonight, [Y/N]. I hope you win.”
“You too,” The smile on your face is probably permanently tattooed on. You feel Jane’s hand on your back, slowly moving you away from him although your feet beg to stay.
“Oh, and [Y/N]?” You turn back around to face him, “Big fan of your work.”
With that, he turns away with his publicist to go and find his seat amongst the crowd. You watch him disappear, an indescribable feeling washing over your entire body. You’re also being whisked away to your table, greeted by familiar faces and friends. But it’s pretty clear that’s not the reason why you’re smiling.
Some part of your brain decides on one thing: this won’t be the last time you see him.
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
You decide that you like California. Not a whole lot, but enough to make you sign a contract for a new film. Normally, you believe that Los Angeles and all its surrounding cities are a dreadful structure that encapsulates all the worst features of privileged Southern California lifestyle. But the food is undeniably tasty, and your new apartment is decorated with high ceilings and well-lit rooms, so you’ll make do. You’ll be filming in sunny Calabasas, where the houses are painted a perfect shade of white, where time stills a little and every cloud is just the right amount of fluffy.
The Oscar’s had came and went, and you won, to no one’s surprise but your own. With that accomplishment came offers. People really, truly wanted to work with you, and although it baffled you, Jane was having the time of her life coordinating auditions and interviews.
Everything was truly perfect.
You flip through the pages of your fresh script, your manicured nails turning through the warm pages, the black ink bleeding onto the sheets. Jane sits across from you, feverishly scribbling something, negotiating your pay for your new film. She’ll deliver. In the end, she always does.
She hangs up her call, sighing from relief. You’re about to ask her how it went, if you got the price you wanted, before her phone blares again with that god awful ringtone she refuses to change. She answers it, a cheerful tone in her voice, “Kate? So good to hear from you! What’s going on?”
You tune out of her conversation, focusing your eyes back on the mass of paper in front of you. A new story to be told. A new character to embody. A new chapter of your life. It’s all very emotional and sappy and you almost want to cry tears of happiness, but you’ll save that for later, once you get home and crack open a bottle of wine.
You hear Jane place her phone down, and your eyes flicker back up to her. There’s an expression on her face that’s unreadable, and you’re unsure of how to process it. Oh, no. If you didn’t get the price you wanted, that would suck. Or, maybe you did and she’s just unsure on how to process emotion. You always thought she was a robot.
“I just had the weirdest phone call,” She finally speaks, scratching her forehead quizzically.
“What’s up?” You ask mindlessly, certain she’s going to tell you something personal like her cousin getting married to a farmer.
“That was Austin Butler’s publicist. She said he’s been asking about you since the Oscars.”
There’s no fucking way. She’s pranking you. Any second now, Ashton Kutcher is going to pop out behind the doorframe and say “You’ve been Punk’d!” and then maybe he’ll also bring out Austin to further your embarrassment.
“Excuse me?” You blink.
“Yeah,” She seems just as baffled as you are. “She said he’s been trying to find a way to get in contact with you, but turns out, you guys don’t have a lot of mutual friends.”
Well, that makes sense.
She continues on, “Anyway, she gave me his number and then said he wants to ask you on a date. So, do with that what you will.”
She unlocks her phone, slides it across the table to you, and you see a phone number typed into her notes. Your hand trembles as you pick up the iPhone, copying the number into your own contacts. You feel woozy, just like you did on that red carpet, just like you did the moment you locked eyes with him.
“Right, well,” You clear your throat. “I’ll just step outside and call him real quick.”
She nods, raising one eyebrow. There’s a small grin that appears on her lips, a knowing one, and you slide out the door into the hallway.
You don’t know what comes over you, or what demon compels you, but you click the number. You hear the ring. There’s a pause. Your heart drops as you think that he might not answer.
And then you hear him. His voice.
“Hello?”
“Uh, h-hi. Hi. This is, um, [Y/N]. Your publicist gave me your number.”
It almost sounds ridiculous.
“[Y/N]. You know, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you but turns out you’re not an easy person to reach,” You can hear the smile in his voice.
“Well, you know me and my presence. All time low,” You say sarcastically, and he chuckles.
“Right. Well, congratulations on your win. Very well-deserved,” His voice is deeper than you remember. There’s a slight desire that pools between your legs for a moment before you snap yourself back into reality.
“You too. Some would call it the performance of the year,” And you can’t even believe it’s happening. You’re really flirting with him.
“Thank you,” He says so softly, so charming. He’s always grateful and humble, and it makes you even more attracted to him. If that’s even possible at this point. “So, do you think there’s a chance you would allow me to take you out to dinner? Somewhere lowkey, you know, for your presence and all?”
The question is so unbelievable that you can’t even take it in. You make a few sounds, splutter over your words and trip over them like you did your own two feet at the Oscars. Your heartbeat travels up to your eardrum, pounding with every ounce of blood that travels through you. “U-uh, umm… well, you know, let me go ahead and check my schedule.” There’s a pause. You cover the reciever and scream a silent yell into the void, jumping a few feet high.
Clearing your throat, you say, “Hm. Seems like I’m free tomorrow.”
“You can’t do tonight?”
The question takes you aback. Surely, he can’t be asking that because he wants to see you. “Oh, why? Are you leaving California tomorrow?”
“Not at all,” You hear him shuffle. “I just really want to take you out.”
“Right, yes, of course.” You let his question hang in the air. You know your answer, but you like letting him think there’s a possibility you might reject him.
“I am free tonight.”
“Great,” His voice is upbeat, a newfound excitement peeking through. “Well, text me your address. I’ll send a car to pick you up.”
“Yup, totally. Super duper cool. Looking really forward to it,” You babble on, pacing the hallway you’ve trapped yourself in.
He lets out a low laugh, “Me too. I’ll see you tonight. Bye, [Y/N].”
You say your goodbyes, leaning against the wall for stability before you collapse into a puddle. Later, a janitor might come to find your lifeless body glued to the wall. Cause of death? Man built like a Greek god asks woman on date.
But, everything is fine. You’ll somehow make it.
There’s a ridiculous feeling in your heart, a warmth that spreads to your toes and fingers. Now, everything is perfect.
。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆
masterlist + request
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crash-and-cure · 9 months
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Every Minute, Every Hour (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)
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Summary: You were out. You were out goddamnit. How was he here?
A/N: Soooo.... It’s been awhile. Writer’s block is an absolute son of a bitch. So this is based on an idea I had and requested to @venus-haze a couple months ago and which I almost completely forgot about until I got this request and I decided two birds and all that. I also acknowledge that there was another similar request made a while back, to the person who requested it don’t worry, I do have plans for it. 
Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior. Dubious Consent in regards to coersion being involved. Loss of virginity. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f.recieving), female mastubation, slight dumbification, and implied anal play. Brief depictions of choking. Touch-starvation. Mentions of Pregnancy. Referenced cheating on Elvis' part. Self-loathing. Stockholm Syndrome(?) Probably more that I am blanking on. Period-typical homophobia and closeted characters depicted. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 
Word Count: 19.8K
Masterlist
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You look like an angel (look like an angel)
Walk like an angel (walk like an angel)
Talk like an angel
But I got wise
You’re the devi-
It takes you longer than you would have liked to reach the radio and turn it off. And it’s only as you reach it do you realize how odd it looks from the outside when you see a customer looking at you funny. 
“Not much of a fan,” you say with an admittedly pathetic smile on your face. 
“I can see that,” he replies with an awkward smile, before going back to browsing the books. 
You bashfully turn the radio back on and quickly try to turn the knob to anything even remotely comprehensible, but it’s just your luck that this is the only station you get decent reception on in the store. With no other choice but to simply grin and bear it you put the volume on low and return to reading your book. 
You do keep an eye on your final customer of the evening, and hope he hurries up so you can finally close up for the day. Susan had been complaining about a migraine since lunch and Gina was caring for her upstairs and so it was on you to close up the shop on your own today. 
You feel embarrassed to have been seen that way but that all falls away when you hear the shop bell ring, only to be immediately followed by tiny rapid footsteps and an excited little “mama!” and you grab onto the counter before your little two and a half foot terror can knock out from behind you. Which ends up being the right call as you feel her head butt your knees and locking her arms around them nearly knocking you down.  
“Mama! Mama!” she squealed, practically vibrating, she was so excited to see you. 
“Rosie! Rosie!” you say, equally as happy to see her though you do a far better job at reining it in. She takes your hands in hers as you crouch down to look at her, and take stock. Her hair is askew with the ribbons you had tied in place this morning holding on for dear life in her beautiful curls, her face is smudgy with what you’re hoping is chocolate, and one of her socks is just gone, but both shoes are in place so you can only imagine how your little hellion managed that. Overall this is the best condition Rosie has returned to you in, after a long day with Jenny.
“Mama, Aunty Jenny took me to the Candy store!” she says, showing off the candy bracelets on her tiny wrists. 
“Really,” you say, shooting a look at your friend for giving her so much sugar before bed. The woman in question has the courtesy to at least look a little guilty about it, before giving a small laugh. 
“Mm-hmm. And we saw Danny at the playground and we-we saw Uncle Lee’s friends, and then we listened to a lotta music, and we saw a movie about a wizard and there was no one else in the whole room, and then-then…” she rapidly rambles on but you pepper her face in kisses before she can pass out from the lack of oxygen. She giggles uncontrollably and tries to squirm out of your grip, but you gotta get in one good raspberry on her cheek before you let her go.
“Alright, why don’t you go upstairs and help Aunty Gina finish up dinner,” you tell her with a smile on your face. Her “help” in the kitchen is typically watching and holding spoons and spatulas on a step stool, but she’s at an age where she believes the whole dish would fall apart without her important contribution to it, so she goes rushing to the stairs. 
But she quickly comes running back while taking the uneaten bracelet off of her wrist. “Danny said to give this to you for your birthday,” she declares. Ever since meeting Jenny’s nephew she’s seemed to hang on to every word of his, and though you’ve never met the boy he seems to be a good kid, always polite and saying hello through your daughter, but has, as you've heard, an extreme affinity towards spinning a few too many fantastical stories. But your daughter is far too young to see him as anything but a friend so you doubt you have anything to worry about as of right now. 
She’s always so eager to tell you about everything, and you’re just as eager to listen. Your folks never wanted to hear anything from you, and you pray that your attentiveness will pay off one day when she is never afraid to come to you with your troubles. Maybe if you had that with your mother you wouldn’t be where you were.
“Well tell him I said thank you,” you say, as you pull it on your wrist, placing a small kiss on her forehead before she books it back to the stairs behind the counter. As you stand back up, to your surprise you find the customer now at the counter with a good stack of books. 
“Sorry to bother Miss…ummm…” the customer says nervously. 
“Love,” you clarify for him. “Y/N Love.”
He gives a shy smile at that, “Well Miss Love, I’m ‘bout ready to check out so…” he says gesturing to his tower of books. 
“Of course,” you answer and you begin to ring him up. He’s got quite a few so at least he makes the extra time staying down here somewhat worth it. 
“Whatcha readin’ there,” he asks you, pointing to the open book you’ve left to your side. You show him your copy of We have always lived in the castle. “I-is it any good?”
“I would say so,” you answer. Though that ending did hit a little too close to home, you think to yourself. 
“So umm, d-do you like to read?” he asks hesitantly as he quietly adds a copy of the book to his pile. 
“I’d be in the wrong business if I didn’t,” you joke, and he laughs a little too hard. “How ‘bout you?” you ask, wanting to not have an awkward silence, as you’re not even halfway through the stack. 
“Yeah, I-I love reading though I don’t got a lotta time for it these days,” he says with a guilty smile on his face. 
“Why’s that?” you ask, since it seems to be the only way this conversation could go. 
“I-I just started my residency at Charity Hospital,” he says bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m Sam by the way,” apparently realizing that he hadn’t made the proper introductions. 
“Y/N,” you say, giving him a small nod and a smile. “And congratulations on your residency,” you're almost done with the final few books, but you may or may not be taking your time to finish them up, wanting to prolong the conversation you’re having for a bit. 
“Thank you, and I- well, umm… I couldn’t help but overhear your daughter, but umm… Happy Birthday,” he says ducking his head, a bit embarrassed at his own admission. 
“Oh, thank you,” you say, your face heating up slightly that he had heard. 
“Your Husband’s a lucky man,” he says, though he does steal a quick glance at you, no doubt trying to gauge your reaction.
So this is what it’s about, you think to yourself. “I’m actually not…” you trail off, and hope that he gets the message. 
“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” he stated before his eyes widened as he realized what he just said. “I-I mean not glad like I’m happy that you-you’re not married, bu-but glad li-like I’m relieved that I hav-haven’t been trying to build up the courage to talk to a cute girl for the past few weeks only to find out she’s married already.” he blathers on and you can’t help but laugh. 
Your heart does flutter a bit at his confession. Everything about this feels like it should be perfect. Unfortunately for the both of you, you finally get a good look at his icy blue eyes that are a little too familiar for comfort, and it feels like your throat closes up. 
You can feel your stomach churning (and not just from the baby that fills it) and cold regret for not buying an extra pair of socks as you sit at the Greyhound terminal in Nashville, your feet starting practically turning into ice blocks. That cold November morning you had made a show of telling everybody you were gonna make a quick trip down to the shops for some eggs, now you’re almost a full state away praying that the bus gets here soon, jumping every time a set of headlights passes by and you're just barely keeping dry underneath the metal canopy. 
But for as cold as you are physically, your chest starts to heat up at the prospect that you’re so close to freedom from an even colder gaze. When the bus does get there you hardly sleep a wink afraid to let your guard down even now. You know how well he could sabotage your plans if he was so inclined, from small things like spoiling the surprise party you had planned for him to the major of ruining your chances to get into another school. 
You know he’s half a world away yet that still does little knowing what the most loyal of his are willing to do for him. It’s not until you finally make it to the train station in Atlanta that’ll take you down to New Orleans that you finally give in to your heavy eyelids, willing to trust strangers with your safety, aware they can’t hurt you any worse than those you know have done. 
You shake your head as you’re brought back to the present, and you hear him say something, “I’m sorry what?” you covertly wiggle your toes as you try to ground yourself and get sensation back in them as though you were just getting them out of the cold.
“I was just sayin’ there’s this club down on Bourbon that I been meanin’ to check out since movin’ down here, and I was hopin’ a local such as yourself could show me ‘round these parts,” he says, a nervous but hopeful smile on his lips. 
For a moment you can almost imagine saying yes to him, how he would take you out on the town, how he would kiss you, how he would throw your daughter up in the air. How maybe you could be happy with him.
But like a looming black cloud, in spite of the lowered volume, you hear what the new station is now playing, clear as a bell.
Oh please come to my arms and say you'll love me forever
For with the dawn, you'll be gone 
It’s almost as though He’s following you, serving as a constant reminder of what you did, and that you’re never allowed to imagine being with another man. You wordlessly turn off the radio before you’re forced to listen anymore. “Uhh, I-I’m sorry, I-I really don’t go out much,” you say, trying to shut this down as gently as you could. 
“Oh-uhh, that’s fine I umm,” he says, pivoting hard. “I’m more of a movie guy myself, I hear he’s got a new one out, and we can go and watch anything but that,” he gives a small laugh pointing to the radio, but quickly drops it upon seeing your grim expression. 
Without knowing it Sam just shut the coffin on any potential happenings between the two of you. “I’m sorry, it’s late and I gotta close up for the night,” you say softly, and he’s smart enough to take the hint. 
“O-of course,” he says looking down at the books he has in his hands. “But can you promise you’ll think about it?” he asks as he reaches the door to look back at you. 
Even before you open your mouth, you already know that your next words are going to make you lose a customer forever. “There’s nothing to think about,” you say, trying to feign apathy. Harsh as your words may be, you know this is far kinder to him in the long run as opposed to getting more involved with you. 
You watch him leave the store with a sagging shoulders and a long face, before you feel a hand meet violently with the back of your head, and you swivel around to see Jenny with an exasperated look on her face. “So a handsome, single, doctor who loves to read, and doesn’t mind that you already got a kid, asks you out and you say…” she trails off, seeming to only get more offended with every dreamy quality he had. 
“Don’tchu get like that Jenny,” you defend yourself, as you stomp to the door in order to flip the sign to closed and lock up for the night. “I’ve got a daughter to worry about and I don’t have time for a boyfriend right now.”
“Well newsflash Y/N,” she argues, “Rosie needs a daddy.”
You feel your hackles rising at that statement. “No she doesn’t,” you state firmly, not wanting to raise your voice, because you know better than anyone how easy it is to be overheard.
She deflates a little at your obvious fury at this line of questioning, before letting out a long tired sigh. “It’s just that… when we were at the park today… she asked me why she didn’t have one. And she… she just kept pressing,” she says obviously ashamed that she hurt you, but wanting to get across her reasoning. “What am I supposed to say to that? Especially when you won’t tell nobody what happened. I only got her to drop it when I took her to the candy shop.”
You feel guilty for snapping at your friend. Jenny Hodge had been an absolute godsend since you met her almost a year ago, when she and her new husband, Lee, had moved down from Alabama. Her arrival had coincided when Rosie started becoming aggressively mobile and insisted that running was the only way to get around anymore. And because she felt she needed practice with being a Mama before she had one of her own, she insisted on being your one and only babysitter, in exchange for free books every so often. 
The story around the block is that you are were the young widow who “tragically” lost her husband in an accident before he ever had the chance to meet your beautiful daughter, and with no one in the world left to turn to, you ended up on your “spinster” aunt and her “good friend” Susan’s doorstep. And Jenny, since hearing your story, has by far been your most fervent supporter outside of this house, with her support primarily coming in two flavors: 1) helping you with your daughter so she isn’t so cooped up in the store while you work and 2) trying to set you up with any moderately successful man.
“Y/N,” she says softly. “I get that it’s hard to get back out there, but you need to think about the bigger picture, because it’s only a matter of time before she starts asking you.”
You know she’s right, and that’s the worst part about it. Your little Rosie Love is a stubborn one, not to mention smart, always has been. Didn’t want to walk because she wanted to run. Hated her diaper so much she learned how to unpin it when she was barely a year old. Wanted to try to feed herself when she first took to solid food, and would snatch the spoon out of your hand when she could. She’s broken out of every play pen she’s ever been in. Hell, she was almost two weeks overdue, and the doctors were forced to induce you, she didn’t want to come out until she was good and ready.
She, like someone else you knew, is capable of throwing a wrench into any plan you make. For as endearing as it can be, it is all the more frustrating knowing exactly where she gets it from. 
With a long defeated sigh, you concede to her point and thank her for both her input and for being a good friend this past year. And maybe someday you’ll be ready to find another husband.
She has a wide cheshire-cat like grin as you say that, “And I’mma ‘bout to be a better one,” she practically sings. “Lee’s friend is in town, and I think you two would hit it off.” 
“And I think we wouldn’t,” you state, putting books back where they belong. 
“C’mon Y/N, I thought we were past this,” she whines.
“I did say someday, not today,” you emphasize.
“Y/N, your birthday’s comin’ up soon, and it ain’t like you’re gettin’ any younger. Besides Lee and I are already trying for a baby, so I ain’t gonna be so available much longer neither,” she says in a soft voice holding your hands in hers. “And you need to find someone you can rely on too, it’s not like you wanna end up like your Aunt Gina”
You say nothing not wanting to say anything incriminating about the relationship between your Aunts, as for all that you trust Jenny, you don’t trust her enough with somebody else’s secrets. 
“Just promise me you'll think about it at least,” she pleads, hands clasped over your own. 
What is it about people that, not trusting you when you answer the first time, and thinking given enough time you’ll come around? 
Yet you're no better as you let out a long tired sigh, before ultimately agreeing, if only to get her off your back. Or so you tell yourself. 
She tells you a bit about the man she has in mind for you, or more accurately she keeps insisting how perfect the two of you would be together.  In her mind it’ll be love at first sight, how he’ll love and accept Rosie as his own immediately, how she guarantees that you’ll be married within a year and be trying to give Rosie a little brother or sister. You have to bodily shove her out the door by that point lest she get into any more specifics in her attempt to sway you. 
Jenny’s a little older than you, but she is very much a romantic at heart, you suppose, though that’s the benefit of things going right in your life. 
But your story went wrong. 
“Why you in such a hurry to get out girl?” your accomplice would ask as he handed you the money (He had made it a point of order that you were never to handle any) the day before your escape. 
“There’s someone else,” you say simply, because it’s true and if they were to ever betray your trust this would be worse on them than on you. 
You got away with quite a bit back in the day like getting out of trouble for making out in a dark empty classroom by claiming to have been caught by surprise by your monthlies and now you couldn’t bear the thought of being seen like this. Or when you got hired by the library for the summer after you approached the front desk and claimed to be the new hire ready for her first day of training and nobody really bothered to check in with anybody else. Even that one time when you confidently strolled backstage at a music hall He had wanted to perform all to sneak them in through the back door and convinced just enough people that his band was meant to perform that night.
Your ability to make up stories on the fly and map things out in your head had led you to believe that you would make for a pretty good mystery writer. You had even tried to go to school to be one, though you told everyone it was to be a teacher, a far more respectable and womanly job.
Well not everyone.
He certainly knew. 
Knew about your talent for planning and story-telling, and was practically always in awe to see it in action. But this recognition came at the expense that he was aware of your tricks and he always knew how to throw you off just enough to make any plans you made go belly up. Whether it was something relatively small like figuring out you were planning a surprise party to the major… like when you tried to end things the first time around.
He called you almost every night when he was on tour, and you had done your best to relay all that was going on back in Memphis. And in spite of his insistence that he wants to hear about it, you suspect that he wasn’t being truthful. He especially seemed disgruntled when you made any mention of doing anything with anyone else. Your friends, his friends, even your own family weren’t safe from his ire.  
When He was here you would do everything together, yet now that you tell him about all that you’d been doing, there is a slight but noticeable edge when he speaks to you over the phone. Everytime you mention how you went to the movie theater or you went to the record store or the bookshop, it was almost always met with a solemn “we used to do that together.” 
You would have gone with him, had your parents let you, and He knows that so you don’t understand why he’s so sore about the fact that you’re not simply sitting on your hands back home waiting for him to return. 
So in an effort to spare his feelings you asked him about the things he was doing, you even go out of your way to say how happy you were when he was telling you about all of the fun things he had done on the road. You’re happy to hear it all and you thought 
You miss him just as fiercely but you don’t want it to stop you from living. 
But when you got your acceptance letter, you saw the writing on the wall. You both were going in different directions: you were going to be studying, were barely going to be home and his star just kept growing and growing each day taking him further out and making him harder to reach. You know you wanted this and you begin to suspect you may want it more than you want to stay with him, if staying with him meant being alone all the same. 
This was only confirmed in the weeks leading up to Prom when you couldn’t get a straight answer out of him of whether or not He would be able to make it. It was on you to practically plan everything down to what he would wear, while his whole contribution was to show up- maybe?
Whether He did show up or not that night, you thought the result would be the same with you officially breaking things off between you two. But you still held out hope that at least if he did come you would have one last good memory. 
And to your relief He does make it, but he’s a little off the whole night. Not in the sense that his mind is elsewhere, more like he’s trying to commit everything about the night into memory, and looking at you with sad eyes when he thinks you’re not looking. 
It all comes to a head when you’re parked outside of your house, and you’re sitting in a loaded silence with him at the wheel. He’s gripping onto that thing for dear life and you’re wondering if maybe you should save it, but you think you know yourself well enough to know that if you don’t say it now, you won't say it ever. 
So as he’s opening his mouth to say something, you cut him off with his name. 
“...I-I got accepted to Southwestern,” you blurted out to him and He looked so confused at your admission, but you push through. “I start in the fall, so I’m not gonna be home much anymore, and with y-you being on the road so much, I think it best that we-”
“Marry me,” he blurts out, panic etched across his face.
Your jaw is left practically on the floor as that was the last thing you ever expected out of his mouth. 
You would later find out that he went to Prom with the same intention as you did but it was in that moment that he realized you weren’t going to wait for him to come back did he want to lock you down. But you didn’t see that in the moment. 
What you saw at the time was the declaration that he was just as committed as you were, and so overwhelmed by the love you still felt for him at the time, you had no choice but to give an emphatic yes to him. 
“We’re gonna figure this out baby,” He promises with a kiss. 
That was the first time you tried to leave him.
“-Danny’s a real good singer Aunty. He told me he lives in Neverland and one day he would take me and-and he told me this is the only place in the whole word that they sell peanut butter cups,” you would hear as you made your way up the stairs connecting to the apartment above the store. You look into the small kitchen where you see your little girl sitting on the counter talking her aunt’s ear off idly dangling her little feet while holding a spatula you're not entirely sure is necessary. Gina looks over to you and gives you a playfully exasperated look, and you simply shrug your shoulders before moving into the small kitchen to pepper your little one's face in kisses. 
“Alright sticky missy,” you announce, blowing a raspberry on her cheek and swiping the utensil out of her hand as she trills in delight. “You go wash up for dinner now, ya’ hear, and go wake up Aunty, I think she’ll feel alot better seeing you.”
“Ok Mama,” she says. She is utterly fearless as she slides herself to get off of the counter, and lands on her feet below. You can’t help the swell of pride that bubbles up in your chest seeing it, how brave your little girl is. You hope that you can take it as a sign that you’re doing ok at this motherhood thing. 
Gina likes to say that you were just as bold at that age with the confidence of someone so sure they can take on the world, and in quieter moments she’ll lament how you lost that in you. You would be offended if you didn’t already know when exactly you lost it. 
She had always been your favorite Aunt until you were about twelve and and your father would coldly tell you she died and was in hell now. Rather than a funeral, the family got together to destroy her things and swear to never speak of her again. 
That didn’t stop her from visiting you one last time and telling you she was moving down to New Orleans with her friend Susan. She would take you to your favorite bookstore one last time in Memphis and promised that if you ever needed a place to stay, to not even hesitate to come, because she knew better than anyone what your family would do to girls who stepped out of line. 
For years the only evidence that she was even alive was the annual birthday and Christmas gift you would get from her all under the guise of Nancy Drew books stamped with the name of a bookstore all the way in New Orleans. You cherished them and it’s one of the few things you took after your parents kicked you out. 
You only wished you had taken the offer when your father had kicked you out and you were forced to rely on someone else. 
“So I hear you broke another heart,” Gina idly says as she starts scooping some rice onto a plate.
You let out a long sigh, “When did Jenny find the time to tell you?” You’re more amazed than annoyed considering she didn’t leave your sight once down stairs. 
“Jenny?” she says, raising a brow. “No Sue told me earlier how Lou from King’s Cafe ‘s been askin’ after you.”
Lou who always had extra beignets to give away when you took Rosie for a walk in the mornings. He recently asked if you had ever been on the Algiers ferry, and how beautiful it looked at night.
…You’ve been taking a different route to the playground since then. 
“Is my love life just everybody’s business,” you ask frustrated that you weren’t even given a five minute break from this. 
“In this house: yes,” she states, a grin on her face. 
“Gina if this is about me movin’ out, you can talk to me, I’m a big girl,” you insist, trying to deflect and not have to think about it anymore. 
“Sweetheart,” she says solemnly, placing a hand on your cheek. I may not be your mama, but I do think that you need to think about what’s best for Rosie,” she insists as she puts place mats down on the table. 
Gina’s a little closer to the situation than Jenny, as she had asked no questions as to why you all of a sudden needed a place to stay far from your parents with nary a husband or boyfriend in sight to take responsibility for the baby growing within you. She had also been the one to help spread the tragic young widow narrative, and for as much of a gossip she can be, you know she’s a steel trap for secrets that matter. 
“What does me getting, or not getting, a boyfriend have to do with Rosie?”
“A boyfriend? Nothing,” she dismisses. “A husband on the other hand…”she says with a smile.
“Don’tchu come talkin’ to me ‘bout gettin’ a husband,” you say, handing her another plate of food. 
She laughs at that, “It’s not just about you gettin’ a husband, it’s about Rosie gettin’ a father,” she insists amused at your mulishness. 
“Not you too,” you mourn what you thought was going to be a quiet evening. 
“I’m just sayin’ that every child deserves two parents,” putting the lid back on the pot. 
“She’s got three mama’s,” you counter.
“No,” she says waving the wooden spoon in front of your face. “She’s got one mama and two grandmas that spoil her rotten behind your back.” You open your mouth to protest, until she quickly follows up with, “Oh speak of the devil herself,” as you see your little troublemaker dragging Susan by the hand to the table, whom you had to bully into taking a rest to somewhat alleviate the migraine she had been having for most of the day.
Your daughter can talk for hours if left unchecked and you're eager to hear all of it as she bounces from subject to subject at the dinner table. You had always felt somewhat guilty intruding on their space, but Gina insists nothing of the sort and Susan jokes that the two of them are getting the full kid/grandkid experience through you and Rosie, since the traditional way ain’t for them.
Between bites she regaled the three of you with all that she did today which included seeing a dog, the playground being shiny, spinning around so fast on the merry-go-round she almost went into space, made friends with some of the ducks, saw another dog, Danny gave her his popcorn, got a lot of candy from the candy shop, and gave some jelly beans to the last dog she saw today, but only the green ones she doesn’t like, and then feeling bad about it and giving it some of the red ones to even it out.
She doesn’t mention anything to you about asking Jenny about why she doesn't have a daddy, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the first break you’ve had all day. Some may say you indulge her too much, but all three grown women at this table know exactly how it feels to have their thoughts and feelings ignored, and you all had come to the mutual understanding that Rosie would never have to feel this way in this house.
“Mama, I forgot to tell you,” Rosie states after she shoveled the last of her food into her mouth. “Barbie got a new job today!” she delights as she thrusts the doll in your face. 
“Really?” you say trying to match even a quarter of her excitement. “Is she mmm… a firefighter?”
“No!” she squeals, delighted in the game you play with her. 
Making a big show of putting a finger to your temple and closing one eye, apparently deep in thought, you ask, “Is she a… detective?” 
“No that was yesterday!” she’s practically buzzing to tell you, but holds it in to keep this game going.
“Oh!” you say, pretending to have a lightbulb moment. “She’s a wizard!” You know your daughter well enough, so you’re reasonably confident in your guess knowing that Jenny took her to see that Disney movie today. 
“No,” she laughs, “She’s an actress, but she also sings in all her movies.”
“O-oh,” you say, genuinely caught off guard by that. “Why’s that?” It’s certainly not an unusual thing for a little girl to declare, but for your daughter it most definitely was. When she declared what Barbie was going to be it was always influenced by something she saw that day. Sometimes she was a baker, sometimes a ballerina, even one memorable time a bus driver, but this is a first. Even when she has seen movies with actors in it she didn’t quite understand the concept that those aren’t their real jobs on screen, and she would pick that, which is why you guessed wizard.
“Because Danny does that,” she declares, as she starts to make Barbie dance on the dinner table.
And then it made sense, your daughter’s friend, Danny, who according to Jenny, has a penchant for making up stories. To your daughter the boy’s been a cowboy, a soldier, he’s as strong as superman, can play any instrument, and now apparently is a famous actor. 
You give an amused huff, “I see Danny’s at it again,” you state, as you take her plate. It’s a literal miracle that Jenny’s impromptu trip to the candy store didn’t spoil her appetite, and but you don’t know how much of an appetite she’ll have for dessert so you decide to just split a slice of King cake with her. 
“At what mama?” she asks as Gina wipes some of her food off her face. 
“He’s telling stories again,” you say as you bring Gina and Susan their dessert plates. 
“No he’s not,” she states, furrowing her brow, and you can’t help but quirk a smile at how stressed she looks as you sit down. “I saw it myself.” 
“I’m sure you did, but Honey, it's just… sometimes boys have a habit of telling… tall tales,” you suppose that’s the nice way of putting it. It’s a fine line you walk with her, wanting to have her believe in herself most of all, but also wanting her to not believe everything she’s told, especially by boys. You’re the textbook example of what happens to supposedly smart girls who get in too deep with charming boys.
“But it’s true mama,” she insists, raising her voice a bit. 
“Sweetheart, I think he means, he wants to be that when he grows up,” you try to gently justify, as you subtly try to nudge the fork closer to her. 
“No mama, I saw it,” she asserts, getting progressively more upset defending her friend. “He is a famous actor and he was singing and dancing at the theater.”
“And I’m sure he’s gonna be a big star one day when he’s all grown up,” you try to assuage how worked up she’s getting. “But I don’t think he’s one right now.” 
“No mama!” she yells at the top of her lungs, angry tears streaming down her face. “You’re a liar!” You feel your stomach drop to the floor and she herself looks shocked at what she just said. She proceeds to cry even harder before turning tail and running straight into the room you share with her and slamming the door as hard as she could. 
When you were far enough away, and somewhat comfortable in your new environment in Your Aunties home, the first thing you did was read nearly every book about motherhood you could find. You were determined to do this right as you had made the unilateral decision for your baby to only have one parent. So you decided as a means of making up for it you would be all the parent she would need. 
Doubt creeps into the back of your throat that you made the wrong decision and that you in fact were not enough on your own and that she never would have done that if He were around. 
“You want me to go talk to her?” Gina would ask after hearing your door slam shut. 
As bad as you want to say yes from the exhausting day you’ve had so far, you’re not about to foist your duties as a mother off onto her right now. She understands but you don’t miss the pointed look she gives to Sue, as she walks away to clean up dinner, and you bury your hand in your face hoping if you wish hard enough this day will finally come to a close. 
“I remember the first time I yelled at my mama,” Sue off-handedly says after a few minutes. “Always too scared that that wretched woman would beat me black and blue if I was ever less than perfect,” she takes a sip of her tea. “And she did just that when I got fed up with all her teasing about me getting a boyfriend.”
“I… I don’t understand.”
“What I’m gettin’ at is… I was never comfortable enough with my own mother to be angry with her.”
“Am I bad at this?” 
“You’re still new at this Hon,” she reassures you. “There's a big difference.”
Despite the fact that Gina was the one related to you by blood, Sue’s the only one in the world who even has an inkling as to what exactly you left behind. And that is only because she was a front row spectator to it.
You had managed to get permission to leave the hotel room for a few hours while He was on set that day. He had brought you down from Memphis, not wanting you so far out of reach and yet you were still pretty much kept confined. You had long since exhausted the books you had brought for the trip, and you were practically itching to get out. 
Books were your only escape from this place. Where you could vicariously solve a mystery or meet royalty or stop a war or any other number of exciting things in your head. But inevitably you close the book and the story ends and your back in this fucking hotel room. 
You realize by getting more books you're just masking a symptom rather than actually treating the illness. You couldn’t take it anymore and had begged Him to at least let you go to a bookstore to keep you occupied, because by that point you were willing to pay the price for it. 
Sue had been the only one in the store the day but you hadn’t really taken notice of her, your eyes had been darting around everywhere trying to find Gina. Sonny was in there as well, as you were only able to bargain your way to being in here and picking out the books, but not enough to be able to enter the store alone. Sonny had been the one to pull the short straw and had been put on Y/N duty today. Usually that consisted of sitting in the hotel and making sure you didn’t go anywhere while also completely ignoring you.
Everybody knows the story of the last guy that paid a little too much attention to you. You still couldn’t look at raw ground beef without crying.
Outside of the occasional gathering you don’t really interact with anybody out of the immediate vicinity of home. It’s funny how He can put you in a room filled to the brim with his people yet make you feel so alone at the same time. It would be amazing if it didn’t make you feel so awful at the same time. 
It’s a terrible thing He does, but it’s made all the worse that so many people can see what he’s doing keeping you prisoner and isolated and yet no one will ever dare breach it 
If anything they actually help him as they all report to him practically what you did that day, do their best to talk you out of leaving the room, and even when you do insist on going off on your own, the men are quick to remind you that He won’t like it one bit. They won’t physically stop you, (they know the worst thing they can do is put their hands on you) but you know that’s where their “help” begins and ends. 
At one point you even tried to play ball and asked for His permission last time you were in LA and you had wanted to go to the Griffith Observatory. You had asked in advance, agreed to only being there for two hours, and even gave in to being essentially chaperoned from a distance. Initially He had agreed to the terms and You thought you had done good and maybe you were finally coming to somewhat of a middle ground with him. 
But in the days leading up to the trip He would ask for favors in return. They all just happened to be things you had refused to do for him up until that point. When you refused He would at first seemingly accept your answer, and then He would idly remind you of your upcoming trip before asking you again. You weren’t stupid enough to miss the connection and so you did what you thought you had to do for just the slightest taste of freedom.
Who are you kidding?
You practically begged and did tricks for Him like a dog for just the slightest bit of slack on your leash. 
You could barely move the morning of the trip both physically and emotionally drained from what he had you do the night before, but you still persevered if only to make all that you went through worth it.
It wasn’t worth it. 
Everything you saw that day was completely soured by what you had to do to get there. Every step felt like agony, and you had to make a conscious effort to not walk funny. And before you knew it the two hours were up and Red was telling you it was time to leave. 
You don’t know what’s worse, the punishments or the favors. 
You had to go the favor route today as otherwise he would have simply sent for someone to get you whatever books they could find, rather than letting you pick. You already know you’re going to get it when he finds out you went to a different bookstore than initially planned. You thought you could at the very least make it worth it by seeing one familiar face, but even fate denied you that as Gina was nowhere to be seen. 
It was cold enough to justify wearing something to cover up most of the bruises, but that didn’t mean they were all hidden. You wouldn’t know it at the time but your skittishness coupled with the bruises struck a chord with Susan before you fully checked out of the store.
“I’m sorry if this sounds like an odd question but ummm…” you say, glancing around, making sure that Sonny was too far to hear. “Does Gina work here?”
Sue immediately tenses up, and you curse your caginess, as you reassure her that you’re Gina’s niece, Y/N. She seems to relax hearing that so at least she knows that you try to maintain a good relationship, sporadic your letters may be. 
“What happened there honey?” she asks, gesturing to your wrist that has a ring of bruises on it, which you quickly move to hide. You internally curse yourself for your sloppiness. He doesn’t mean to hurt you but he tends to lose himself and be a little rougher especially when he’s worried about something else. 
He’s been a little rougher for a few months now.
“Oh-ummm,” you steal a glance at Sonny, who was making his way to the counter. “Yes I am ready to check out.” Gesturing to the three towers of books you’ve managed to accumulate.
This doesn’t go unnoticed by Sue nor does she miss Sonny's statement of remembering the rules as to what you’re allowed to get, if her disapproving look is anything to go by. He’s fine with you reading but doesn’t like you reading books that will put “ideas” in your head. 
You don’t exactly know what that means as the standards seem to change depending on His mood and it’s always a gamble as to what he will or won’t allow you to have. You fear the day He grows the same hatred for fictional men that he has for any man within your vicinity. 
You're genuinely sad when it comes time to pay, (Well Sonny pays, He doesn’t like the idea of you handling money), and then Susan does something you could never have anticipated in a million years as Sonny grabs one stack and goes to put it in the car. 
You wished it had been anybody but Sonny that day. His last girlfriend, whom he swore he was gonna make Mrs. Sonny West, had made the mistake of trying to befriend you outside of gatherings. She stopped by the house frequently just to visit and even invited you out to the salon. 
And it was your mistake to believe you could have a friend that he would finally approve of. Friend or family, He eventually found something to disapprove of for everybody close to you previously. You thought that because she was already nominally part of the group, it would be fine to go.  
He made it clear by the time you got home that it wasn’t. 
You never saw her again after that and Sonny’s resented you ever since. You can hardly blame him, it’s easier to point the finger at you for not anticipating the unspoken rules, as opposed to the man who signs his checks and makes the rules. 
You know that even the slightest toe out of line will be reported back to Him in the worst light. So you had to be on your best behavior. 
“Y’know I highly recommend this book,” Sue says, sliding the book she had been reading at the counter to you. 
Wide Sargasso Sea, the cover reads.
“Oh thank you but I already paid,” you say, almost afraid of this conversation. “And besides I already have enough books.”
“Sweetheart you can never have too many,” she insists and without looking opens it up to the first page where you see a little handwritten note. She closes it up before you can see what it says and slyly slots it in the middle of a stack. 
Later on when you feel sufficiently safe enough to look at it you nearly burst into tears.
In case you need help
feel free to call
(xxx-xxxx)
Such a small thing really, but it’s the most human connection you’ve had with anyone else but Him in a long time. 
You spend the next hour or two committing that string of numbers to memory before you proceed to rip out that page, shred it, and flush the remnants down the toilet. 
Even when you were burning the number into your brain, you never thought you would have ever had the guts to use it. Back when you thought you could accept what looked to be your fate. 
It would be unfair to say it was all bad, after all there was a reason you did fall for Him in the first place. When you would read mysteries and He would listen to you criticize the culprits' plans and schemes and he would look in awe at how you would’ve gotten away with it. Or how fun it was to sneak out with him, your family none the wiser. Even when things got bad and it felt like He was the only one that would talk to you for days, you cherished it because it truly felt like he was your life line. 
When things were good they were great, it was just when they were bad did you start to recognize them. 
Things were bad a lot towards the end. 
Gladys had been one of the few willing to go to bat for you, and perhaps the only one who He would listen to. She was the only one who could set him straight when he got huffy at the thought of you having some basic independence of being able to go outside and not needing to be watched like a child all the time. 
She was the one you went to with your suspicions and early symptoms, when you were too afraid to go to the doctor that reported right back to Him. 
She had also been the only one who knew your fears about having this baby. In your mind there were a total of two possibilities for the life the baby would live. One that they would live a life like yours, isolated within the walls of the house under their fathers obsessive gaze, never to experience the outside world. Or two He would hate the baby on principle and see it as just competition for your time and attention like he did with everybody else.
She did her best to try to quell your fears, trying to assert He would never do either of those things, especially, the last one. 
But you saw it in her eyes how she knows how sour He would get when he would come home to find you playing with his younger cousins. How He gets when someone new so much as looks your way a beat too long, or has the gall to get your attention.
How you’re barely allowed to talk to other girls your own age and that’s only saved for special occasions when his friends bring their girlfriends and He’s otherwise occupied. And even then He has a penchant for just removing you from them just to have you sit with him, and you’re out in the awkward position of being the odd one out in his group.
How when you did gather up the nerve to bring up the topic of babies to him one night his answer was “I ain’t ready to share ya’ darlin’, I don’t think I’ll eva be.”
But your most hard-hitting evidence was what happened to your dog, Hardy. He had been an old stray you saw skulking around the property, and whom you took in when He was touring. Hardy didn’t have much of an interest in running around or playing fetch, just sitting by your side and eating treats. 
Everything was good until He returned. You knew it was gonna be trouble the moment He walked through the door and saw you scratching the dog’s belly. Inspite of the fact that Hardy was usually tolerant of strangers, something about Him immediately put the usually placid dog on edge. You immediately got to work on trying to find some sort of compromise in regards to him, and offered everything from making Hardy a permanently outside dog to even being willing to have him be boarded with a family member while He was home. 
You had asked Gladys where Hardy was the very next morning when you couldn’t find him anywhere, only to be told that He had taken him out for a walk. You didn’t have the heart to be told a lie when He returned alone.
He started taking you with him at that point, and you hardly knew a moment's peace after that.
Your attention is not your own to freely give away, let alone your affection, He expects it all to go to him. He did lord knows what to a dog that had had the misfortune of occupying some of your time when he was there, you hardly wanted to chance the life of a baby that would need all of it. 
However in spite of all of that, you thought with her by your side you would be able to weather his reaction, whatever it may be. Even if your worst fear came to be and He didn’t really want anything to do with the baby, you could at least have someone to love the baby just as fiercely even when you were otherwise occupied by Him. It wasn’t necessarily fair, but you could somewhat see the function of it, and in spite of the weariness he’s instilled in you by that point, you were still reasonably confident in your ability to plan for the long term.
And then Gladys died.
And you were left to navigate the hardest thing you could face alone. 
“Ain’t nobody ever talks about how hard this can be. Or how easy it is to mess up,” Sue continues as she polishes off her plate. “But maybe…” she prods. “If you had a partner to help ease the load, you wouldn’t doubt yourself so much.”
You groan at this point wanting to truly be done with this day already. “Not this again,” you bemoan. 
“Honey,” she says with a firm but comforting grip on your shoulder. “I know a thing or two about leaving bad things behind, but I do think sometimes you need to let someone else in to help you recover,” she says. And almost like they rehearsed it, Gina comes in with a mug of tea, and a kiss to Susan’s forehead as she demands she go back to bed to rest up.
You want to argue back that you did a good enough job of recovering by yourself, but that’s hardly fair to say considering how you were about as helpless as Rosie herself that first year and a half you were here. You had thought that you would’ve been out of here maybe a couple months after giving birth, and been in a completely new place with no ties whatsoever. But the reality is that there’s no possible way you or Rosie would have survived without the help they were so willing to give. 
And that’s all they’re trying to do now. 
You take a minute to fully gather yourself, as you realize you being upset won’t help Rosie in the slightest. You also pick up the slice of cake, as you don’t want her to think she’s being punished for being upset with you. 
You find her hiding underneath the blankets of the bed you share with her and you can only hear sniffling at this point. You try to approach this delicately, as this is new territory for the both of you, so you place the cake on the nightstand, crawl underneath the sheets with her, and allow for her to come to you. Luckily you don’t have to wait for long.
“Mama!” she cries as she buries her face in your bosom, her tears already soaking through the cotton material. “Mama, I didn’t mean it! Please don’t be mad! I’m sorry Mama! Please don’t leave.”
“Sweetheart it’s okay,” you reassure her, running your nails up and down her back, as it always did the trick of settling her down when she was a baby. “Mama’s not goin’ anywhere without you. I’m always gonna be with you.” You hardly put her down her first year of life, going against all the books and holding her at just about every possible moment, so you can hardly fathom where she got this idea in her head that you would leave if you got upset with her. But remembering what Jenny had told you earlier, you have the sneaking suspicion it is related to her noticing the lack of a father in her life. 
“I’m sorry mama! I’m sorry…” she repeats over and over again, and for each time you make sure to reassure her that nothing she could ever do would make you leave. 
Finally when she’s tired herself out and her eyes are red and raw do you finally speak. “Rosie, it’s okay to be mad, but it’s not okay to be mean, because you’re mad,” you say softly to her running your nails on her back, something that has always soothed her. 
She rubs her eyes and wipes her runny nose before looking up at you again, and gives a groggy “I understand Mama.” 
“Good,” you say, kissing her forehead. “Now can you help me finish this cake.” 
You see her eyes widen before she eagerly grabs the fork and dives right in. With your help, it’s not long before it’s almost entirely gone and when she takes that final bite of the cake she goes wide-eyed sticking her fingers in her mouth to pick out the errant piece. “What’s this Mama?” she says holding the little porcelain baby up. 
“Oh you found it Rosie,” you say excitedly, “This means you’re going to have good luck.”
“... Like a wish?”
“Sort of,” you answer.
She gives an excited shriek before she clasps the little figurine in her hands and whispers something almost inaudible to it, with the only recognizable words being “Danny” and “Neverland.” You’re slightly disappointed that your lesson hadn’t quite landed today, but you choose to leave it for now, as you don’t see the harm in wishing to go to a non-existent magical place. 
Once teeth are brushed and pajamas are put on, Rosie settles into bed, but not before making sure you’re not about to break your long-held tradition of storytime. She’s the type of kid who when she likes one story she demands to hear it over and over again. 
And lately she’s latched onto Rapunzel. 
The whole concept does unsettle you greatly, for how close it is to your story. But whatever qualms you have with the story you’re not gonna deny your daughter, because your problems are your own cross to bear, not hers. 
As you read it you get to the part where the witch mother casts her out of the tower and she wanders the forests with her children. You wonder if Rapunzel ever found joy in those years away from the mother who isolated her, away from the prince who could have taken advantage of her. She survived not only on her own, but kept others alive as well. WHat did she do? Did she forage and hunt for her babies, did she find a village where she could work to support her family? 
Sometimes you wonder if she did truly live happily after the end of the story, or if she traded one cage for another as you did before. 
Your daughter is long asleep by the time you reach the happily ever after part of the story. She’s still in the habit of sucking her thumb at night, so you gently remove it, and put one of her favorite stuffies in her arms. And that marks the end of your daily duties, so in theory you should be able to finally fall asleep and be done with this day. 
In theory.
In actuality you creep out of the bed you share with your daughter into the single bathroom of the apartment. Usually her steady breathing tends to be enough to get you to fall asleep, it’s been that way ever since she was a baby, but you’re left feeling agitated having had to think of Him more than usual today. 
Not just because of the song on the radio, but Rosie’s outburst reminded you far too much of her father. It feels like the worst injustice that she mimics someone who isn’t even here.
Now that ain’t my fault now is it darlin’? A familiar voice whispers in your mind. You feel a shudder run down your spine at the thought of him, not to mention the way you shamefully feel yourself pool within your underwear. You slide down the bathroom door, out of sight of the mirror, as though that will prevent you from facing what you’re about to do. You even close your eyes for good measure as your hand reaches your folds and your fingers caress the slick outer lips of your pussy. 
You had tried to ignore this part of yourself for so long. You justified it during your pregnancy, as your body had been making you want to do other stupid things like sleep right in the middle of the store or eat paint chips. Even after giving birth and your inner feelings remaining unchanged, you justified it by thinking you were just particularly lonely, and for all that he kept you isolated, you were never alone when you were with him. Or that he was the only man you ever knew that way so he’s all you had to go off of in order to satisfy these urges.
For as much as your mind curses Him for ever coming into your life, even after all these years, your body has yet to catch up. 
You’re far from unique in your desire for him, but it’s especially shameful for you as you know what he’s truly like. It’s like scratching a mosquito bite, you may know that it’ll just make the itching worse, but dear god did it feel good in the moment. 
But even that is far from an accurate description as you plunge your on fingers into your sopping channel in a poor imitation of what you remember. 
You bite your lip in an effort to keep noises at bay but it just makes you concentrate on the wet squelching sounds echoing through the bathroom as you plunge your fingers into yourself. The sharp sting of pain forcing your mind back to where you experience the most of it. 
“You’re so sweet darlin’,” he purrs, his jaw glistening from your juices having just made a feast of you for the past hour or so. He had made it a game to see how close he could bring you without actually letting you cum, something he tends to do when someone looks your way for a little too long, as though he means to re-establish his claim over you. That only he can give you pleasure like this but take it away on a whim if he chooses. 
“No more…” you beg, new tears forming and following the trail previously set, your lips undoubtedly bruised from how much you have been chewing on them throughout. “Please,” your thighs aching from the death grip he has them in, undoubtedly leaving bruises for you to feel in the morning. 
“Alright,” he says seemingly conceding. But before you can breathe a sigh of relief, he continues, “we’ll switch it up for tonight.”
He flips you over to your front, spreads your legs wide open again, and dives right back in. 
You can’t help the way you’re left trembling from the memory, but what does shake you somewhat is the when you realize that it’s not simply the ghost of the memory that is making you feel that bruising pressure on your inner thigh, but in fact your own hand keeping it there. 
Still the masochist within you that yearns for the ghost of a man you once thought you knew takes a hold and refuses to let go now that you’re so close to release. So you give in and continue your frantic movements biting down hard on your lip to prevent any errant cries from leaving, and grip onto your thigh for dear life, even now trying to deny yourself that you want him here with you.
As you’re coming down from your high, you fight back your tears of shame. Trying to remind yourself why you left in the first place. How for all the moments he made you feel amazing, they weren’t worth the amount of grief he caused you on a near day-to-day basis.
Grief he’s still causing you more like it. 
You don’t think you could have written a better love story in the beginning. You met him when your eyes locked on each other from across your favorite bookstore back in Memphis. He had oh so shyly approached you and asked what you were reading, a bit starry eyed as he listened. Back then and arguably still the concept of a man listening to you was such a novel and unique thing to experience. 
It progressed from there, hand-holding in the school hallway, shared milkshakes at the local diner, and Sunday dinners with his family. Of course there were the less than wholesome aspects of your relationship of stray hands when no one was looking and heated kisses after a particularly rousing performance.
Truly the hallmarks of the greatest love story the world had ever seen. 
If only you knew how wrong a love story can go, because your story went very wrong. 
You vividly remember your first time with him.
Undoubtedly the cruelest thing he ever did to you.
You were never supposed to find out about the other girls, well that’s not true. The newspapers sure knew about them but he had convinced you that it was all nonsense and that he would never do that to you. All of his friends knew, hell even some of their girlfriends knew, but ideally you were never supposed to find out. 
But the only chink in the armor was that there was in fact someone who had wanted you out as soon as he stepped in. Fact of the matter is that he was practically giddy as he told you what your fiance had been doing on the road up until that point. You were heartbroken and humiliated as to what he did and even more so when you learned he had been gearing up to break up with you the night he proposed, but only stopped when he realized that you wouldn’t be waiting for him, once his career settled.
He had been calling your house non-stop and sending his friends over all with the mission to coax you into talking to him. Worse still he even got your own friends in on it and now you can’t have a single conversation with any of them that doesn’t turn into them telling you how sorry he feels for hurting you and how he desperately wants you back. 
The only people, aside from his manager, that were happy at this development were your parents. They had liked him up until he started to really take off in his career, and they wanted none of the controversy, especially when it came to your squeaky clean, good girl image they had for you. 
They’ve been walking around with the smuggest “I told you so” looks ever since you announced that you were done with him. If only they knew their good girl had been sneaking in her boyfriend for the past three years and had a whole routine for doing so.
But the downside to this is that He was just as aware of the routine as you were. And despite it having been awhile he evidently remembered enough as he stood outside your window, right after all the lights in your house had gone out. 
“Get outta here,” you hiss at him, opening the window just a crack. “You’re gonna wake up my parents.”
“Baby I gotta talk to you,” he pleads, his face utterly heartbroken. Guilt eats at you, knowing how there were days you wished you could go back to not knowing at all. But then you get angry at not only him but yourself for these thoughts. 
If only all of your love for him had died the moment you found out, you would’ve had the strength to shut the window on him that night, and your life probably would’ve taken a very different course. 
But no, you’re hurt and you felt that you had to have the final word. “Talk to one a your other girls,” you say as you move to close your window but he beats you to it and ends up opening it wider, allowing for him to fully step into your space. 
“Get out,” you say severely. “Get out, or I’ll scream.” 
“Darlin’, please listen,” he begs.
“Don’tchu ‘baby’ ‘darlin’ me,” you whisper-yell. 
“I swear things’ll be different this time round,” he pleads, clasping his hands in yours. 
“I’m done with your nonsense, I want you outta my house and outta my life.” tears are already streaming down your face and you make no motion to wipe them away. If he’s gonna hurt you like this he deserves to know. 
He looks at you. Truly looks at you and sees that you’re dead serious about this, that for you there is no coming back from this. 
“Okay,” he says solemnly, looking down at you more defeated than you’ve ever seen him, unfelled tears doting his eyes, and his bottom lip trembling. 
That takes you by surprise, but you try not to show it. “Good,” you say, trying to stamp down the urge to be mad that he’s not fighting harder. There is a hurricane of emotions going through your entire being, hating him and loving him at the same time, but you recognize that you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being able to sort through said emotions while he’s here. 
“But…”
“But?” you say, confused as to what more there is to say. 
“Let me have you,” he begs breathlessly, stepping closer to you, boxing you into the wall behind you. “Just for tonight,” he clarifies as though that’s gonna make it better.
That offends you but you can’t afford to raise your voice so you hiss at him that it’s not as though you didn’t offer when he was here. “I ain’t ever gonna forgive myself for bein’ so stupid and steppin’ out on you, I-I thought I had more time, tha-that we’d got the rest of our lives together,” he says his voice painfully small, and his eyes pleading with you to agree. 
Your heart swells hearing his words, pleading with your brain to forgive him seeing how much pain the thought of never being with you again is causing the both of you. Another, unmentionable part is also hounding your brain to accept his offer if only for the fact that you had wanted this yourself for so long.
“If-If I do that…” you say in a low voice, your face burning as to what the both of you want but aren’t saying aloud. “Then you’ll leave and never come back?” though even as you say that you’re not exactly sure how you feel over that prospect.
“Just one night sweetheart,” he begs, giving you a quick desperate kiss to your lips. “One night to know what a life with you could’ve been like, and I’ll be outta yer hair forever,” he says with a quick peck to your lips. 
He makes it almost sound romantic, not like he’s quite literally backing you into a corner, and coaxing you into something you’re not sure you want just so that you would finally know peace from him. But that's far from your mind as that little bit of contact does something to you and it’s like opening the floodgates for all the feelings for him you’ve been trying to bury. 
It feels like you're transported to almost a year ago when, he would sneak his way back into your room after having said his goodbyes to your family and parking his car around the corner out of view. How you both move your blankets and pillows onto the floor to avoid the creaky springs of your mattress, how you both keep your voices low, and muffle most sounds with the pillows, how he kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his shirt before slowly undressing you, your body being treated like a present to unwrap. 
Like this it’s easy to forget what he did, easy to forget the pain he’s caused when he’s treating you so sweetly. Kissing every inch of skin, nipping at your sensitive skin every so often, before laving at the bruising area with his tongue. You bite down on your lip hard, willing yourself to keep a cap on the filthy moans and declarations of love alike. 
You had done things with him before but it had never felt quite like this. He had always been insistent that you wait until the wedding night for that, wanting to savor you and all you had to offer before the time came. Which made it feel all the worse when you did find out about those other girls. Your friends had tried to justify it by saying that he was just getting in some “practice” for you, but that hardly made it feel any better. 
But the way he touches you, so sure of his newfound skills, it’s almost easy to forgive him. He treats you almost deceptively sweet, and for as hard as you try to keep yourself quiet, you admittedly don’t do a great job at it. But you manage to keep a good enough lid on yourself. But as it goes on it feels like he himself forgets that he had to do the same, as moans and groans alike continue to escape from his mouth. 
That should’ve been your first clue that he was up to something, but by then as he continues to bury himself deeper and deeper into you, you can’t focus on much else. Had you been thinking straight you would remember he arguably has better control of himself than you do, as he often would tease you over it. 
But in the moment that’s not what you’re thinking about. All you had on your brain was him, and how good and right he felt.
If you could go back in time you think you would’ve strangled your younger, far more naive self, as now in retrospect it became clear what he was planning on doing. He had no qualms to exposing what you had done already with him if it meant merely getting a chance to talk to you, why wouldn’t he take the opportunity to go full scorched earth if given the chance. 
He continues his steady rhythm, and when he whispers in your ear, “It’s only ever gonna be you, darlin’,” you find yourself letting out a silent scream. Your eyes screwed shut, so lost in the pleasure of it all, you would only get the tail-end of the disdainful look he would give upon failing to get you to crack. 
Still you vividly remember how conflicted you did feel in the moment, how for all that it felt good, it also made your stomach turn, for all the hurt he’s caused you yet how deceptively sweet he could be to you. It just gave you a serious case of whiplash. 
But you were so focused on keeping as quiet as possible not even being able to fathom the heap of trouble you would be in should your parents ever find out. You could hardly fathom the agent of your destruction laid within you, but it wasn’t until it was too late did it truly click. 
That devious look he had in his eyes, the one that spoke nothing but trouble. The very same look that seemingly first trapped you all those years ago when you caught it staring at you from across the bookstore. He picked up his rhythm, not allowing for you to fully recover, from the last time, as he pistons into you seeking out release for himself.
You were so dizzy in that moment you didn’t register how he raised his hand onto your night table, before quickly slamming it three times into the wall. 
The very wall you shared with your parents. 
Even in the moment you didn’t fully recognize what he had just done, everything sort of blurring together. Before you can even hope to get your bearings, he’s spinning the both of you around so that you now were on top of him, his fingers digging bruises into your hips, as he thrusts back up into you, no longer trying to feign tenderness, as he seems to rip another climax from you as he lets an unrestrained groan fall from his lips, while your inner walls tighten around him. 
Even in your haze, you realize that this is bad, and you manage to gather yourself enough to slap your hand over his mouth, but that does little to muffle the singer. Especially as it seems as though he's hellbent to be heard. “What did you just do?” you ask unbelieving, frozen in fear even as you hear the muffled shouts of your father through the wall. You feel underneath your palm as his mouth curls into a grin, as he shudders and you feel his hot seed burn you from within. And that’s when you hear the powerful footfalls of your father burst out of his room before he slams open your bedroom door. 
You can only imagine the image you make at that moment, naked sitting astride the nearly fully clothed boy you had sworn up and down for weeks you were done for good with. “What in the hell is going on in here!” your father shouts at the top of his lungs.
Everything after that happens in a blur of your fathers harsh shouts and the sharp sting that comes from your mothers hand across your face as she calls you a whore. By the time it’s all said and done you’re on your knees at the front door begging them to let you back into the house. 
“Take her with you,” your daddy practically spat at him as he tossed you to your knees outside of what was once your home. “I didn’t raise no whores, and you seem to now be in the business a collectin’ them.” 
You can almost hear the sound of a rattlesnake as his arm coils around your shoulder, laying his jacket over your weeping form like a gentleman. “Don’tchu worry baby,” he whispers in your ear. 
He’s almost angelic in his appearance, playing the savior role well, having escaped your home relatively unscathed and in remarkably high-spirits for the situation. But you don’t have much of a choice in the moment, remembering Gina’s words of how easily this family will toss aside wayward women, but it never truly sunk in that you were liable to become one. 
He would tell everybody that your daddy had thrown you out after asserting that you still wanted to be with Him in spite of all of that he’s done, and your folks practically disowned you for it. You let him say what he wants because you don’t see a point in telling the truth and if you’re being honest, part of you wants to believe it. It was a far more romantic story than what had actually happened. 
As you’re coming down from your second and somehow less satisfying orgasm, does the guilt start to creep in. Even after all these years you still yearn for his touch. 
But that is so much easier to admit than the alternative of missing Him.
It eats at you that you still think of Him like this after all that he did to you, and worse still it’s almost like you want him to come back.
Your heart practically leaps out your chest when you hear a soft knock at the door and for one horrifying second you think you’ve somehow summoned him to you. 
“Mama…” you hear a small voice whimper behind the locked door, and you breathe a sigh of relief. “Mama, I threw up.”
You don’t know if it’s a consolidation of three different people telling you the same thing in one day, the culmination of your late night loneliness for the past four or so years, or the noxious fumes of the truly unholy combination of stomach acid, red beans, and Jelly Beans that you had to clean up in your sleep deprived state, but you come to the conclusion that you can no longer do this by yourself. 
Being a mother tended to be enough of a deterrent to most men in the city, which didn’t bother you one bit, but it did make you feel all the worse when you did meet the few who were still willing even after learning about Rosie. 
Sam or Lou may very well have been as nice and understanding as they seemed to be, but because of Him, you now look suspiciously at every man trying to get close. 
Perhaps the women in your life were onto something and it is about time for you to move on with your life. Because if you resolve yourself to being for all intents and purposes a shut-in who never knew another man’s touch other than His, then you ran for nothing. 
So it’s with a semi-defeated sigh that you tell Jenny the next morning to send over Lee’s friend to the shop while you’re working to “see how it goes.” 
You do admittedly put a little more effort into your appearance than you would on an average day and you perk up every time a man who looked close to your age walked in. But if any of them were sent by Jenny they didn’t mention it. 
You only ever had one boyfriend when you were a teen, so it feels more than a bit intimidating to go into this, but you can’t deny yourself a life anymore. 
Afterall if you don’t then you may as well have stayed in Memphis. 
The day goes by and of the few men that do enter the shop, of the few that seem interested in you, none of them knew who Jenny was.  
It’s well past closing and feeling both tired and rejected, however the bane of your existence you call Jenny has yet to return, so you instead just flip the sign without properly locking up and hope they’ll be back soon. This isn’t necessarily unusual but you’re just eager for this day to end and hope that a nice cuddle with your daughter will be enough to lift your spirits. 
But for now there are books that need to be out back.
Soon you finally hear the shop bell ring, but instead of the comforting tiny footsteps or the recognizable clack of Jenny’s heels, you instead hear an unfamiliar pattern of heavy footsteps over the low volume of the radio. You look between the shelves from where you’re stocking books in the back and while you can’t make out specific details you see what is undoubtedly the shape of a man standing at the counter. 
“I’m sorry Sir,” you announce still from behind the shelf. “We’re closed for the evening, but please feel free to return tomorrow.” 
“Oh I ain’t going anywhere sweetheart,” a voice drawls.
A voice you would recognize anywhere.
You think you begin to understand at that moment why some animals will chew off their own arms to escape a trap. After all, what is a limb or two in the face of inevitable doom? And even when they do eventually die, they will at least go with their head held high knowing that they did all that they could, because better dead than captured.
But you stand there frozen, barely capable of breathing at a steady rate. You feel like every drop of blood has been drained from your body. Like someone reached into your lungs and snatched the air right out of them. Like your bones have lost all integrity and you’re only kept standing by the mere fact you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. 
He is here. 
Elvis is here.
Not only that but the footsteps getting louder tell you he is getting closer. 
Fuck.
Your mind is going a million miles an hour to try to get out of this, but all of them fall flat when you remember your daughter is not here and if you were to run that would just leave her in his clutches. So rather than act on any plan, you walk out from behind the bookshelf, because there is no point fighting the inevitable. 
You’re hoping your look isn’t so much deer in the headlights and more awestruck and in disbelief that he found you. Which is true to some extent as you thought you had been so careful all these years, so all you can muster out when you see him for the first time is a pathetic little “h-how?”
Your hackles raise slightly as you see him reach behind him, and to your surprise he pulls out an old battered copy of Nancy Drew. You’re so confused for a second until you recognize it as yours. 
One of the many that Gina would send you periodically when you lived with your parents.
One of the many that had the name of this very store stamped to the inner cover. 
One of the many you took with you when you were kicked out.
One of the many left behind at Graceland. 
Fuck.
You want to kick yourself both for being so careless in your haste to leave, but you have no time for that as he says, “I ain’t as smart as you baby, but I figured out your breadcrumbs eventually.”
He thinks you wanted him to find you. 
Didn’tchu though?
“E-Elvis…” you whisper, the single name somehow feeling wrong as it comes out of your mouth. You’ve avoided even thinking about it all these years, as though if you try hard enough you’ll be able to purge him from your mind and thus from your life. As though simply uttering it will somehow summon him. 
That theory isn’t disproven as he, as usual, wastes no time in getting straight to what he came here for, his long legs carrying himself to you as he moves to engulf you within his arms. You stave off the immediate instinct of putting your hands up and allow this to happen, remembering what used to happen when you would deny him. 
He even goes so far as to spin you around, and you lose your footing and have to rely on him in order to not face plant onto the floor. But this works all the better to create the image of the long-lost lovers joyfully reuniting after so long. 
But as he gazes into your eyes, it isn’t fully complete until he leans down to capture your lips. You would like to say you had to force yourself not to flinch away, but even you would know you’re not that good of a liar.
It’s a kiss for the ages truly, both all-consuming and yet leaving you longing for more. The pitfall of having denied getting close to anyone these past few years now show themselves full-force as you on instinct lean full-force into his touch, and welcome his kiss, even fully knowing how precarious your situation is.  
All these years you never could’ve imagined how much you could miss touch- how much you could miss his touch. The kiss itself isn’t even broken until he roughly moves you against the bookshelf and forces his thigh between yours and your left gasping for air as you feel him for the first time. 
And you can’t help the little whine that leaves your lips before you gather yourself once more to look him in the eyes. 
“Did’ya miss me sweetheart?” he whispers against your lips. 
“I…” you say, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ve thought about you every night.” 
This is not a lie.
His fond expression doesn’t crack an inch as you say that, but before you can sigh an internal breath of relief, you feel a tight grip on your wrist as well as on your jaw.
“Then where’ve you been all these years,” he says, low and dangerous. 
It’s certainly not an unfair question to ask. But you’ve been prepared to answer this question since the moment you stepped foot outside of Graceland for a quick errand.
You don’t know what he knows yet, and that’s terrifying.   
“I…I…” you say in a quiet voice, all your years of preparation failing you when you needed it the most. 
In the back of your mind, though you are loath to admit it, you think you always knew this day was coming, that he would find you, and the only thing you could do was to try to lessen the blowback you would experience. It’s why yours and your daughter’s last name is Love. It’s why you never tried to get involved with another man. It’s why you even made that goddamn deal in the first place. 
“I’m going to disappear,” you say, casually taking a sip of your tea, not truly a fan of the taste, but lately it’s been one of the few things your sensitive stomach could handle. “And you’re gonna help me do that.” You couldn’t just ask anyone for help on this, you were surrounded only by sychophants who would do practically anything for Elvis, so you had to look elsewhere to the person whose only side he was on, was his own. 
“And why would I help you?” The Colonel said, idly stirring his coffee, but obviously trying to mask the spark of interest in his eyes. For as much of a slimeball as he can be, you would be a fool to not acknowledge that he’s a decent enough businessman at the end of the day to recognize  a good deal when he sees one. 
“Because you want me gone as much as I wanna be gone,” you state. He hated that Elvis kept you around, even more so when Elvis made it clear he had no intention of staying a bachelor once he finished service. 
Truly under any other circumstance he would be the last person in this house you would confide in, but though your desires were very different they did often run parallel. Something you realized when he talked Elvis out of eloping right before he got shipped out and into a long engagement. Truly the greatest boon you’ve been given since you’ve gotten here, the lack of recognizability or association with the rockstar will serve your purposes all the better.
“Can’t argue with that logic girl,” he says, taking a bite out of the muffins you had baked this morning as a peace offering to him. “Why do you even need my help?” he questions.
“Because I need someone to make sure that he doesn’t ever find me,” you declare, you had practiced this in your head so many times, too afraid to ever voice it aloud or write it down should any of it get back to him. Even an Ocean away you still feel his breath on the back of your neck, with the only safe place being inside your head. 
You had excused yourself from following him to Germany by feigning sickness with the promise that you would join him as soon as you felt better. Which wasn’t hard to do considering your symptoms before he left, left you practically bedridden.
Ever since you figured out your… condition (it felt too scary to even think in your head, let alone voice out loud), your mind had been running rampant with all of the possibilities of how he would react. None of which you're willing to risk coming to fruition. 
“And if I said No?” he asks, but from the look in his eyes he’s all but ready to pack your bags himself. Part of you feels guilty to leave the boy you once loved with such a man, but you have bigger things to worry about now. 
“You’re absolutely free to say no, Parker,” you assure, but he’s savvy enough to know that’s not the end of it. You don’t know whether it’s you mimicking the late Gladys Presley, or something that comes natural with becoming a mother, however you do know you need to assert yourself now of all times, not just for your sake but your baby’s. “Regardless of your help or not, I’m gonna to leave. Now whether I’m gone for twenty minutes or twenty years, will all depend on you, but know that this will also determine how long you’ll be able to keep your position as Manager.” 
He seems to bristle at your words, “And how do you figure dat Lil’ Miss?” he says with a dangerous look in his eyes as you seem to threaten the only thing he happens to care about. But once you do explain it he looks at you with no small amount of respect in his eyes as he mulls over your plan. “Quite devious,” he comments, literally tipping his hat at you. “I think I’m beginnin’ to get what he sees in you.” 
You're far from proud of your plan, and the slimeball’s admiration of it doesn’t help either, but you know for a fact it will work, and Parker is gonna make damn sure that he doesn’t ever find you. 
You made that plan practically bulletproof, but you never factored into account that you would choke in the moment that it truly matters. “Elvis I…” you trail off, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, clutching your hands on his shirt to keep yourself somewhat steady, trembling from the effort it takes to maintain that makeshift barrier. You’re either about to give the performance of a lifetime or… or…
No 
You can’t think like that otherwise…
This has to work. 
Your brain is going a million miles a minute, trying to remind yourself that you have to make this work if you have any hope of getting out of this without him ever having a chance of finding her.
But in real time you watch as this notion turns to ash in your mouth. 
You feel as your blood freezes in your veins when you hear the door slam open only to be followed by the familiar little dashing footsteps. Your heart drops into your stomach as you hear your daughter stop dead in her tracks and you want to throw up at the thought of him laying eyes on her. This is truly what all your nightmares have been building up to, but even they paled in comparison to the reality of what would actually happen. 
“Danny!!!” she squeals at the top of her lungs, before sprinting right into the arms of the man you were so desperately running from. You’re too shocked to do anything about it at the moment, and only watch in horror as something beyond your worst nightmare plays out before your very eyes. 
Even when your instincts kick in to keep her away from him, he casually moves your hands out of the way as he easily scoops her up and over his head, practically playing keep away as you try to take her back. “Is today the day!?!?” she squeals, wrapping her arms around his neck as best she could, giving him a kiss on the cheek, none the wiser at the danger the two of you were in.
“It sure is baby girl,” he says with a mile wide grin on his face. “Why don’tcha go pack everything you’re gonna need in Neverland?” You don’t miss the way his eyes slide your way, no doubt trying to gauge your reaction. 
She squeals in delight, as she jumps out of his arms and makes her way to the stairs, completely oblivious to your state. 
Everything your daughter ever said about “Danny” suddenly makes a whole lot more sense, and you can’t help but want to kick yourself for not paying attention. You thought she was safe with Jenny, you want to throw up at the thought that you unintentionally sent her into the lion's den without her.
She doesn’t even have the decency to face you in that moment, seeing her right outside the window, in Lee’s arms -or Charlie as you would later learn- pointedly not looking in. 
You don’t have the luxury of being mad as you feel his attention focus back on you in that moment. 
“Now…,” he says as he brings your face closer to his, tenderly grabbing your chin, wiping away a tear. “You wanna try again, sweetheart,” he grins maliciously, knowing you’ll have no choice but to be “honest.” 
And that’s it you have only one card left to play and you pray whatever forces that have written the story of your life will be merciful and let this plan work as you hoped it would all those years ago.
You fall to your knees and begin to sob uncontrollably into your palms. It’s actually easier than you had initially hoped, it in fact takes more effort not to cry when you think about him. It’s a miracle you’ve been able to stay this intelligible up to this point.
“Elvis,” you cry, trying to sound as pathetic and heartbroken as you possibly could. “Elvis I-I-I’m so sorry,” you stutter trying to really sell it. “He-he told me that you kn-knew and you didn’t want me anymore,” you hiccup for good measure. “Ho-how you couldn’t have a baby weighing you down, and that-that if I ever came back, he would make sure I would lose her for good.”
You start to hyperventilate, but it’s far from intentional, as you know your very life is at stake in this moment. If he doesn’t believe you… you can’t think like that. 
You know him well enough to know that he won’t believe your words specifically, but he does believe in the world he’s created in his head. That regardless of what you feel, what you say, or even what you do, you love him and want to be with him- always. It’s just others preventing that from happening. It was the women who tempted him on the road, and then it was your family speaking poison in your ear, and then it was the men he couldn’t trust to not look your way. It was never you personally, regardless of how he would sometimes lash out at you, you wanted to be there because he wanted you to be there. 
In the back of your mind when you had just barely begun to formulate leaving, you knew it would be foolish to believe there wasn’t a chance, no matter how slim, that he would find you. And you knew that it wouldn’t go without punishment should he ever find you should it ever occur. So you had to formulate a plan not just to leave, but how best to set yourself up if he ever returned. 
(There have been some nights that you lay awake believing that you prepared so well not because you were paranoid, but because it was an inevitability.)
You hear his clothes shift as he kneels down before you, and he takes your chin into his hand though much gentler this time. 
“Who’s ‘he’” he demands, voice as cold as a tomb. 
He’s buying it, you think, though you have no time to celebrate. You let out a truly pathetic little blubber through your tears, purposefully unintelligible trying to sell the emotions. 
“Who?” he asks, softer this time around, but no less urgent.
“The co-” you cut yourself off taking a deep steady breath. “The Colonel,” you whisper as though you fear speaking his name aloud will bring him to this very spot.
Parker’s far from innocent but you feel a slight twinge of guilt that his downfall would be for something he didn’t do as opposed to all the things he had done. But you can’t think like that anymore, it was gonna be either him or you. 
Someone would need to suffer because of what you did, and you would be damned before it was you or your daughter. 
And so Parker is now the villain who cruelly kept you and your daughter away from him, and not that you wanted so desperately to get away from him that you practically disappeared off the face of the Earth. But it seems like a fair trade. Parker loses his job, you lose your life. Maybe not in the literal sense, but in all the ways that matter you’ll be gone. 
You don’t relax at all when you feel him gently cup your face in his hands to softly wipe your tears away. You look upon the devastatingly handsome man, as he looks as if he means to take you in his arms to never let you go.“Don’tchu worry baby,” he says, wiping your tears away. “You don’t gotta worry bout that rat bastard no more.” You let out a small cry, hoping it sounds more out of relief than out of devastation to his words. “So now you and Rosie can come home,” he states with a delusional smile on his face. 
Despite the fact that you knew this would realistically end one of two ways, you can’t help but balk at the words. You try your best to smile at his words, but even you realize how hollow that gesture is, in spite of the part you know you’re meant to play in the moment, between the two of you, only one of you is an actor.
He’s having none of it as you feel the previously gentle hand cupping your face wrap around your throat. “Now. You. And. Rosie. Can. Come. Home.” he grits out, his grip around your neck tightening with each word emphasized. 
He knows what your answer is, no doubt he’s just trying to rub salt in the wound knowing that it’s not a choice he’s giving you. This is all the proof you need that he doesn’t fully believe you, but is willing to play along. Leaving may have been forgivable, staying away for so long is another matter entirely. 
He’s just punishing you for not being as enthusiastic as you should be at the prospect of coming “home,” as you should be.
You’re not playing pretend well enough.
“Mama!” Rosie squeals excitedly and when he lets go, you turn to see her making her way back downstairs, her favorite blanket now a makeshift rucksack of what you assume to be all toys dragging behind her. “Mama it worked!” she said, as she ran full tilt toward you, holding something in her palm. “Danny’s gonna take us to Neverland today.”
You see the little porcelain baby from the king cake and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere else. But you know better than to believe in wishes.
“Can we go now?” she says, her little hand grasping one of Elvis’ fingers and shaking furiously. “Now please,” she begs, before he scoops her up into his arms and propping her on his hip. He holds her close and you're forced to face what you have been ignoring all these years. The shape of the nose, the way her lips curl in such a specific way, there is only one place she could have gotten all of that from. It feels like just your luck that your child would be practically a carbon copy of the man you so desperately tried to get away from. Really it was only a matter of time before someone figured it out. 
“Now hold ya’ horses yittle,” chucking her under the chin in a far too familiar manner, as she giggles in his arms. “Yer mama’s gotta get ready herself.”
“I… do…” you say, playing along, trying to keep a cap on your distress for your daughter's sake. “I-I gotta pack a few more things baby,” you say, giving her a kiss on her forehead, hoping she misses the tears in your eyes. “I’ll b-be right back.” you manage to stutter out.
“Don’t worry sweetheart,” his voice so saccharine sweet it makes our teeth ache. “We’ll be right here.” 
As you turn around you feel a hard smack on your ass, and you fully stop, burning in humiliation that he would treat you like that, especially in front of your daughter. 
The humiliation only further ramps up as you walk up the stairs, and you can feel the slick already gathering between your thighs. Less out of titillation you believe and more out of a defense mechanism, knowing what will more than likely happen the second he's able to get you alone.
Or is it?
It doesn’t feel real as you step into the upstairs apartment, you see Gina at the stove and Sue filling out a crossword puzzle, her glasses threatening to fall off her nose, none of which suggests they have any idea of what’s going on downstairs. You’re almost angry about that, like it would’ve been easier to walk away from them if they had also been in on it as well. 
“Where’s Rosie so eager to rush off to?” Sue asks idly, not looking up from the paper.
“Oh ummm…” you say, trying to think on your feet for a decent enough lie. “ Sh-she’s going to a sleepover with-with Jenny.” 
You’re usually a better liar than this, but him being so close again has you all out of sorts tonight. Not to mention your mind is running rampant with all the worst case scenarios possible at the moment with the most egregious being that he’s gonna take her and run, forcing you to chase him down the same way he’s undoubtedly done for you these past few years. You’re practically feeling every second tick by, fearing the longer you take the greater the chances will be that they’re both gone. 
Is that how he felt when he was away from you? A small voice in your head asks. It’s an awful roiling feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how it would feel if the person you loved most wasn’t where you left them. Would he be so cruel to do that to you?
“Did that fella Jenny setchu up with ever show up?” Gina asks, wiping her hands on her apron. 
“Ye-yeah and… and I’m gonna get dinner with him,” you swallow, the lie tasting like bile in your mouth. As you turn to your room, already mentally mapping where the important documents were in your bedroom, preparing to pack a few outfits for Rosie, and whatever other odds and ends you would need. 
Your answer catches Gina off guard, and Sue immediately looks up from the paper sharing a look with your other Aunt. “Ain’t that a little fast, Hon?” 
“Maybe…” you say, hesitating as you try to hold back your tears. 
“Ya don’t gotta go if you ain’t ready for it,” Sue says behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder, that you flinch away from. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong If it’s still a little too early for you.” 
That’s the worst part about it. You know they would fight tooth and nail for both you and Rosie if you just asked. But you know the type of mess Elvis can and will bring into this house should you decide to fight him on this. After all they’ve done for you, keeping them out of the type of spectacle he brings is the least you can do.
“I have to go,” you say sternly. 
One look at your squared back shoulders and your far away look they know there’s no stopping this. You hold back your tears as you accept their hug and accept their well wishes. You say your goodbyes promising to be back soon, unsure if you will ever see them again, and you put on your biggest fakest smile as you let go of them, wanting to at least leave them with one happy memory.
Relief floods your entire being seeing her at the bottom of the steps, only for the dread to return seeing him there with her. Especially when you hear the story he’s telling her. You don’t miss the glance he steals your way before focusing on your daughter once again. “I thought to myself, ‘thas the girl whose gonna be mine.’”
“Like-like love at first sight,” Rosie asks, and you can practically hear the stars in her eyes.
“Exactly yittle,” he drawls out. “Took her awhile to figure it out though but she learned eventually. Now we’re all gonna go home.” His eyes slide right off her and cut directly to you. Her eyes follow him and she quickly scurries off of him to reach you. 
“You ready Mama?” she asks you as she takes you by the hand leading you to the door where you see a car parked right out front.  It may as well have been a hearse in your mind. 
You pick her up and you look down the darkened streets and you briefly flirt with the idea of just sprinting and never looking back. But the hand on your elbow guiding you to the car puts a halt to those thoughts. 
You still don’t know how much of your story he does actually believe, so you sit yourself down in the car without so much as a fuss and resolve yourself to your fate. Though that doesn’t stop you from seating yourself in the middle and placing Rosie by the window, as you still aren’t totally out of the mindset of keeping her as far away from him as possible. Neither of them seem to mind as she eagerly presses tiny hands up to the glass in awe of the nightlife of New Orleans, while he slithers an arm over your shoulder bringing you closer to him. 
As you contemplate what your life will look like from now on, you pass by so many places you’ve become familiar with these last four years, but what nearly breaks you are the unfamiliar places. Record stores, movie theaters, restaurants, and so many other places you avoided all due to an irrational belief that he would somehow be there. You did your best to limit your time in the outside world to only when you absolutely had to be out. 
Maybe that’s why you were so willing to trust Jenny and her altruistic generosity to watch over your daughter and take her places you were too anxious to venture to. 
You caged yourself into your new seemingly better life, but you didn't live at all. You were hiding. Always so afraid that he would somehow find you, you neglected to live. You put yourself in a different cage and convinced yourself you were free. 
“Mama? Mama, why are you crying?” your sweet little girl asks. 
But you’re gonna do what you’ve always done for your daughter. What you’ve always done when it comes to Elvis. You’re going to play pretend. 
“Mama’s just so happy we’re going baby,” you say with a solemn kiss to her forehead as his grip further tightens on your shoulder. 
“I know what’ll cheer you up!” she declares and completely unaware of the salt she’s about to pour on your wounds, she pulls something out of her little rucksack. “Danny, do you know the story of ‘Punzel?”
“Can’t say that I do darlin’” he says, eyeing you over her head. She sets the Grimm fairy tale book down on her lap and opens it to the worn pages she’s seemed to memorize by heart. She proceeds to read to the both of you, in the sense that she recites the story she’s heard maybe half-a-million times before word-for-word, going off pictures more than the actual words on the page to know where she’s at in the story. You try your best to focus on the book for your daughter's sake, but it’s nearly impossible to do when you feel Elvis' familiar bruising grip on your inner thigh. 
You shoot him a look and grab a hold of his wandering hand, trying to signal for him to stop and pay attention to Rosie. He gives a mirthful smile to you as he feels the slick there and seemingly tightens his grip in retribution, as though he wants to get a head start on re-establishing his claim over you. You in response bite your cheek and bear it, until at one point it nearly becomes too much and one lone tear rolls down your cheek and onto the page of the prince wandering blindly through the forest.  
Your daughter is far too sweet for her own good, as she notices this and gives you a gentle pat on your cheek, trying to comfort you the same you’ve done for her before. 
“Don’t worry Mama,” she reassures you, mirroring what you’ve done for her when a story gets her a little too worked up. “They always live happy ever after.”
You give a shuddering sigh as Elvis finally let’s go of your thigh. You clutch onto that little porcelain figure in your pocket and hope she’s right.
You make it to Memphis in record time, Rosie having long since tired herself out, is wrapped securely in your arms, but you’ll find no suh peace with his arm coiled around your shoulder as he sadistically whispers how Rosie’ll have a blast meeting the rest of his family while the two of you get “reacquainted,” of course he used more colorful language but you don’t want to have to think about that for right now. 
When the familiar gates come into view 
“Ahh, my baby missed home that bad,” he whispers, giving a deceptively sweet kiss to your tear-stricken cheek. “Why don’tcha hand the ‘lil one over to me and you just head up to bed and get ready for me?”
Despite the questioning lilt in his tone you know for a fact he’s not asking. And so going against all of your instincts screaming in your head, you let go of your daughter and watch as he takes a hold of her. To your relief she’s at the very least on the same floor as you, but you can only hope that she, at the very least, will sleep through the rest of the night, because you doubt he’ll let you out even a minute sooner than he has to. 
The bedroom has changed in many ways since you’ve been gone, though the most striking thing  was how your side of the bed looks as though it were converted into a little shrine for you. Small baubles and trinkets you left behind on the stand, you even find an old nightgown of yours on your side of the bed, the last thing he ever saw you in. It doesn’t fit you like it used to, having and breastfeeding a baby will do that to you, but you put it on all the same knowing he will want to see you in it. 
Looking at yourself in the mirror, seeing your breasts straining against the silk material and the bruises peeking out beneath the scandalously short hemline, it really does settle in that this was all inevitable. This is the very same image you saw the night before he left for Germany.
The same image that confirmed your decision to leave in the first place. 
This moment, feels like the dread you always felt when getting to the last few pages of a book. As things were wrapping up and you would have to face the harsh reality of your situation...
You’re back in the fucking hotel room.
You won’t even have the luxury of daydreaming of your escape, because there is no world where you leave without Rosie, and he knows that. He knows she’s the reason you ran, and knows that without her you’re never gonna run again. That’s why he went to the lengths he did to endear himself to her first before you ever had an inkling as to what was going on. 
Your thoughts turn to Jenny, and how you entrusted what you loved the most to her, only to have her spit in your face by turning around practically handing her over to him on a platter. Either she knew that he was her father and didn’t bother to question why you were so desperate to get away that you faked a whole other life, or she didn’t and handed over your daughter to a stranger. You don’t know which is worse. 
You also can’t forget how she was perhaps the most vehement about you dating again, which you can’t even begin to understand if she was working for him the whole time. But you can’t put it above him that he wouldn’t have Jenny push the issue if only to further twist the knife if you ever did take up her offer. As though to remind you that you never had a chance of moving on. 
Because it always goes back to him.
You want to hide from it all and you give into the urge, and crawl under the silky sheets of the bed, for all the good it will do to protect you. 
Monsters don’t hide under your bed. They crawl into it. Those are your last conscious thoughts as you feel the bed shift 
“Welcome home Satnin,” he whispers before you feel the sheets being ripped away from you.
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prettyprissyblvd · 4 months
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This is my renaissance, I shall even go so far to say this is my, "The Creation of Adam"
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But instead of Adam it's Elvis
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venus-haze · 2 years
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If I Were You (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)
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Summary: Elvis takes up Priscilla’s offer to go to rehab for Lisa, and decides to take the steps to break from the Colonel personally and professionally. Elvis is referred to you, a Memphis-based therapist who specializes in helping patients work through codependent or otherwise unhealthy relationships. While he ultimately hopes his turning his life around will give him a better chance of reconciliation with Priscilla, the level of emotional intimacy you allow him in the context of your sessions makes him redirect his attention to you.
Note: This is based on an anonymous request. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. I appreciated having an excuse to rewatch some of my favorite Sopranos episodes because I got a lot of inspiration from seasons 1 and 5. It’s more dialogue heavy than my other fics because of the therapy sessions. I’m not a psychiatrist and nothing in this fic should be treated as legitimate advice regarding mental health, please refer to licensed professionals for that. Look at the warnings before deciding whether or not you want to read this fic because it’s extremely dark. Do not interact with my blog or my posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinpso content.
Word count: 6.5k
Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail, obsessive and manipulative behavior, and abuse of power, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. The therapy session scenes involve discussions of codependency in relation to parenting and relationships as well as self-blame, death, and drug and alcohol abuse. Explicit sexual content which involves force and coercion and brief daddy kink. Elvis’ mommy issues. Do not interact if you are under 18.
Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (all other parts by @crash-and-cure)
When you received a phone call from Dr. Wilson, one of your colleagues who worked at a rehabilitation facility in San Diego, asking if you were taking new patients, you hadn’t thought much of it when you answered that you were. He elaborated that while the patient was doing well in rehab, he thought he could benefit from continued therapy sessions, particularly because of your specialization and proximity to the patient’s home in Memphis. He informed you that he’d reveal more information about the patient and provide you with the clinical notes he’d taken throughout rehab once he received the patient’s agreement and approval to begin seeing you.
A few days later, you got the follow up call. The patient was interested in being treated by you and had given Dr. Wilson permission to send you copies of the clinical notes. He finally revealed who your Memphis-based patient would be—Elvis Presley. You nearly dropped the phone when he told you. Him going to rehab made sense, his drug and alcohol-fueled antics on stage frequently made entertainment headlines, but you certainly hadn’t expected that he’d need the specialized therapy that you offered. 
Elvis still had two weeks left in the rehabilitation program, and you’d receive the clinical notes before then to get an idea of what Dr. Wilson had already addressed with him. When you received the packet at your office’s mailbox, marked with a large ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamp on it, you almost hesitated. While aware of his career, you weren’t a huge fan of Elvis’, so that wouldn’t pose a conflict of interest, but you wondered if you could truly be impartial and fair toward a man whose existence permeated almost every aspect of American popular culture. 
From what Dr. Wilson had said, Elvis needed help, not as a rockstar but as a man. You were one of less than forty therapists in the country who specialized in helping patients break down codependent relationships. Your office wasn’t far from Graceland at all, ensuring Elvis wouldn’t have to go out of his way for regular therapy sessions. 
Finally opening the packet, you were faced with a manila file folder with Elvis’ full name and birthdate printed on the tab. You grabbed your notebook, preparing to write what was relevant for the sessions, but the more you read, it seemed like everything was relevant. A deceased overbearing mother whom Elvis revered as a saint, a manager who exploited his career for decades, and an ex-wife who was burdened with being the man’s stand-in mother and therapist from an alarmingly young age. 
You sat back in your chair, exhaling deeply to ground yourself. Taking on Elvis Presley as a client would not be easy, that much was obvious. Most of your clients didn’t have webs as intricately woven as he did, as much to unpack and consider as Elvis. Yet, from the notes, he wanted help. He wanted to change. He didn’t want his daughter Lisa to grow up without a father, but he also wanted a career and a life that he could finally be in control of, where he could be sure of who to trust. 
On a Friday afternoon, when you were in between appointments, your phone rang. You answered, resisting the urge to gasp when you heard who was on the other line, despite expecting his call.
“Hello, is Dr. Y/L/N there?” Elvis asked.
“Speaking,” you answered.
“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “Dr. Wilson didn’t mention you were a woman.”
“Is that a problem, Mr. Presley? Because I can refer you to another specialist—“
“No, that’s fine. I just thought you were a secretary or somethin’—no offense.”
“None taken,” you said. 
The two of you discussed what his goals for therapy were, and that he wanted to attend twice a week, which was how often he was seeing Dr. Wilson while he was in rehab. Many people were hesitant about therapy since it had an unwarranted stigma attached to it, but you supposed the group therapy and personal sessions in San Diego had proved its effectiveness to him. You agreed to schedule appointments for Monday and Thursday afternoons at 4:30pm and leave the service door to the building unlocked for him, so he could come in at the end of the work day and not have to worry about passersby and other patients seeing him there and causing unwanted attention. 
The conversation was short yet pleasant, but if you were being honest, you hadn’t been so nervous about taking on a patient since you first opened your own practice. You had tried to reason with yourself, that he was just a man seeking help like all of your other patients. None of your other patients, however, were Elvis Presley. You managed to calm yourself down the day of his first session, focusing on the other patients you had scheduled. 
He arrived fifteen minutes early the day of his first appointment, a non-issue as you had made sure the session before his was wrapped up by four, giving him a window of time to arrive while the office was empty. You took a deep breath before opening the door to the waiting room from your office, and found him staring at a painting on the wall. He turned to you, giving you one of the most dazzling smiles you’d ever seen in your life.
You greeted him with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Presley, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Same here, Dr. Y/L/N,” he said, shaking your hand.
“Follow me, and take a seat anywhere you like,” you said, leading him into your office and closing the door behind you.
“Is this some kinda test? You can tell something ‘bout me by which one I pick?” he asked half-jokingly.
You laughed. “No, no, it’s just that we’re going to be sitting for an hour, so I want you to be comfortable.”
He sat in the armchair in front of the bookcase, rather than the one in front of your desk. You grabbed your notebook and sat down across from him. The two chairs were nearly identical anyway, so it didn’t make that big of a difference where either of you sat. Taking a moment to study him, you couldn’t help but acknowledge to yourself how good he looked. You always thought Elvis was a handsome man, but post-rehab, he seemed to be glowing in a way that seemed almost youthful. After allowing yourself to ogle your new patient, you cleared your throat.
“Now, before we begin our first session, I want to establish doctor-patient confidentiality and inform you of your rights as a patient. Is that okay?” you asked. 
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
“Wonderful. I take doctor-patient confidentiality seriously. Anything you say in this room will stay in this room. However, if at any point during our sessions you indicate that you intend to seriously harm yourself or others, I would have to go to the police.”
“Seriously harm?”
“Any intentional action that would result in the hospitalization or death of yourself or another individual,” you elaborated, and he gave you a silent nod to continue. “I may encourage you to dig deeper into your psychological and emotional state, you don’t have to answer any questions that you don’t want to, but keep in mind that I’m trying to guide the conversation in a direction that will help you achieve the breakthroughs you want.”
“You know, my mama used to call you psychologists ‘headshrinkers’. Hell, I even do sometimes,” he said with a laugh.
You smiled at the comment, it certainly wasn’t uncommon for people to be skeptical of mental healthcare, but since he’d already brought up his mother, you didn’t want to lose that momentum.
“I completely understand. When I told my parents I was getting my doctorate in psychology, I might as well have told them that I was going to clown school,” you said. “Some people turn to religion for their psychological guidance. My parents are like that. Were yours?”
“Oh yeah, mama was always quotin’ scripture.”
“And your father?”
“He went to church with us sometimes, but it was usually me and mama. I stopped goin’ to church once my career started takin’ off. Didn’t have the time to, but I still love those old gospel hymns.”
You nodded, taking quick notes as he spoke.
“You writin’ that I’m some religious nut in there?”
“No, just general observations, things you’ve mentioned that have appeared while treating other patients. The more I treat people who’ve struggled with codependency, the more I can help others by recognizing patterns of behavior,” you explained. “I read from your file, which thank you for letting me look at by the way, that you experienced this codependent abuse from your former manager, Tom Parker.”
He exhaled, and you made note of his utilizing the coping method to calm himself down. 
“The Colonel thought he was entitled to half of everything I made, even though I was the one workin’ myself sick. He had that hack doctor put all kinds of junk in me to keep me movin’ like some walkin’ dead man. That cost me my family and half of everything I ever earned. I’m suin’ the son of a bitch, but I can’t let this happen again.”
“Elvis, I’m sorry that happened to you. You were taken advantage of by someone you trusted. You have every right to be upset and angry. I encourage you to express those emotions while we're here,” you said. “I want to challenge you to stop referring to your former manager as ‘The Colonel’. I think that language is detrimental to your progress as it sets him in a place of authority over you, when in reality, he isn’t and never was.”
He scoffed. “What should I call him then? ‘That piece of shit’?”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “If you’d like, yes.”
For the rest of the hour, he spoke about his former manager, and while you had an idea of what went on from the notes your colleague had given you, the extent was just as bad as you’d expected. As a doctor, you were particularly horrified by the so-called ‘Dr. Nick’ who exacerbated Elvis’ addiction to prescription medications in the name of the almighty dollar. Elvis peppered in mentions of his mother throughout the session as well, and you made a note to dig into that in the future. You weren’t the biggest proponent of Freud, but you knew many people went through life subconsciously mirroring the behavior of their parents unless they made a conscious decision not to. 
At the end of the session, you let Elvis know that you admired the progress he’d made so far, both in rehab and his first session with you. He smiled at that, and confessed that even though he wasn’t sure about seeing a woman therapist, as soon as he saw you, he knew there was something different about you, and he already felt comfortable around you. You stayed in your office late to work on the notes for his file while they were still fresh in your mind, and left around a quarter to seven. 
The Monday and Thursday sessions continued consistently for the next few weeks, and you were thrilled with how much progress Elvis had made, both in therapy and in his personal life. He was more involved in Lisa Marie’s life and had her over at Graceland regularly, making sure his days were completely clear whenever she was over so he could focus on spending time with her. His sleep pattern had become more regular, with some bouts of understandable insomnia. You and Dr. Wilson had already agreed that with Elvis’ history of addiction, holistic approaches to any psychological conditions would be best, and prescriptions would only be given as an absolute last resort. When he told you that he felt better than he had in years, physically and emotionally, you considered it a huge success, and encouraged him to acknowledge and celebrate that. 
Understandably, most of your sessions with Elvis were spent discussing his former manager and the influence and control that he had on Elvis’ career and personal life, particularly the strain it caused on his mother. That was a sensitive issue for him, and he tended to deflect when you tried to bring her up or discuss his relationship with her further. About four months into your treating him, however, he mentioned feeling some resentment toward his father for mismanaging Elvis’ finances, making an off-handed comment about how it wouldn’t have happened if his mother were still alive. You saw this as the opportunity to get him to finally elaborate.
“Your mother was the dominating figure in the family unit, then?” you pressed.
“Mama was a good woman, the best woman. She put food on the table when daddy was in jail. She believed in me before anyone else did.”
“I never said your mother wasn’t a good woman,” you observed. “Why did you jump to that conclusion, that I was attacking her?”
The room was silent for a few moments as he considered your question. “Everyone else did. You know, she was right about not trustin’ the Col–Parker. It’s like when I signed that contract with him I was signin’ her death sentence.”
“Do you blame yourself for her death?”
“I know it was the alcohol. I learned that much in rehab, but in her heart, it was me. She died while I was in basic training, doctor.”
“I’m glad you’re talking through this. It’s going to help with our future sessions, but I want to establish that you’re not responsible for your mother's death anymore than you’re responsible for her other actions throughout her life.”
He shook his head. “Me leavin’, that killed her.”
“Why would your leaving kill her? As I understand, you were drafted. You didn’t have a choice.”
“Because I was supposed to take care of her. My daddy wouldn't, so I did.”
“Do you think it’s right for a child to take care of their parents?” you asked.
“It’s not about what was right,” he argued. “I had to do it.”
“How old were you, when you first stepped into this pseudo-parental role?”
“What?”
“How old were you when you began taking up the household responsibilities that belonged to your father?”
“I was real young, when he went to jail and we had to move. I had a good childhood, though. We didn’t have much, but I had friends and I went to church, did alright in school.”
The hour was almost up, but you knew you were close to reaching a pivotal point in his treatment. As soon as you got him to consider that his codependency issues started with his mother, you could work through his relationships with Tom Parker and even Priscilla, but it’d be easier said than done to drag his mother off of the pedestal he put her on. She’d been dead for over a decade, and yet she still had a spectral stranglehold on her son.
Your intention wasn’t for him to walk out of your office hating his mother, but to recognize the unhealthy behaviors he emulated and to work through the grief he clearly never fully dealt with. 
You figured you had time to ask him one more question, and chanced it with, “What do you miss most about your mother?”
“I could tell her anything, and she’d always have something to say. Maybe not what I wanted to hear, but she always meant what she said. I trusted her like no one else. I don’t know if I ever will.”
“It’s hard for you to trust people, with the position that you’re in and how people have taken advantage of you in the past. That can be lonely, and some people engage in self-destructive behavior in an attempt to get the care and attention they yearn for. I believe that you will be able to trust again. Just something to think about as the session ends today,” you said. “You’ve made a lot of progress, and I want to acknowledge that.”
He smiled. “Thank you. You really know your stuff, but I guess that’s what you went to school for.”
“I appreciate that,” you acknowledged. “I hope you have a great rest of your day, Elvis, and I’ll see you at our appointment next week.”
After Elvis left, you worked on your notes from the session to add to his file. You weren’t just paying him lip service before, he had made a good amount of progress, and even despite some of his hesitations, worked through some aspects of the treatment that you expected to be more challenging for him. 
The next few sessions, you pressed him more about his mother, and while he pushed back against your insinuating that some of his codependent tendencies originated with her, he did acknowledge that the pressure of not upsetting her did cost him his participation in his high school’s football team, which he loved for the brief amount of time he spent playing. She had been worried about him getting hurt, a pattern you noticed as Elvis spoke to you about his childhood.
You weren’t expecting to find that the root of her anxiety over Elvis’ well-being came from losing his twin, Jesse at birth. Elvis was born into the world having to be two men instead of one, and when his father fell through as the family’s provider, he had to pick up the slack for three. It was a lot for someone to handle even without the challenges of fame. The more you worked with Elvis, the more convinced you became that he could have benefitted from therapy a decade sooner.
In all honesty, you were glad Elvis’ appointments were at the end of the day, because they began to become almost as draining for you as you figured they were for him. Still, he never missed an appointment and always arrived early. The work you did was always difficult, and you couldn’t help but empathize with your patients, but Elvis seemed to take everything out of you.
One weekend, you had plans to get dinner with Mark, a man around your age who you’d met in grad school and had an on-and-off again relationship for a while, before deciding to stay friends. Out of habit you both referred to whenever you’d get together as ‘dates’, and the one you planned was at a higher end restaurant in Memphis. The two of you had been so busy with work that when he called you to catch up, you hadn’t realized it’d been months since you’d seen him. The restaurant was the type of place where you had to make reservations in advance, and so with this in mind, he made one a few weeks prior.
When you and Mark arrived at the restaurant, there was a crowd of loud and restless people overflowing into the street. The two of you pushed your way through to get inside and waited to speak to the host, who informed you that due to unforeseen circumstances, there’d be a thirty minute wait for your table despite your reservation. 
The two of you considered leaving and going to a different restaurant, but decided against it, since you had the reservation anyway. To your relief, the wait only ended up being less than five minutes, even though you could tell by the reservation list on the host’s podium that several couples were still ahead of you and Mark. 
A waiter led you to your table, and after taking your dinner orders, Mark excused himself to go to the restroom. While waiting for him to return, you could hear people gasp and murmur behind you, until a familiar shadow fell over your table.
“Dr. Y/L/N, funny meeting you here,” Elvis said.
You raised your eyebrows, not expecting to see your high-profile patient of all people in the restaurant. “Mr. Presley, how are you?”
“I’m doin’ just fine.”
“That’s good to hear. I’m glad.”
“Are you here alone?”
“No, my date is just in the restroom.”
His expression shifted, but he nodded agreeably. “Well, have a good night.”
“You too,” you whispered as he walked away. 
Fuck. He was upset you were there with someone. It wasn’t uncommon for your patients to temporarily redirect their codependent tendencies onto you, considering the level of emotional intimacy that was involved with the therapy. It’d only once escalated to a level where you felt obligated to refer the patient to another therapist, but you hoped that wouldn’t be the case with Elvis. He’d been making great progress with each session.
When Mark had returned to the table, you gave him a strained smile but continued on with the date as usual. About halfway into your meal, the waiter approached with a bottle of wine neither of you had ordered. 
Before you could question anything, the waiter said, “Compliments of Mr. Presley.”
“As in Elvis Presley?” Mark asked.
The waiter nodded and set the bottle on the table. You weakly told him to thank Elvis, and he left to do so. As soon as he was out of earshot, Mark leaned in, “Is Elvis Presley your patient?”
“I won’t answer that, Mark.”
“Holy shit,” he said, opening the bottle of wine. 
You didn’t recognize the label from the wine rack at the supermarket and figured it was some expensive brand that was either old or imported, or both. As Mark poured himself a glass, you contemplated whether or not to drink it. Refusing so would confirm that Elvis was your patient, but drinking it would mean you accepted a gift from a patient, both situations required you violating your own code of ethics. Sighing, you let Mark fill your own glass with the wine.
The rest of the night with Mark was fun as you caught up on your personal lives, and Elvis didn’t make a reappearance at all. When Mark walked you back to your car, the two of you promised not to go as long without seeing each other again, and parted with a quick kiss.
You spent Sunday lazily reading in the comfort of your apartment, adjusting the radio in your living room to different stations every so often. All of them seemed to play at least one of Elvis’ songs at some point, and you wondered if you were only noticing the frequency he was on the radio now that he was your patient. Some artists were just radio mainstays, and he was one of them.
On Monday, you knew you’d have to address the situation with the wine to Elvis, but to your surprise, he beat you to it.
“So, how was the wine?” Elvis asked.
“It was kind of you to go out of your way to have something so nice brought to my table, but I can’t accept gifts from patients,” you said. “I hope you understand.”
He narrowed his eyes, leaning over so his elbows were resting on his knees as he asked, “That guy you were out with, he your husband?”
“No, just a friend.”
“You married?”
“No, but–”
“You ever been married?”
“No,” you repeated, “but while we’re on the subject, let’s discuss your marriage and Priscilla.” 
You noticed him hesitate to answer. “Is that okay?”
“Sure,” he said.
“How did you meet Priscilla?”
“Her daddy and me were both stationed in Germany at the same time. I met her when she came to a party at my house one night.”
“What attracted you to her?”
“She wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever met in my life. She was beautiful and sweet. I just knew there was somethin’ different about her,” he said, quickly adding. “I was respectful, ya know. She put up with a lot from me, but she was there when I needed someone.”
“You mentioned in a previous session that your mother died while you were in basic training, and after the funeral you were sent to Germany, where you met Priscilla. Do you think you incorporated her into your grieving process?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
You kept pressing him for more details, knowing it wasn’t a coincidence that he happened to meet the woman he’d go on to marry after such a devastating loss. The more he elaborated on his relationship, the more you came to understand the codependent nature of it as well. Priscilla became a stand-in for his mother despite her youth, and he began to depend on her the same way. You found it particularly interesting that he encouraged her to dye her hair and gave her the same nickname he had given his mother. 
“I understand you and your ex-wife are still close, and she’s part of the reason you’re here. Can I ask you, when you and Priscilla divorced, what you were feeling?” you asked.
“I–I’m sorry, can we talk about something else?”
You nodded, making a note to revisit that later. For the rest of that session and Thursday’s session, the two of you spoke mundanely about how his day to day life was going, the strides he was making to live a more sustainable lifestyle. He informed you that he wanted to make music and perform again, but wouldn’t tour while his lawsuit with Tom Parker was ongoing. Even then, he planned to take it slow, scheduling dates more spaced out to give himself time to rest. He did mention trying to work something out with his team to do one-off performances in the Memphis area in the meantime, to figure out how this new era of his career would go. 
The following afternoon, when you usually had an hour or so break between sessions to have lunch, you were interrupted by repeated knocking at your office door. You opened it to find a gift basket on the ground, looking back and forth in the hallway to see if the person who left it was still there, you picked it up and brought it over to your desk. The basket was filled with an assortment of goods that you knew must have been expensive from the brand names that you actually did recognize, and all of the gifts were perfectly suited to your taste. For a moment, you thought it was Mark’s doing, but when you read the attached card, you sighed. 
Early on in your career, you had made it a rule to not accept gifts or favors from patients. It helped establish to your patients that you were their doctor, not their friend, as much as you did care for them. You took your ethical responsibility as a therapist seriously, and so you contacted the company where the gift basket had come from, informing them that you’d like them to pick it up and inform the sender that you couldn’t accept it. You’d been expecting the phone call you received about an hour later.
“I tried to get what I thought you’d like,” Elvis said. “Guess I don’t know you as well as I thought.”
“Mr. Presley, I told you in our last session that I don’t accept gifts from patients. I appreciate the gesture, it was extremely thoughtful, but it violates my personal ethics.”
“You drank the wine I sent over to your table,” he argued.
You pursed your lips. You knew letting Mark accept it was a mistake. “That was a completely different scenario. If I had publicly refused, it would have confirmed to my date that you were my patient. I made the decision to respect your privacy.”
From the way he huffed over the phone, he was frustrated. He always did so in sessions when you pressed him to dig deeper into the aspects of the major relationships in his life that he didn’t want to confront. “I understand, doctor. I just wanted to show my appreciation for you, is all. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Have a good night, Mr. Presley. See you on Monday,” you said.
The next few months went on without incident, and you were pleased with the progress you were making with Elvis. He was willing to open up to you much more, and you found yourself revealing some information about yourself to him as well. Sometimes, it unnerved you how he seemed to remember things you had mentioned in passing weeks or even months before, as if he were taking his own notes on you. 
Once in a while, you’d run into him while you were running errands and minding your business in Memphis, having quick and cordial conversations before going your separate ways. Part of you suspected it was deliberate, as a man as famous as him knew he couldn’t step foot anywhere outside of his home without making the news.
On a Friday evening, as you led your last client of the day out of your office, a man you didn’t recognize was standing in the waiting room, looking around at the decor in your office. When you walked out, he looked at you as if he’d seen a ghost. 
Before you could speak, he said, “You look really familiar.”
“I don’t know how that could be. I don’t believe we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N.”
He hesitated before answering. “I must be seeing things, then. I’m Jerry.”
“Nice to meet you, Jerry. May I ask what brings you to my office?”
“Elvis sent me. He’s doing his first show in over a year next weekend, and he wanted me to bring you this VIP pass. Soundcheck, front row seat, backstage access, the works,” he said, holding out the small plastic card to you. “It’s in town, so he’ll send a car for you.”
You shook your head, feeling like a broken record when you declined. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t accept gifts from patients. Please send my regards and tell him thank you anyway.”
Jerry nodded. “Alright, nice to meet you, Doc.”
As soon as he left, you collapsed onto the couch. You were making great progress with Elvis, serious progress, but it was clear that he was shifting his codependent tendencies onto you. As much as you didn’t want to, you had to consider referring him to another therapist. It’d be a hassle for him, as the closest therapist with the same specialization as you was located in Nashville. It wasn’t uncommon for your patients to exhibit similar behavior toward you, especially early on in their treatment, but you’d been working with Elvis for nearing a year. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, as his case was far more complex than any of your other clients, past or present. 
While you were in the supermarket checkout later that evening, you glanced at the tabloid magazines that were displayed next to you, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the cover of most of them–various photos of Elvis, out and about in Memphis with different women who all looked almost exactly like you. Suddenly, you felt as though everyone in the store was staring at you, and you abandoned your cart, rushing out of the store and to your car where you had your first panic attack in years. 
As you cried into the steering wheel, attempting to catch your breath, your mind raced at the implications of what you just saw. The women were stand-ins for you, but they weren’t enough for him, they never would be. You knew that if you continued to spurn his advances, they’d only become more elaborate and unavoidable, and by giving him some of the attention he desired, you’d only be encouraging his unhealthy behavior. Your next session with Elvis was that upcoming Monday, and you’d make sure to let him know about your colleague in Nashville and cut all ties with the rockstar. 
By the time Monday morning rolled around, you wanted to cancel all of your other appointments for the day, but your other patients didn’t deserve to have their treatment interrupted because of one patient. The day flew by, to your dismay, and 4:30 arrived far sooner than you were ready when he walked through the door and into your office. He sat down in his usual seat, and you resisted the urge to glare at him. You didn’t appreciate being manipulated for personal gain, and you figured he of all people would have understood that. 
“Mr. Presley,” you began sternly. “I have repeatedly tried to enforce the professional nature of our relationship as doctor and patient, and yet you insist on sabotaging the massive strides you’ve made in your treatment by repeatedly making attempts to violate that. I think that continuing to see me as a therapist would be detrimental to your recovery, so I’m referring you to a colleague of mine with a similar specialization. After this session, I will no longer be your therapist.”
He stared at you incredulously before becoming stone-faced. “Well, since you won’t be my therapist anymore, I guess you can accept all those gifts now.”
Your mouth nearly fell open at his boldness. “Mr. Presley, you’re missing the point entirely.”
“No, I think I get the point loud and clear, Y/N.”
Your chest contracted as his use of your first name. “Mr. Presley, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now.” 
He stood up from his chair, and instead of walking out the door, crossed the few feet of space between you and caged you into your chair. He stared down at you intensely, silently, for what felt like hours. Too frightened to move, you held his gaze until he cupped your chin in his hand, gently rubbing his thumb against your skin. 
“You’re doin’ this for us, mama,” he whispered, “so we can be together.”
“I’m doing this for my own safety.”
“I knew you felt the same way about me, how much you wanted me too.”
“Elvis, please, let’s just sit back and discuss this. I won’t refer you to another therapist,” you lied, trying to appeal to whatever sense of rationality he may have had.
His other hand drifted to your thigh, inching its way up your skirt. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, you pushed him off of you and hoped that it would disorient him enough for you to run out the door. Instead, he beat you to it, pressing you against the wooden door that stood between your freedom and captivity.
“C’mon, mama, we’ve had this date since the beginning,” he purred in your ear. 
Perhaps you had been too preoccupied with having Elvis Presley as a professional success story than acknowledging the delusional and obsessive tendencies he displayed. Where did you go wrong? You tried to think back through a year’s worth of therapy sessions to figure out when exactly you’d given Elvis the impression that you were interested in him romantically or sexually, but were torn from your thoughts when he kissed you aggressively. He must have mistaken your attempts at protests for moans, because he only deepened the kiss, biting your bottom lip so you’d gasp in pain, giving his tongue access to your mouth.
You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself and tried once again to push away, but he was too strong–and determined as he backed you into your desk, the impact from both of your bodies bumping against it sending some of the items to the floor. 
“Elvis, you don’t have to do this,” you pleaded. Why were you still coddling him? 
“You want this, mama,” he groaned, grinding his clothed erection against your exposed leg like a dog in heat. “I know you do.”
He didn’t give you an opportunity to argue, bringing his lips to yours again and hastily unbuttoning your blouse. He rid you of your bra just as quickly, and took one of your breasts in his mouth. Guiding one of your hands to his crotch, he rubbed your hand against it, and you let out an involuntary whimper as his moans vibrated against your sensitive nipple. 
Thrusting against your hand, he pulled away from your breast, muttering something about cumming in his pants if he didn’t do anything about it soon. He shed his shirt, throwing it aside. The reality of the situation hit you as he lifted you back on top of the desk and pulled down your panties. He dragged his ring finger up your slit, and you shivered at the sensation of the cold metal of his rings against it. Apparently satisfied with how wet you were, he wasted no time unzipping his pants and ridding himself of them to reveal he hadn’t been wearing any underwear. You stared wide-eyed at his cock, as he stroked it before positioning it at your weeping cunt.
“Just take it, mama. Be real good for me and take it like I know you can,” he cooed in an attempt to placate you as he slid himself into you. 
You choked on air at the sensation, not expecting how big he’d be, and tears began to run down your face. He kissed them away as he thrust into you, whispering about how good you were being, how perfect you were. Two of his fingers played with your clit, and your felt your vision go hazy at the pleasure that was building up in your core. You’d never felt that good in your life. Maybe you did want it after all.
“Fuck, daddy,” you moaned, nearly throwing your hands over your mouth at the realization of what you had said. 
That seemed to stir something in him, because his thrusts became harsher and more erratic while you berated yourself for actually enjoying it. The moans that came from your throat sounded almost foreign to you. 
“You got no idea how often I thought about this, mama,” he managed to groan. “Come for daddy.”
With a grotesque cry, you came, feeling yourself clench around him as he kept up his ruthless pace. His own orgasm followed soon after yours, and as you felt him cum inside you, you weren’t sure whether you hated him or yourself more. What felt like hours passed before he finally pulled out from you, leaving your inner thighs wet with cum and lightly bruised.
You looked at him through your tears, knowing your mascara was surely tracked down your face. He reached for you, and you flinched back, nearly falling off of your desk until he steadied you, and you broke down into humiliating sobs into his shoulder, your nails purposely digging into his skin. You wanted to hurt him, somehow, make him feel how you felt. Instead, he seemed unfazed, releasing you from his grip when your crying had settled down to hold your face in his hands. 
He looked into your eyes with all of the delusional affection you’d feared and whispered, “You’re my girl, my bestest girl.”
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ggwritesstuff · 2 years
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heyyy i have this request for like 1970 elvis or something like that, or basically any one you feel like writing for … can you do a fic where elvis and the reader are together and right before a show they’re basically like begging for him but he has to go on and the reader gets upset and frustrated and so they let someone flirt with them in the crowd during the show and they can tell he saw them bc he started acting really different and sarcastic on stage and then afterwards he gets really jealous and basically drags you to his car on the way back home and while you’re in the car he does like one thing like maybe getting really close to them in the car with like a rough, angry voice and the reader has an orgasm and he acts differently than you’ve ever seen him and when you get home he does like everything to you bc he knows he’s the only one who can ever truly please you???
Safety.
pairing: elvis x reader
warnings: absolute filth. smut. 18+ mdni. reader is a major brat. elvis has a jealousy kink problem. some degradation. elvis is a major tease. mild fem masturbation. some face fucking. creampie lol. a little bit of elvis being in his feelings. one tiny mention of infidelity. prob missing some so as always please read at your own discretion <3
a/n: 70s elvis does absolutely sinful things to me. i am a whore. thank u anon. i am sweating. i am feral. this is very long. like i said my smuts are always slow burns for some reason lol. i think this is the filthiest thing i have ever written. it got a bit fluffy at the end.
a/n part 2: i don’t proofread or else i’ll delete everything and never write again lol enjoy and pls excuse any errors. feedback is always encouraged, and i hope i did your idea justice anon <3
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You felt pathetic.
You were pathetic.
But you couldn’t help it. He just had this affect on you that made you feel like a bitch in heat.
You basically had him pinned against the door of his dressing room, your legs wrapped around his torso and holding on for dear life while your face was nuzzled into the crook of his neck. The angle made it so easy to reach that one spot on his neck you knew he couldn’t resist giving into.
“E.P., five minutes ‘til curtain, let’s move.” A stage hand knocked on the door.
“Darlin’ please, I gotta go, alright?” Elvis pried you off of him, setting you back on your feet. “I love how much you want me, baby, but I can’t be goin’ out there as hard as a rock and end up messing another suit.” He joked, alluding to the incident of his comeback special.
“Fine, go.” You huffed, your sexual frustration seemed to get the better of you in the moment.
“Don’t be catchin’ an attitude with me. I’ll take care of you later, I promise.” He said sternly, cupping your cheek with his hand to pull you in for a quick kiss before running out of the room, only a minute to spare until the show began.
You were pissed. You know you shouldn’t have been, but you couldn’t help it. He always left you such a desperate mess for him, you were starting to think he got off on denying you.
His dramatic introduction echoed throughout the area. You turned to the mirror behind you to fix yourself up before you headed out to watch him perform. You stopped at the bar for a drink before going to your table, lord knew you needed one to keep your composure for the next hour.
Vodka soda in hand, you made your way to your seat to join the rest of the Memphis Mafia. You watched from the crowd as the man you adored moved in ways that created thoughts you were sure would bar you from the gates of heaven. You were entirely hypnotized by him.
He knew damn well what he was doing to you, too. He glanced in your direction, locking eyes with you as he let out such an obscene grunt that gave you flashbacks to the night before. You felt a flutter between your thighs as you recalled those events.
It’s like you both were playing a game of chicken, waiting to see who would snap first.
Your arousal began to feel overwhelming, your cheeks burned up when you felt yourself clenching around nothing. You stood from your seat on weak, shaky legs and made your way back to the bar where it was a bit less humid. The bartender brought you another drink and you sat on the stool, turned around to continue watching Elvis on stage.
Suddenly, a tall figure appeared in your peripheral vision, taking a drink from the bartender. “How’s the show been?” He asked, subtly biting at his lower lip.
“Oh, it’s been good.” You said, not really paying him much mind.
“I’m Collin.” He extended his hand, inviting you for a handshake.
You were still so aroused by Elvis’s little torturous game that even a handshake from a man of average attractiveness set your nerves ablaze.
“Y/N, nice to meet you.” You looked up at him with innocent doe eyes, giving him the look that would have had Elvis bending you over the bar making you scream his name. You tried to push the thought out of your mind, focusing back on Collin.
You would never cheat on Elvis, though. This little back and forth with Collin was simply some harmless flirting. Just a little something to get Elvis riled up. You knew he was constantly scanning the room in search for you, you caught his eyes a handful of times in your conversation with Collin.
The night went on until the last song of Elvis’s set, his eyes were glued to you and Collin for the duration of it. You turned your head to meet his gaze, you’d never seen him as green with jealousy as he was in that moment. You decided it was time to head backstage before the song ended so you said goodnight to Collin, placing a hand on his broad shoulder as you walked away and practically having a staring contest with Elvis on stage. You already knew you were in for it tonight anyways.
You made your way backstage again, watching from the side as the curtain fell in front of Elvis. He rose from his kneeled stance and beelined right towards you.
“Let’s go.” He said sternly in your ear, his hand was placed on the small of your back, ushering you forward as he shouted a general goodnight to the crew. Security opened the back door for him and he lead you to the car, opening the door for you.
“What the hell was all that at the bar?” He asked as he climbed in. He was trying to keep his composure but you could see right through it. He was furious. You had him right where you wanted him. You shrugged in response as you tried to keep your lips from curling into a smirk, but he saw right through that.
“That’s how you want this to go tonight?” Elvis raised an eyebrow at you. “Y’know, baby, I was gonna go real easy on you tonight. I was gonna make love to you.” He placed a hand on your thigh, squeezing it harshly as he started the car. “But I don’t think that’s what you want. I mean, why would my angel go and act like a little slut if she didn’t want to be treated like one, right?”
You were already soaked when he swiftly shoved two long, calloused fingers in you. The sudden feeling of fullness caught you off guard, but it was more than welcomed. Your back arched away from the seat and a high pitched whine escaped your lips.
He chuckled at your reaction, curling his fingers inside you and turning you into putty in his hands. “Fuckin’ drenched. This for me or for the guy you were makin’ googly eyes with at the bar, huh?”
“All for y-you, El. Been soaked all night cause of you.” You admitted, clinging to the seat for stability as Elvis continued to work his fingers in you as he drove home, his other hand gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. He was pissed, and you couldn’t have been more turned on.
Elvis threw the car in park as soon as he pulled into the driveway. He stepped out and walked around to open your door because he’s still a gentleman despite his jealousy fueled rage and the ever tightening of his pants as his own arousal grew. Without words, he offered his hand to assist you in getting out of the car.
Once you were on your feet, he stopped you before you could walk inside. “Here’s how this is gonna go, darlin’. You’re gonna take those panties off and give ‘em to me. You’re gonna walk inside and I’m gonna take that cute little dress of yours, and you’re gonna go wait on the bed for me.” Elvis explained. You were a bit shocked by this level of dominance from him. He always had a bit of a dominant edge to him in the bedroom but this was different. It was exciting.
“Yes, sir.” You said quietly, biting on your lower lip.
“Panties now, please.” He demanded, holding his hand out as he waited for you to peel them off and place them in his hand. He toyed with the fabric between his fingers, feeling just how damp you had been all night. “What got you all wet and needy, princess?”
“Just watching you all night.” You breathed out as he ushered you in the house and unzipped your dress, letting it fall to the floor. Before you could go upstairs to wait for him like he said, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush against him. He went in for your neck, and instead of the sensual kisses you were used to, you felt his teeth biting at the skin, letting your blood rise to the surface and coloring your skin, drawing a moan from you.
“Upstairs. I’ll come up when I come up. No touching.” He stated, calm yet still stern. A light smack on your ass nudged you upstairs.
Now upstairs and waiting like he said to, you debated with yourself on whether you wanted to be good for him or be a brat. You were still a bit annoyed with him for leaving you all hot and bothered before the show. That was enough to make up your mind. Brat it was.
With your mind now made, you got yourself comfy on your shared bed, legs spread wide as you disobeyed Elvis’s order not to touch yourself. You wanted to push his buttons a bit tonight, and you were desperate for any stimulation you could get. You trailed your fingers down to your core, gathering some of your wetness and gliding a finger around your clit. You almost could have came right there from how turned on you were. Quietly at first, whimpers tumbled from your lips, but your volume increased as your pleasure did.
Elvis’s footsteps were heavy coming up the staircase, you could hear him grumbling something under his breath until he reached the bedroom. “My god, you’re like a bitch in heat. Too damn turned on to keep your hands outta that pussy.” He scolded, you could only moan in response to his degrading words as you watched him remove the robe he had changed into after sending you upstairs. Standing only in his boxers, he made his way over to you on the bed, taking your hand away from your clit and prohibiting any further pleasure for the moment, ignoring your whining protests.
“Kneel on the floor, gonna put that mouth to good use.” He ordered, pulling his cock out from his boxers and giving it a few strokes while you assumed your position at his feet with your mouth open. “Look at you, such a good slut for me.” Elvis marveled at the sight beneath him, tangling his fingers in your hair as you took as much of him in your mouth as you could. “Fuckin’ shit.” He groaned out as the warmth of your mouth enveloped him as much as possible. With hollowed cheeks you continued to take him as deep as you can, gagging around his length when he hit the back of your throat.
“Hold on-“ He muttered, stilling your movements. You stared up at him with those doe eyes that drove him to the brink of insanity with his cock still in your mouth, running your tongue around whatever surface of skin you could. “Shit, doll- Lemme fuck your pretty face.” He managed to get out. You gave him a slight nod allowing him to use you as he pleases.
Just like that, he was animalistic. He used your hair as leverage as he mercilessly thrusted himself into your mouth, relishing the feeling when you would swallow around him. Strings of profanities left his plump lips before pulling out, his tip left your lips with a small pop. You whined at the loss, but he brought a hand to cup your cheek, gently stroking your face with the pad of his thumb and sucking on it when he ghosted it against your lips.
“C’mon, up on the bed.” Elvis offered his hand again to help you up from the floor. He sat you down on the silky soft bedsheets, resting his hand on your thigh once again. “Tell me something- you ever think about goin’ and finding another man?” He asked, laying you down gently.
“No, sir. Just want you.” You confessed, beginning to squeeze your thighs together for some sort of friction as your desperation continued to grow.
“Why is that, doll? You love me?” Elvis asked, sneaking his hand down to pry your legs apart, letting his fingers drag themselves through your folds and smirking to himself at the feeling of your wetness and the way you writhed under his touch. “Or is it cause you know ain’t no other man can make you this messy just barely touching you?”
Something about that question did something to you. He was right. He knew he was right. This man could play you like a fiddle without even touching you. “B-both.” You stuttered while Elvis indulged himself in toying with your pussy that was now unbelievably sensitive due to how aroused you were. You were already overstimulated, seemingly just by his mere presence.
“Tell me, mama. You tell me I’m the only one who could make you cum just by listening to me gruntin’ and groanin’ up on stage and I’ll give you the world.” He said sweetly, teasing his middle finger at your entrance before filling you with it and making you cry out.
His demeanor had softened compared to earlier, he was calmer, not as angry. But he was still jealous that you had given Collin more attention than you did to his show, and this was his way of getting the reassurance he craved. This was how he was finding the security he feared losing.
“The only one, Elvis, please.” You were begging for more at this point.
“That’s right, mama. ” He cooed in your ear, removing his fingers from you and positioning himself between your legs that were now shaking. Elvis lined himself up with your entrance, enjoying the sight and sound of you all strung out under him, all strung out for him, whimpering for him.
Without warning, he snapped his hips forward, plunging into you with a groan. You cried out as he filled you, hands instinctively flying to his back where your nails anchored themselves for stability as he rutted into you. His thrusts were desperate, it was almost as if he was trying to get even closer than just being inside you.
The last several hours you had spent so hungry for him were coming to a head, the coil in your belly had been wound up so tightly, you worried that he would have you cumming around him in less than two minutes.
“Don’t you ever go ‘round thinking you’ll get this feeling from another man.” Elvis said as he wrapped his hand around your throat with just enough pressure to dizzy you, filling you with ecstasy.
“All yours, El, I promise.” You panted while he fucked himself into you, muttering under his breath about his good little slut as he lost himself in between thrusts. His sweat dripped from his forehead and onto your chest, a slight sheen blanketed your breasts.
“That’s right, angel. All mine.” His thrusts turned sloppy as soon as he reached between your hot bodies to paw at your clit, you were squeezing his cock like a vice and he wasn’t sure he could last much longer.
He slowed his pace while he toyed with your clit, savoring the sensation of how you clenched up around him; it nearly sent shivers down his spine. The pressure and speed he applied to your clit combined with the way he was hitting that sweet spot within you with each stroke brought you right to the edge, verging on tumbling off at any moment now.
“l- fuck, I’m close-“ You managed to form the words, you could hardly recognize your own voice.
Elvis lifted his head from the crook of your neck for a moment. “Go ‘head, and cum for me, doll”. He allowed, increasing the speed of his thrusts again as he neared his own climax. “Cum for me like I’m the only one who can make you cum, cause that’s right, isn’t it?”
And oh god, did that do you in. His desire to be the only one for you. You clutched his strong arm as your orgasm tore through you; chanting his name like a prayer, like it was the only word in your vocabulary. Elvis was right behind you on that ledge, toppling over along with you. His hips stuttered in you as your walls contracted around him and he found his sweet, sweet release spilling inside you with a strangled moan. You rode your orgasms out together, his hips slowing as you squeezed around him, overstimulating him just a bit until he pulled out and collapsed next to you.
Your chests heaved in time, glistening with each others sweat as you caught your breath. Elvis regressed into a bit of a vulnerable state. “Don’t go pullin’ that shit again, darlin’. Can’t be letting my girl get swept away from me.” He mumbled into your skin as he nuzzled himself into your bare chest.
“I know, honey, I’m sorry.” You lovingly stroked his hair that was now laced with sweat. “You’ll always be the only one for me, I promise.” You reassured him with a kiss to his forehead. Elvis snaked his arm around your waist, beginning to drift off to asleep. You followed not far behind him, wrapped up in each other’s embrace.
This was safety. This was security.
1K notes · View notes
headfullofpresley · 1 year
Text
Ruin Me
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Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader
Summary: You knew it was wrong. He was your father’s friend and fifteen years older, but you always got what you wanted and this time, you had your sights set on him. 
Word count: 9,4K
Warning(s): 1968!El, comeback special!El, strong language, alcohol consumption, age gap (fifteen years), dom!El, bratty!reader, virgin!reader, smut; spanking, thigh riding, oral (f. and m. receiving), fingering, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, choking if you squint, reader lies about being on birth control.
Author’s note: enjoy, ya filthy animals. jk, i love yall <3.
masterlist
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It was like every single person in every corner of the world dropped everything the second Elvis Presley’s Comeback Special was announced─it would be his first time performing in front of a live audience since years and his fans were quite literally fighting anyone that stood in between them and those tickets when they went on sale. Despite him working on his movies the past couple of years, the fans missed him and were craving for something fresh, something new. And Elvis would be sure to give them exactly what they wanted.
You were one of the lucky ones that was part of Elvis’ inner circle. With your father working in the industry and working with Elvis on a couple of his movies, the two became fast friends as they bonded over music, motorcycles and whatever else they’d talk about whenever Elvis came over at the house. You had no idea what they talked about most of the time and you simply did not care─the only thing you cared about was how good Elvis smelled whenever he leaned in to you to kiss your cheek as a way of greeting you and how he’d wink at you from across the dining table. You were hopelessly in love with your father’s best friend and you wouldn’t be surprised if he was well aware of it.
Elvis was indeed very aware of your feelings toward him. He could see it in your eyes the first time he was introduced to you and how you’d make it your mission to make the effects you had on him very difficult to hide. The way you’d flutter your long eyelashes at him every time he made eye contact with you and how your outfits got a little more skimpier every time he came around made it nearly impossible to keep up a conversation with your father. When he’d go in the living room to smoke a cigar with his friend and you’d clean the dining table with your mother, he didn’t miss how you’d bend over a little further than necessary, showing off your panties. At some point he noticed you stopped wearing panties all together, making him nearly lose his goddamn mind when he noticed your bare ass and tight little slit. Every time he was over at the house, he was praying that your parents would go to bed earlier than usual, leaving you behind with him. Unfortunately, they never did.
He never had the chance to make his move and when you started dating some 20 year old, he realised you thought he wasn’t phased by your actions or that he was simply rejecting you. You wanted him to do something so bad, take you up to your room and fuck your brains out while your parents were in the other room, and when he never did, your feelings were hurt. You figured it was time to take the next step─making him jealous. Show him what he was missing.
You nearly begged your father to let John, your new ‘boyfriend’, come along to the show and your father eventually agreed, knowing that you weren’t going to give up when your mind was set on something (or someone). You couldn’t give two shits about John, all you wanted was to see the look on Elvis’ face when you’d be all over your boyfriend.
As soon as you were all backstage before the show and Elvis wandered in the room clothed in a leather suit, exposing most of his chest, you nearly fainted right in front of everyone as if it was the first time you were seeing Elvis Presley in person.
He noticed you immediately and you watched as he greeted some people before making his way over to you and your family. John stood next to you with his arm wrapped around your waist and he could feel you were feeling nervous – you didn’t even give him a proper response when he asked if you were okay, your eyes glued on Elvis as his aura nearly swallowed you whole. If you were a cartoon character, hearts would definitely be popping out of your eyes right now.
“Hello darlin’,” he hummed after he greeted your parents, grinning at you as he leaned in closer. He planted a shameless and firm hand on your waist as he leaned in, kissing your cheek only inches away from your lips. His thumb that caressed your waist burned right through the thin fabric of your dress and you had to stop your eyes from rolling back, wanting nothing more than to grab him by that unholy leather jacket and be all over him. You were snapped back to reality when he moved back and looked at John, the grin on his face felt taunting.
“Who’s this?” he asked you, although his eyes were still very much on John and you watched as John seemed to shrink a few inches in Elvis’ presence. It was probably the hottest thing you had ever seen. “This is John,” you spoke up for the first time since he came in the room, slipping your arm around John’s shoulder as you pressed yourself against him. “My boyfriend,”
Elvis was in the middle of shaking his hand as those words left your mouth and he didn’t let go as he looked at you with a raised eyebrow, squeezing John’s hand firmly in his grip. John just smiled as he stood there, shaking his hand while trying not to show he was uncomfortable with his fingers being squeezed together.
“Boyfriend, huh? Didn’t know ya had one, doll,”
You hummed as you nodded, adding a bit more fuel to the fire as you kissed John’s cheek, placing a hand on his chest. Elvis chuckled deeply as he eventually let go of John’s hand, buttoning up his jacket. Your eyes were quick as they moved to his chest but Elvis noticed it, licking his lips as he tilted his head a little. “Let’s hope this one sticks, hm?” he laughed softly, trying to sound as casual as he could.
“Believe me, he will. We might even get married,” you told him matter of factly, the annoyance that was already bubbling in your veins full on cooking now when he just laughed and nodded, shooting you a wink.
“Oh, stop it with the nonsense, Y/N,” your father interrupted with a laugh, knowing that you and John definitely were not getting married – you hadn’t even been dating the kid for two weeks. You shot a glare at your father and Elvis as they fell into conversation with each other, leaving you to entertain John by yourself. You were happy when Elvis was eventually called out of the room since the show would be starting soon.
All throughout the show, you were close to having a mental breakdown. You had always known what a great performer Elvis was – you heard the stories, listened to the songs and even had him singing during get togethers at your own house but this was just insane. The way he was working the crowd, making contact with the people that were seated on the edge of the small square stage, made you curse everyone that worked on this special for the fact VIPs were not seated at the front. You still had a very good view at the back of the venue seeing it was a small one but when he got on his knee and let girls touching his leather thighs, it felt like you were turning green with jealousy. He knew exactly what he was doing when he found you in the crowd and shot you a wink as everyone was reaching out to him, manicured nails inching further up his thighs. You nearly broke every bone in John’s hand when he slipped it in yours, not giving him the chance to pull away.
You loved every minute of the show but you couldn’t be happier when it was over. Your parents must’ve thought you lost your damn mind when you pulled John along to follow Jerry back to the show room. You had to mentally prepare yourself for seeing Elvis again, all sweaty and hot this time, and for what you were going to say. It was time to bring the spoiled little brat to the surface.
As soon as he came into the room, champagne was popped and he was immediately swarmed by people congratulating him on finishing the first part of the special. The other parts would be shot without an audience the next day, so you wouldn’t have to sneakily rub your thighs together again until you’d watch it back on the television. You allowed John to pull you into his lap after you handed him a glass of champagne and grabbed his hand, placing it right on your ass as you pulled your legs up a little, letting the fabric of your dress ride up to expose more of your skin. You made a show of it when you’d kiss your boyfriend, giggling obnoxiously when he’d whisper in your ear, playfully slapping his chest as if whatever he was saying was oh so funny, perhaps even a little naughty. You forgot the words as soon as they came out of his mouth, but Elvis didn’t need to know that.
The raven haired man could barely keep his eyes off of you – he’d try and be part of conversations, not showing anyone he was distracted, but you were putting him through hell. He was standing on the other side of the room and he had the perfect view of the back of your exposed thighs – he wanted nothing more than to stride over and pull your dress up a few inches more to expose your panties. If you were wearing any at all. Wouldn’t be the first time if you weren’t.
When you lifted your head out of John’s neck and looked over your shoulder to meet his eyes and give him a little finger wave, he downed the rest of his drink and excused himself from the people he was talking to.
Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed him walking over and you didn’t know if it was because your prayers had been heard or if it was because John felt so intimidated, but your boyfriend lifted you off of his lap as he said he was going to find a bathroom that wasn’t so crowded like the one in the show room.
You didn’t stop him, kicking off your heels to sit on your knees to look at Elvis as he sat down next to you. Your parents were distracted by other people and Elvis took the opportunity to place his hand just above your knee, fingertips dancing further up your thigh.
Other than an arm around your waist or around your shoulder, he had never touched you so boldly and especially not with your parents in the room. It certainly was a risky move but it made heat flush in between your legs, a tingle running down your spine as you pressed your elbow deeper into the back of the couch where it was resting.
‘‘What’s with you and this John kid?’’ he blurted out as his hand disappeared underneath the fabric of your dress, finger sprawling out against your skin before he squeezed the flesh of your thigh. You quickly took a sip of your champagne to not let out a squeak, looking at him and that stupid smug grin that was raising the corner of his mouth. You swallowed the bubbly alcohol and cleared your throat a little, moving your glass to your other hand. You were trying to keep up your act and not show him that he was making you feel all hot and bothered, but you were pretty sure you looked flushed and as if you were about to slip right off this damned couch.
‘‘What do you mean by that? I told you, he’s my boyfriend,’’ you said, keeping your voice as steady and confident as you could, even trying to sound a little sassy. You thought you were rather succesful, but he saw right through you.
‘‘He treat you well?’’
Your eyes met his and even though he was still showing dominance as he always was, you were wondering if that was jealousy that you heard on the back of his tongue. You didn’t comment on it though, instead sinking your teeth into your lower lip as you tilted your head. ‘‘Hmhm, he does. Takes me to the most expensive restaurants, buys me flowers,’’ you lied through your teeth, taking another sip of champagne. It wasn’t like John didn’t try to take you out but you always declined─growing up with one foot already in the entertainment industry due to your parents’ line of work, you always got everything that you wanted and you were used to the finer things in life, not deeming anything less acceptable. When John took you out to a drive in movie theater, you were bored out of your mind. You would much rather be mingling with people that had status and sipping champagne.
You’d make up all kinds of excuses to John to not have to go out with him most of the time, not only because you were spoiled but also because every time he’d kiss you, all you could think about was Elvis, Elvis and Elvis.
Before Elvis could speak, you looked around the room and when you noticed your parents were still distracted, you leaned in closer to the man next to you as you cupped your hand at the side of your mouth.
‘‘And he has a huge cock,’’
A complete lie. You were 18 and still a virgin─after Elvis Presley came into your life, you had made it your mission to lose said virginity to him and him only.
Elvis knew you were a virgin, he could see it in the way you were so needy for him. For a man to touch you. But he wouldn’t put you on the spot─if you wanted your first time to be with a man who knew how to actually fuck a woman, he would be more than willing to make that little dream of yours come true.
As you giggled and leaned back again, Elvis squeezed your thigh a little firmer and he succeeded in shutting you up immediately, teeth sinking into your tongue to hold back a small moan. His eyes found yours and you could’ve sworn his ocean blue ones darkened a little, tongue swiping over his bottom lip teasingly.
‘‘Seems like he hasn’t been using it well then, sweetheart. You still got a big mouth,’’ he whispered, though it was loud enough for you to hear. You squeezed your thighs together, trapping his fingertips in between them in the process, and you could feel your arousal sticking against the fabric of the panties you did decide to wear tonight. Now you wish you weren’t─with his fingers so close to where you wanted them, he could’ve touched you so easily. Just thinking about it made you almost jump the man with everyone present in the room. You cleared your throat a little, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you looked at him, steadying your breathing before you spoke.
‘‘Think you can do better?’’ you challenged him, tilting your head as you bit your lip seductively.
At this, he removed his hand completely and leaned in closer to you. He reached a hand out to your face, caressing some of your hair behind your ear with his fingertips as his eyes wandered over your face. You arched your back a little to stick out your chest, showing off the delicious cleavage your dress gave you─he looked down at it for a second, grin curling the corner of his lips as he looked back into your eyes again. ‘‘You bet I can,’’ he told you, leaning in even closer until his face was right next to yours, hot breath tickling against the shell of your ear. ‘‘You really think I believe your little lies, doll? You’re a spoiled little brat, there ain’t no way you’d think of someone like that worthy of your time,’’ he whispered, leaning back a little as his eyes found John in the crowd who came back into the room, awkwardly smiling and nodding at some people that walked by him. He stole a glass of champagne from a high table and stood near your parents, who weren’t giving him any attention either. Your parents weren’t interested in John at all, knowing that he wouldn’t last anyways.
Elvis laughed deeply, slipping his hand down to the back of your neck and he grinned at the way he could feel your heartbeat underneath the pad of his thumb. It was picking up by the minute and he knew it was because of him─perhaps it could’ve been your nerves, but in reality, it was because you were so excited to be this close to him and to have him say these words. You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he just told you he could fuck you better than your boyfriend.
‘‘You’ve been a tease since the moment your father introduced me to you. Showin’ yourself off, eye fucking me from across the room,’’ he grinned as he turned back to face you, eyes wandering down to your cleavage again. You felt your cheeks heating up, nearly moaning at the way his thumb added a bit of pressure against your neck. ‘‘You’re playin’ a risky game, baby. Due for a spanking, if you ask me,’’
Oh sweet baby Jesus. You were going to lose your fucking mind, you were absolutely sure of it. As his eyes met yours, you grabbed onto the leather jacket he was still in, popping open some more buttons. He laughed as he removed his hand from your neck and grabbed onto your wrists, peeling them off of him which made you pout. You were so turned on that you didn’t even care John was looking right at you and that your parents were only a few feet away. Not to mention the other 30 something people in the room.
‘‘Get a few more of those in you and pretend you’re drunk,’’ he whispered in your ear before he nodded at the champagne glass in your hand and you knew it was an order, dominance dripping off of his tongue. All you could do was nod eagerly, watching him get up from the couch after he released his grip on you to walk over to Jerry. John immediately made his way over to you and you rolled your eyes in annoyance, downing your champagne before you were already on the hunt for a refill.
You did exactly as Elvis told you, drinking a few glasses of champagne but you made sure you wouldn’t really get drunk. The slight buzz you felt was enough because you had no idea what this night would bring you, even though you were fantasizing about Elvis fucking you in every corner of this room in great detail, and you did not want to black out when those fantasies would come true. He kept his eye on you the entire time, winking at you, holding up his glass as a sign for you to keep up the act. You were still able to act like a normal person because you weren’t exactly a lightweight but you made sure to slur your words a little more whenever speaking to John or anyone else, gigling obnoxiously. Anyone that spoke to you could see that you had a bit too much to drink and when Elvis could hear your mother expressing her worries to your father, he assured them he’d take care of you. He promised them to drive you home or have someone drive you home when you felt like leaving and since your father was so close to Elvis, he allowed it. The fact that you assured them you were still having fun and feeling good helped as well─your parents had never been really strict, so you were happy that they were not making a problem of this either.
‘‘Do you want me to stay, sweetie?’’ John asked as your parents were saying their goodbyes to other people, holding your hands lovingly. You nearly gagged in his face, but decided to feign a smile and shake your head. ‘‘No, no! Go. I know you have work in the morning,’’ you told him, kissing his cheek as you pulled your hands out of his. He looked at Elvis who was still next to you, his hand placed casually on your lower back. Even if John wanted to, he was too much of a pussy to say something to the man and you didn’t blame him with the way Elvis was impatiently tapping his boot on the floor, waiting for him to leave. John sighed and nodded, smiling at you as he pecked your lips─as he turned around to leave the dressing room with your parents, you wiped away his kiss with the back of your hand and turned to Elvis as soon as the door closed, smiling brightly.
He took you around the room for a little bit, socializing with people and even though you still wanted to jump his bones, you were actually having fun without having John breathing down your neck or the presence of your parents in the room. Elvis kept you by his side the entire time and it felt like he was showing you off, marking his territory─you had no idea if that was all just in your head, but you were indulging in the delusion nonetheless. After having a few more drinks and conversations, Jerry and Elvis exchanged a look from across the room and you were visibly startled as Elvis suddenly clapped in his hands, demanding everyone’s attention.
‘‘Alright, party’s over, folks. Y’all are wastin’ my liquor and I’m gettin’ tired of seeing your faces,’’ he announced with a big smile on his face, laughing as everyone did as well. Even though he made it come off in a playful manner, everyone started saying their goodbyes and collecting their things before slowly leaving the show room. That was just the kind of effect Elvis Presley had─people listened to him, wouldn’t matter what came out of his mouth. You admired that in a man, you admired that in him. You craved someone like that.
Within the span of five minutes, the room was completely deserted aside from you and Elvis. Even people he worked with or people from his private life that rarely left his side were gone and as you saw him closing the door and looking at you with hungry eyes and a grin on his face, you suddenly felt like a lamb caught in a wolf’s trap. And you enjoyed every single second of it.
‘‘Alone at last,’’ you hummed, grinning as you immediately grabbed onto his jacket when he was in arms reach. His hands cupped your face, licking his lips before he sunk his teeth in them, looking down at you. You were feeling so incredibly small and it was turning you on to no end. Your heart was beating so fast that you felt it could explode right through your chest at any second now and when his lips crashed onto yours, you felt like fireworks bursting into an array of colors throughout your entire body. You raised yourself on your toes a little, hungrily dipping your tongue deeper into his mouth as soon as he parted his lips─his hands tightened their grip on your face a little and you were nearly levitating, legs shaking as you tried to keep your balance on your toes. He noticed it and released your face but he was quick to wrap his arms around your waist, fingers tapping against your ass. You took the hint and moved your arms up to his shoulders, hopping up into his arms and you couldn’t help but clench around nothing at how easily he managed to catch you. He allowed you to pull back from the kiss and grinned at himself as you immediately started planting open mouthed kisses in his neck, tongue hungrily lapping at his cologne stained skin, not caring about the taste of it on your tongue. You barely noticed him walking over to the couch until he sat down on it with you straddling his waist, making you pull your head out of his neck.
He didn’t even have to ask you or do it himself, your hands already moving to the hem of your dress to pull it up and over your head, flinging it across the room. He raised an eyebrow at the pleasant surprise of you not wearing a bra and licked his lips, hands flying up to cup your breasts immediately, his thumbs caressing over your sensitive nipples. He could feel them hardening under his touch and hummed softly as he heard you moan softly, the sound making blood rush to his semi hard on that was making his leather pants tighter by the second.
He couldn’t wait to have his way with you.
‘‘Get up,’’ he ordered, his hands slipping from your breasts to your hips, lifting you off of him. You didn’t question him, you’d probably do anything he asked of you at this point, and got up, looking at him curiously. He grinned at you as he sat up a little straighter, nodding down to his lap. ‘‘Bend over,’’ he said, grabbing your arm to gently guide you over his knee─you had completely forgotten about the spanking comment he made earlier but you should’ve known he would be going through with it. After all, the man always lived up to his word.
Aside from when you were a little girl and you had stolen your mothers’ pearls, you had never been spanked. Especially not in a sexual setting like this one, but you couldn’t keep yourself quiet every time Elvis’ flat hand came into contact with your ass. He had pulled the fabric of your panties between your cheeks tightly so that his slaps would have more effect on your bare skin, both in sound and the delicious sting that came along with it. You lost count but you wouldn’t be surprised if his hand print was marked into your ass─neither would you mind it. Every time his hand landed against your skin and made your ass jiggle, it sent a vibration right to your pussy and you were absolutely sure you were leaking by now.
‘‘If only they could see you now,’’ he grinned menacingly, obviously meaning your parents. And probably also John.
His hand connected to your skin harshly, making you moan as you grabbed onto one of the decorative pillows on the couch, squeezing it. He pulled it out of your hands roughly, pulling your arms back to hold them behind your back. Trapping your wrists against your back underneath his large palm, he let out a mean laugh, making your walls clench pathetically.
‘‘You always get everything you want, don’t ya?’’
Another slap, followed by another moan.
‘‘You’re.. y-you’re.. giving m-me what I want r-right n-now,’’ you whimpered, trying to wiggle your ass, already missing the pain. He tightened his grip on your wrists, leaning down to you a little bit. ‘‘What was that, doll?’’ he hummed, landing a slap against your ass cheek so hard the sound bounced off of the four walls in the room and you could’ve sworn you were seeing white spots clouding your vision. It hurt like hell, more than the other ones, and tears stung in your eyes. Yet you still found yourself wanting more. More more more. You wanted him to ruin you, use you.
You didn’t repeat the question and he grinned as he looked back down at your ass, his palm rubbing the spot he just slapped. ‘‘That’s what I thought. About time someone taught you a lesson,’’ he chuckled devilishly, his fingertip hooking underneath the fabric of your panties to pull it up and back a little, the fabric rubbing against your clit roughly but oh so deliciously. You pressed your head into the couch, moaning lewdly and needily as he continued the action for a little bit. You were desperately trying to chase the feeling, whining when he released your panties from his grip and he continued his assault on your ass for a little longer. It got to the point where you were nearly crying and when he noticed your thighs shaking out of your control, he released your wrists out of his grip and pulled you up. You let him pull down your panties, a string of your slick coming down with it and the sight of it made his cock twitch in the confinements of his pants. He wanted to take his time with you tonight, not knowing when the opportunity would present itself again.
He spread his legs as he grabbed onto your waist, guiding you down to straddle his thigh. The contact of the leather against your exposed pussy made you whine softly and he sat up a bit more so you were able to plant your knees on the spacious couch. You looked at him as he laced his fingers together behind his head, arrogant smirk on his face as he just raised an eyebrow at you. As if to say, ‘‘What are you waiting for?’’
You placed your hands against his chest as you slowly started thrusting your hips back and forth, your leaking arousal making it easy as you slipped right over the leather of his pants. The feeling was foreign─nothing like the pillow you had humped in your teenage years, nor did it come close to the feeling of your own fingers. The leather was heating up the faster you were moving and perhaps you should be worried, but you couldn’t get yourself to stop, moans rolling over your tongue like a prayer. His eyes were on you the entire time and the longer you went on, the more you regained your confidence and he enjoyed every second of the little show you were giving him. You were sitting up a little straighter now, hands running through your hair, slipping down your neck to your breasts─you heard him let out a deep groan as you squeezed your breasts, pinching your nipples, as you threw your head back and circled your clit on the flexing muscles of his clothed thigh.
‘‘Look at you. Such a little slut,’’ he mumbled as you looked at him again, teeth sinking into your index finger as you squeezed your breasts together with your forearms, moaning extra seductively for him. ‘‘Bet you fantasized about this moment so many times before, hm?’’
His words were only motivating you to go faster and harder, ruining the fabric of his pants but neither you or him seemed to care. You moaned as you nodded at him, your hands falling back on his chest to keep yourself steady as you found the right spot of stimulation which would get you right where you wanted to go. He unclasped his hands from behind his head and grabbed onto your chin, parting your lips as he grinned at you. ‘‘Use your words, little girl,’’
‘‘Y-Yes,’’ you moaned. ‘‘I h-have. Always t-thinking ‘bout you, D-Daddy,’’
He hadn’t expected those words to leave your mouth but with the way it made his cock twitch in his pants, he wasn’t complaining. He would be a fool to.
‘‘That’s right,’’ he grinned smugly as his hands landed on your waist, guiding your movements as he made you move even faster and kept you steady on his thigh. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’d slip right off of the leather with how wet you were. ‘‘I’m your Daddy now, baby girl. You understand?’’ he hummed as he leaned forward a bit to plant a few kisses on your jawline, giving you the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck which you greatly took. His words were making your head spin and all you could do was nod and mumble a ‘yes’. He allowed the lack of words this time.
Every single one of his touches felt as if your bones were set aflame and you could feel your orgasm fast approaching. You were a moaning mess as you clenched your toes, clinging onto him for dear life, fingers tangling into his dark locks. He guided you right through your first orgasm of the night, holding you still with his large hands on your waist as you came undone on his thigh, your chest heaving erratically as if you just finished running a marathon. You were dizzy, your heart thumping in your ears─even though you still technically gave yourself this orgasm, it was your first time coming undone in front and with someone else. You felt vulnerable and comfortable at the same time, a feeling that you did not want to lose any time soon.
‘‘You enjoyed that, baby girl?’’ he grinned at you as he pecked your lips. Despite this being the same man that bruised your ass a little while ago, he was still able to make you feel comfortable around him. Honestly, he could do anything and you’d still think he was the perfect man, because to you that was the truth and nothing but the truth.
You ran your hands through his hair as you nodded, catching your breath as you looked at him. He smiled but before he could kiss you once more, you brought yourself back to your feet as you pulled open the rest of his jacket, pushing it down his shoulders. He laughed softly as he helped you take it off, watching you place your hands on his knees to spread his legs─he allowed it and bit his lip at the sight of you getting on your knees in between his legs. He probably had been waiting for this as long as you had, but the alpha male and the size of his ego wouldn’t let him speak those words out loud.
You did not care at all, because you were getting exactly what you wanted in this moment. You were about to lose your virginity to Elvis fucking Presley, you were riding high on that pink cloud.
Your fingers were greedy and quick when you undid his pants, pulling down the leather to the best of your abilities. It wasn’t the best fabric to work with when in heated situations like this, but you managed to get it down to his thighs which was all you needed for now, really. Since he wasn’t wearing any underwear, his cock sprung free right in front of your eyes, twitching impatiently as you looked at it with those hungry eyes. As you looked up at Elvis, you squeezed your thighs together at the sight of his half lidded eyes looking back at you, impatient hand gathering your hair together in a makeshift ponytail. You felt a hint of panic settling in your stomach─you had a big fucking mouth, but you had never sucked a dick in your life. Even though you were pretty sure Elvis already knew this was your first time, you did not want to seem like you were completely inexperienced. As long as you wouldn’t use your teeth, you’d be fine, right?
You started off slow, letting your tongue trace the veins of the shaft before you’d swirl your tongue around the tip. You had one hand wrapped around him to hold him up, lowering it a little as you wrapped your lips around him, moving your head down to take him in deeper. He gently grabbed your hand with his free one, removing it from his cock as he moaned at the feeling of his tip touching the back of your throat. You groaned softly, bringing your head back up only to repeat the action of deep throating him again. And again. And again. And again. Tears were starting to sting in your eyes, clouding your vision but the sounds he was making made you almost addicted to having his cock in your mouth. He could see you were struggling and bit his lip, grinning softly as he released your hand.
‘‘Use your little hand, baby,’’ he told you and you immediately did as he told you to, wrapping your hand around his cock again to assist you with the blowjob you were giving him. You were looking up at him with curious eyes the whole time and eventually you found yourself falling into a comfortable rhythm which he seemed to find pleasurable as well by the sounds of his moans and the way he was bucking his hips up a little. You picked up your pace and it didn’t take very long before drool was spilling out from the corners of your mouth, slipping down your chin as you gave him the most sloppy but delicious blowjob he had ever gotten. Most girls weren’t very fond of blowjobs and therefor not very good at it because they lacked motivation and didn’t have fun with it, but you were enjoying yourself down there. You wanted all of him, every inch of his body and soul, and if that meant you gave head like this, he certainly wasn’t complaining.
You wanted nothing more than to suck him completely dry and for him to paint the back of your throat white, but he pulled you up before he could fulfill that fantasy of yours. You licked your lips before you pouted at him, allowing him to pull you up nonetheless.
‘‘Can’t always get what you want, princess,’’ he grinned teasingly and you giggled softly, wiping your chin with the back of your hand before you kissed him. He allowed it, slipping his tongue into your mouth hungrily as he did not give a damn about tasting himself on your tongue. He kicked his boots off, pushing you down onto the couch─his tongue was still exploring your mouth as he turned around and placed his hands on the arm rest of the couch your head was against, teeth nibbling at your lower lip teasingly as he eventually pulled back. He stood up straight and you watched him take off his pants, laughing softly as he struggled with it for a little bit but before you could help him, he managed to get it down and off of his ankles, kicking it aside. You waited impatiently and nervously as he spread your legs, situating himself in between them as he got on his knees. You pictured him in this exact moment so many times and now that it was actually happening, you felt as if you were dreaming. It made you sneakily dig your fingernails into the palms of your hands, smiling softly at him when you realised this was in fact very real.
He made sure you knew it was real. You couldn’t compare it to anyone or anything else, but the way he was eating you out was mindblowing. You couldn’t be quiet even if you wanted to and you were sure anyone that walked by the show room knew exactly what was going on, but you simply did not care. His name was rolling off of your tongue like a chant as he slipped in a finger, adding another one a few seconds later─he was preparing you for what was about to come, just as he was preparing himself. You were tight as hell around his fingers and he could only imagine how you’d feel when wrapped around his cock, all snug, wet and warm. God, he could hardly wait anymore, but he wanted this to be comfortable for you despite you acting like you were so tough and ready for it all.
He knew losing your virginity was something big, especially for young girls, and he did not want your first time to be something you’d look back on with regrets or whatsoever. He wanted this to be good for you, wanted you to remember it for the rest of your life.
The feeling of having two fingers buried knuckle deep inside of you was new and a little uncomfortable at first, but as you felt yourself getting used to it, you couldn’t stop your hips from chasing his fingers and mouth. He was everywhere─curling his fingers inside of you, sucking on your clit, tongue flattening as he slipped it through your folds. At one point, his entire mouth covered your pussy but this time, he pulled back before you could reach that little piece of delicious euphoria. You whined at the loss of contact and he laughed softly, getting up to plant one foot on the floor and one knee on the edge of the couch, situating himself in between your legs.
‘‘I’m on the pill,’’ you immediately said before he could do or say anything. A lie, but you were too impatient for him to go around the room and look for a condom. Neither were you sure if he even had one in here or anywhere else and you just couldn’t wait anymore. You needed to have him and you needed it now.
He was just as impatient as you and didn’t question you on it, pulling you down on the couch a little further until he was lingering right in front of you. Wrapping his hand around his cock, he slipped his tip through your folds, circling it against your clit with just the right amount of pressure.
‘‘Are you ready for me, baby girl?’’
A stupid question, honestly. You were more than ready for him and when you whined and nodded eagerly, his lips curled into a smirk. He slipped his tip down to your untouched little hole, pushing himself into you.
You gasped at the painful intrusion, hands flying to grab onto the couch as you stared up at him with wide eyes. You didn’t give him any indication that you wanted to stop, so he pushed himself further and further, until he couldn’t anymore. He held still as he pressed his hips forward into you firmly, holding onto your shaky thighs.
You felt so fucking full.
You had no idea if you were delusional or not, but you could’ve sworn you felt him in your stomach.
You were whining and panting, the pain almost unbearable as tears formed in your eyes. You had no idea how people could enjoy this and you hated your body for betraying you and being so needy for this man. Maybe John should’ve been the one who took your virginity instead, you knew he was way smaller than the one inside of you right now. But you weren’t giving up. You could do this, you were a big girl.
Elvis was still Elvis and you were still head over heels for him. He was finally giving you what you wanted for so long, you wouldn’t dare to complain about it now.
His hands caressed up your thighs before he placed them on the back and arm rest of the couch. As he leaned over you, he pressed into you harder and it made you gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders instead. He could feel you clenching around him viciously, panicked.
‘‘Relax, little girl. This is what ya wanted, right?’’ he whispered, his breath hot on your face as he grazed his lips over yours. You whined softly, nodding as your hands grabbed onto his hair. You were clinging onto him for dear life.
‘‘Then relax. Won’t feel good if you don’t,’’
You were trying. You were trying so hard. But as he slowly pulled his hips back before he thrusted forward again, you let out a strangled moan, teeth sinking into your lip as your cheeks flushed a shade of heavy crimson.
‘‘H-Hurts..’’ you croaked out, looking up at him with tear filled eyes. He grinned softly as he nuzzled the tip of his nose against yours, his eyes boring into yours.
‘‘Give Daddy a kiss. It’ll take your mind off of the pain, baby,’’
You didn’t hesitate for one second, pressing your lips onto his harshly as you allowed him to slip his tongue inside of your mouth. He kissed you like you had never been kissed before, teeth grazing your lower lip, sucking on your tongue─and it did take your mind away from the ache in between your thighs as he continued his movements. The more he thrusted into you, stretching you out on his cock, the more pleasure returned to the pit of your stomach. It was still a tad bit uncomfortable, but not enough for you panic over anymore.
You wanted more. Wanted it harder. Faster.
‘‘P-please,’’ you moaned in his mouth, your hips moving up to try and follow his movements. You were a complete amateur, not even knowing what you were doing, but you were far too gone to be embarrassed about it now. He didn’t care either. The way you were sucking him in every time he’d thrust into you and the way you’d clench around him got him growling into your mouth, his tongue lapping needily at yours. He picked up his pace and your moans steadily grew louder, having to pull away from his face so you could gasp in a breath of air.
‘‘Feel good now, hmm?’’ he grinned as he straightened himself up again, his large hands holding onto your hips to keep you still as he fucked into you. ‘‘Like it when Daddy fucks you like this? Been waitin’ on it, haven’t ya?’’
You couldn’t give him a proper answer other than eager nods and whiny moans. While he had been nice minutes earlier and gave you the time you needed to adjust to the feeling of having him inside of you, he could see you were starting to enjoy the feeling more and more and he was done playing nice.
One of his hands wandered up, grabbing your jaw to make your head turn and have you face him again. ‘‘Lost your tongue, little one?’’
You tried to shake your head no, which was nearly impossible with the dead grip he had on you. You grabbed onto his arm, but it wasn’t to get him off of you, you just needed something to hold onto. ‘‘F-feels.. g-good.. so fuckin’ good,’’ you moaned as your eyes rolled into the back of your head as his thrusts became calculated and hard. He’d pull out to the point where the head of his cock nearly slipped out of you, but before it could he had already thrusted back into you. Your entire body shook, moving further up the couch with every thrust. ‘‘W-Waited for so so l-long…’’
‘‘Turn around, baby,’’ he suddenly ordered as he pulled out of you completely and let go of your face, making you whine desperately at the loss of contact. ‘‘On your knees,’’ he grinned at you, sending you a wink that made your heart stammer against your ribcage as he softly tapped your thigh.
You didn’t question him on it as you sat up and quickly turned around, getting on your knees as you leaned your forearms on the back of the couch. You arched your back as his hands caressed down your sides and over the shape of your ass, moaning softly as he squeezed the flesh in his large palms. One of his hands moved to your thigh, tugging on it softly as he spoke, ‘‘Put your leg up like this,’’
You raised your leg, allowing him to place it the way he wanted to─your foot flat on the couch as your other knee was still pressing into it. The position wasn’t uncomfortable but even if it would’ve been, you’d probably allow this man to fold you in half and still think of him as the man of your dreams. You looked over your shoulder as you felt the couch dip, biting your lip as you watched him align himself at your entrance again.
‘‘Fuckin’ tight little pussy,’’ he hummed as he pushed himself into you, looking at you with a cocky smirk on his face. God, he was so fucking beautiful, you could cum by just looking at him and listening to his voice─wouldn’t be the first time. But this was so much better than touching yourself when looking at a picture of him. ‘‘All for me, ain’t that right?’’
Your nails dug into the fabric of the couch as you frantically nodded at his words, moaning at being so full of him once more. The stretch was still there, the mix of pain and pleasure making you only want it more. In the position you were in, he was able to wind one arm around your waist and as he thrusted into you while his fingers circled your clit skilfully, you were pretty sure half of the building probably heard what was going on. Your voice felt foreign to your ears as you moaned out his name over and over again and even when he grabbed your face and made you look at him so he could kiss you, you weren’t able to keep yourself quiet.
You tried to tell him every time how your body belonged to him every time he questioned you on it, but he could see you were going dumb. He watched your face with a smug grin, loving the way you were looking at him with such needy and sex hazed eyes, your tongue stuck out as you tried to chase his mouth every time it came close to yours. You were so desperate, and he loved every second of it.
If you knew this is what an orgasm given to you by a man felt like, you would’ve never dared to have gone through with this. The first few seconds of it building up were scary─as if you were standing on the edge of a cliff with absolutely nothing around you to hold onto and all you could was let yourself fall head first. Elvis knew it was coming, with the way you were tightening around his length, nor did he miss the way there was a soft hint of panic on your tongue as you moaned desperately. Your eyes found his and he gave you a soft smile, his hips and fingers never faltering in their moment of assault. You were trying to get away from him, but you were trapped in between his body and the couch. You were positive you were tearing up the couch with your nails as you squeezed your eyes shut, letting pleasure consume every inch of your being─the fireworks that followed were definitely worth the panic which had now completely disappeared.
‘‘That’s a good girl,’’ he hummed in your ear as his hand slipped down to your throat, ringed fingers stealing a bit of your oxygen as sloppily kissed your jaw and neck. He was still thrusting into you at an ungodly speed, but you weren’t able to speak a single word, let alone form a cohorent sentence. ‘‘Daddy’s gonna fill you up, baby. Make you feel so full you’ll almost taste it,’’ he growled in your ear, moving his hand further up your throat so his fingertips were messily caressing over your lower lip. You took the opportunity to suck some of his digits into your mouth and he allowed it, grinning against your skin as he had his face pressed up firmly against yours.
‘‘W-Want that, D-Daddy,’’ you cried out, your thighs shaking like crazy because of the overstimulation he was currently having you go through despite his fingers having been removed from your clit. His arm was wrapped around your waist tightly, his hips relentless as he was grunting out profanities in your ear. ‘‘Want your c-cum in me,’’
It was all he needed to hear. And now was the first time you could feel the movements of his hips faltering, stuttering forward as he bit on your earlobe while painting your soft moist walls white. You knew it was probably dangerous since you lied to him about being on the pill, but you wouldn’t care if you’d get pregnant. Despite the age difference, you wanted him, you needed him. And if that meant you’d be put in a position to carry his child, so be it. You’d give up everything and anything to be with this man. You were obsessed.
He slipped out of you, watching you slump over the back of the couch as you put your leg down, his cum dribbling down your thighs. Your ass was red from the way he had been slapping it earlier and his wandering hands squeezing at it every chance he got. Truly a sight for sore eyes.
You turned your head to look at him when he sat down on the couch next to you, pulling your weakened body onto his lap. You stretched your legs onto the couch─they felt like jelly, in the absolute best way possible. Wrapping your arms around his neck as he held you against his chest, you smiled softly at him and pressed your bare chest against him as far as the position would allow you to. Despite the orgasm you just had and his cum dripping out of you, you were still needy.
You’d probably turn into a sex crazed maniac because of this man and you were more than okay with that.
‘‘Get rid off that fucker,’’ he referred to your so called boyfriend, his eyes taking in every little detail of your face. You’d blush at the way he was looking at you, but you were still too turned on to care about it now. The tone of his voice was demanding and you’d be a fool to protest. ‘‘I ain’t gonna watch you fool around with anyone else,’’
‘‘But what if I want to fool around with other people?’’ you grinned teasingly at him and even though he glared at you and squeezed your thigh in warning, he liked it when you were a little bratty.
‘‘Then I’ll kill ‘em,’’ he grinned as he watched you throw your head back with a laugh, his hand slipping in between your thighs. You bit your lip as you looked back at him, immediately spreading your legs open for him. You shivered as his fingertips ran through your folds, dipping into you to cover his digits in your arousal and his own cum. ‘‘This pussy is mine. You understand, don’t ya, darlin’?’’
He brought his fingers up to your lips and you took them in your mouth immediately, nodding at him as you licked his fingers clean with a flutter of your eyelashes.
‘‘I belong to you, Daddy. Only to you,’’ you assured him eagerly as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, grabbing your chin to bring your face closer to his. He placed an open mouthed kiss on your lips but before you had the chance to deepen the kiss, he pulled back and smiled at you. His hand was back in between your thighs again, pushing two fingers inside of you without warning. You gasped, planting one hand against his chest as your other was wrapped firmly around his shoulder, clinging onto him.
‘‘You didn’t think I was done, did ya? We got all night, baby,’’ he hummed as he curled his fingers as he was knuckle deep inside of you, rubbing his palm against your clit. You dug your nails into his shoulder as you moaned, leaning your head against his. ‘‘And I plan to take my time with you,’’
And that he did. You had been fucked on every surface in the room. Even in the shower you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other and when he brought you home in the early hours of the morning, you felt and looked like an absolute mess. Your muscles were aching, your neck and collarbones marked with hickeys, eyes dark with make-up. You managed to sneak into your room without waking up your parents and crawled into bed as soon as you pulled your dress off, not caring about your messy make-up or hair that was still damp from the shower you took at the venue.
You needed an entire day to recover from the night you had with Elvis, but you couldn’t wait for the next time. You loved him and now that he had finally given you what you wanted, there was no way in hell you could leave him alone anymore.
You craved for him to ruin you, in the worst (and most delicious) way possible.
820 notes · View notes
floralcyanide · 8 months
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˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―
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! please remember, in order to participate in kinktober, you must be 18+ as there will be nsfw material involved. anyone not following these rules will be blocked!
✧ hello! it's that time of year again (: I did my first kinktober last year, and it was a success (and still is), except I never fully finished it ): I'm hoping this year will be different because I'm starting as early as feasibly possible.
✧ please fill out this form (form is closed) before august 21st. this gives everyone a week to see this post and vote on who they want to see get kinky this october! I'll try my best to complete all of the prompts by october 1st and schedule out the posts for every day of kinktober. but PLEASE fill out the form, it would help me out a lot, just so I know what you all wish to see! I will update the prompt list when I get the results of the poll.
✧ again, here is the form: click meee!♥ (form is closed)
✧ here is the taglist form if you'd like to be tagged in my kinktober works! click meee!♥
✧ prompt list is below!
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day one. cockwarming with: Cillian Murphy
day two. nipple play with: Jonathan Crane
day three. blood play with: Jonathan Crane
day four. orgasm control with: Jonathan Crane
day five. praise kink with: Cillian Murphy
day six. degradation with: Jonathan Crane
day seven. bondage with: Billy Loomis
day eight. edging with: Ethan Landry
day nine. breeding kink with: Cillian Murphy
day ten. mutual masturbation with: Austin Butler
day eleven. throat fucking with: Ethan Landry
day twelve. threesome with: Stu Macher/Billy Loomis
day thirteen. knife kink or gun kink with: Gun Kink/ Tommy Shelby
day fourteen. sex toys with: Cillian Murphy
day fifteen. hate sex with: Jonathan Crane
day sixteen. thigh riding with: Cillian Murphy
day seventeen. sex tape with: Cillian Murphy
day eighteen. squirting with: Cillian Murphy
day nineteen. public play with: Jackson Rippner
day twenty. voyeurism with: Ethan Landry
day twenty-one. corruption kink with: Jonathan Crane
day twenty-two. daddy kink with: Cillian Murphy
day twenty-three. spanking with: Austin!Elvis
day twenty-four. shower sex with: Cillian Murphy
day twenty-five. roleplay with: Austin Butler
day twenty-six. face sitting with: Cillian Murphy
day twenty-seven. dom/sub with: Ethan Landry
day twenty-eight. drunk sex or high sex with: High Sex/Stu Macher
day twenty-nine. phone sex with: Ethan Landry
day thirty. anal sex with: Cillian Murphy
day thirty-one. mommy kink with: Jonathan Crane
302 notes · View notes
mamaspresley · 2 years
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trouble 2 | austin!elvis au
wc 4,783 tw smut, oral f receiving, elvis being a cheeky mf
part one here!
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Your hand trembled over the page as you held the pencil firmly between your pointer finger and your thumb. You just couldn’t find the courage to sign the end of the letter, your lower lip between your teeth and your leg bouncing up and down below you as you sat at your desk, staring at the page filled top to bottom with your neat handwriting. 
That was one of the first things Elvis had brought up when the two of you managed to speak over the phone instead of writing to each other. “Your hand-writing is so neat, doll, mine’s gotta look like chicken scratch to ya. Can you even read it half the time?” he’d said, and you laughed before reassuring the boy that you could read his writing, even if it did take you a few minutes to decipher a couple of the words. The call lasted about five minutes before it got clicked off and you realized you had no money left to call him back. You cried that night, having used all your savings from working at the diner just down the street, a job you picked up for that specific reason — Elvis mentioned in one of his letters that the base he was on had a telephone, one that made transatlantic calls, and you worked day and night for three months straight to be able to afford just a few minutes of hearing his voice. And boy, was it worth it. You never got too sad when Elvis was away, never shed any tears over it up until that point. But hearing his voice, the familiar Southern drawl that you’d only been hearing over his records you played a million times a day — it was all real to you again, and it was like you’d been living in a fantasy the whole time. There he was, talking into your ear like he had been that night you sat on your porch. The way your heart raced when you heard the way his lips mumbled the word darling, as opposed to reading it on a piece of paper. You wished you got more than five minutes with him but unfortunately that wasn’t the case, and you just clutched onto the fact that these last two years would be over in just a few more months, and then he would be back home, and you would be in his arms. 
It was no question that Elvis was in love with you. You didn’t know it, but he talked about you nonstop to the boys in his division. When he’d first met you that night that he showed up to your house, it was all so surreal and you had brushed off the fact that he confessed his love for you. It didn’t seem serious, he had just met you for Christ’s sake and knew nothing about you besides your name — which, mind you, he had to dig up from someone else. You’d never even spoken to each other before that night, so the idea that he was in love with you was absurd. Of course, you wanted nothing more than to believe it, but the more you did, the less everyone had faith around you. You recounted the events of that night to Lucy and she was over the moon, but everyone else you told seemed to think you were exaggerating the details. Girls at school, your coworkers, even a few of your family members insisted that you were lying. The only people that truly, wholeheartedly believed that Elvis Presley was in love with you was Lucy and your mother, who’d read every letter he sent you as you showed her every other week with ecstasy written across your face. But the thing was that the longer time passed with him gone, the more you believed it yourself. Because the more you believed he was in love with you, the more you believed you were in love with him. 
You’d always loved Elvis Presley, ever since you heard his first song on the radio. But you loved him as the singer, not him as the person. Up until spending years writing to the boy, dreaming of him when you slept and fantasizing about him coming home. You thought of him when cleaning tables at your work, and sometimes you even found yourself planning out your next letter to him, excited to race home so you could get out your pen and paper. Elvis had signed every letter he wrote you with Love, your Elvis since the very first one. Yours were usually finished off with a talk to you soon or a miss you entirely. This one, the one you wrote as the last one he would be receiving before coming home, felt different. Nothing had changed, it was still the same old summary of your week, telling him how excited you were for March 2nd, the day he would be coming back. But this time, you couldn’t write the words see you soon. Your first thought was love.
Your pencil stood still in your hand as your eyes raked across the page. You read the hundred word letter over and over again, stalling as you tried to work up the courage to write the simple closing line before folding the note up for the envelope. It took you what felt like hours before you gave in and signed it, I can’t wait to see you… your Y/N and then setting the pencil down. You would send it in the morning on your way to work, completely unhappy with the closing statement but ultimately, you knew you weren’t gonna do anything about it. You wanted your first ‘I love you’ to be in person, to his face, where you could see his raw, honest reaction. Not over a letter, when he would read it two weeks from now and then you wouldn’t be able to read his for two weeks after that. 
So you would wait, until you could see him in person, and then you would tell him you loved him. You planned on doing it immediately, the moment you saw him, but when the day finally came, that wasn’t the case. 
“Y/N, honey, you have a visitor.” It was deja vu, almost, the way your mother poked her head into your room, much like she had done the night you met the boy. But you weren’t in for a surprise this time — you’d been counting down the hours for this moment. 
“He’s here!” You jumped up from your bed, and the speed at which you ran down the hallway was faster than any track star could have dreamed. You made it down the stairs in record time, and when your eyes landed on the boy standing in your foyer, talking with your father, dressed in his army green military suit, holding his cap to his chest respectfully, you lost your breath. 
“There she is,” your father said, and at his words, Elvis turned around to see you for himself. The smile that exploded onto his face was unlike any other, and the boy reached out as you jumped onto him. He lifted you into his arms, spinning you around as you grasped onto him for dear life. It felt better than you were expecting, hugging him, smelling his scent that hadn’t changed a bit since he was gone. 
What had changed, though, was his hair. It was short now, buzzed at the sides and not what you remembered at all. It made sense though, Elvis had mentioned in one of his letters that they had to shave his head when he joined the military. You hated the idea, one of the main focal points of Elvis Presley was his hair. But seeing him in the uniform, all dressed up, returning home from the war — he looked handsome, more beautiful than you could’ve dreamed of, so you didn’t mind the lack of hair. Actually, you quite enjoyed it. 
“Oh, I’ve missed you so much.” Elvis set you down, his arms still wrapped around you as he held you to his chest. You nuzzled into him, hugging him tightly as though he would leave you again should you let go. You heard his chest rumble with laughter as he placed a hand on the back of your head, seemingly talking to your father as he said, “Think she missed me, too?”
“Only a little,” the man responded, and you smiled into the jacket of Elvis’s uniform. It had taken a while for your father to warm up to the idea of you and Elvis Presley — ultimately, it took the proof of him not leaving you when he got shipped off. It was up until a year into you and the boy still talking that your father finally came to terms with your relationship. He’d told your mother that he was afraid Elvis would break his daughter’s heart, since, after all, he’s Elvis Presley. Your father chose to believe the media outlets over situations like these, so he’s never had a fond outlook on the boy, even before you began dating. And if he’s away in the military for two years, your father had said, nothing good would come from that. But, you proved him wrong, and here he was, almost as happy to see the boy as you were. Almost. 
“Come on! I-I wanna show you my dress!” you exclaimed after pulling away from the boy, and you looked to your parents for approval. They nodded, and as quick as you had come down, you were pulling Elvis upstairs to your room. While he was away, Elvis had missed your high school graduation, along with your senior prom. He wrote you saying how much he wished he could be there, and when you responded you’d even sent him a few photographs your mother had taken of you on that evening, a few solo but a couple with the boy who had taken you, as well. You were stuck with the privilege of going with a mister Tommy Baker, a boy you’d known since you were little as your mothers were best friends. Elvis didn’t like the idea of you going with another boy, but you reassured him that as a girl, you had to go with a boy. And if he wasn’t there to take you, Tommy was the next best thing. If you had gone to the senior prom by yourself, it would’ve been humiliating, and it would’ve been even worse had you gone with a friend like Lucy, which is what Elvis suggested when he wrote you back. He got over it quickly though when he saw you in your dress, and he asked if you would show him in person when he came home. Lucky for him, you remembered. 
It was also just an excuse to get him alone in your room. 
“The pictures don’t do it justice — look at how pretty this colour is.” You unzipped the bag that your pretty purple prom dress resided in, and Elvis hummed in approval. “I would show you what it looks like on, but it takes ages to get into and then tie up.”
“That’s alright, baby. Another time.” You felt his arms wrap around your waist as you zipped the bag back up, and you blushed when he rested his chin on your shoulder. “For now, I wanna kiss you.” Elvis pressed his lips to your cheek, and then your jaw, and you giggled as you pushed him away. 
“Let me hang this back up first. And Mama’ll kill me if she sees us kissin’ in my room.”
“That’s why we keep the door closed,” Elvis said slyly, moving across the room to grab the handle on your bedroom door, slowly and carefully closing it. You scolded him in a whisperful way as he twisted the handle, shutting it without a sound despite your protests. 
“Are you crazy? Daddy’s gonna kill you! An’ then he’ll kill me!”
“That’s why we lock it, too.” He clicked it shut and you smacked the boy on the arm. Chuckling, Elvis grabbed your wrist in the process, pulling you over to him expertly as his free hand snuck its way to your lower back, and he dipped you down while he connected your lips. 
The feeling of the kiss was too good for you to worry about the door much longer, and finally you allowed yourself to melt into him. His hand moved to cup your face, fingers twisting into your hair on the back of your head while he held you dangerously close. You felt his tongue slide past your lips and nearly gasped as it met yours, such a vile action that had your stomach dropping in the best way possible. 
“Two years was much too long,” he said when you pulled away to catch your breath, and his words couldn’t help but cause a smile on your lips. His hand tightened its hold on your cheek, thumb brushing over the soft skin as he gazed down at you. His blue eyes were even more beautiful than you remembered, and you fought the urge to lean up and kiss him again. 
“You’re tellin’ me,” you responded, and Elvis smiled small before he read your mind and bent down to connect your lips once more. As you kissed, all you could think about were those three words you’d been denying to write to him. I love you. It was such a simple saying, but for some reason thinking about saying it out loud had you more nervous than you were when you had to slow dance with Tommy Baker at prom. You loved Elvis so goddamn much it made your toes curl and your heart speed up so fast you were certain you’d go into cardiac arrest. And if you didn’t tell him soon, you were beginning to think that might not be an exaggeration. 
“Elvis,” you said, placing a hand on the boy’s chest to signal you wanted to stop. Immediately, he pulled away, blue eyes gazing down at you concerningly, his lips swollen from the prior activity and his chest rising and falling with deep breaths under your hand. You stared up at him, heart pounding and mouth growing dry, despite the sloppy kissing you’d just endured with the boy towering above you. His eyes were sparkling and his lips were so pink and full and he just looked so beautiful— “Kiss me again.”
So he did, and you wanted to curse yourself for chickening out but his lips were too entrancing. Elvis began leading you backwards, his hands sure to keep you steady when your knees hit the edge of your bed and you collapsed onto the mattress, his body falling over you gracefully. Elvis flipped you over, your legs moving to straddle him as he pulled you on top, and it was then that you pulled away, tucking your hair behind your ears as you repositioned yourself awkwardly. Elvis sat up on his elbows, staring at you. “You okay, lil darlin’?”
“Mhm.” You sat back, dropping your hands into your lap before realizing that was his crotch, and then lifting them as quick as you realized. The boy chuckled, smirking up at your flustered expression. “Oh!— Sorry.”
“You’re all good, mama.” 
The nicknames he gave you never failed to erupt a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, on top of the nerves you felt just thinking about what you needed to say to him. It was now or never, you thought, staring back at the boy who lay under you, watching you with a look of love and adoration in his eyes entirely, a lazy smile on his lips and dark hair styled to perfection atop his head. The sight alone was enough to have you blushing. “Elvis, I…”
You couldn’t get the words out before a shout came to cut you off, and suddenly the nerves in your belly weren’t caused by the preparation of admittance. “Y/N Y/L/N! What did I say about boys in your room with the door closed!”
“Sorry, Momma!” you called back, smacking Elvis on the arm as he chuckled lightly. You climbed off him, rushing to open the door before stepping out into the hallway to apologize face to face. When you went back inside, Elvis was sitting upright on your bed, a picture frame in his hands before he glanced up at you. “See, I told you you’d get me in trouble!”
“Hardly,” he said, setting the picture frame back down on your nightstand. Elvis reached out for you, tugging at your skirt to pull you closer to him. You stood between his legs, peering down at him as your hands came to rest on his shoulders. He smirked up at you, resting his hands on your hips while he looked on at you devilishly. “I like it when you’re bad ‘cus o’ me.”
Your mind went fuzzy, stomach dropping at his raspy tone, his words dangerous. 
“Makes you even sexier.”
Your head turned to see if your mother was still out in the hallway, and Elvis’s hands on the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer, had you turning back to him. “Eyes on me, baby.” He brought his hand to your chin, tilting your head down with his fingers. “Could be more fun this way.” He was gesturing to the lack of privacy, with the open door, and how suspenseful it would be, but you couldn’t ignore what would happen if your mother — or worse, your father — walked in at the wrong time. Elvis, on the other hand, couldn’t care less, as he was pulling you back in for another kiss.
“You’re crazy,” you whispered against his lips, and you felt they turn into a smirk as he whispered back, “I know,” before crashing his lips down onto yours for the third time that day. 
You had your hands on his shoulders to keep you steady, but no amount of stability could keep your knees from weakening when you felt his hands slip under your blouse, making contact with the foreign skin as he held you at your sides. He flipped you over then, laying you down on your bed as he knelt over you slightly, keeping watch of the door. His hands were still under your shirt, sneaking their way down, and it was a dangerous touch but the way he was so delicate, fingers whispering across your skin as they slid into the waistband of your skirt, plucking at the fabric of your panties — you were more than certain it was the right thing to do. Everything he did, he did with such certainty that you couldn't help but agree with him. He was ethereal, and you were sure you wouldn’t have let any other man touch you the way he was doing now. Not until marriage, at least. 
But yet, this boy had you under him, no ring on your finger, begging for his touch as his fingers slipped under your panties. 
“Elvis,” you whimpered, and the boy shushed you as he ran a finger up your folds. 
“Gonna have to be quiet for me, darlin’. Ain’t nobody gonna hear a sound, alright?” He began working two fingers over you, a feeling so foreign to you you couldn’t help but shiver, and the way you leaned your head back, teeth biting down on your lip, had Elvis struggling to contain himself, too. “So wet for me, sweetheart. You been waitin’ so long for me to come home to ya, haven’t ya?”
“Mhm,” you nodded, thighs clenching together as he had his hand buried deep between them. He finally entered a finger in you, your jaw falling open at the foreign feeling of penetration inside of you. 
“That feel good, baby?” The suspense of being caught felt almost as good as the quiet, raspiness of his voice caused, and you couldn’t decide if those two things trumped the feeling of his fingers working you over. Every sense of yours was heightened and you could’ve sworn this was what cloud nine felt like. 
He entered a second finger, pumping the two of them in and out before adding his thumb into the mix, rubbing your clit lightly to create a nice, steady pace for you. Your back arched off the bed at the feeling, a few whines escaping your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut, and Elvis shushed you before placing a hand over your mouth when he increased the speed of his fingers. 
They were thrusting in and out of you at a rapid pace, curling inside of you to hit your g-spot while his thumb pressed circles into your clit as well. You were wiggling underneath him much more than you were minutes before, telling him that you were close to release, and Elvis pulled away with no warning, making you whine in distress. Was he just gonna leave you here like this?
He crossed your room to shut the door halfway, leaving it open just a few inches so that at least the bed wasn’t visible to anyone passing through the hallway. Elvis made his way back to the bed, where you sat on the edge with a pout on your lips. He chuckled, moving to stand in front of you as he grabbed your chin, tilting your head back so you looked up at him. 
“You liked that?”
You nodded submissively, your pupils shot and eyelids weary from the bliss you didn’t think was possible from the vulgar act you’d just taken part in. Elvis clenched his jaw as he moved to kneel between your legs, his arms wrapping around your calves to pull you forward. At the sudden movement you squealed, falling back onto the bed, feeling him place his hands on your thighs underneath your skirt. He slid your panties off smoothly, discarding them somewhere unknown, before pushing your skirt higher up your stomach. 
“This alright, darlin’?” he asked, and the weak attempt at a hum of approval was enough for him. You felt his lips meet the skin of your inner thighs, dangerously close to where his fingers had just been minutes before, and your breath hitched.
“O… Oh,” you moaned, leaning up some to cast a quick glance down at the boy below you. His fingers gripped into your thighs, lips moving across your skin hastily, and it was when you felt his tongue like a stripe up your core that you fell back onto your back, a loud moan escaping past your lips. 
Elvis pulled away as quick as he could, smacking you on the thigh lightly as he shushed you. “Don’t want us to get caught now, do ya?” he asked, and you shook your head apologetically. He got to his feet, leaning over you as his hand gripped your face much like how he had done at the concert, your first interaction with the boy. Now, two years later, he had you in the same position, still writhing underneath his touch. “Gonna have to contain yourself, baby. Can you do that for me?”
“Y-yes,” you nodded, and Elvis hummed, half satisfied with your answer, before he kneeled back down between your thighs and went to work. If you thought that first bit felt good, you were in for a treat. Elvis had your heart in your throat, your back arched off the bed with your fingers digging into the bed sheets while his tongue worked you over. 
It was taking all of you not to scream out his name, your moans dying off your tongue before you could project them out. All you wanted to do was lean your head back and cry out in pleasure, his lips sucking at your core like his life depended on it. You’d never experienced a feeling like this, and it had you spiralling. You weren’t sure if you wanted to chase your release or just stay in this moment forever. 
“Fuck,” you heard Elvis mutter as he adjusted, pulling your thighs closer with his fingers pressed into your skin, lips brushing over your heat again. He kissed the delicate area before standing up, placing a hand next to your head as he leaned into your neck and whispered, “You got no clue what you do to me, baby girl.” It was then that he lowered his hips, rolling them onto yours, and you felt a bulge pressing against the fabric of his pants, now pushing against you. It was big, and you couldn’t deny that his size was doing anything but turning you away from the idea of him burying himself inside you. 
“Please,” you whispered, head rolling back as you felt him thrust against you, fully clothed. Your hand gripped his bicep, your other hand coming to push his button up further up on his stomach, fingers making contact with his warm skin. 
“You want this, baby?” Elvis was imitating the acts of intercourse now, his hips moving with yours while you wrapped your legs loosely around his torso. His hand strayed down to your heat, finding your wet core as he began rubbing your clit while he continued his previous actions. “You like it when I touch you?”
“Mhm,” you whined, digging your nails into his arm that held himself above you. 
“How much?”
“A-A lot,” you mumbled, trying to keep quiet as you bucked your hips against his hand, searching for friction and that feeling that you had no clue about, but you knew it was something extraordinary. “Go-Go back.”
“Back where, baby?”
“Down. I—” Before you could finish, Elvis was sinking back down to his knees, pulling you close and burying himself between your thighs again. You were whimpering, sitting up slightly at the shock of his tongue against you. Your fingers were digging deep into the jungle of his hair, teeth clenching down on your lip to stop you from screaming out. 
His tongue licked at you, the speed ferocious as he focused on your bundle of nerves above everything else. He knew exactly where to pleasure you, exactly what felt the best, and Lord were you grateful for it. Within seconds, you had your stomach clenching, your head thrown back and your legs shaking. A feeling of euphoria washed over you as Elvis worked his magic between your trembling thighs, and once you fell back, releasing your hand from his hair, Elvis knew his work was done. He climbed back over you, grinning from ear to ear as he placed a kiss to your cheek. 
“How you doin’, baby?”
“Fantastic,” you breathed, opening your eyes, and the boy chuckled before you pulled him in for a kiss. You could taste yourself on him, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t get enough of him. 
“Woah, slow your roll there, mama. Not much else to do ’cept put a baby in ya.”
“At this point I ain’t even care.”
“Now who’s the crazy one?” he teased, and you smiled up at him as he sat beside you, your head coming to rest in his lap. Elvis reached down to fix your skirt and your blouse, his hand taking home on your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek while he looked down at you.
“Elvis?” you said, staring into his eyes. Now or never, Y/N.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
You gulped. “I love you.” 
The look on his face didn’t change too much for a while, which had you nervous. It wasn’t until you saw a smile peek at the corner of his lips that you let out a breath of relief. “You love me?” he asked, and you nodded, letting out a smile of your own. “Well that’s good, baby. ’Cause I’m crazy about you.”
You blushed, grinning wildly now, unable to contain it from spreading across your face like a wildfire. “You are?”
“I been in love with you since the moment I laid eyes on you, baby. You won’t even believe.”
The grin on your lips turned into a mischievous one, and you knew you had Elvis to blame for that. He wasn’t the greatest influence, but you loved it. “Well if I won’t believe, why don’t you make me?”
The look cast across Elvis’s face was more shock than anything, but it quickly transformed into a daunting expression, eyes excited and the smirk on his lips wicked. “You sure are trouble, ain’t you, little one?”
“You’re to blame for that.”
“Oh, am I?” He was sliding off the bed, fingers caressing down the tops of your thighs with him. “I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.”
“You know what?” you said, watching as he sank to his knees again, large hands moving to wrap around the backs of your knees. “Me neither.”
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stephstars08 · 2 months
Text
Falling Apart
Austin!Elvis Presley x Reader
Warnings: Angst, Mention of Drugs being taken, Drugs, Mention of Drinking Alcohol, Divorce, Depressed Elvis, Yelling/Fighting, Elvis having a meltdown on stage, Colonel trying to manipulate Reader, Mention of Elvis collapsing, Fluff at the end, and Maybe some Grammar Errors. (Sorry if I forgot any!!!)
Summary: Due the Colonel making Elvis take a bunch of drugs to keep him energized to perform, it’s making Elvis completely fall apart. It get’s even worse when Pricilla packs all of her stuff up and leaves Elvis taking their daughter with her. After Elvis’s dad’s assistant Y/N hears the news she does everything she can to help Elvis pull himself back together.
Word Count: 2,162
Author’s Note: FINALLY MY FIRST ELVIS MOVIE STORY IS HERE! I’ve been waiting for basically a year to finally get a plot for a story for one of my favorite movies of all time! This isn’t just my first Austin/Elvis story but this is also my first story of the new year so I hope you all enjoy! If any of you want to you can read this as Elvis x Reader or Austin!Elvis x Reader! It’s up to you!!
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Y/N Y/L/N is the assistant to Vernon Presley who is of course the father of the one and only Elvis Presley. Vernon is in charge of Presley Enterprises. Vernon hired Y/N to be his assistant when Elvis came home from the army. Due to all of the films Elvis was staring in at the time it was getting too hard for Vernon to take care of everything by himself so that’s why he hired Y/N.
When Y/N got the job, she wasn’t expecting to be around Elvis so much. Of course, Y/N isn’t complaining since Elvis has brought her in with open arms and so did his wife Priscilla. Elvis has thanked Y/N so much for helping his father out.
Y/N would be lying if she said that she has never had a crush on the heartthrob. When Elvis first started out Y/N immediately grew a crush on him, but that crush did fade away after she graduated from high school and when Elvis went overseas to be in the army. But as time went on that crush returned and the more, she was around Elvis, the more the crush grew. Y/N wished she didn’t feel that way about Elvis since he’s married to Priscilla, and she is really good friends with Priscilla as well. But those thoughts just flood her mind whenever she is with him.
Y/N loved everything about her job except having to work with the Colonel who is the manager of Elvis. Ever since the first day she met the Colonel she knew he wasn’t very fond of her. She hated being around him since she always feels uncomfortable around him, and she always gets bad vibes from him.
But Y/N didn’t see the Colonel’s dark side till Elvis started to play a residency in Las Vegas.
********************
Y/N was at her apartment getting ready to meet Vernon at a business meeting. Right before she walked out the door, she heard her phone ring. When she answered the phone, she heard Vernon’s voice.
“Hi, I was just about to walk out the door to meet you.” Y/N said into the phone. “Priscilla left Elvis this morning.” She heard Vernon tell her which made her heart drop. “Oh my gosh.” Y/N said in a shocked tone. Even though she’s shocked by the news she knew the reason why Priscilla left. “She moved all of her stuff out and she took Lisa with her.” She heard Vernon tell her. She could hear the sadness in his voice. “How is Elvis?” Y/N asked in the phone. That was the only question that was coming to her mind. “He’s a complete mess.” She heard him tell her which broke her heart.
“Can you go to Graceland and just stay there with him till I come back from the meeting?” Vernon asked her. “I just really don’t want him to be alone right now.” He added. “Of course, I can.” Y/N answered into the phone.
“Thank you so much dear.” She heard him say. “I’ll talk to you soon.” He added which made her smile a little. “You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you soon.” She told him through the phone. After they said their goodbyes Y/N hung up the phone.
********************
Y/N parked her car in front of the big Graceland mansion. She turned the car off and grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. She got out of the car closing the driver's seat door. As Y/N made her way to the front door she wrapped the strap of her purse around her shoulder.
When she got to the door, she rang the doorbell and waited but no one answered so she rang the doorbell again but still no answer. Y/N put her hand on the doorknob and twisted it which made the door open. Y/N walked inside the mansion. “Elvis!” Y/N called out as she closed the door. She looked around and noticed that things that belonged to Priscilla were gone. Y/N let out a sigh she she walked into the dining room and put her keys and purse down onto the table.
“Elvis!” Y/N called out again as she walked over to the bottom of the staircase and again, she got no response. She knew Elvis had to be home because where else would he go. Y/N walked up the staircase and right when she got to the top, she heard whimpering. Y/N walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the door to what was the bedroom Elvis once shared with Priscilla. That was where the whimpering was coming from. She was going to knock on the door, but something was telling her to just walk in.
When she opened the door, she saw a bunch of medicine bottles on the floor. Y/N walked in and at first, she didn’t see Elvis till she walked past the king-sized bed. Elvis was sitting on the floor crying into his knees that were hiding his face. It broke Y/N’s heart seeing Elvis in this kind of state. “Elvis.” Y/N said in a soft voice. Elvis looked up at her with his eyes filled with tears and his cheeks soaked with tears running down them. “What are you doing?” Elvis asked her. She could hear how broken he was in his voice. “Your father wanted me to be here with you till he comes back from his business meeting.” Y/N told him. Elvis didn’t say anything back. He just looked away from her.
Y/N sat down next to him. “I’m so sorry about what happened.” Y/N told him with sincere in her voice. “Why are you saying sorry to me?” Elvis asked still not looking at her. “What do you mean?” Y/N asked him. “I’m the reason why she left. She said I’m like a zombie.” Elvis told her as tears continued to stream down his face like a waterfall. “Those pills are what turn you like that.” Y/N told him which made him finally look back at her.
She can’t just keep jumping around it anymore. When he’s on those pills it’s like he’s a completely different person. Those pills are making him fall apart.
“The pills. They just keep controlling me. It’s like they have taken over me.” Elvis told her as he started to cry harder if that was even possible. “I know.” Y/N started. “That’s why I’m here. I’m going to help you get through this.” Y/N told him looking him straight into his eyes. Elvis believed her as he stared back into her eyes. “Okay.” Elvis said in a soft voice.
“I’m going to go downstairs into the kitchen to get you some water.” Y/N told him but before she could stand up, he grabbed her hand. “Please, don’t leave me. Please stay with me.” Elvis said to her in a pleading tone. “Okay! Okay, I’ll stay here with you.” Y/N told him in reassurance. Y/N wrapped her arm around him and rubbed her hand up and down his arm as he cried.
They stayed like that till Vernon came home.
********************
As a lot of time pasted Y/N kept her promise to Elvis. She’s been looking after him as much as she could. Even though Y/N has been doing her best to take care of Elvis, he’s still not the man he once was.
The only time Elvis looks happy is when he is on stage in front of his fans. The only people that knew what he was going through were the people he sees every day.
Elvis was playing another show in Vegas. Y/N watching him perform from the side of the stage with Jerry by her side. “You’ve been very quiet this evening.” Jerry said to her which earned him a glare from her. “You know damn well why I’ve been quiet.” Y/N told him in a stern tone. “The Colonel came before I could call you and right away, he made Dr. Nick shoot him up with drugs.” Jerry explained to her. “I’m not mad at you, okay!” Y/N told him with a heavy sigh. “He should be in a hospital bed but instead that monster decided to make the decision to shoot him up with the same drugs that is what made him collapse in the first place.” Y/N said with anger in her tone.
Jerry saw the tears forming in her eyes, so he brought her in for a hug. He knows about the feelings she has for Elvis, so he knows it’s hard seeing him like this. As Y/N returned the hug she tried her best to keep her tears in.
They released from the hug when they heard Elvis singing to Suspicious Minds with no music. Y/N could sense right away that something was wrong, and it was just going to get worse. As Elvis went on a rant about how this was going to be his last show in Vegas the Colonel immediately made his way up to the stage.
“Pull the curtain down!” Colonel told someone in a demanding tone which made Y/N and Jerry look at him. “What is going on here.” Colonel asked Jerry in a stern tone. Jerry took a glance at Elvis and then back at the Colonel. “I think he wants to know that, too.” Jerry told him.
When Elvis saw the Colonel started to act even more out of character. Elvis was having a melt down and it was starting to scare Y/N a little since she’s never seen him act like this. As the curtain started to fall Elvis started to yell at the Colonel. When Elvis said, “You’re Fired!” to the Colonel Y/N felt her heart rate speed up.
As the Colonel walked closer to him, he just kept saying “you’re fired” louder and louder each time. “YOU’RE FIRED!” Elvis screamed into his microphone which made everyone, and everything go silent. Everyone looked at Elvis with shock as the Colonel looked at him with sadness. “You’re fired.” Elvis said more calm and not into the microphone.
When he dropped his microphone, it made Y/N jump by the loud noise the mic made when it hit the stage. She watched him turn away from the Colonel and walk off the stage.
********************
Y/N decided to wait an hour before going up to Elvis’s room to check on him. Y/N was walking down the hallway to the elevator when she felt someone grab her left wrist. Y/N turned around to see that it was the Colonel who grabbed her wrist.
“Let me go.” Y/N told him in a demanding tone. “You go up there and tell him to take me back.” Colonel told her in the same tone she used. He knew she was going upstairs to talk to Elvis. Y/N let out a scoff as she pulled her wrist out of his grip. “You are the reason why he’s falling apart!” Y/N told him. “You’re the reason why he’s hooked on all of those drugs and you’re the reason why Pricilla and Lisa left him!” Y/N added as she looks at him with a fiery look in her eyes.
“Do it or you’re fired!” Colonel told her in a warning tone. “You’re not the boss of me and you never were.” Y/N said not back down to him. “You stay the hell away from him!” Y/N told him in a warning voice and walked away from him.
********************
When Y/N got to Elvis’s room before she could knock on the door it opened to reveal Elvis. “When I heard footsteps, I figured that it was you coming to check on me.” Elvis told her letting her inside. Y/N could tell that he was more calmed down then what he was just an hour ago. “I was going to come up here right away, but I decided to let you cool off.” Y/N told him while he closed the door.
“I’m sorry that you had to see me like that. I guess I just lost control.” Elvis told her turning around to face her but didn’t look at her. “Elvis, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Y/N told him. She put one of her hands onto one of his cheeks which made his eyes meet hers. “It was the drugs and that shot of alcohol didn’t help either but that’s what made you lose it.” Y/N reassured him.
“But what you did right was you set yourself free from that monster.” Y/N told him stroking his cheek lightly with her thumb. “I didn’t want him taking you away from me, too.” Elvis told her.
Before she could say anything, Elvis’s lips connected with hers. Y/N immediately returned the kiss. They continued to kiss until they had to pull away for air.
“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Elvis confessed to her. Y/N’s lips curved up into a smile. “Me too.” Y/N told him and leaned back up to reconnect her lips with his soft lips again.
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surferblues · 2 years
Text
nothing but trouble ! ˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
austin butler! elvis x fem! reader
warnings semi public sex?, praising kink, unprotected sex, very short, and obviously, sexual themed.
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You and Elvis were strictly just friends, that's what he liked to call it. Nothing more than friends that enjoyed one another's company, one on one time, but as said... that's what Elvis liked to call it.
But you hated the title, the secrecy, and the bullshit commitment to only seeing him as a friend and nothing more.
Those were the rules he set, the rules he made sure were set in your head before he started this ongoing game of ... sneaking in your small bedroom every night just so he could seek for you to fill his pleasureful urges.
You spun at the sound of your window opening, book ready and weaponised in your hand as you waited with fearful breath for the unknown presence to reveal themself. "Elvis?" you muttered quietly, a scowl appearing on your face at the unexpected visitor.
as the sound of his name rolled off the tip of your tounge, the dark haired devil jumped , smacking his head into the rusted metal connected to the window, and scowling when you laughed.
"What are you doing? My parents are here!" You whispered loudly, fighting back the humourous grin on your face as he held his head in pain, a playful scowl still clear on his face. "I just wanna see my girl." Elvis muttered slowly, his scowl now replaced with a playful smirk as his feet lead him towards the bed where you body had been resting.
The boy placed himself on your floor, careful not to make too much noise so as not to cause suspicion from your parents down stairs.
"What happened to not sneaking around when my parents were here?" You voice laced sarcasm and annoyance, scoffing at Elvis as he sat on the floor near the end of your bed, right infront of where the upper half of your body was.
"They won't mind, just' oughta be quiet." his thick voice drawled out, placing a straight finger over your mouth before letting out a small "hush".
"Elvis, you know what would happen if my daddy saw you in here." You were basically begging him to not do anything stupid, the warning in your eyes evident. He chuckled lowly, nodding in an understanding manner before rising from the floor and walking towards your closed bedroom door.
"Your dad loves me, wouldn't lay a finger on me." Elvis placed his hand over his heart, hissing in fake pain, but the smile on his face showed the he was feeling nothing but pure humor and amusement.
"Even if he caught me wandering around in here." Elvis slowly began to turn the handle of your door, his mischievous smile growing wider just as the door opened wider. "he still wouldn't lay a finger on me." Elvis spoke in a volume above a whisper.
You quickly scrambled on your feet, as soon as you saw the hallway of your home, you were quick on your toes to shut the door. "Are you trying to get me killed!" You groaned out, pushing the taller boy away from the door and slamming the door with a bang.
"Come on, don't hold out on me. " Elvis cooed out, as your attempt in pushing the man away failed miserably so, he enveloped both of his calloused hands on your cheeks. "I've been good, all week just for you." he said in that dumbfounded tone he knew would make you fall to your knees everytime he used it, the same tone that had gotten you two in situations you would later regret the next day.
"Good as in completely acting as if I don't exist?" You lifted your eyes up to meet his, crossing your arms as a stern expression spread on your face.
"Y'know it's not like that, I just can't let the Colonel know that I gotta' girl." Elvis rasped, gracefully sliding his hands from your fleshed cheeks to your bare arms... you wished you could have opted for that grandma gown rather than the revealing slip dress.
You felt your skin prickle under his touch, his rough hands glding back and forth between your shoulder blades and elbows. "I know, it's just, i hate the sneaking around ." You words came out breathily.
"It'll only be a little 'while til I'll be able to show you off, show everyone your mine, yeah?" he nodded slowly, his thick accent drawing out as you pulley away from him with an slight irritated expression.
He relentlessly followed before letting out a sigh, his hand running through his greased jet black hair. You sat on the edge of your bed, looking at him with full of expectation.
"Let me make it up to you." He rasped out, nodding in an understanding manner as he lowered his eyes, seeking your face for any desperate form of confirmation. "My parents are downstairs." You reminded unsurely, but as soon as those unsure words left your mouth he shook his head.
"If you're nice and quiet, they won't hear a thing." He says in a readily way stays tall as he stands, his hands on your cheeks as you looked up in his direction with hungry eyes.
"lemme treat right, like you deserve, mama." he slowly whispered as sinked to his knees, seated right infront of you. his hand guided themselves towards your bare thighs, opening them... and giving him sight of where you needed him the most.
"elvis." you bit back, desperation and unsureness as you saw the way he kept his eyes on you with every inch he moved. " haven't even done anything, and you're already calling my name out." he chuckled cockily, gliding his hand gracefully between your parted thighs.
you hated how he cockily smirked as he felt the cloth that was basically with the juices that released everytime he spoke so dangerously, everytime he kept his eyes on you with the lustful waver, and everyone his fingertips touched you.
"Now, mama, tonight, I'm doin' everything in your favor. ." He whispered in a warm tone, pickpocketing the pink lace that had been on your body moments ago.
You shuddered at the new foreign feeling, his fingers lifting up the silk dress that rid up short. The new sensation of cold air hitting your upper thighs, and Elvis's new interest in making sure you were pleased. "I'll be real gentle, real nice." He nodded, sticking out two fingers before edging them towards your throbbing button.
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candy-ishu · 1 year
Text
his baby doll
pairinlg: austin!elvis x little!reader
summary: you’re elvis’ baby doll. his princess, his little, his everything. and no matter what, he’ll always be there to love and spoil you.
warnings: none, just lots of fluff with little reader and caregiver elvis
word count: 1,604
note: this is my first fic with a little reader! i was nervous to post this to be honest because i understand that this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but these type of fics personally bring me comfort but if you dislike it please skip past it and don’t spread hate on my page. i have part two ready and feel free share any feed back you have for me. love you all. <3
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you stared at elvis’ back as he sat at his desk, your frustration increasing by the second. he could hear your occasional grumbles and whines but he chose to ignore them nonetheless. You rolled on your stomach, stuffed animal tightly between your hands, and kicked your feet against the pillows at the top of the bed.
“daddyyyy,” you whined for what felt like the thousandth time.
“yes, baby girl?” his response was quiet and patient as ever, but it only annoyed you even more.
“m’ bored,” you whined again, dragging out the words for as long as you could before you ran out of breath.
“i know baby, i know,” he said quietly, eyes never leaving his papers. “just five more minutes, okay?”
“i don’t want to wait,” you complained, kicking the pillows harder. elvis continued to ignore your tantrum until finally, with an exasperated huff, you threw your stuffed animal across the room. it hit the wall next to a vase with a silent thud and you dropped your head onto the mattress in frustration. 
“y/n,” elvis’ voice was still calm, but much more stern, and you could already hear the underlying threat in it. “look at me.”
“nuh uh,” you mumbled, voice muffled by the mattress but you shook your head in order to make your point clear. you could hear him stand up and walk over to where you were and when his voice came again, it was much closer.
“you want a spankin?” he asked and you immediately shook your head, though you still didn’t look up. “then look at me.”
you let out another huff of frustration but obediently looked up, your chin resting on the mattress as you met elvis’ blue eyes. he was kneeling down on the floor in front of you so he was eye level. his expression was serious, but he didn’t look angry. you waited for him to speak.
“you gon be a good girl for daddy while he’s workin?” he asked quietly after a moment. you were tempted to not answer, or maybe even say no, but you didn’t want to get yourself in any more trouble. you nodded silently so he continued. “do good girls throw tantrums?”
“no, but-” he raised an eyebrow at your before you could continue arguing, silently warning you. “no daddy,” you mumbled, settling to simply pout instead. 
elvis sighed and brought up a hand to your face, brushing his thumb against your cheekbone. you leaned into his touch but still glared at him unhappily, making him chuckle. “i know you want my attention right now, baby girl, but i really have to finish this. i promise you i’m almost done. just give me five more minutes and then i’m all yours. we can do anything you want.” 
your expression changed from irritated to hopeful, but you tried to contain it and narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. “anything?”
he nodded. “anything, babydoll.”
“go to the park?” you asked, a smile slowly finding its way to your lips from both the offer and the use of your favorite pet name. 
he smirked a bit but nodded in agreement, “yes, we can go to the park.”
you let out a squeal of excitement that made him laugh and wrapped your arms around his neck. going to the park was your favorite, and you didn’t get to do it very often. “thank you, daddy,” you hummed, nuzzling your face against the crook of his neck in appreciation. 
“you’re welcome, pretty girl.” he rubbed your back gently before pulling away enough to look at you properly. “now give daddy a kiss so he can go finish what he was working on.” you obediently leaned forward and pressed a loud kiss against his lips, your tantrum effectively subdued and your previous annoyance replaced with excitement. 
elvis stood up again to walk back to his desk, pausing briefly to pick up your stuffie from the floor and hand it back to you with a warning smile. you took the stuffie with a quiet “thank you,” and avoided eye contact, the warning intimidating enough without you having to meet his gaze.
you rolled onto your back and held the stuffed animal in the air. it was a simple brown teddy bear with a cute pink bow tied around its neck. out of all the stuffies you had, and you had a lot, this one was your favorite. it was the very first one elvis had bought for you. he loved to spoil you rotten with all sorts of presents: stuffies, dresses, bubbles, bath bombs, and tea sets. you name it, he’d probably bought it for you at least once. but the amount of the gift never made them less special. they always reminded you that he was thinking about you, and it gave you something to look forward to when he would go on tour or have to travel to other cities for shorter periods of time. 
in all honesty, the gifts made you uncomfortable at first. you knew he had the money to buy them for you, he was the king of rock and roll after all, but that was part of the problem. you knew he had money, he was an artist that was quickly rising up in the charts and showed no signs of coming down any time soon, he was famous, and most people would do anything to be connected to that type of publicity. but you didn’t want him to think that his status is what attracted you to him if anything, dating the king was complicated. it meant dealing with long hours of rehearsals and meetings, being away from each other for days or weeks at a time, and not being able to come over without dealing with six other people in the house. but it was worth it, or rather he was worth it. 
and after countless conversations of “you don’t need to spend money on me” and “but i want to” you gave in and learned to accept that gift-giving was just a way elvis expressed his love, especially when he couldn’t physically be with you as much as he wanted. and it was kind of hard to argue when he would say things like, “let me take care of you darlin, providing for you makes me happy.”
“daddy,” you whined, patience once again beginning to wear thin.
“patience, baby,” he replied quietly, “two more minutes.” you let out a small grumble and he sighed. “how many seconds are in two minutes, baby doll?” he asked.
“ummmm,” you thought for a moment, “120?”
“mhm,” he hummed in approval. “good job, sweet girl, can you count to 120 for daddy?”
“uh huh,” you nodded even though he couldn’t see you, but you still sense his smile as you began counting. “one…two…three…”
elvis had always been remarkably good at keeping you entertained and subduing your boredom and tantrums, even before you fully embraced your relationship dynamic. he always acted like “such a daddy” and when you told him that one day he just grinned and said, “you should call me daddy then.” at the time, you weren’t sure if he was serious or not, so for a while, you would only do it teasingly, saying things like “yes, daddy” “okay daddy” “whatever daddy says.” but it didn’t take long for it to turn serious, especially when his response was to say things like “thank you, babydoll” or “that’s my good girl.” you think that all hesitations broke the first time he called you “his little girl” though, you’ve never gone into little space so quickly, and his smile told you he knew exactly what he just did. 
you never really had to talk about it. it was more of a trial and error type of experience that was filled with a lot of “is this okay?” and “how do you feel about this?” there were a few times where boundaries were overstepped or things weren’t handled well, but safe words existed for a reason. 
“a hundred and ten, a hundred eleven, a hundred twelve…” you could see him applying the last few signatures on his documents and beginning to put his papers away as you went through the final ten seconds. “a hundred seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty!”
elvis turned around in his chair and looked at you with a teasing smile. “if you’re only at twenty that means i have a hundred more seconds.”
“daddy!” you whined loudly, making him laugh. you weren’t nearly as amused.
“i’m kiddin darlin, i’m kiddin.” he reassured you as he stood up. “c’mon, we gotta get shoes and socks on so we can go to the park.”
“but i don’t want to wear shoes,” you complained, pouting as you moved into a sitting position on your shared bed.
he shook his head silently as he walked over to the closet and grabbed a pair of white socks and pink slippers. “you are so difficult today huh doll,” he muttered under his breath. “you need a nap?”
“no.” you defended yourself quickly, and rather unconvincingly.
elvis chuckled as he kneeled down in front of you. “alright baby, whatever you say.” you glared at him silently but didn’t argue, you really wanted to go to the park. he helped you put your socks and shoes on, one at a time. “alright darlin,” he said standing up, reaching for a pair of sunglasses to wear. “you ready?”
“uh huh!” you nodded and jumped up quickly.
he held out his hand for you to take and gave you his signature smile, “let’s go baby doll.”
pt. 2?
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crash-and-cure · 5 months
Text
Been a Thorn in the Side of Man (Yandere!Elvis x Reader)
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Summary: In her twenty years of the business, Jimena’s seen just about the worst Hollywood has to offer. However all of that failed to prepare her for the likes of Elvis Presley. 
A/N: Yikes on bikes, this took alot longer than I was expecting. I would like to personally thank @stylespresleyhearted ​ for keeping me motivated to write and allowing me to bounce ideas off her and on top of all of that making the beautiful mood board above. I was just able to release this on my birthday so there's that lol. Based off of this request.
Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior. Dubious Consent in regards to coersion being involved. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f.recieving), doggy style and mating press, and not to mention huge breeding kink on his part. BIG TRIGGER Warning for some suicidal ideation on his part. Loss of family members. Drug overdose. Mentions of Pregnancy. Self-loathing. Probably more that I am blanking on. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 
Word Count: I’m gonna be honest, stopped counting  after 30K (don’t judge me)
Then 
There’s an odd sense of calm once one officially accepts that they’re alone in the world. It’s easier in a way to accept that no one will ever truly look out for her, than it is to have to face the earth-shattering disappointment that is having believed for a moment that someone would. 
These are the thoughts going through her head as Jimi slowly folded her daily copy of the Excelsior. 
Most women would be violently mad after having read what she just did, but it was almost a relief to finally have an answer to why he has really been so absent in her life these last few months. It’s not like it should be surprising to her really, this town having shown her for years what it thinks about women like her: Seductive, temptress, exotic, temperamental, alluring… disposable.
It’s a story told time and time again in Los Angeles. Orson Welles and Dolores Huerta, Gary Cooper and Lupe Velez, and now Elvis Presely and Jimena Perez can be added to those ranks of doomed romances. 
I’d rather kiss three black women than a single Mexican woman, those are the words that ring within Jimenas head as she sits at her little breakfast table, though for what it’s worth it is nothing less than a deliberate action. As masochistic as it sounds she truly believes it’s for the better should she ever get to thinking this situation is in any way fixable. 
But even still as she stares unblinkingly at the plain wall of her just recently occupied home, she is a little confused as to why her vision gets cloudy. It takes her a moment to comprehend that she’s crying, something that she so rarely does these days anymore. 
And to think this is all over some musician.
She’ll never forget the first time she met him in person, all the standard camera and makeup testing that comes from early production. She’s far from the most experienced makeup assistant at Paramount, but in their words she’s the only makeup girl they trust to “behave” around him. Having grown up in the business, Jimena’s all but lost her ability to be starstruck by anybody really, so they’re not too far off in this notion. 
As they were explaining the whole purpose of this to the relatively green actor, she looked at him with a critical eye, examining his features, comparing it to other actors she had already worked on in the past, and trying to recall how best to highlight them on screen. 
He catches her looking at him and he shoots her a wicked smile, but where other girls would’ve gotten embarrassed at being caught staring she only redoubles her efforts now that she’s got a better look at his face, arguably staring even harder at him. In a funny turn of events he’s the one that looks away bashfully as though she were the one that caught him looking. 
While her official production title is as the resident makeup artist, she’s personally worked almost every job there is to have on a set save for actually sitting in the big chair and directing. Lights, costuming, talent wrangling, she’s seen and done just about all of it. She had been working behind the scenes since she was 14, where with a little bit of makeup trickery, she was not only able to convince everybody that she was an adult, but that she was the new hire. This would eventually give way to getting actually hired, as they simply trusted the fact given she was already on the lot. 
And somewhere between watching Dorothy Gale throw up in her own purse and seeing Rhett Butler remove his own teeth, did the whole concept of Hollywood movie magic well and truly die in her mind. 
Drugs, drinks, boys, girls, and every other vice to be had, Jimena’s seen even the most clean cut of stars fall into at least one category or another. So when she got the news she was gonna be on a project with him of all people, she had thought she had well and truly prepared for anything this man could throw her way. 
But when she actually gets a good up-close look at him, she starts to get that sinking feeling in her stomach. Not for anything he did or how he looked, but the way he acted. She heard his stuttering words and felt his soft cheeks in her hands, and there was only one thought in her head throughout the whole process. 
Pobrecito they’re gonna eat you alive.
All her years in this business, she’s got a pretty good grasp when people are being genuine or not. And he’s perhaps the most genuine person she had ever encountered. Wide-eyed bumpkin from down south was hardly new, but there was just something about Elvis Presley that made it a tinge more tragic than it would be normally. 
She barely spoke that first meeting, the higher ups weren’t that interested in her words these days, nor did he really try to initiate anymore conversation with the way his mouth was gaping at her. Hardly a new experience, but admittedly a little less unwelcome coming from him. 
So it took her by surprise the first day of shooting when he said “I didn’t get the pleasure of catchin’ your name last time,” he said with a grin as she set down her make-up kit. 
She’s quick to recover with a “Because I didn’t give it.” 
He gives a short huff at that before insisting once again since after all, she’s gonna be around him for the next ten or so weeks. 
“You can call me Jimi,” she says, barely sparing him a glance in favor of looking over the notes of what today’s scene will call for. 
“That really your name sweetheart?” which is not unfair to ask. It wasn’t her first choice, but it is the one that distanced her the most from her old stage name. 
“White people can’t pronounce it,” she justified as she tied her hair up with her favorite red bandana. “So I don’t bother with it here.” It’s sort of the truth, and that’s usually enough to get even the more obnoxiously “nice” ones off her back. 
“Well I’m willing to give it a shot,” he says amiably, apparently up for the challenge that she presents. 
She takes his chin in her hands and with a soft smile on her lips, and while he’s blushing up a storm she looks down at him and says a simple “No.”
He’s taken aback both by her words and the sudden spray of water from the bottle in her hand. She could’ve given a cursory warning to him but she has to remind herself that this entire situation works best when actors are indifferent towards her. 
It’s for the best, she tells herself. The less you say about yourself, the better, she wants nothing more than to keep her Mena and Nena days far in the past. 
Though it soon became clear that it wasn’t meant to be. 
“Y’know…” he starts off as he’s looking at her in the mirror. “Ya kinda look like that one girl, uhh what’s her name.” He says snapping his fingers trying to force him to remember even though you know for a fact who he’s talking about. “Elena Somethin’.” 
“Elena Leon?” she sighs, knowing already where this is going.
“That’s the one,” he would say, snapping his fingers in recognition. “Though, ‘tween the two of ya’, I think you’re the prettier one.”
“Hmm…” she answers, pursing her lips and practically shutting down as he quickly changes the subject to how excited he is to be working on another movie set. She didn’t engage much after that outside of the occasional hum of acknowledgement, until he eventually gave-up and would forlornly read his script. 
That wouldn’t stop him the next day from telling her about how his dumbass cousin made him late this morning and all the antics they get up to back in Memphis.
Or the next when he asked if Pink’s was actually any good or if it’s all just hype.
So on and so forth for the next few days as he would try to get her to talk to him again. 
She had been determined to just treat him like any other actor she had worked with, and just do her job, but then she saw him getting really cozy with a certain girl on set. Now on-set flings are par for the course on any production, and literally anyone else she wouldn’t have batted an eye, but she knows for a fact that that one is known to be dangerous. Well she’s not so dangerous, but her husband is. 
“Stay away from her,” she would whisper to him one day as she applied some eyeshadow trying to imitate a black eye.
“So you do speak,” he says, cracking an eye open, a triumphant smile on his face as though he’s won some great victory over her. 
“Yes, so listen to me,” she counters, her eyes boring into his to show him how serious she is. 
“Why do you care so much darlin’?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow, a small smile on his lips, still apparently not taking her seriously.
“My job is to keep you pretty for the cameras,” she states, in as matter of fact as she can manage. “You’re going to make that a lot harder if you don’t listen to me, and her husband beats the shit out of you.” 
“She’s married?” he asked, astonished that he could miss such a thing. “M-my manager said she could get me some good roles, that her Daddy is some big-time producer” he argues back. 
“Yes,” Jimena clarifies. “Her husband, who she calls daddy, can get you one very high paying role, and that’s only if you let him watch. If your manager didn’t know this, he’s a dumbass.” 
“Let him watch what?” he asks, confused. Her pursed lips, refusal to meet his eyes, and following silence speaks volumes, as his own cobalt eyes go comically wide as to what she was implying. “Her husband?” he says, and she gives him a small affirmative nod. “And he watches?” A raise of her brows as her eyes slide away from him just reaffirms this unorthodox situation. “So… Wait a second… does he or does he not like it when she’s with other men?” 
“Both,” she states, adding the finishing touches to her work. “He likes to watch and after that he beats the shit out of the boy in question.” And even though she’s pretty secure in the fact that no one is listening in, she still gets close to him to whisper this last part into his ear. “It’s apparently the only way he can get it up anymore.”
The fact that she sees his ears go bright red from just that little tidbit of information just really goes to show how green he still is in regards to how things work in this town. 
“How d’ya know all this?” he asks, more than a little disturbed now.
Not to brag but she regards herself as a wealth of information on the comings and goings of the Hollywood elite. Close enough to the action to overhear everything but low enough in the pecking order that most assume she’s incapable of doing anything about it. 
But this is basic information that even the lowliest of extras were privy to, so you can’t fathom how a man with a near meteoric rise to stardom wouldn’t know this. 
“Are you kidding?” she would in turn ask him. “Everybody knows.”
“Wait if everybody knows then why doesn’t anyone put a stop to it?” he asks, trying to find logic in a city not exactly known for it. 
“Because the only thing more powerful than secrets in this town is money, and he’s got a lot to keep everyone quiet.” 
Besides it’s only a matter of time before something gives in that tragedy waiting to happen. From all the whisperings Jimena’s been hearing, the girl in question has been keeping some rendezvous’ secret from her husband and more or less bragging that there’s no prenup in place. While he in turn has turned his eyes to some pretty little barely legal extra, he’s also very Catholic, doesn’t believe in divorce, and has rumored connections to the mob. 
Not even a week later did she hear whisperings that the very same producer had quickly sold all his stock in Paramount and decided to retire to the French Riviera with his wife seemingly overnight though there are conflicting reports as to whether or not she was seen at the airport. Coincidentally no one has seen hide nor hair from the last lowly actor she was seen running around with. 
Usually she kept her mouth shut about the dirtier details of an incident of this magnitude, but she couldn't help herself when she let him know the full extent as to the bullet he had dodged. 
“That's why you don’t get involved with fixers wives,” she says simply as she grabs the spray bottle for his hair, a little more secure in the knowledge that he isn’t so green anymore.
“Fixers?” he asks, and she laughs initially thinking he’s pretending to not know as is the custom when somebody on the outside asks about them. But then she sees he’s not laughing along with her, and his confusion is genuine.
“You are not kidding are you?” she asks incredulously, truly hoping that this man is not so naive. 
“Can’t say that I am,” he replies.  
Now she has two options, mind her own business and let this boy sink or swim on his own, or enlighten him to the dark underbelly of what it takes to make it in this town. Jimena had spent the last few years keeping her ear to the ground and gathering as much information as she could to one day be able to leverage it to help one person specifically… but that person hasn’t wanted much to do with her lately. 
Still she finds herself leaning more into the staying in her lane option, that is until his wide ocean blue eyes turn towards her, and she feels like a monster for the thought. 
“Well everybody around here has a job, and it’s to make movies that make money. Your job is to make the studio look good on and off screen so people spend money to see these movies,” she says as she runs a comb through his hair. “And when you fuck that up, it’s the fixers job to cover it up.” 
“When?” he repeated, clearly a little offended. 
“Yes, when,” she clarified. “Get caught with a boy, get caught holding something you’re not supposed to, get a mistress pregnant, get a ‘social’ disease, or hell, even find yourself with a dead body on your hands, you just gotta call the right producer and they make it all disappear.” She knows she’s being pretty blunt with the subject but she has been in the business pretty much right out of the womb, so she’s seen some of the worst shit this town has to offer. 
Over the next few weeks she does her best to let him in on the need to know knowledge that is necessary to survive not just in Paramount, but in Hollywood as a whole. 
“If you work with John, he’ll call you a communist for stirring your coffee the wrong way so I would avoid him. Canter’s is actually the place you want to go to for great food, Pink’s is just okay. Gable’s breath smells like death, but he will bury you if you ever mention it. Umm…” she says trying to recall any other helpful advice, though stops when she sees his overwhelmed expression. “Am I going too fast?”
He quickly schools his expression, back into one a more affable look, “Nothin’ you gotta worry ‘bout darlin’”
She is not buying it though.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, unwilling to believe his dismissal. He clammed up even more and looked straight into the mirror until she sat herself right in front of him, crossed your arms, raised an eyebrow, and gave him a look telling him she wasn't about to drop this. 
It’s a bit of a standoff until he eventually lets out a long breath and looks out the window to the awaiting set outside of his trailer, “I don’t know Jimi…” he sighs. “Guess I’m just feelin’ some type a way doin’ all this.”
“Why?” she asks, not really thinking. 
“I don’t think I’m cut out for acting.”
She simply gives a sympathetic shrug of her shoulders, and simply states, “You could be better.” 
He blinks, apparently caught off guard by her bluntness. “You just get right to the point, don'tcha darlin’,” he says with a smile. 
“Hey if you want someone to kiss your ass, you would’ve been better off asking literally anyone else.”
He gives a snort but the tight smile tells her she’s hit the nail on the head. “Alright then sweetheart, what’dya think I’m doin’ wrong?” he asks genuinely. 
Part of her wants to give a very pithy “everything,” but the other part of her is a little thrown for the fact that he is not only listening but actively asking for her advice on the matter. Granted she’s far from an expert considering she hasn’t done it in years, but she’s worked with some of the “greats’ to be confident enough in her ability to know good acting from bad. Besides she’s already going out of her way to let him in on the secrets of this town, so what’s an acting lesson or two. 
“Well for one thing, it’s called acting,” she emphasizes, “Not Wording.” 
“I-I don’t follow.” 
“Look… anybody can simply say the lines, but it’s an actor that can bring a character to life. You gotta be able to get comfortable with the fact that you’re not only being heard, but you’re being seen.” 
“Sweetheart everybody sees me.” 
“Yeah and you’re in charge of how you want to be seen,” she says. “Do you know why I wear the same red bandana everyday?”
“I was thinkin’ cuz you were tryin’ ta hide a bald spot,” he answers, which earns him a swift punch to the nipple.
“I wear it because my options are to be known as the mexican girl or as the bandana girl,” 
“So right now they’re seeing you Elvis, not Deke,” she sighs. “Say what you want about Brando and his annoying refusal to learn his goddamn lines, but he makes you believe every word that comes out of his mouth, because he believes what he’s saying at that moment…Speaking of Brando,” she pivots hard before she gets too passionate about the topic of acting and gives herself away. “Never get into a pissing contest with him. That’s how Anthony Quinn lost out on being a leading man… and I do mean a pissing contest in the most literal sense.”
“I’ll take ya word for it Jimi, but you sure do know alot ‘bout bein’ an actor,” he says giving her a once over that she can’t quite read. “You eva try bein’ one before?”
“You could say that,” she remarks, silently praying he doesn’t ask why she does have these skills. He’d already noticed over the past few weeks how she would be roped into fixing problems that were well beyond the paygrade of the average make-up girl like jumpstarting golf cars or fixing light fixtures. His attention is a bit infuriating, considering she feels she does her best work unnoticed. “When you've been in the business as long as I have, you learn a thing or two.”
“So how long you been in the business?”
Without missing a beat. “50 years.”
He gives a double take at that, and she’s pretty sure he’s trying to discern whether she’s lying or not. She’s not helping whatsoever with her usual neutral demeanor, until for the first time in years she does crack a bit of a smile at him, as she snipes with a, “I’m a very good make-up girl.”
He laughs at that “So you’ll tell me you’re real age but not your real name darlin’?
“Never.”
He gives an amused snort at that but the nice moment is interrupted when one of the PA’s pulls her away so she can help restart Gleason’s heart after his partner apparently got a little too enthusiastic about choking him mid-orgasm. 
After that the relationship between the two seemed to ease up a bit. He no longer felt the need to posture in front of her and they developed something of a -dare she say it- friendship with one another. For her, it’s a pretty novel experience to actually be heard on set for once, and the closer they got she got the sense that he may understand that feeling more than he would like to let on. 
“Any news?” he would ask, knowing full well that she always has the best stories on set. She doesn’t really talk to any of the other actors on set, and they in turn don’t really notice her, so they are a lot freer with their words when they speak with one another in front of her. 
“So… you didn’t hear it from me,” you say as you begin to wet his hair. “But apparently a certain Superman is on his way out and was seen with a younger girl in New York, and Toni is not taking it well.”
“And Toni’s husband?” 
“Taking it worse,” she says simply as she readies the eyeliner. “This was always going to happen, but I don’t think it’s the end of it.” she promises, which would be proven right a few years down the line when George “mysteriously” ended up with a bullet in his head. 
“You’re the reason I don't even bother with them papers no more,” he remarks. 
“They’re not all trash,” you defend. “There’s almost always a little bit of truth in them.” 
“Speakin’ a rumors,” he continues. “I think I finally figured out why you look like Elena Leon so much?” he says, oh-so casually trying to maintain his innocence. 
She stops combing through his hair, knowing that the jig was up. 
“Who told you?” she asks, trying to mentally prepare herself for the same three things everyone said when they did find out. It’s always an awkward subject to bring up especially as it brings up some painful memories of long hours and relationships that have yet to recover. 
“Y’know me and my mama used to watch your movies,” he says with an annoyingly charming smile.
1, 
“I’m glad,” she says in the most neutral tone. 
“Lord I never could’ve expected to meet you here, workin’ behind the scenes. You ever think about actin’ again?” 
2. 
“Oh my sister is the actress now,” she said affably. Something well-rehearsed and practically scorched into her brain since Jimena started working on sets when she was fifteen was to always talk up Elena to anybody who would listen. 
“Well thas a cryin’ shame sweetheart,” he says with a rakish grin on his face. “You were always my favorite.”
That’s new, she thought. Usually they ask her to do the old catchphrase. That or men tend to get weird around the idea of women who look almost exactly the same. 
But the idea of being the favorite is… different. Like every other relationship, she has a complicated one with the idea of being seen. But the idea of Elvis being the one to look at her is somewhere between exciting and terrifying, and it has her heart beating just a little bit faster. 
“Why didn’tcha go back?” he continues. She kind of understands where his curiosity comes from, as someone who so desperately wanted to break into the Hollywood scene it would probably be hard to comprehend someone who knew it and rejected it. 
The Leon Twins were the biggest little things since Shirley Temple. With their indistinguishable looks and charming, if slightly demeaning, premise of one sister only able to speak Spanish with the other, only English, MGM was able to pump out over thirty various movies and shorts starring the adorable little Mena and Nena and their hijinx. 
How is she supposed to explain how her mother made the unilateral decision that her sister was the “good” one and thus the one she decided would have the solo career after Jimena had the gall to go into puberty first and become slightly more distinguishable than her younger sister. Or how she hasn't talked to her sister in months despite the fact they both still live with their mother, and neither of them have acknowledged this. Or how the reason she took this job in the first place was to better lookout for said sister who isn’t talking to her.
How she sees fame as a beast of madness and obsession that will consume her given half a chance as it did with her mother and now her sister. But movies are all she’s ever known and the idea of leaving seems scarier than it is to stay. 
How the thought of having so many eyes on her once again makes her practically want to claw her skin off and she’d rather die than ever willingly step back into that arena. 
She doesn't say any of that, instead she simply says, “Got tired of it,” as she puts the finishing touches on his hair. “I had my time in front of the camera,” and hated every second of it, she thought. “And I think I’m better suited behind it,” and you give a dramatic turn of his chair so that he could face the mirror. “As you can see.”
“Yeah,” he says, taking the hand you placed on his shoulder and looking back up at you. “I don’t know what’d I do without ya sweetheart.”
Seeing his cobalt blue eyes bore into her own, Jimena feels her face heat up, though mercifully it’s hidden under her darker complexion. If Elvis notices her change, he doesn't acknowledge it, and mercifully that is when one of the PA’s calls him to the sound stage. 
Once he’s out she sprays her own face with a bottle to get herself under control. 
In spite of her typically neutral regard for actors there’s just simply something about Elvis Presley that just made her want to throw that all away. 
She had sworn to herself to never get involved with actors, she had seen this song and dance play out many a times before. It comes in different flavors, but the final scene is always the same at the end of the day: the famous white man never chooses the latin girl to be his wife. Arm-candy? Definitely. Date? Yes. Long-time Girlfriend? Sure. Fiance with a wedding date never set? Maybe. Mistress? Obviously. But never the wife. 
Besides, it was the tail-end of shooting and it’s unlikely she was ever gonna work with him again so she decided to just stamp these feelings down and hope they went away. She was afterall an actress once, she can act like he doesn’t have an affect on her now. 
Though this was blown out of the water on the last day of shooting and he would not only pull her next to him for the cast wrap-up picture, but he would also slip an invitation to the wrap-party in her purse. She had gone home hoping to take a nap and forget about Elvis Presley, only for the next curveball of her day to occur. 
“Should we match for the party?” Elena would ask, holding up said invitation. 
“...did… did you look through my purse to find that?”
“We better start getting ready,” her sister would say, completely bypassing the question. “After all it’s not everyday that Hollywood gets a Leon Twins reunion.”
“...yeah, I-I don’t think going would be…” 
“Meeeennnnnaaaa…” she whines, completely abusing the fact that she is the only one allowed to use that name and not catch a fist to the face. “We need to go together, because why else would they just invite a makeup girl to a wrap party?”
Why else indeed? She thinks and she actively has to scrub the way he looked at her out of her mind lest she get any other ideas. 
“Besides,” she says, giving Jimena a light shove on the shoulder. “You still owe me for never introducing me to James Dean.”
“I barely knew him,” she argues back, which is the truth. He only vaguely knew her as “Snake girl” when she was working as a PA for one of his movies. The closest she ever got to him was after she managed to save him, Rock, and Liz from a snake that had trapped them in his trailer and their subsequent thank-you’s being signed photos of each of them that they had their assistants bring to her. There’s a certain irony in the fact that of the few movies to depict the plight of Mexican-Americans in the US, they had no problem giving her, one of the few Mexican crew members, the most dangerous task because everybody else was too valuable to lose.
Looking at her sister, her reflection in many ways, she feels her resolve begin to waiver a bit. Nena was her first job in a sense, as being the older sister it was Jimena’s responsibility to look out for her first and foremost. She took it so seriously that she’s still doing it to this day. 
They have always been so intrinsically entwined as an act. Their tiny hand prints immortalized in front of Grauman’s and the child-sized oscar with both of their names somewhere around here prove that much. But Elena now struggles to find that same level of fame as before, and secretly Jimena doubts that this will ever be possible. 
She couldn’t understand it but Jimena could see the reason as clear as day. 
There’s an unspoken rule about being a latin or black actress in Hollywood when you’re not the star of the show: Never outshine the white leading ladies, because it has to be believable that the white leading man chooses the leading lady. 
Joan Crawford was bad enough with actresses who had the gall to be simply younger than her, but she was especially vicious toward the ones who had skin tone darker than ivory. Jimena remembers one harrowing set where this one little Cuban extra had made the awful mistake of approaching Joan and saying how she wanted to be as big a star as her one day. 
They never did find her ear, and Jimena had made it a point to stop wearing hoop earrings on set altogether. The whole incident was swept under the rug after “someone” accused the poor girl of being a communist, and they did who knows what with her. But that just confirmed her and other girls like her are unlikely to be protected on set no matter how valuable you make yourself.  
Jimena told her sister this story, warning her to dull herself down a bit during auditions, if only to get her foot in the door and get more consistent work as secondary characters. And it was working for a time, but she wasn’t seeing the kind of work she wanted and she largely blamed Jimena for it because of her warnings to play it safe. 
In fact the source of their recent falling out was when Jimena had tried to convince her to try out cinema in Italy or Mexico or literally anywhere else in the world and use that as a branching off point to get an in in Hollywood. She flat out refused saying how she “doesn’t want to die in obscurity like you.” They didn’t talk for a solid month after that and since then it was only the barest of communication between them.  
“Imagine if I was seen with Elvis Presley,” she said now, with stars in her eyes. “The roles would come pouring in after that.”
For all that it left a sour taste in her mouth, Jimena could understand the logic of wanting to latch on to someone who's already getting up there in terms of fame. Fuck the studios themselves sometimes set up these types of arrangements, all for the sake of promoting up and comers. 
And the fact he invited her in the first place, probably means he had something else on his mind for the evening. Besides he’s apparently been a fan of theirs for a long time, it probably wouldn’t matter too much to him to which sister he was handed at the end of the day. 
So really everybody wins with this arrangement; Elena gets a bump to her star power, Elvis gets to fuck one of the Leon twins, Jimena gets to stay in her lane. And it’s with a heavy heart that she agrees to go. 
The evening was apparently so special that their mother decided to make one of her rare appearances before sunset. 
Once after finding out that not only was she one of the famous Leon Twins, but that her mother was THE Gloria Leon-Sanchez from the silent film days, he of course asked what it was like to grow up with a famous mother.
“You ever seen Sunset Boulevard?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve met my mother.” 
Harsh as it may sound, that was the most generous interpretation of her mother that she could afford these days. What with her practically living in nightgowns and sheer robes, to her constant bemoaning of actresses that apparently stole her career trajectory the likes of which included practically everyone from Rita Hayworth to even her own daughters, the comparison wasn’t too far off.  
Though her mother had largely checked out once the twins had turned eighteen. Elena alone hadn’t been able to reach the same level of fame that the two of them once managed together as the “Firecracker twins.” 
It was a simple gimmick really but had just enough gas to make over 30 movies and short movies about. Adorable twin girls who get up to mischief due to their near indistinguishable looks, Mena the spanish-speaking, spitfire twin that always had a skip in her step to dance with her little, english-speaking, soft-spoken and shyer twin, Nena, who could occasionally be emboldened enough to sing. 
The two of them were a lightning rod for box office draw, having been likened to Shirley Temple levels of fame, but due to their background that hardly granted them Shirley Temple levels of treatment or pay for that matter. 
Her and her sister weren’t seen as people, they were moving props that could sing and dance, and on occasion say their famous “Ayy, No Bueno!” catchphrase. Props that didn’t need to rest, props that didn’t need to eat, props that the less scrupulous producers would occasionally try to lure into an empty room with them. 
Not to pat their mother too hard on the back, but she at the very least helped them avoid the most obvious pitfalls that come from childhood stardom, but made them arguably worse. Like refusing to let the doctor give them “vitamin shots” but would ask if they could just IV Line coffee to their veins. Or never letting either of them out of her sight on sets, but couldn’t really be bothered with them outside of it leaving them with nannies so she could go “audition” for them. Or how she never left either of them alone with any of the men, but did teach them how to mix drinks at the age of nine so they could charm them with their “maturity.” So on and so forth. All of these bad, but after encountering other mothers who wanted to make their kids stars regardless of the cost, it really put things into perspective as to the type of person she could’ve been. 
What happened to her as a kid may have been more palatable to Jimena, if it were a case of that being the only way to keep them afloat. But it wasn’t and the older she gets, the better she understands as to what was stolen from her in their childhood. Their “father” Victor, had the decency to slip into a coma after marrying the formerly famous silent film-actress, and 10 Months later out popped Jimena and her sister, so as to properly claim her cut of his fortune. 
No, it was never about the money for her mother. It was always the fame that she was seeking, even if she had to begrudgingly share it with her daughters. 
Back in those days the Coogan act was more of a suggestion in the studios, especially when they had her mothers implicit permission for whatever they wanted. The long hours, the uncomfortable costumes and the mean men were all things she had done your very best in the last few years to forget about. 
One thing she undoubtedly won’t forget was her mother’s favorite threat when she was a kid and acting up. “¿Quieres que consiga los fijadores?” Gloria would say with a sickly sweet smile on her face, knowing full well no one but her daughter understood her words. Where other Mexican kids were scared of El Cucuy, she was scared of Los Fijadores or the fixers who would take away bad little girls that didn’t listen to the directors, so that their mothers could go back to acting and not have to care for those ungrateful little girls. That would always shut her up for the day, and she would listen until the next time she got fed up and the cycle would repeat all over again. Little did she realize at the time that her mother didn’t have much in the way of influence in the business, not anymore at least, but she took full advantage over the influence she had over her daughters. 
Ironically enough it was rare that Jimena would ever get to that point, but because her sister was the “good one” she would never dare to kick up a fuss, so most of the time the older sister would do it for her. She took her role as a big sister very seriously back then and didn’t mind being the difficult one who held up production if it meant that her little sister got a break.
It was always the two of them against the world. It’s why she even stayed in the business. She couldn’t imagine where she’d be if it was just her alone, as for all the shit her mother put her through, she could at least take comfort knowing that she wasn’t alone. Even when they were angry at each other, even when they wouldn’t speak to each other for weeks, even when she felt like she just wanted to choke her, she could take comfort knowing that they would always be there for one another. 
For the occasion, her sister would choose a bold red dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Marilyn or Jayne. It felt a little too much for just a simple wrap party, but it was clear her intent was to draw as much attention as possible.
By the time Jimena made her way downstairs it was clear that it was already working, with the way their mother was cooing over her. 
“So you’re going with Elena to the party,” her mother would remark as Jimena stepped down the stairs.
“Actually she’s going with me.” 
“And you’re going to wear that?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” she says in the way only a mother intent on cutting down her daughters self-esteem could.
Jimena would self-consciously look down at her own understated blue dress, “What’s wrong with it?” 
“It’s just…” she would say, fingering the fabric on her shoulder. “This is Elena’s big night, and we need to do everything in our power to help her stand out.” 
A distraction goes unsaid, something she used to be called for wearing any slightly flattering clothing onset. Even when she did start dressing down, she could hardly say it helped anything but this is an argument she’s heard a lot over the years, and she’s too tired to fight it tonight. “Of course mama,” Jimena would say dejectedly before going back to her room to change into something a little less flattering. A simple black dress, something that is both complementary to Elena’s red dress, but will also hopefully help her fade into the background so that all focus will be given to her sister. 
“Ayy thank you Mija,” she would say, planting a kiss on her eldest’s cheek before they left. “You’ve always been so good at looking out for your sister.”
Jimena had long since accepted that between the two of them, she would always be the second choice. It happened with their mother, it happened with the studios, it happened with every single boy she had been interested in, hell she had even chosen her sister before herself most times. Why would Elvis be different?
That night when he did end up picking her, Jimena could hardly be blamed for indulging in the sensation of the first time in her life someone had chosen her over her sister. 
It was the worst mistake of her life that she would struggle to forgive herself for. Elvis would distract her almost the entire night, and as a result an awful man had sunken his claws into Elena when she hadn’t been looking. Those last few months of her sister's life would be fraught with anger, drugs, and heartache from one Tim Parsons. 
He had been claiming to be related to one of the studio big-wigs and could get her some higher profile auditions. What scared Jimi is that she could not find a goddamn thing about him in all of her little networks. Anywhere else this would mean that he’s a perfectly normal person with nothing so scandalous as to be worth talking about. In this town it meant that someone was just very good at hiding whatever the hell is wrong with them.  
Yet all the evidence that he was bad news came in the form of all the drastic changes she was seeing in her sister. Since puberty, Elena had always been slimmer than her (their mother made sure of that) as a result, she wasn’t quite as gifted in the chest and hips as Jimena. But it was impossible not to notice the fact that she dropped a few dress sizes in a matter of weeks. When Elena begged her sister to take in a few dresses for her, Jimena could practically see her ribcage. Not to mention the fact that she was unusually full of energy even late into the night when she would pace around the house only to make a call to him and then after a quick handoff from his car she would be dead asleep, until he would let himself in and the cycle would begin all over again.  
Jimena knows what these all mean. She’s seen the signs in hundreds of actors before, and she’s never bothered to intervene before. Now it feels like a karmic punishment for her previous inaction, as she can only watch helplessly as her sister goes down the same road. 
It all came to a head the day she finally heard the first thing about this man, and it was truly terrifying: that not only was he not a doctor, but that that wasn’t even his name. He had been forced to change it once his claim to fame in this town became how he was denied an apprenticeship under Dr. Feelgood because his concoctions were in the doctors words “unhinged.” The man who regularly shoots up his patients that have a blend of human placenta and ground up horse bones called another man’s “vitamin” mixture insane. 
She dropped everything the moment she heard that and begged Elena to stop seeing this man. But it was in one ear out the other, and it seems it was hard for her to believe Jimena when for a time she was actually getting her foot in the door for major roles she actually wanted all because of him. However these also came with a price as evidenced by the late nights and vacant looks in Elena’s eyes after coming back from these auditions. The more she did this the more she felt her sister slipping away.
Her mother is no help whatsoever seeing only the results of this shift, and not the consequences. 
“Mija,” she would say to her in one of her rare moments of lucidness. “This is what it really takes. I tried to protect you both from it when you were younger, but she understands now what has to be done to make it in this town.”
Jimena has to bite her tongue, when all she wants to do is scream at her mother and yell at her to look in a mirror and ask if that was the image of someone who made it.
It all came to a head when Elena would beg Jimena to help her “entertain” a casting producer who not only had a thing for latinas, but twins as well. She was practically on her knees pleading for her sister's help with this, promising her twin that this would be the break in her career that she needed. Jimena tried to reason with her that there is no role worth what they’re asking for her, especially since even sleeping with them wasn’t a guarantee for her roles.
Up until this point she’s tried to be gentle about this, but it becomes clear as day that that is no help.
“You watch!” She yelled. “He’s gonna suck you dry and spit you back out when there’s nothing left!”
“At least he’s getting me work! You’ve always done nothing but drag me down!” she sobs, angry tears streaming down her face. “The one time I ask you to do something for me-”
“The one time? Who’s the one that did all the stunts you were too afraid of? Who’s the one who dropped out of school so you wouldn’t be alone on sets? Who’s been talking you up to every producer she’s ever worked with?”
“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Her little sister would snapback. 
That has Jimena clamp her mouth shut, not wanting to own up to what she did that set her sister on this course. But that’s all the confirmation Elena needed before she turned her back on her. 
It was the ugliest fight they had ever had, and it resolved nothing, as they just stormed into their respective rooms. Those days were less Little Women and more Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Jimi knew that if one didn’t get out soon there would be blood. So when she was offered a project that would be shooting mostly on location in New Orleans she practically jumped at the opportunity, hardly even registering the fact that Elvis was gonna be there as well.
It was only landing in Louisiana and seeing room assignments did she remember why exactly she hated On-location shoots, when “mysteriously” the other seven white women she was sharing a room with all unanimously decided that of all of them, Jimena would be the one that had to take the floor. 
But remembering who exactly was starring in this production, she decided to take a chance and made her way to his room. Though upon arriving at his door, she does hesitate for a moment remembering what her sister said and probably what he will expect if they do share a room. But then just thinking of her sister infuriates her and she finds herself finally knocking on his door. 
Being in New Orleans, all her problems back home would seem so far away, and she could focus on herself for a change. In an odd way it felt like he was the only one who understood her in those days. Of all the people on set, he is the only one who knows how to put on a brave face when it feels like everything you have is slipping through your fingers. 
Him also knowing who exactly she was came with the unexpected consequence of him constantly trying to finagle stories out of her. Really talking to him about her childhood did help put into perspective how wild her formative years were as not everybody can say they got in a fist fight with Wendy Darling or that Shirley Temple taught them how to roll a cigarette. 
He seemed to just understand what she needed in a way no one has ever. It was usually simple arguably unremarkable things really, like anticipating when she was hungry or tired, even before she would admit it to herself, or when she almost lost a finger or when he stepped so this would be the first time she wouldn’t be the one to have to chase rabid animals out after a small alligator somehow got onto the set. He took care of her in a way that nobody had ever done before. 
She wouldn’t define what they had as a full scale relationship, but whatever they had, it was nice just to have something private and out of the public eye. Only later would she realize he had his own reasons to keep everything as discreet as possible. 
They were together almost every night in New Orleans, as it was easy to fall into each other like that. They were both at an uncomfortable crossroad in their life and it felt like he understood her in a way nobody else had. 
She thought she understood him as well, but it was only when she read the article did she realize she never knew him at all. 
They were a week away from wrapping up production, when Jimena got the devastating news. In a newspaper somebody else had been reading on set that day of all things. 
That was the way she learned that her sister was dead. 
She remembers saying to no one in particular that she was gonna call it a day and simply wandered off set, into the unfamiliar city. She walked for hours just trying to wrap her head around the news.
It felt like the worst sort of betrayal to learn that her sister had been dead for days, and not only had no one contacted her, but that she didn’t automatically feel it. Aren’t other twins supposed to just know when the other is hurt? So why didn’t she? Elena came into this world with Jimena, why did she leave without her? 
As a kid her mother told her that she was not a pretty crier, so she’s done everything in her power to never cry, especially in front of other people. So walking around and being surrounded by strangers at the very least did prevent her from devolving into a blubbering mess. But as the day goes on she knows there is no outrunning the inevitable, and that as tempting as it may be to simply walk until she couldn't anymore, she would have to go home soon. 
She would eventually make her way back to the hotel room only to be met with Elvis worriedly pacing around his room. He would throw his arms around her the moment he saw her and start with the condolences, and even the tears. 
She didn’t really want any of that; she just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. But she lets him pull her close and she breaks for the first time in years in front of somebody else. True to her mothers words, it is not a pretty picture.
Full body wracking sobs, snot pouring out of her nose, her screaming and cursing until her voice goes hoarse, the works. Even still he holds her all the same. For all that she’s glad he was there she can’t help but feel so humiliated, but that’s simply one of the many emotions that run through her head along with guilt and anger and regret and just about every other awful feeling under the sun. 
But who else could she turn to that would know even a fraction of what she’s going through right now. Not just to lose a sister, but to lose a part of yourself. 
In a sick way she kind of blamed him. Maybe if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in him these last few weeks she would’ve known earlier, or maybe she wouldn’t have even taken this job, or hell, if she hadn’t even gone to that party, Elena wouldn’t have even met that man in the first place. 
“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Plays over and over again in her head. But it’s easier to be mad at him because he’s actually here to take that anger. 
Though she begins to feel no small amount of guilt for this when she wakes up the next morning to find that he’s cleared everything with the producers, and arranged for her trip back home all on his dime. 
He personally escorts her to the private train room he rented for her and leaves her with a kiss and a promise to see her in a few days. But by this point she’s numb to everything and she simply wants to close her eyes forever.
She barely registered coming home and only that was due to the fact that it’s now on her to arrange everything for the funeral, as it becomes apparent that her mother in her grief is off on another world.  The biggest clue being when her mother greets her at the front door with a hug and a kiss, and calls her Elena. 
“Mena’s still not back yet,” her mother would say with her arms still wrapped around her in the threshold of their home. “So it’s just gonna be us today.”
“Ama…” Jimena whispers, unwilling to believe what she’s hearing. 
“Let's get you to the kitchen,” she tugs at her now lone daughter's arm. “You look like a skeleton these days. They’re not going to hire you if you don’t have a little meat on your bones.” She’s quickly whisked away to the kitchen where she finds a veritable feast, and her mothers hired cook nowhere in sight. Her mother can’t cook, a fact known to both sisters, but between the two of them, Elena never had the heart to tell her. 
“You should listen to your sister more Nena,” she says brushing some hair out of her face after putting down a full plate of food in front of her. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this and I think she’s right on the money with the idea of trying to make it somewhere else and then coming back.” 
“Ama… please listen to me,” she pleads softly with the older woman, wanting to be gentle with her.
“You should really consider Italy,” she would say, not even acknowledging her daughter had said something. “Or France if you want to get a slightly better chance at 
It’s then she realizes that her mother is simply parroting back to her what she had been saying to her sister. All the rage and grief that’s been building up inside her bubbles over by that point. Now is when her mother decides to back her up, when it’s far too late to do anything about it?
“She’s gone!” she shouts. “She’s not here anymore, I’m Jimena!”
Her mother doesn’t look shocked, more resolved as she places her head in her hands. “Quiero estar con Elena,” she whispers through her tears. 
It occurred to Jimena that this was the first time she had heard her mother speak Spanish in years. Alot of her mother these days is very… performative. 
She’s seen it throughout the years how much her mother puts on a show, even simply for her daughters. It’s most apparent when she talks, as rather than using her natural voice, the one that made it impossible for her to break into the “talkies” as she still insists on calling them, she’s instead adopted the mid-atlantic, but the result sounds like if Katherine Hepburn was mocking someone with a Spanish accent. 
But hearing her now, Jimena realizes that this is the most honest her mother has been with her in years. The truth doesn’t make it sting any less. Her mother is gone, she just needs to resolve this one last piece of business to go in peace. 
Just like she played mother to her own sister for years, she could pretend to be the daughter that her mother needed at that moment. And so she unflinchingly took a bite out of ceviche that only tasted like raw non-marinated shrimp and talked about whether or not to go the Josephine Baker route and start off as a showgirl.
The rest of the day is spent trying to ease her mothers guilt, only to pile it onto Jimena. Her mother would not so subtly explain why Jimena has been right this whole time and why ELena should listen to her. She suspects this is some fucked up way for her mother to tell her it’s not her fault, but all Jimena can hear is how if she had pushed harder her sister would still be here.
At one point her mother would “subtly” hint that she called in a favor with an old friend to take “Tim” down to Mexico so that he can retire. Jimena can’t even find joy in the fact that he’s gone now, because what does that leave her with, if she can’t be the one to kill the man who killed a part of her? 
“One more thing Mija,” Gloria says as she runs her nails through Jimena’s hair while they were both laying down in her sister's bed. “Thank your sister for me.”
Jimena hesitates before she asks, that distinct sense of trouble churning her stomach, “For what?”
“For being the mother I could never be for you,” she says, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Mena’s the one I never had to worry about.” And with those final words, her mother settles in behind her and goes to sleep. 
The coroner would later say that the fact that she was able to sleep and not be disturbed by whatever took her, she at the very least went without pain. 
This is fundamentally untrue as she left all her pain to Jimena.
This event had taken the story from simply sad to a tragedy. A young, beautiful starlet dying of an accidental overdose, is one thing, but add in her bereaved former silent film star mother to the mix, and that’s front-page news worthy. And before Jimena knew it, her loss was now the hottest ticket in town, because all of the cameras were not gonna dare miss such an event, and no star was gonna dare miss the cameras. 
It felt that every relatively famous person who vaguely knew either her mother or sister came out of the woodwork to tell some sort of story about them at the funeral. Jimena doesn't really have much to say other than there were definitely some who pulled off the bereaved friend act better than others. 
When it finally comes time for her eulogy, she was not as prepared as she thought. In an odd way it would have been better to look out in a sea of strangers, because looking out and seeing a hoard of famous faces who don’t know a single goddamn thing about her, all blank as there is not a single camera trained on them at the moment is far worse than anything imaginable. 
She ends up bolting to a backroom before she could make a fool of herself and scream at them all for being here when they’re not. She gives a futile effort to calm herself down by looking at all the gifts from well-wishers.
It was almost funny as it seemed everyone's publicist went to the same gift basket guy as there were maybe a dozen of the same arrangements, and she briefly wondered if they were bought in bulk by the studio and sent in different stars names. But one name in particular gave her pause, and she ripped the card off of the basket, unwilling to believe her own eyes that he could be so callous. 
Sorry for your loss
It was hard to comprehend at that moment, and she stupidly turned the little card back and forth unwilling to believe that the man who claimed to care so much for her would only send her an assortment of fruits and cheeses and not even five words. 
It’s all too much at that point, her dress is too tight, she’s all alone, her head is spinning, she’s all alone, her tits hurt for some reason, she’s all alone, she wants to throw up, she’s all alone, she’s all alone, she’s all alone… 
Jimena’s next conscious thought is realizing she’s in a hospital bed, but not in a hospital. The sound stage she’s on does a good enough job of looking like an actual hospital, save for the fact that an entire wall is missing and what looks to be a couple dozen cameras trained on her prone form. She can’t move anything save for blinking but that simply seems to make her situation worse as the cameras proceed to multiply each and every time. 
What does eventually make her accept that this is in fact a dream is when her rotting and decaying mother and sister enter stage left and proceed to rip off the thin hospital blankets. Before she can make any move to protest, she’s quieted with a wave of pain in her lower belly as they both take one of her legs in hand and proceed to spread them wide open for the cameras, each flash searing into her skin like a brand.
She can feel the way her mother and sister dig their fingers into her limbs to keep her in place and helpless as wave after wave of agony seems to flow throughout her entire body. She’s begging for them to let her go, she’s begging the cameras to stop, most of all she’s begging for someone who's not there.
She came to, maybe a day later, this time in an actual hospital with a mild concussion, a baby in her belly, and a broken heart, though they can only officially diagnose the first two. 
She had options for this situation. Every woman, famous or not, in the business knew she had options, it was practically part of orientation that they got a list of ten approved doctors by the studio for this very sickness. It was almost treated as a rite of passage for the backstage girls to have to eventually visit a doctor, it’s simply that common.
Jimena’s never had any reason to utilize this option, having 1. Avoided anybody relatively important to necessitate this, and 2. She had always been careful when it came to something like this. And yet somehow Elvis proved to be an exception to these rules. She had admittedly gotten sloppy after the first time he spilled inside her in New Orleans, as after that first time she figured that if anything came from this she could always just visit one of the studio doctors when she got back to LA. 
But sitting in a hospital bed, that once hypothetical scenario now a reality, it no longer feels as simple as it once did. She’s near catatonic in her indecisiveness until one of the nurses idly asks if she would be open to visitors should anybody arrive. 
And just like that, the prospect of going through with any other option other than keeping the baby made her sick. Because if she did go through with it… then she would well and truly have no one.
It had always been her and Elena against their mother, against the studio, against the world even, but now… she’s gone and it feels like she took a part of Jimena with her. 
Jimena’s good at a lot of things, not great, simply good. Jack of all trades they would call her, able to make quick fixes to a golf cart in a pinch, mix the perfect hangover cure, fix a few busted stitches on a dress or person alike, and practically anything else the studio demanded of her. 
Maybe in another life her wide-ranging skill set would have made her the greatest actress of her generation, able to play whatever role thrown at her. But in this life it just made her feel hollow. As though she herself is empty and without a part to play save for caring for her sister. 
Perhaps it’s true and that’s why she latched onto Elvis for a time, desperately needing to care for someone if only to outrun those fears of inadequacy. But there’s no outrunning anything when half of her is gone. 
As for Elvis, she doesn’t exactly know what to do about him just yet. She knew that telling anyone but him first would result in it getting back to the studio and at best she would be “lightly” pressured to go see a doctor, at worst anybody who asks will be told she decided to “retire” in Mexico. So her best bet was to wait it out and hope he contacts her.
Then one fateful morning as she was contemplating how best to ask the studio for bereavement leave, did she get a copy of Excelsior and she read about an exclusive interview Federico de León got with the father of her child. 
I would rather kiss three black women than one Mexican. 
She thinks she stares at that sentence for a good ten minutes trying to convince herself that she’s somehow misinterpreting this. But the inner smartass has to creep in and force her to face her new reality.
Well… he did more than kiss, she thought spitefully looking down at her belly, now far more prominent than it had been at the funeral months ago. She burns with humiliation and shame as those words run over and over in her head. 
She knows personally that there is almost always a grain of truth to stories like these, having had the scoop on many of them months before they got to print. And the fact of the matter is that it’s hard to believe the studio would allow for these to stand if they weren’t true with the movie coming out soon. 
As far as she knows, the studio has no idea about the affair between her and Elvis, and she’s going to keep it that way. 
What burns her the most is how wrong she was about him, not just as a person but as an actor. That she could’ve ever believed all his sweet words about this grand connection they had and how they were destined to be together. He’s perhaps the best actor she’s ever encountered if he got her of all people to believe all of that shit.  
It’s better this way, she tries to tell herself. In a way it is, as this was always an inevitability because regardless of whether he said it or not, there is no world where they ended up together. That’s not how this town works.
Her job makes her the first one to see actors on a given day, and she’s been forced to think on her feet as to how best to make them not only look but be presentable in front of the camera. 
She’s had to quickly sober up hundreds of actors and she’s had to figure out just the right amount of drink for each of them that will make them functional but not incoherent. Had to cover up twice as many bruises on actresses' faces so no one will speculate what goes on behind closed doors of their producers husbands. She’s even been the one to diagnose more than a few “social” diseases on set and steer them to the right doctors, so as to prevent a veritable epidemic on set. As haughty as it may sound, productions would fall apart without her. 
Low-level she may be, she’s a fixer in this town. She’s not a problem that needs to be fixed. 
And she decides neither will her baby. 
She’s not gonna beg like a fucking dog to be acknowledged by him, nor will she allow for her child to be forced into the spotlight. It destroyed her sister, it ruined her mother, and it almost claimed her once more. 
Elvis may have taken her pride but he won’t have her and he sure as hell will never have her baby.
Now
Elvis will never be used to California weather with its ability to both be hot and dry in the tail end of winter. But he hopes it’ll do him some good of defrosting his bones from the near-year round cold of Germany. Once upon a time he never thought he would enjoy it as much as he does right now.
But he’s found a lot to love and miss about California since he’s been gone so long. 
Not to brag but he’s been with his fair share of women, between actual girlfriends, publicity girlfriends and all the girls he knew at best for only a few hours. None of them can claim to have instilled in him this sense of longing the way she did. 
Nor can any of them claim to have caused as much heartache as she did. 
Bittersweet as they may be, those days filming King Creole he missed the most. It was those days that kept him sane in the lead up to boot camp, and even then some. Though of all the things Hollywood had to offer him, there is only one thing he coveted these last few years.
“You see her over there Billy,” he said to his cousin one day on set as he took a breather from the lights while she fixed up Carolyn’s makeup. “That’s the girl that’s gonna be my wife.” No words have ever felt more right to him. 
It was all the more heartbreaking and humiliating when he had sent Billy to find her and figure out why none of the letters he’d been giving to the Colonel to give to her had been answered while he was in boot camp. Billy would return to Texas unable to meet his eyes as he sheepishly handed him a single note in her handwriting. 
Three black women huh?
That sinking feeling that settled in his stomach as he remembered those words are something he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He recognized those words, how could he not? Afterall those are supposedly the ones he said that got him and his movies banned from an entire goddamn country he ain’t ever been to. 
It would be one thing for her to be mad at him for something he did do, but it felt like the worst sort of injustice that Jimi may never want to see him again for words that he never said from a man he never met for some unforgivable slight he never committed. 
Worst of all was how he was surrounded by his entourage who gathered around and were now owlishly looking at him, expecting a certain reaction from him, and simply waiting for him so they could properly react. 
It’s near paralyzing in that moment that he recognizes that his closest friends aren’t expecting him to react, they’re expecting Elvis Presley to react. 
“Her loss,” he remembers saying, feeling every single eye on him in that moment, trying to literally shrug off that scratchy feeling in his throat. He’s supposed to be the biggest heartthrob of America, unfazed when a girl said no because there are no less than a hundred girls that would say yes. 
They all follow suit, and quickly take to promising him a night out and reassuring him that he’ll practically be drowning in pussy before midnight. Though with one look he does put an end to that little episode when their support for him turned into disparaging her. 
He knows that there is no use in even trying to reason with her over letters. Because what can he really say to her in writing if she’s not gonna even bother reading? 
If she already has it in his head that he’s the type of man to say something like that, then no amount of letters will make her believe otherwise. 
He would spend the next year trying unsuccessfully to fall out of love with her. Indulged -perhaps too much- in all that bachelorhood had to offer. All the girls he could pull, all the pills he could handle, but none of it could even match a fraction of the euphoric feeling of being complete when Jimena was around.
She loves him. Or at least she used to. She never said it but he certainly felt loved in a way he’s not used to anymore. It’s not the fanatical worship from his fans, nor the sycophantic adoration of his buddies. Her love is something purer, less selfish, something he doesn’t think he’s experienced outside of his mama since the fame started rolling in. 
He needs her in his life. Because nobody is going to look out for him or try to protect him the same way she would. 
He’s had nothing but time to figure out ways to get her to at the very least hear him out. From there he could start rebuilding the foundation of the relationship and work his way back to her good graces. 
His first obstacle to this plan comes in the form of finding out she is no longer doing makeup anymore, and is now in fact part of the wardrobe department. This is a wrench in his plans considering he attributes her fall for him due to the fact that she practically saw him everyday while shooting. But he tries to look at the bright side of this, knowing that it at least guarantees that Brando and Newman haven’t been getting the same treatment from her. 
The next obstacle to seeing her again is her initial refusal to be a part of the new production, as now with her new title as Costume designer she’s in a better position to pick and choose what she works on. But enough pressure on the director to push for her specifically does eventually have her signing on to the project. 
The final wrench in his plans came the day he had been anticipating for almost two years. 
He’s thought about her non-stop for the past two years, so he almost immediately notices the changes in her appearance. No less beautiful (arguably even more so with her bigger tits and rounder hips, and better fitting clothes), she’s different nonetheless, yet none of that prevents him from wanting to gather her in his arms and promise to never let go. 
But a single look from her his way, stops him in his tracks. And suddenly he’s brought back to the first time he ever met her, mistaking her for his would be co-star, and wondering how he’s gonna get through this shoot when he feels like he’s two inches tall under this gorgeous creature's gaze.
He was prepared for her hatred, he wasn’t prepared for her complete and utter indifference. She had that glazed over look in her eyes, like he wasn’t even there. It reminds him of one of the few times that he dared to question why she does that whenever he asked what it was like to grow up in Hollywood. 
In a rare instance of vulnerability, she would solemnly whisper “It makes it easier to pretend it happened to someone else.” Only minutes after that would she claim to urgently need to go back to her assigned room for the night, the only time she ever did so during production. Next day she would pretend as though nothing happened, and he would follow suit all too willing to indulge her so she wouldn't run off again.
He knows he’s hurt her beyond measure, but to be put in the same categories of things she would rather pretend never happened is gut-wrenching. 
If she hated him, he could’ve worked with that, because at the very least she still felt something when she looked at him. But as the whole session went on it became clear she at the very least wanted him to believe she felt nothing for him. 
He would’ve taken any sort of reaction by that point: an “accidental” pin prick from the needle, a passive-aggressive tightening of the measuring tape around his neck, hell he would’ve settled for so much as a hateful glare his way. But nothing, stone cold professional she is, she simply takes his measurements only to then give her only acknowledgment that he was even there by giving him a simple “all done.” She then moves on to his co-star with all the eagerness of someone about to brush their teeth, just so painfully indifferent to everything in this room.
Regret is a constant companion these days, always whispering in his ear about his shortcomings, but now it feels like it’s practically screaming in his ear what a failure he is to let a woman like this slip through his fingers. 
He’s practically kicking his younger and dumber self for being so cowardly as to miss the chance to tell her how he felt. Not a day has passed since they parted had he not thought about every touch he didn’t follow with I love you, every embrace he didn’t whisper how much she meant to him, every kiss he didn’t beg for her to always stay by his side. 
He had been gearing up to try to broach the subject of something more happening, ideally ending up with a courthouse wedding before he had to be sworn in, though he was willing to accept whatever form of a relationship she would offer him so long as she would still be in his life. 
But then just a week before wrap-up, when everything was as close to perfect as it could be, that is of course when things went to shit. 
Elena Perez, of the famous little firecracker twins, found dead, age 21
It hit him like a punch to the gut when he first saw that. Even though he had never met her, it was devastating all the same, knowing how affected Jimi was gonna be.  
The closest he ever did come to meeting her was when Jimi had brought her to the wrap party for Loving You. 
He was still pretty new to the art of schmoozing, so his night was almost entirely devoted to an ever present smirk that had begun to hurt his cheeks and laughing a little more than necessary at every joke the studio heads made. He was tired but he knew he would find no rest anywhere. But his tune quickly changed when he saw a familiar figure within the crowd. 
He felt his heart go all a flutter when he saw her from behind but then when she turned around there was just something about her that didn’t sit right with him. It was like looking at a funhouse mirror of Jimi, her posture almost ridiculously upright to further push her ample breasts out, her smile a little too tight, but most of all her eyes were a little too hungry, a little too eager to please. The features were nearly entirely the same but he was so used to the casual nature of his makeup girl, it felt so unnatural to see this. 
In another life he may have been all over her by this point, taken her home, maybe if he was feeling generous, been seen out in public with her a few times before ultimately moving on. There were beautiful and eager to please women everywhere he looked, there wasn’t really anything special about Elena Leon. 
But having met Jimi first, he can’t really fathom having much to do with her.
He spent the better part of two hours ducking and weaving her approach, practically sending out his boys as human shields, to keep her away, because he doesn’t exactly trust himself not to give in to her advances, if only for the consolation prize of getting to be with someone who looked liked the one he actually wanted. 
He eventually made his way upstairs after a while no longer wanting to be surrounded by people, as there was only one person he wanted to be with at the moment, and she had apparently decided not to come. 
It becomes apparent that he’s been rewarded for his self- restraint when he finds a backside he would know anywhere on the third floor balcony. Swathed in a pretty if non-descript black dress,  bottle of champagne in hand, she was looking down on the party like an ever-judging guardian angel. 
“Y’know I don’t think they wanted anyone up here,” he would say casually. 
He could see the way she practically lit up as she saw him, a soft smile on her gorgeous face and her eyes warm, probably the first person of the night that was genuinely glad to see him. It’s a novel experience for people to see him and not the star, and it’s something he never thought he would miss. 
“Well you better get outta here before they see you,” she snarked back. 
He laughs for the first time since he got there, and it feels so easy to just settle right next to her and look down on everyone else. He finds himself relaxing for the first time since he’s gotten there.
“So what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ up here all by your lonesome?”
Around a tight smile she says, “There’s already a pretty girl like me down at the party.” He can’t help that he flinches slightly as he thinks about her sister. “I see you met Elena,” she sighs, before plastering a tight-lipped sardonic grin on her face. “So what’d ya think?”
Elvis has the good sense to know a trap when he sees one with women, so rather than using words he just lets out a long breath. 
She gives a short mirthful huff. “Yeah that’s fair,” she taps the neck of the bottle trying to undoubtedly figure out a way to change the subject. “If you say some corny ass shit like ‘I think I’m seein’ double’,” she says in a piss poor impression of his own voice. “I will push you off this balcony.” 
“You sound like ya done it before sweetheart” he smirks, swiping the bottle from her hand, before taking a swig. 
“How else do you think I avoided becoming Charlie Chaplin’s 5th wife?” The simple statement catches him off guard that champagne threatens to come back up his nose. 
“... ya serious?” He closes his eyes in relief when she snorts.
“No,” she chuckles, with a hand wave. “I pushed him off because of something else.” Her eyes slide away from him and zero in on one of the partygoers below, before he could dare ask for any further elaboration. “Oh hey… Brody’s here and… uh-oh so is Frank.” 
He follows her eyeline to find that she’s wearily looking at ol’ blue eyes himself who has decided to make an appearance. “Ya’ got a story ‘bout Frank?”
“I got a story about everyone here.” With a slight smirk, she would hold two fingers up and ask, “Wanna know how I got these scars?” 
She regales him with not just that story but others of what she’s been asked to do on set. Some were funny like having to fish a toupee out of an oscar winner's mouth to more harrowing ones of being asked to check the pulse of particularly heavy drinking stars. Anybody else, he doubts he would have humored such tales, but it’s when he started hearing other people tell even wilder stories of her that ranged from snake-wrangling to resetting famous stars' bones after some sexual misadventure, did he learn early on never to doubt her stories. 
“So you come to these things often?” he asks after her giggles had settled down.  
“Never,” you answer. “But Elena convinced me we had to come to this one especially,” a bit more solemnly as she looked down at the familiar figure down below at the party. “You know when we were little, we used to climb up onto the roof and watch the parties from up there to tell funny stories and avoid the adults, saying how we were never gonna be like them.” There’s warmth in her voice, but sadness in her eyes as she gazed down at her mirror image at the party below. 
Being a twin is not something Elvis liked to dwell on. His Mama had always talked about Jesse watching over him since he was little, but rarely if ever did he really contemplate what it meant to have a brother who wasn’t there with him. 
It feels as though he was supposed to have someone that was meant to always be with him and look out for him, but now they’re not here and now he’s doomed to a life of loneliness. This thought is only further reinforced by the way you look at your sister, and something almost akin to jealousy shoots through his being, that she can have you and not value you. 
Not like he could, a voice whispers in his head. 
“What’s it like being a twin?” he would ask before he could lose his nerve. Though he does immediately clamp up at not just the suddenness of the question but the ease he was able to ask it. He’s tried to broach the subject of Jesse a few times throughout his life only to chicken out at the last minute in fear of upsetting someone, namely his mama. 
Though the regret is instant as he watches her mood drop immediately and face him with a disgusted expression, that he can’t quite understand until she says with no amount of venom missing, “No I’m not gonna ask her if she’d be interested in a threesome,” she says, far too quick to have him not believe that this isn’t the first time she’s heard this. 
He feels his face immediately go up in flames as to how grossly his words have been misinterpreted. “N-no I-I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly trying to salvage the situation and gets a hold of her before she can fully turn around. 
“Mmhmm,” she hums dismissively, looking down at the hand that holds her wrist and looking down on him as though he’s the scum of the Earth. 
“Darlin’ I-I swear it ain’t nothin’ like that, I just… I…” he stutters out wondering if there’s anyway he can truly explain his interest in her status as a twin without coming off as creepy, but one look at the full moon shining behind you is all the signal he needs to be honest. “Ain’t too many people know this,” he starts, taking a steadying breath trying to find that courage of two men he’s supposed to have. “But I-I had a brother, and…” he swallows hard at this one, always a sensitive subject in the Presley household. “And he-he didn’t make it…” 
She looks at him with a critical eye, undoubtedly searching for any sign of falsehoods on his face, only for the hard look to melt when she realizes he spoke nothing but the truth. 
“Oh, umm…” she says. “I-I’m sorry to hear that,” her voice dripping with guilt at the assumption. 
“It’s fine,” he reassured you. “He was gone ‘fore I even got here.”
It’s hard to talk about Jesse with anyone, because what more can anyone say about him other than he should be here but he isn’t. He has no memories to reflect sadly on, just wishful thinking about who Jesse could’ve been or even who he would’ve been if had him in his life. 
“I really don’t know how to describe it,” she says, putting down the bottle she had in her hand. “Because she’s always just… been there, and I’ve always been the one to look out for her.” 
“You’re the older one?” he asks with a bit of a laugh.
“Yeah,” she affirmed. “I’ve been doing it my whole life. Stayed up and held her hand when she was too scared to sleep. Did all the stunts she was too afraid to do and broke a couple bones. Threw tantrums when we were filming so she could get a break that she was too nervous to ask for. Dropped out of school so I could get a job on set, so she wasn’t alone. Hell, the only reason I’m here at this stupid party is because she thought she could get in touch with someone who could help her career.” Each admission is met with a more resentful tone, only for her to then try to chase away the taste the words are leaving in your mouth, by taking back the bottle.
“O-oh,” is all he really has to say to that. 
“She’s awful,” she admits, but a sardonic smile begins to creep up on her face. “I love her so much.” 
“Really?” 
“Yes,” she asserts. “There’s no one else in the whole world I would’ve done those things for. I guess that’s what it’s like to be a twin, take care of the person who's been here since you were born. It’s like… having to take care of any other part of your body, but this one is just constantly away from you and you can do nothing but worry.”
Elvis is stunned into silence for a moment as he looks at her, because she is able to finally put into words that anxiousness that has been eating at him his whole life. Even with all the love and reassurance he felt as a kid, there’s always just been that missing part of him that no one has ever been able to understand. 
But there’s one part that eats at him still.
“And does she take care of you?” he asks, more curious than anything at this point. 
That question catches her off-guard as she rips her eyes away from him and furiously looks down at the party, before she smiles and looks back at him to ask “Wanna hear who Clark Gable had a secret child with?”
Another time he would’ve been very interested in the topic, but seeing her obvious panic as she tried to avoid the very subject keeps him focus. “Don’t do that,” he pleads softly, brushing a few errant curls out of her face. “Don’t shut me out.”
She leans into his hand a little bit and he feels her jaw clench as she tries to get a handle on herself. “I must sound like a crazy person to you,” she says. Granted anyone else, he might’ve thought that, but this is Jimi, the girl who is never bothered by anything. He was witness to how she nonchalantly filed her nails before putting out a camera fire. Watched as she hardly broke her stride when some yahoo tried to scare her with a halloween mask. Hell he’s seen her put out a match with just her fingertips, and only to stare him down to get back onto set. 
She’s seen the worst this town has to offer, and yet it’s her seemingly one-sided relationship with her sister that has her on the verge of collapse. 
Not if Elvis had any say about that.
He takes it as a good sign when the normally touch-averse Jimi doesn’t immediately pull away from the hand on her shoulder, so he decides to take a chance and fully envelope her in his arms. She stiffens somewhat but otherwise accepts it, and he feels his heartbreak over the unspoken truth that she looks out for Elena, but no one looks out for her.  
“I think it sounds like…” he says, taking her chin in his hands, “ya care a lot darlin’, and it don’t sound like she appreciates it as much as she should.” 
The ever present indifferent shell she had built over the years cracks with that simple statement of understanding. She has such beautiful doe eyes hidden behind a hard stare, and for only having known her for a few weeks Elvis can appreciate even the chance to see behind the mask. 
But he wants to know more. He wants to know all of her.
It feels almost magnetic, the sudden pull he felt towards her in that moment. Nothing could stop him as he leaned down to kiss her full lips. Everything else in the world seems to fall by the wayside, the party, the people, even the city itself no longer existed to him as he held her in his arms. 
Their first time with her was nothing short of magic. It felt like the first breath of air after being held underwater for so long. 
They just seemed to fit together so well, a fact that couldn’t be denied even as their first time was a quick and dirty session on a balcony under the light of the moon. Like they had been so desperate for each other years even before they met, and now it all culminates to this. 
They don’t even really remove their clothes, he just unbuckled his pants on the deck chair while she sat astride him, moving her skirt up her waist and move her panties to the side. Her moans as she slowly impaled herself on his length sound like music to his ears and he can’t help the low groans as he tries to prevent himself from closing his eyes too much wanting to burn the image of her taking his cock while the full moon gives her a truly angelic look behind her. 
He wants so badly to hold her but even now she denies him that as she puts a hand over his chest and rides him like she’s trying to tame a bucking stallion. He’s just as enthusiastic for this as he grips her thighs in his hands and 
The whole encounter is over and done within a matter of minutes after that, but he’s just glad that she came to and now he didn’t have to feel the shame of finishing before her. She collapses on top of him trying to hold herself upright while he holds her close to his chest as he gives a few lazy thrusts to ride out the rest of his orgasm. He’s never felt more connected to anybody than her in this moment and he wants to truly seal this perfect night when he raises her chin to try to capture her lips.
But she pulls away slightly at the motion, “... I… I should go…” she whispers, and he’s not too sure if she’s saying that more to him or herself. 
“...I-if that’s wh-whatcha want baby…” he says, not having the heart to deny her anything, no matter how much every single other part of him is screaming at him to make her stay. The inner conflict practically paralyzes him where he layed and he could only watch as she quickly fixed herself up. It’s mesmerizing to watch, as with only a few quick adjustments, Jimi looks good as new, save for the kiss-swollen lips and the slight uneasiness in her stance, it’s as though nothing had ever happened. 
That hurts in a way he can’t explain with words. The idea that the relationship they’ve built in the last few weeks will amount to a one time thing that they go their separate ways from. 
But what can he do to stop her if she doesn’t want to be here anymore?
So with all the boldness he’s learned to fake over the last few years, he grabs a hold of her wrist, and tries to give some type of meaning to this whole thing. “Wait darlin’.” He makes a conscious effort not to grip too tight lest he scare her off, but just enough to let her know he’s serious. “What’s your real name?”
Bathed in light of the full moon right behind her, a soft smile on her face as she looks at him though not without that twinge of sadness in her eyes. “Jimena Gabriella Perez.” she said as though it were a good bye.
And with the way she walks away without even a glance back, it’s clear that it was. 
He sits there for he doesn’t even know how long just in his head and staring up at the moon. He knows realistically he should be making his way back downstairs, but all desire to mingle with other people seemed to dissipate as he stared up at the full moon. Besides there’s only one person he really wanted to be with at the moment and she apparently could hardly wait to get outta there. 
He stared up at the night sky for the longest time trying to gather his thoughts about the situation, trying to figure out why it felt like every nerve in his body was screaming at him not to let her leave. It was all kinds of backwards yet somehow still fitting that he learned her name only after sleeping together. 
But try as he might, he can't justify keeping her here when she clearly wants to go. 
It felt as though he had known her for years rather than months. In a way it was sort of the truth due to having seen her movies as a kid, but never in his worst nightmares could he imagine the near debilitating feeling that rests in his chest at the prospect of never seeing her again. So he closes his eyes and tries to make peace with the fact he’ll never see Jimena Perez again.
Jimena Perez… JP… Elena Perez… EP… 
His eyes shot open at that realization, and as he hurried to make himself somewhat presentable, he berated himself for missing something like that. He has never believed in coincidences and this was far too specific to be anything other than some sort of sign. 
But to his chagrin, it’s as though she had dropped off the face of the Earth. 
The next day, all anybody could talk about was the scene that the Leon girl made of herself standing on tables and practically flashing the studio head with an impromptu can-can dance, until her sister pulled her off and quickly escorted her out. 
It would be another year before he would see her in person again, and that was only because he specifically requested to have her on-set for what he thought would potentially be his last movie. But even then he’s able to find a modicum of peace with that, if only that he will have her in the end, and this whole ride has been worth something. 
He doesn’t know what’s more terrifying, the idea that he’ll never be able to communicate how he feels about her or the prospect that he will and she’ll reject him all the same. He even at one point resorted to trying to write them down in order to sort them out. 
But each time he tried to put pen to paper it felt like his mind went blank, because how can he explain that it feels like she’s the piece that’s been missing his whole life. That the only time he’s felt whole were the few weeks they spent together. That it can be no coincidence that their names and family names match so perfectly, and it’s gotta be a sign that something else is at play here. 
But he realizes that he’s gotta put in the legwork to make fate happen too.
Requesting to have her be In New Orleans, and he planned on working his way to slowly form a friendship into something more permanent. Of course she did throw a wrench into that plan almost immediately the first night when she showed up at his hotel room and declared the couch for herself because she refuses to stay where she was assigned. He wouldn’t have her anyother way. 
It’s easy to fall into each other once more, as though it hadn’t been almost a year since they last saw one another. He hopes that maybe this time around he would be able to show her even a fraction of what he feels. In an ideal world they would already be on their way to a courthouse to make it all official so that no one would bat an eye when he brought her to Germany, but even he realizes what a tall order that would be. He’s not one to plan ahead, but he figures it’s gonna be a longer process than he anticipated with her, but Jimi’s worth every moment.  
But just like that it all seemed to fall apart.
As sad as it makes him to wake up without her, he’s used to it by this point, but what does worry him is why she wasn’t  in his trailer when he arrived on set. It ate at him that seemingly no one cared beyond the grumblings from the other makeup girls who were now having to work more because she’s missing in action. He knows he’s gonna get an earful for this alone from her considering how much she wants to keep their involvement a secret, he does blatantly ask about her by name. 
It becomes clear what exactly happened when he notices a discarded newspaper on the director's chair. He immediately calls for a halt to the production so he could go out and look for her, fearing the worst. But due to the already tight schedule practically everyone refuses to do so, even after hearing why exactly she was gone.
At that point he just walks off set and swiftly dispatches every one of his boys to go search the city. He even gets in on it and drives around for a few hours all in an effort to find her, but he returns to his suite so he can pray and pace and worry and hope she comes back before sunset. 
When she does get back, the faraway look in her eyes tells him she hasn’t been crying, but the way she’s all clenched up like she’s actively fighting herself from doing so in front of him. He’s having none of it and he brings her into his arms.
It’s only then that she seems to collapse in her grief, and he holds her still knowing that there’s nothing else he could do right now. He’s never seen her like this and immediately he recognizes that he will only ever know a fraction of what she’s going through in that moment. 
Elena was a real person whom she’s known all her life, Jimi had confided in him how she’s put her through the absolute wringer with their mama favoring her and her inability to recognize what her sister has been doing for her sake. Jesse has always just been gone, and Elvis could imagine him in whatever way he liked as an older brother. Jimi knew her through all of the ugliest bits of their lives and loved her all the same, even as she slowly spiraled downwards. 
“Jimi…” he whispers at a loss for words. He knows that nothing he says could possibly fix this situation and it makes him feel all new sorts of helplessness to the situation. 
“Why didn’t I feel it when it happened?” she asked out loud though he gets the sense she isn’t asking looking for an answer from him. 
He could hold her tighter so that she wouldn’t feel so alone right now. The rest of the night, and well into the next day, is a blur as he as he waivers between trying to comfort her and arranging for her return to California. He wants to go with her but despite the already tight schedule for filming and the looming date of his induction he’s hoping to be able to at least see her one last time before boot camp. 
He remembers finding her red bandana as she was packing everything up, and contemplating telling her. But he selfishly wants a small piece to hold onto until the next time he sees her so he slyly slips it under his pillow, and he promises to himself he would give it back once he saw her again.
But of course the lord himself seemed to laugh in his face as his stunt apparently cost a few extra days of filming and between everything else going on in the lead up to his induction, he couldn’t be there for her. The Colonel had a few of his own men physically hold him to prevent him from getting on the next train to LA after he heard about her mama passing, the only thing swaying him was the Colonel’s promise that it would only be one more day of shooting. One day turned into three and before he knew it he was whisked back home to wait out until his induction, with the only acknowledgement from the Colonel being that he made sure to send condolences to the surviving Leon daughter. 
He can only imagine what she went through losing her sister and mother so close together, difficult relationship and all. He would lose his mama only a few months later, and it felt as though every breath threatened to be his last one. Knowing she went through all of this alone, it’s little wonder why all of the letters and invitations he sent at Fort Hood went unanswered.
Sitting in his mothers closet, not wanting to have his grief turned into a photo-op for the press. He now understands why Jimi left the business in the first place. It was as though he was trapped in a fish bowl, drowning and everybody was fighting to be the one to witness his last breath. It makes him feel all the worse for letting her go through that alone.
His biggest regret is that she had to go through all of this alone. He had tried his hardest to try to head back West to see her only to be thwarted each and every time. No amount of Love was gonna thwart Uncle Sam from getting his dues. And before he knew it he was on a ship headed to Europe.
He almost had to relegate himself to the fact that the relationship is unsalvageable after all of it. Truly after experiencing loss himself, he can’t imagine any scenario where she could forgive him, as he could hardly forgive himself. 
But for the sake of making tomorrow seem even the minimum amount of bearable he forces himself to dream that things can be fixed and they would eventually be happier than ever. 
Because if they don’t… then what’s the point?
After all they had gone through separately he knew in his heart that there would never be anyone who could understand him like she could. A twin without a twin, and a child without a mother, a lonely soul surrounded by others, and most of all a person in desperate need of love beyond simple admiration. 
There had always been an ever-present hollow feeling in his life, something he never even recognized until she was no longer present to relieve him from that emptiness. She understands him more than anyone ever will, and the idea of letting her go without a fight is something he simply can’t do.
The almighty himself has tied them together unlike anything he’s ever seen before and to choose another path would be blasphemous at this point. 
All his thoughts on who Jesse would’ve been have been answered when he pointed Elvis in her direction. He has to believe that he wouldn’t do him dirty by bringing him to his soulmate only for fate to snatch her away all the same. He has to believe that things will get better, otherwise what’s the point of continuing on?
But he has to grin and bear the hell that will be trying to live without her in Germany. But if his time in Hollywood taught him anything, it’s how to pretend to be someone he’s not.
It’s easy to pretend to be the good Sergeant Preseley in Germany, charm the pants off a couple girls, do whatever he’s assigned to do by the higher-ups, take whatever the doctors give him so that he can do both, abstain from playing music, act like it’s not killing him, etc,. Behind the scenes he becomes needier than ever, truly fearing being alone now of all times, because he doubts he could keep this up without an audience presence. 
Everybody has seemed to become the audience regardless of how close they previously were to him, it’s hard to think of them as anything else considering that he’s playing a part for them all so they could believe that he’s fine. 
This all adds to his longing for Jimi, knowing that she saw through him easily and he never had to worry about being anything less than himself around her. 
But playing his role helps ease the ache that stems from every thought that she brings to his heart, as then it can be somebody else experiencing that devastation. So he bides his time and plays his part in Germany. Trying to fill that sinking feeling he got in his chest every time he thought about Jimi with more partying, more drugs, more women, just more everything. Even with all that, that sinkhole in his chest seemingly grew bigger and bigger every morning he woke up and she wasn't with him. 
His heart has been broken since the day he was born, and it has been a mad scramble for the pieces for everyone ever since. His brother took a piece with him when he left, as did his mama, and everybody else who had a piece had been doing jackshit to appreciate it. 
He had only one piece of it left really, and he had spent his entire life trying to find someone who he could trust to take care of it. And like a goddamn miracle his brother was able to answer for him, and pointed him in her direction. And finally he found the person he could give that final piece of his heart to. 
But she hurt him in a way that no one has ever been able to do so. She didn’t take advantage of his heart, or reject it, or even betray it. Worse yet, she couldn’t recognize what he was giving her. The life Jimi had been living had turned her cynical to his intentions for her. And every fear she may have ever had about him had been proven true with just that one little article. 
He can’t even blame her for being angry, as he doubts he would’ve been able to keep a lid on something like this in her shoes. But he can’t dwell on it, he can only move forward and try his best to fix this. 
It had truly felt like the world was conspiring against him in that year, as he had to watch as everything he loved slipped through his fingers, all for what. All for a dream that he wasn’t even sure was worth it anymore, nor something he could actually be a part of. 
Being enlisted and overseas already, there was always the lingering threat that if anything happens with the Reds, he’s already here to fight the good fight and all that. Be the good soldier, who would gladly lay down his life for his country. 
Really he just wants to lay down. 
Sometimes forever. 
In the worst days he was so sure he was gonna die there, whether by an enemy hand or by his own, he couldn’t decide. Really the only thing that kept him going was the slim chance that she would be willing to hear him out if he ever came back stateside. Those nights he would hold onto that small piece of her trying to convince himself of the illusion that she’s waiting for him, and dying here would only mean he would lose any chance of seeing her again. 
At one point it stopped smelling like her and he resorted to ordering a bottle of her perfume just to preserve the illusion that she was still waiting for him. He probably doused the cloth with a quarter of the bottle, and inhaled half of that all to maintain the illusion of her still willing to come back to him eventually. He’s sure if that hadn’t worked in easing his nerves he would’ve downed everything in his medicine cabinet and called it a night.
He’s put everything he is into this hope that he could possibly get a second chance, full well knowing he’s undeserving of one. 
So he’s not about to let her go so easily.
Jimi’s actually not that hard to find on the lot, especially now that she has a door with her name on it. She’s certainly made her way up, having turned her previous doodles in the margins of production notes and discarded scripts into a new position complete with a title and an office.  
He knocks at the door with her name on it, and waits a moment, what sounds like the dumbo soundtrack quickly being drowned out by the heart-pounding in his ears. She doesn’t keep him waiting long, as she opens up the door only to immediately close it just enough so that only her head is sticking out. “Fittings are next week,” she says neutrally before she then proceeds to try to close the door in his face. He is too fast though as he shoves his foot in the crack and pushes it open. 
“Jimi, please,” he pushes the door further, but stops once he sees the panicked look on her face. He holds his hands up in surrender but makes no move to remove the foot.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in annoyance, before she opens her mouth again. “If I promise to talk, will you leave me alone after this?”
So sure of himself he nods, truly believing that he just needs to explain and then they can go back to the way they used to be. 
She puts a hand on his chest to motion him to step away from the door before she herself comes out. She does so in the oddest way possible, by sliding herself between the door and the frame, as though she was trying to prevent him from seeing inside her office. She looks back inside and tells who he presumes to be the others she shares the office with that she’s gonna get lunch, and to hold everything down. 
“So you want to talk? Talk then,” she states, breaking that line of thought as she leans against the bulletin board.
He figures she would have such a no nonsense reaction like this, and takes a steadying breath in order to deliver what 
“Jimi… I know why you’re mad,” he starts off slowly. “Believe me I would be hoppin’ mad if i read that…”
“I forgive you,” she cuts in. “We done here?”  
“Wh-what?”
“Are we done here?” She repeats slower this time to really emphasize her words. 
“N-no Jimi,” he begs. “The things the papers said are just lies. I ain’t ever said that”
She gives a short mirthful laugh when she hears that, “Elvis if I had a fucking dime everytime I heard that line,” she rolls her eyes. “But it’s fine. I don’t care anymore. I’m not in the business of telling the papers anything, so you don’t gotta worry about everyone figuring out you’re a hypocrite.” 
“But… I’m not…”
She pats his cheek and gives a thin smile as she pushes herself off the wall, and gives a dry, “Of course you’re not.”
“Jimi listen to me,” he begs, briefly wondering why Jesse had to pick the most stubborn woman alive for him. “I never said any of that.”
“Mhmm,” she hums, the thin line of her mouth and the way she’s checking her nails for dirt, telling him she has no faith in his words. 
“Jimi,” he pleads with her, taking her hand and placing it on his chest. “You gotta believe that I would never say somethin’ like that. I love you so goddamn much and I especially ain’t never wanted to hurt you.”
She may not be able to rely on her knowledge of him, but he knows her well enough to know that she recognizes good acting from bad acting. Watching as her eyes soften from their previous hard stare, he knows that she understands that this is far from an act. This is by far the most honest he’s been with anyone since his mama passed, and the doubt in her own assumptions of him shows all over her face.
He thinks he’s finally getting through to her, until she glances behind him and he watches as her dark eyes harden once more. “You don’t love me, and it doesn’t matter what I believe Elvis,” she snatches her hand out of his, and walks back towards her office before slamming the door.
He stands there for he doesn’t even know how long, trying to justify why he should even keep breathing at this point, his catatonic state only helping to prevent him from doing something stupid in the face of the worst rejection he’s ever had. This isn’t a girl laughing in his face over being asked to the school dance or a stuffy actress looking down her nose at his hillbilly ways, this is a part of his soul refusing to come back to him. 
This can’t be the end, a voice in his head whispers. He tries to repeat these words in his head if only to make the hope he has a little more real. He knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as him returning, and she would automatically throw herself into his arms. He already knew it was going to be an uphill battle for her love once again, but the flat-out rejections and refusal of his declaration just made everything so real in that moment.
When Jimi cares, she does so with all her being, and he knows at some point she cared enough about him to befriend him, and there’s no way that all disappeared in the last two years. To some extent she still cares about Elvis, and that’s why he refuses to give up on her so easily. 
But she’s not one to be swayed so easily. 
Gifts and letters and songs for her, are all met with the same stony indifference that has marked her status as near untouchable. Her schedule is next to unpredictable as it seems that everytime he does try to send someone over for her she’s conveniently out of the office. 
Each rejection further drove him closer and closer towards that edge he’d been resisting since he landed in Germany. He would toss and turn at night, not wanting to be alone but at the same time wanting no one but Jimi with him. It’s even worse than it was before considering the fact that she’s so close that he could almost touch her, but she’s like smoke, he can see her there but never truly grab a hold of her.
Something that only intensifies once shooting actually begins and he knows just how close she is day in and day out on the lot. It’s nothing short of torture to have all that he needs in life so close, yet just out of reach. 
Off camera and out of the studio he’s barely keeping it together, the years of pretending to be okay in front of people only barely enough to sustain the image he’s made for himself as well as doing the job he was tasked with. Everybody wants a piece of him now that he’s back, and he doesn’t know if he has any left to give anymore.
It all came to a head one day when he walks into the wardrobe building and sees one of the girls holding a small toddler girl. It strikes him how similar the little girl looked to Jimi back in her firecracker days, even down to the ribbon tying her hair back. He muses for half a second that that’s what their daughter would look like, and then it hits him like a ton of bricks that may never come to pass. 
He’s trying to make her not hate his guts, and with how little success he’s been having, he’ll be lucky if she even looks at him again before he’s Dodgers age. He’s closer to never having her love him again than he is to someday. 
He had come with the intention of showing her the bandana he had been holding onto all of these years, to show how devoted he’s been to her. Now holding it in his hands and remembering that initial promise to give it back to her, he realizes what a fool he’s been. He’s been selfishly holding onto something that’s not there anymore, because he was too much of a coward to actually do what he needed to get what he wanted. 
He didn’t want to believe it was too late for them, but seeing that little girl, he realized how much time he’s lost. Where he’s spent the last two years nurturing his love for her, she's been feeding her hatred for him. If he’s gonna be in love with her for the rest of his life, she’ll hate him for the rest of hers. 
She’s made it clear that she wants nothing to do with him anymore, and he can’t blame her for it. He should’ve been there for her, damn the consequences, but he wasn’t and now he has to live with what he did. 
Though once he gives it back, jury's out on how much longer he will live.
Resolved in his need to do right by her, he solemnly walks to the costume department with about the same enthusiasm as he would the gallows. Perhaps there is no coming back from this, and perhaps he wouldn’t deserve one either way. He was a coward who let what he wanted walk away time and time again, not having enough will to hold on to her. 
And he doesn’t have the strength to try to hold on any longer. 
Finally as he’s just about to turn the corner to where he knows her office is, only to stop in his tracks, and realize that once he gives it back… it’s all over. He’s strangely okay with that once he reconciles he won’t be feeling that way for much longer.
Turning the corner he sees a familiar figure looking at a bulletin board, and standing right beside her was a significantly smaller figure.
It takes him a moment to realize what he’s looking at, but the second he does it feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. 
He’s tempted to look down at his own feet to reassure himself he's still on solid ground, and that the floor hadn’t been taken out from under him, but truly no force on Earth could make him look away from the little one at her feet. 
The boy is standing barely taller than her knee, wearing light green overalls with what looks to be a little yellow duck on the front pocket. His honey hair - a few shades darker than Elvis’ own natural locks- is slicked back on the sides allowing for some bronze curls to hang over his forehead but it’s really his face that comes like a punch to the gut to Elvis.
Vain as it may sound, Elvis knows his own face, even when it’s softened with baby fat and slightly darkened from the California sun, and that’s all he sees when he looks down at the brown-eyed little boy that’s clutching onto a woman’s skirt and idly sucking his thumb. 
It’s as he’s wondering what happened to his eye color when the eyes in question finally take notice of him, and the little boy rapidly tugs at the pencil skirt he’d had a tight grip on. In his head he’s still trying to justify any other way someone could have a little clone of himself that isn’t the most obvious answer, until he watches Jimi crouch down in her heels as she gently strokes the little boy's plump cheek. 
“¿Que paso Papi?” she asks, adoration in her voice as she brings him close to her face, before planting a kiss on his cheek. 
The boy, too shy or too young, to answer only points a chubby little finger his way, his dark eyes wide in wonder. As her eyes follow, Elvis sees her jaw clench and most of her previous warmth seemed to sap out of her at the very sight of him. It truly feels like the first time she’s actually looked at him in a long time without her eyes immediately sweeping over him dismissively, so he can’t help but welcome it. 
In one fluid motion, she competently scoops up the small boy up in her arms and begins to make her way towards him, her heels clacking ominously as though she were an oncoming vengeful mother goddess set to rain down fire upon him. 
Elvis is usually quicker on his feet but it feels as though they had been replaced by cement as he’s frozen in place with no sign of escape. But he doesn’t think he really wants that anymore as it now gives him a better look at the boy.
“Can I help you?” she asks, painfully neutral, as though she’s simply asking what he wants for lunch and not in fact holding a mini version of himself in her arms. 
“Wh-” he starts but has to swallow before he can get too choked up. “What the hell is this?” 
“It looks like,” she answers and he perks up at that both eager and fearful of what she has to say. “My old bandana,” she states, much to his confusion, until he follows her dark eyes to the fabric still within his grasp. 
Her flippancy just enrages him, “You know damn well what I mean!” pointing a finger in the direction of the small boy in her arms. Guilt quickly eats at his belly as the boy turns from him and buries his face in her neck out of fear, as she continues to look at him with the disdain in her eyes only growing.
“Oh…” she says dryly as though she only now remembers the boy in her arms, even though she had been consistently rubbing soothing circles on his tiny back since he got scared. “This is my son.” A simple no-nonsense answer, but he doesn’t miss the way she neglects to mention a name. “You can go ahead and throw it away, I don’t need it anymore.” 
He wants to say something about that. He wants to be mad at her for being so goddamn stubborn about this as though his whole world isn’t being rocked right now. But he can’t muster any of that as he just finds himself just wanting to look at the boy in her arms some more. The little one looks back and forth between the two of them, but he does seem to settle after gauging that his mama is not in the least bit shaken by the man before them, and adopts her bored looking expression, though the boy does keep a wary eye on him even as his mother turns them both away from him.
“Wait,” he says as he quickly grabs her elbow. Her hackles rise at just that little bit of contact, like a rattlesnake coiled up and ready to strike, but he won’t be stopped from knowing the truth. “Is… is he-”
“No,” she cuts him off, before looking over his shoulder and closing her eyes- seemingly in annoyance- only to then plaster a wide phony smile on her face as she looks at him. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” saccharine sweet, as though she had been in a completely different conversation before ripping her arm out of his grasp and walking past him. “I’ll be sure to add those notes into the costume.” Without even a goodbye she rushes past him.
He turns around to see the second most gut-wrenching thing of the day as a woman approaches Jimi and hands over to her another child,and he realizes it’s that same little girl from earlier. The love of his life expertly balances the additional toddler on her other hip as she plants a swift kiss to her cheek before exchanging a few words with the woman in front of her and walks back down the hall, not even bothering to look back at him.
That woman quickly approaches and stands in front of him, obviously trying to run interference between the two of them. Trying to keep the two of them apart like everybody else has seemingly made their mission. 
He honestly hears nothing of it as he starts to tail Jimi down the hall, his entire focus is on the little girl, heart-breakingly sweet with her little cherubic face, her dark curls held at bay with the red ribbon, as she opens and closes her tiny hand at him as though to once again say good-bye. Meanwhile the little boy, whose face is still firmly in his mama’s collar, risks a quick peek back at him before quickly burying himself back in place as the echo of yherour heels on the linoleum floors lessens as she gets further and further away. 
He’s able to catch her before she can get out of the building, quickly blocking her from the exiting door. She still has that infuriating cool expression on her face, looking at him as though he were a mere inconvenience on her way out the door. 
“Jimi…” he pleads, taking her shoulders in his hands forcing her to look at him. “Jimi, look me in the eye, and tell me they ain’t mine.”
She gives him such a cold stare that he can feel a shiver travel down his spine, the dread of her words tying his stomach in knots, as he anticipates her answer. Somehow she’s able to make it all the crueler, even as her (his?) son starts to suckle on the collar of her blouse, while her (their?) daughter has managed to dislodge a chunk of her thick dark locks from her braid and begin to play with it. 
“Why would I want them to be yours?” 
A punch to the gut, a kick to his face, a knife to his heart, those are all the things he would have preferred she had done over saying that. For a second, even she seems taken aback by the cruelty of her own words, until that hard look returns to her eyes as the little boy begins to pat her cheek for attention. 
She looks down at him with a soft smile on her face before giving them both a kiss to the forehead and sidestepping him in order to get out the door, not even bothering to acknowledge him.
He doesn’t know how long he stays in that spot but by the time Joe (or was it Charlie?) finds him and he’s practically stiff as a board, and just about as responsive. Nobody fights him on it when he just declares that he has to call it for the day, so it’s not too long before he’s kicking off his shoes and crawling underneath the covers still fully clothed. His mind raced, doing its best to put together what the hell he had seen today. Trying to comprehend how much of himself he had left behind with her. 
When he started making waves he had to have the most awkward talk of his life with the Colonel to always wrap it or at least become proficient in never finishing inside of a woman, because the last thing he needed was a baby. And he was for it completely, nowhere ready to settle down yet, and with everything looking so vibrant and new to him, he saw no end in sight. 
He can think of one night in particular back in New Orleans, after almost twenty hours on set, Jimi had excused herself from any of the usual get-togethers and headed straight to his room. After she had declared that her room situation is unmanageable she had set up shop initially on his hotel room couch, though lately they hadn’t even been bothering with that pretext. So it wasn’t too shocking to find her in his bed, spread out on her front like a starfish in nothing but a simple slip. 
What was shocking was the wave of contentment that washes over him seeing her there, just the utter feeling of rightness that the image brings. The powdery blue slip gorgeous on her dark skin tone, and he has to hold back a groan when he sees how high it’s ridden in her sleep giving him a tantalizing view of the back of her thighs, just effortlessly sensual, even in her sleep. He can’t imagine anything better to come home to. What he found even more tempting was her defenseless pert nose, and remembering the way it would scrunch up when she smiled. He knows he’s either going to get that reaction or swift punch to the chest for what he does next.
She still manages to keep him on his toes when she simply does both after he peppers her face in kisses. He reels a bit from the blow, playing up the injury just a little as he sees her shoulders bounce a little in poorly held in laughter.
“They gotchu workin’ to the bone sweetheart,” he remarks, as he rubs the spot between her shoulder blades that has her giving a euphoric groan. He is genuinely offended that the studio would make her have to work like a dog, all for a single line in the credits. 
“This whole production would fall apart without me,” she sighs, while he lets out a laugh in agreement. 
“You ever think about quittin’?” He asks a bit off the cuff, but he can’t help it seeing the woman he loves running herself ragged for people who sure as hell don’t care for her. 
“Maybe,” she answers through her drowsy state, turning to face him directly. “I don’t think I would leave, but maybe if I get married I would probably do something with less hours, like costumes.” 
He felt his heart speed up a little when she mentioned the word “married” but not in the way it used to do when other girls brought up the idea. No, rather than having that sour feeling in his belly, he’s practically giddy over the prospect with her. “So I guess ya just waitin’ for the right actor to sweep you off ya feet darlin’?” he brings her close, smiling into her hair and absentmindedly stoking the hand she lays on his chest. 
But this happiness is ripped away by a simple snort from her, only to then be further crushed into dust as she has a full-on laughing fit at the mere prospect.
“No,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes, trying to get a hold of her laughter, unknowing of how soul-crushing her words are. “I’d never marry an actor.”
It feels like every ounce of hope for the future saps out of him at that moment. 
“O-oh wh-why’s that?” fighting to keep his face from showing the devastation he feels inside. A knife in his heart would have been preferable at that point, because then she would have at least acknowledged he had one to break. 
She gives a mere shrug, of her shoulders, “I don’t really know how to explain it other than it wouldn't work.”
If he were a braver man, he would have had the balls to ask her “If that’s true… then what’s all this been about?” But he's a goddamn coward and this question dies on the tip of his tongue, far too afraid of what she may answer. 
As these nights usually talking leads to kissing and while she is willing she offers first to use her mouth, and while he doesn’t hold back the groan when he hears this, he knows that that won’t be enough for him even if he can’t pinpoint why. 
“Okay,” she yawns, as she lifts her hips up, presenting her ass in the air while she wraps her arms around a pillow and sleepily buries her face in it. “But you gotta do all the work.” 
She’s done this before, tried to feign indifference toward the act, and tried to play it off that she didn’t absolutely enjoy it each and every time. This is a game that Elvis has yet to lose. 
He knows her well enough to know how to get her going even when she insists she’s not in the mood. How a light touch up her spine as her perk her ass up, while a nibble to her ear has her making the most adorable little noises. And still it feels like he learns something new about her everyday, with today’s new lesson that she loses all of her carefully crafted composure when he sits on his knees and raises her thighs over his shoulders.
She lets out a surprised gasp as she barely catches herself on her hands, only for it to turn into a low moan when he takes a long lick up her slit. Nothing tastes sweeter on his tongue than the evidence that she wasn’t as disinterested as she claims, and with her so nicely open for him now he plunges his tongue as deep as he could go. 
Any semblance of composure is gone the moment he had almost entirely upside down, her arms shaking with the effort to try to keep herself up. 
“You like that sweetheart?” he whispers, only slightly muffled by her flesh. 
“Yes,” she moans enthusiastically as he feels her small hand palm at his still clothed length, and he gives a little chaste kiss of appreciation on her clit that has her gasping for air. While any other night he would’ve gladly indulged her need to taste him, he did promise to do all of the work. So as he delves his tongue as deep as it could go he knows she’s good and ready as he feels her slick drip down to his wrist as he rubs that button of hers. 
She lets out a devastating sob as she comes, and before she’s had a chance to recover barely had time to recover before he’s flipping her over and pressing her knees to her chest as he thrusts inside all in one motion. Her back arches and her mouth opens and closes repeatedly, gasping for air as though she could feel him all the way in her throat. 
Entering her is always such an indescribable feeling, somewhere between euphoric and comforting. And there have even been days when the only thing on his mind on set was how best to get her alone so that he could get her like this once again. As he crams his cock at a steady rhythm, he imagines it’s the same way everyone else who goes to work on a regular job pictures being home at the end of the day. 
If he was a little rougher that night, it was only so that she could feel a fraction of his anguish that she caused. He both envies and resents her ability to be able to picture a life without him, when no future of his would be complete without her. 
He had spilled in her before that point, but it had always been an accident as something about her made him slower on the draw than he was with anybody else. But in that moment before he knew he was gonna cum, seeing her thrash and arch her back and push even further into him, time seemed to slow for a second and there was a moment where he saw quick as lightning just the image of her heavy and glowing with a baby.
His baby.
He can’t remember a time he came so hard, and with the way she collapsed back in the pillow he knew she was just as affected by it too. The way she’s quaking with every breath before peaking out at him through the curtain of her hair is something he doubts he’ll ever forget as places light kisses on her shoulders to add some tenderness to the rough act. 
With great reluctance and curiosity getting the better of him he pulls out his softened member, and he’s treated to the most erotic thing he’s ever seen in his life as he watches his seed slowly drip out of her folds. If he wasn’t absolutely sure that that last one had taken everything out of him he would be ready to go again from the sight of this alone. 
Something in the back of his head whispers to find something to plug her up to really make sure it takes this time. But before he can act on this he sees her get her bearings on her, and she reaches between her legs. She gives a soft curse as she sees his spend on her fingers, before making a move to roll out of bed towards the bathroom. But he was quick to snatch her back and tell her to just lay with him until he fell asleep. She would only give an annoyed little huff, and give sleepy demands for beignets for breakfast in return for this favor.
He slept easier that night with his hand on her belly, believing that he would be able to find a way to keep her with him. 
This would be far from the last time he would spill in her during production, but it would be the last time he could call it an accident. If he’s being honest with himself he thinks he fully intended to get her pregnant in some sort of convoluted plot to get her to settle down with him. That once she had a baby in her, she would have no choice but to marry him and leave it all behind. No more ungrateful sister or disparaging mother, Jimi could finally focus all of her attention on a family that would take care of her back. 
But then everything happened all at once, and suddenly she was beyond his reach, and soon she took with her all of his hopes of having a life worth living. 
Since his career had taken off, more than a few women had already accused him of fathering their babies. Of the few of them that weren’t talking outta their ass, he had seen a few of the kids, and while there were some that may have had a few features similar to him, none had come close to the little clone boy he had seen of himself in Jimi’s arms. 
Others woulda chalked it up to just him getting older and wanting to settle down and any baby with a passing resemblance woulda done this to him. But there was something even beyond longing, it was that sense of rightness that has been missing from his life for a long time, something he wouldn’t’ve gotten with just any baby. 
On the day they were shooting with the babies he tried to test this theory. But even holding a few of the kids, not a single one of them was able to stir anything close to that fatherly warmth that just looking or even thinking about the two little ones she held that day. 
It’s not like he felt nothing holding these babies, like he wished them any harm, but he more or less cared about them the same way he would care about a random puppy: fun to play with in the moment, but didn’t really mean he cared enough for the hard or messy parts of taking care of it. 
As he’s holding probably the biggest one of the lot, he realized this one is still smaller than either of his babies. Someone off-handedly asked how old this one was, he feels his throat close up at the answer. 
A Year, he thinks to himself as he hands the slobbering infant back to its mother. How much did I miss? Can they walk? Can they talk? 
Even as their mamas were packing them up to leave for the day, all of them would wave goodbye to him, but none of it compared to the heart-wrenching feeling remembering those two little ones she held in her arms. 
In his heart he knew they were his, he didn't care what she had to say about it. 
Two people, both from a set of twins, get together and create the two most beautiful and perfect babies he’s ever seen, and she thinks that means nothing? That she can just step away from him and deny him his rights as a father?
What did he miss all this time away? The boy was standing on his own, so did he already take his first shaky steps? The little girl was babbling nonsense to him, has she been able to actually make words?
Lord, he doesn't even know their names. He has so many questions and next to no answers.
But even for all the anguish it’s causing him, he can feel it in his chest how their existence has reinvigorated him beyond what he thought he was capable of anymore. He had been on the cusp of hopelessness, fully believing that without he wouldn’t be long for this world without Jimi. 
But seeing them was like seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, now knowing that Jimi couldn’t get rid of a piece of him, proves it’s not too late for them.
So he went about getting answers the same way she taught him to: ask the crew. To his luck everybody seemed to know something or another about what Jimi had been up to the last few years. Through the various tidbits here and there he was slowly able to piece together a story. 
How some asshole had taken advantage of her grief after losing her entire family with promises to take care of her in her time of need, and how he didn’t even wait till the ink was dry on the marriage certificate before scurrying his ass back to Mexico leaving her with less than half of her inheritance and a couple of babies in her belly. She came back to Paramount as a costume designer a couple months back after calling in a few favors with some of the higher-ups, and has been flagrantly breaking the rules by bringing the babies on to set. 
Jimi wasn’t lying when she said that make-up girls hear everything there is to know in this town. Unfortunately he finds out the hard way that that goes for all of them, even those that now work in the costume department. 
“I hear you’ve been asking about me,” a familiar voice would coldly say as she wrapped the cape around his neck. 
He doesn’t have to look up to know who it is, but he does look around to make sure the other make-up girl was gone. This at the very least confirms that she’s keeping her cards as close to her chest as possible, and trying to prevent anybody from figuring it out. 
“I had a right to know Jimi,” he answers, not looking directly at her face but through the mirror. A trick he learned when he first met her when he wanted to get her genuine reaction on something, he could only do so when she thought she wasn’t being looked at directly. It still proves to be true when he sees her jaw clench the slightest bit at his comment. 
 “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says apathetically but immediately contradicts herself when she gives a firm yank to his hair so that he’s looking right up at her. 
He gives a small grunt, though he does smile a bit at finally being able to get a reaction out of her. “Well now, last time I saw you like this-”
“Elvis,” she cuts off sharply before she grits out, “Leave. It. Alone.”
Now it’s his turn to react as his jaw clenches in frustration at the audacity. “Why should I?”
“Elvis…” she says slowly like he’s a child. “What do you think is going to happen if you are the father?”
He opens his mouth to argue with her, only to come up short. He hadn’t really thought farther ahead other than being able to have them all in his life. But what would that mean for them?  How would people react to him not only having kids now, but having them this whole time and only now stepping up? 
“That’s what I thought,” she says, placing down the comb. “Don’t worry,” she pats his cheek, maybe a little harder than necessary, “Nobody’s gonna believe they’re yours after what you said.”
He explodes hearing this, “How many times do I gotta tell ya?! I didn’t say that shit!” He stands to his full height to tower over her.
“It doesn’t matter Elvis!” she says, raising her voice for the first time since he’s known her, not in the least bit intimidated by him. “Do you really think they’re gonna just accept that you had two kids out of wedlock, and especially with a Mexican woman? Especially now that they’re trying to sell you off as this wholesome family act, do you think the studio is gonna stand for that shit.” Her eyes begin to go a bit glassy as she says the next part. “Your career might be in danger, but my literal life is at stake if they even think I could be a threat to the comeback they’re trying so hard to make happen for you.” 
She squeezes her eyes shut at this point like she’s trying to will the tears back into her eyes, and her chest seems just a step away from being considered heaving, making it clear to Elvis she is trying so hard to keep the image she’s crafted for herself intact. Elvis can appreciate how yet again he’s the only one able to look past the curtain and see her for who she is. 
Finally after taking a deep breath her bloodshot eyes open and she gives a somber, “Do you know how my last movie ended?” Her voice severe and distant, her hands placed on the hinges of the trailer door. 
He’s a little stumped by the heel-turn of this conversation, but he plays along if only to convince himself he still has a chance to convince her otherwise. “You got your folks back together didn’tcha?
“No,” she says bitterly. “That last movie ended with the worst box office turnout of the year, because it was banned in most southern states -including yours- because the white man ended up with the mexican mother,” there the sardonic smirk on her face tells him she finds little humor in what she’s saying. “The studios forced us to tell that story and blamed us when nobody wanted to see it…” 
“Jimi,” he starts placing a hand on her shoulder before she rips it away. “Baby, it’s a different time now,” though even he realizes how hollow those words are. 
“Let me finish!” she shouts, tears trailing down her face as she looks back at him. “This isn’t a movie,” she declares. “There is no happy ending for anybody if you keep digging. Not for you, not for me, and especially not for my babies.” 
Our babies, is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back.
“I’m not gonna have my babies a part of that life Elvis,” she glares at him. “They don’t need you. I don’t need you.” She turns her head and he can see the tears that threaten to fall in the corners of her eyes. “So just… leave it.”
And with seemingly the final word, she walks out of his trailer and he falls back heavy into his chair, utterly exhausted by the encounter. His chest feels tight, the shallow breathes he’s able to take doing little to remedy the feeling, his hands shaking out of fury and grief for the life that’s been stolen from him. On top of all of that his vision starts to blur with the tears clouding them, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing the movement in the mirror. 
He quickly gathers himself as best he could and turns to face whoever just entered his trailer, but he finds himself alone. That is until he looks at the mirror again.
He knows he must look a mess right now, but the mirror doesn’t reflect that whatsoever with the stony features he sees looking back at him. Elvis knows his face, and he knows when he’s not looking at his face. But Elvis knows who this is even before he opens his mouth with the only words he’ll speak to him.
“Go getcha girl,” Jesse whispers. 
And just like that he’s gone, and Elvis looks at his own reflection once again. With that little bit of brotherly guidance, Elvis comes to one startling realization: She’s right.
She’s right, this isn’t a movie.
So that means he doesn't gotta be nice about getting her back. 
He’s spent the last nearly two years planning how he was going to apologize to her over something he didn’t even do. Where is the justice in that? It’s as though she’s only capable of seeing him in the worst possible light. 
If she want’s a villain so goddamn bad then he’ll give her one. 
What a cruel power did God give to women. To take a piece of man, to mold and create something so wonderful and joyful, only to be able to deny him that if she felt so inclined. Usually the duplicitous ones will take from one man and claim it to be from another, all for gain, but Jimi is far more sadistic with this power, to hold two little mirrors in her arms and deny him his very own image. 
It’s enough to drive a lesser man insane.
No.
She’s not gonna deny him this. 
Jesse may have gotten him started on this path, but he can no longer just rely on fate to bring them together. He will take matters into his own hands, and they will be together. 
He remembers the first time he had seen one of her films as a kid. It was his 8th birthday and he had begged his Mama to let him go to the movies to see literally anything that day, and it so happened to be that one where the two sisters unintentionally thwarted some robbers in their house. 
He remembers laughing as Nena was sent into one room only for Mena to rip down the hallways as soon as the door was closed much to the confusion of the would-be criminals. He remembers the fear he felt when Mena seemingly fell out a window with the next shot being one of them lying on their stomach on the ground only for the next scene to reveal they had pulled the old switcheroo. He remembers the end when their parents finally came home and were glad that them burglars didn’t get their most precious treasures- their daughters. 
Most of all he remembers glancing over at the empty seat next to him and wondering if these were the sort of antics him and Jesse were meant to get up to. His mama never kept his brother a secret from him, always telling him how he’d have the strength of two, but he always knew on some level she would have preferred two regularly strong boys rather than just one really strong one. 
That feeling he got when looking at the vacant seat next to him is the same feeling he gets everytime he looks at his Hillcrest home now. The realization as to how fundamentally empty a home is without a family to fill it. 
Fate denied him his brother before he even entered the world. Death had snatched his mother out from under him. And that horrible Stanley woman was working double time to take his daddy away from him too. He’s not about to let Jimi keep him away from any more of his family, just because she wants to be stubborn.
Now, knowing of their existence he knows he needs them in his life. He needs her in his life. 
The PI didn’t disappoint, when you got enough money and notoriety in this town, they tend not to. He hardly batted an eye when Elvis had mentioned that there were kids out there that were potentially his, though he did give a funny look when Elvis told him he actually wanted him to dig up proof that he was the father, which is apparently rather novel in this town. 
Though what the PI brings back is painful in its own way. He mostly focused on what could be dug up through paper records both legally and illegally obtained: house deeds, birth certificates, medical records, wills etc.
That’s how he finally learns the names of his children.
Alejandro and Mireya.
Big names for babies that are so little, he thinks to himself. Only to realize that they will one day grow into them, and he’s wasting time not being with them. 
By all accounts, Jimi’s doing just fine: house is paid off, bills get paid on time, food is plenty, and she’s apparently in the market for a nanny. But a deeper look revealed that she’s pissing through her savings right now and with the way things are going she’ll be out of money in maybe another ten years, something she must have realized if she came back to work at all. Elvis finds himself exasperated that her stubbornness will cause her and the little ones to sink before she ever thinks to ask for help.
But it's the few and far between snapshots of the little family that threaten to do Elvis in. He has to fight the urge to frame them as they are all so wonderfully domestic. Strolls through the park, trips to ice cream shop, stops at the grocery store, and everything else that would paint the perfect family portrait of a young, beautiful mother and her two adorable babies. 
Everything except for a father. 
Though some of the most painful ones to look at were the ones from her day at the beach with them. He can almost pretend that he is the one behind the camera, that he took these pictures of her and the little ones on a family outing and not in fact a shameless voyeur of the life that should by all rights be his. In one of them, they were facing the camera as they looked out to the vast ocean before them, Jimi crouched down by the shore line as she held their little hands so they could properly get their feet wet. She wears a wrap around her one piece bathing suit in a facsimile of modesty and he already knows she turned a few heads that day. Little Alejandro is wearing a swim ring and practically wrapped around Jimi’s leg while Mireya’s wearing little floaties and pulling on her mama’s hand to try to go deeper.
So wholesome and idyllic, he can practically picture the entire day in his head. 
How he would come up behind her and swing them back and forth on the shore line as though he were about to toss them in while they squealed in delight.
How he would play with them in the sand until she insisted on them taking a nap under the umbrella while their parents could have a breather to have lunch. 
How she would lay beside them and from his position he could shamelessly leer at their mothers figure. 
How the day would knock them out on the car ride home and they would both quietly bring the little ones in the house and place them in their cribs and how she would wrap herself around his arm as they both gazed down at the two little miracles before them.
How he would bend her over right outside the hallway and fuck her raw so that they would never have a day at the beach without babies. 
If that wasn't what Norman Rockwell pictured for the ideal family life, he doesn’t know what is.
Those last few weeks of shooting, he could hardly function knowing they were all out there, the few who knew what he was going through were unsure how to approach him. Some learned quickly that he wasn’t about to be questioned on this, others had to learn the hard way. 
After the last day of shooting, Elvis would only idly register the fact that he had been sitting on a lounge chair staring vacantly at the pool. He hadn’t meant to, he just remembers after breakfast wondering how he’ll probably teach them how to swim there, and then all of a sudden the sun had already set for the day. 
His buddies had apparently gotten so worried, they had ended up calling in reinforcements. 
“Now my boy,” a familiar voice would say behind him. “I hear we been losin’ focus lately.”
As though on reflex Elvis feels his jaw clench in distaste. In a way the colonel was the best and worst choice to be the one to come talk to him. The worst because after learning what he knows, he wants little to do with the man anymore and the best because he needs someone to take out all this anger on before he can see the mother of his children again.
So Elvis really has to put all of his acting abilities to work at this moment, as he plasters on a phony grin and grits the teeth he’s liable to start gnashing at any moment. “I reckon I been more focused now than I been in a long time, Colonel.”
Bypassing what he just said, the man sits down on the lounge chair right next to him. “That’s not what I been hearin’ ‘from your buddies.” Elvis can see he has the clown head cane, which he adds to the list of things he’s finding infuriating about the man. 
“And what they been sayin’?” 
“How an old flame reared her head recently and has been getting in your head with some foolish notions of slowing down now of all times,” he says. “My boy, I warned you ‘bout women like this before. They can’t appreciate the hard work we been doin’ to make this life here, and simply will take from men ike us.”
As sour of a taste as that statement leaves in his mouth, that at the very least confirms that Parker doesn’t know dogshit about the sitation. He’s reminded of that time how she complained she never has time to take a cigarette break or something will catch on fire. Something that was proven true only moments after she put one in her mouth and then ten men were screaming fire. She would casually stroll up to it, extinguisher in hand, and use the inferno from the stagelight to light her cigarette before putting it out. 
“You don’t gotta worry no more, my boy,” he starts patting around his jacket, only to pull out two cigars and a set of matches. This and the story gives him an idea as to how to prove his own convictions.
“Why’s that Colonel?” Suspecting what he’s getting at, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. 
“I had a word with the young lady you were so fond of back in New Orleans,” he started, every word of his making Elvis want to scratch his own skin off. “And rest assured we came to an agreement after a few words from yours truly,” he says as though that will somehow placate him. “She wants nothing more than for us to leave her and her little ones alone, and of course we can accommodate that,” he lights up a celebratory cigar and hands his client one as well as though they were in some anti stork club.  
He once made the mistake of calling the Colonel something of a father figure to him, and he’s never been more disgusted with himself than right now. But he stays silent as he lets the “Colonel” before him dig his own grave. 
“Trust me son, I get the urge to want to settle down,” he reassures him. “But you’re young and it ain’t like you don’t got all the options in the world. Next time ‘round you can have some babies with a proper American girl”
The Colonel doesn’t know it yet, but this statement truly solidifies his fate. 
He doesn’t get it. None of these assholes get it. How can they? They ain’t ever lost someone like he did, like she did. They can’t see the value of family because they think that he can just make more of them with someone else? As though forces of a higher power hadn’t gone out of their way to bring them together. 
Elvis can do nothing more than kiss his teeth at the older man’s ignorance, as he slowly but deliberately grabs the cigar from his mouth and looks him dead in the eye as he slowly stamps out the cigar on the unvarnished wooden side table. 
Jimi was right. Words are nothing at the end of the day and it’ll be actions that will show them all how fucking serious he is about this.
“Those are my babies, and she’s my girl. And I ain’t gonna hear nothin’ more ‘bout it.” Elvis gets the pleasure of watching the Colonel gape like a fish only to then go red in the face as he goes back and forth between him and the small flames that are now beginning to dance on the table. He cuts him off before he can get another word in edgewise. “‘Sides I think marryin’ her would do wonders for my reputation down south.”
The portly man is surprised by his clients words and tries to quickly recover from the shock. “Son, I-I don’t think there’s notin’ down there we need to worry ‘bout,” he scolds as though Elvis were a child, trying desperately to reign him in.
“I used to think the same thing, ‘till I hired that PI to look into Jimi…” Elvis starts as he cuts the cigar, not even bothering to acknowledge the man’s concerns, “... and a few other things.”
“...what other things?”
“Funny you mention that Colonel. I had him look into where the hell those quotes came from. Y’know the ones that got me banned from Mexico. And boy did he have a story to tell,” his words are comically gleeful as he brings the cigar to his mouth. “One with high up there politicians, birthday parties, and blank checks. A story… my manager apparently knew all too well, but ain’t ever bothered to tell me.”
The only thing that could be heard in the moment was the light crackling from the flames between the two of them, and from it’s light Elvis can see the way that the sweat seems to pour off of the man in front of him. They both know that it has nothing to do with the fire.
“So-son, this is… it’s-it’s more complicated than you think,” Parker stutters, trying to desperately wrench back control of the situation. But Elvis already knows that the next chance he gets, he’s gonna cut ties with him… but Parker certainly doesn’t. And so for the time being he still has a role to play in this production. 
“Now there’s two ways to take this,” Elvis says leaning back on the wicker chair as the flames begin to get higher and higher, attracting the attention of his boys outside, and they rush to try to do something about it. One single hand gesture from him has them all frozen in place, awaiting his command. 
Good, these motherfuckers needed to be reminded who exactly is in charge here, even if he had to burn this whole place to the ground. 
“One, a simple mistake that my manager made and will now do anythin’ to fix if he wants even a chance at his contract bein’ renewed pretty soon… or two…” he brings the still unlit cigar to the now three foot flames on the table beside him, the closest thing he’s done to acknowledge them. He even briefly blows out the flame on his cigar, really trying to draw it out, enjoying the way it makes the older man squirm in his seat. It’s only right considering how much grief he caused trying to hide his secret so long. But if Jimi had taught him anything about Hollywood, is that shit like this don’t stay buried forever. “My manager for some reason can’t leave the country and didn’t want me leavin’ it neither.” 
It's an interesting experience to watch a man go from red in the face to completely white in horror. He opens and closes his mouth in disbelief more than a few times as though god himself will put the words in his mouth to smooth over this misstep. Any doubts Elvis had about the PI’s story melted away with each little tick the man before him made. 
Jimi had taught him what makes for a good and bad actor, and boy oh boy did Parker make for a shitty one: the shifty beady eyes, the nervous tapping on his cane, the constant swallowing and clearing of his throat. 
“So Colonel,” he states with a smoky breath, and no amount of venom missing from his voice for the man that- albeit unintentionally- cost him so much time with his family. “What’s it gonna be?”
The flames are by now as tall as a full grown man, and the fire has now fully engulfed the low table that was once there. All the boys are nervously shifting and shuffling about, wanting to put it out before it can get out of hand, but the hand that Elvis holds toward them keeps them in place, not a single one of them willing to go against him. 
The message is clear to everyone though: give him what he wants or he will burn them all, and not just metaphorically. 
“I-I,” the old man stutters looking down at his feet undoubtedly looking for help even from Hades himself, only to see as an ember finds a new home on his lone client’s pant leg. 
Elvis does not acknowledge this. 
Parker looks back up at him, only now comprehending who the hell he is dealing with. 
“I’ll see what I can do my boy,” he finally answers breathlessly.
“Now that’s what I like to hear, Parker,” he gives an amiable clap to his shoulder before gesturing to the rest to take care of the inferno before them. They’re all in a dead sprint to deal with the fire and Elvis gives his foot a cursory dip in the pool to extinguish the flames creeping up his ankle, before walking away without another word to any of them. 
With the Colonel and everyone else willing to do anything to get back in his good graces, things seem to run a lot smoother now. 
Finding a lawyer willing to handle paternity suits is easy enough in this town, finding one that is willing to fight to establish his status as their father however… practically every lawyer that was consulted said it was near impossible for them to do so without the mother’s consent. Without even knowing who exactly they were meant to be representing they said the whole thing would be a wash if at the end of the day the mother remains obstinate against it, and regardless of any blood tests, no judge would believe that a woman would willingly say no to the support a man like Elvis could offer if it wasn’t the absolute truth that he wasn’t the father. 
Needless to say that Elvis could only rely on the legal route so much. Though he did learn a few interesting things as to what would happen to children if the mother is deemed unfit.
And from there, he begins to cook up a truly awful and perhaps downright evil plan but he knows that the prize is worth the risk.
It’s gonna rely on all of his skills as an actor, and she’s been in the business too long to not know an act when she sees one. But he has one major advantage over Jimi in this department: She already expects the worst from him, so him doing this wouldn’t be a stretch in her eyes.  
Even threatening to dig a little deeper into whether or not they were his, made her pull back even more, she’s not gonna make this easy for him, and part of him doubts he would want it to be so. He knows he’s not without options, and that women would practically tear down the door to be the one to give him babies.
But how can he just let her go? 
Jesse couldn’t be here with him, that’s why he sent her his way. Elvis needed someone who would look out for him no matter what. And with Elena gone, Jimi needed someone to look out for. The two of them fit together like puzzle pieces really.
So he has to be smart about this. Nothing gradual because she will bolt the second she even gets a hint as to what he’s planning. So he takes a step back and allows the PI to learn all he can about her new schedule and what she’s got in the works. 
She’s still working for Paramount, though only barely, as she now apparently only comes in once a week to talk with directors and drop off designs. Though it’s clear this is not for much longer as she’s apparently been tapped by some production company down in Mexico to come work for their wardrobe department. 
It becomes apparent that he needs to work quickly if he wants to pull off his plan, when his request to have her work on his next movie is denied for the simple fact that she is apparently only sticking around Paramount long enough to finish off a few other productions. He’s honestly a little glad for this change, it just means he can put his plan to action a little earlier and they can be together sooner. 
So it’s not even a week after the end of production does he find himself standing in front of her small, new house in East LA. 
Elvis knows his influence on women, and despite what the papers say, he’s tried to use this for good. So when he walks up to Jimi’s door and knock, he does admittedly ham it up with the hand to lean on the door frame and the slightly unkempt hair falling over his forehead, a look he knows would make any woman weak in the knees. Especially a 13 year old babysitter.
The girl (Letty, he’s pretty sure the PI said), seems to be confused more than anything else, uncomprehending as to who stands before her. She’s far from the first or last to have this reaction but it shows that Jimi is playing her cards far too close to her chest that she wouldn’t know why he’s here.  
“This here’s Jimena’s place?” He asks though he already knows the answer from the PI that’s getting paid hourly. 
“Ye-yes,” she stutters, reaching a hand out only to quickly snatch it back as she confirmed he was really here. 
“Perfect,” he grins, and he sees her look down bashfully. “I’m here to pick up the babies.”
This confuses the poor girl even more. “She… didn’t mention that.” Elvis has to hold himself back from telling her she couldn’t keep a father away from his children, but honeys and flies and all that. 
“It’s a bit of a surprise for her.” He answers.
She’s still apparently unsure of herself, as she gives a weak point back inside the house as she says,“I-I think I sh-should ma-maybe call her.”
“How much you gettin’ paid by her?” he asks affably, though a little annoyed at the girl continuing to keep him from his babies.
“Five dollars a day and an autographed picture of Marlon Brando,” she answers, though she looks back down at her feet, as though embarrassed to be talking about another star she preferred in front of him. He doesn’t take it to heart, remembering Jimi complaining how she had more autographs than she knew what to do with.
“How ‘bout this,” he pulls out his wallet. “I’ll give you 50 and get you a personal meeting with Marlon, if you get the lil’ ones ready to come with me for the day and don’t say nothin’ to no one ‘bout whatcha saw today.” 
The teen gapes like a fish at the offer and though Elvis knows it’s good for his plan that she didn’t automatically refuse his proposition, it is nonetheless disheartening that this is the girl Jimi had entrusted his babies to. 
“I-I-I,” she looks at her feet, as though they’ll have the answers for the dilemma. “I don’t think I can let them g-go with a stranger.” she puts a bit more of her weight onto the door fully intending to close it. 
“That’s the best part kid,” he pressed a palm to the door. “I ain’t a stranger to her.” The girl has no idea what kind of danger she’s in, and Elvis attributes that almost solely to Jimi’s influence. What’s a few lies when he knows he would do far worse if she dares to keep him away from his children any longer. 
“Don’t let them papers know this,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper, full well-knowing that’s exactly who she’s gonna go straight to the moment she gets the chance to do so. “Y’see their mama and I… well we been seein’ each other for awhile, and now stubborn women she is, she don’t wanna go no further ‘til I can prove I’m ‘father material’ so I came down here to prove her wrong.” 
She furrows her brow in confusion until her eyes go wide. “Wait… go further? As in…” 
He takes a page out of Jimi’s book and gives a pursed grin while his eyes slide away from her, not even trying to deny her assumptions. Seeing her hold a hand to her mouth to cover her dramatic gasp, Elvis would like to think Jimi would be proud as to see how far his acting abilities have come. 
The girl is apparently all too eager to play cupid as she quickly invites him in with a big grin on her face and ushers him towards a sitting room. Despite how cool he’s playing it he’s a nervous wreck on the inside, feeling like he’s about to walk into a test he knew he didn’t study well enough for. 
But that all disappears the moment he lays eyes on them. 
They can already do so much, he thinks as he watches them play though they don’t notice him,  Mireya holding a whole baby conversation with her stuffed animals in between trying to feed them dry cheerios while Alejandro is making little humming noises around the pacifier in his mouth as he crawls to drive his little fire truck around. Eventually the tiny boy drove the toy straight into Elvis’ foot. 
The small boy looks up at the new figure, and with the way he looks at him, Elvis doubts he remembers him. So he tries not to take it too personally when the boy silently gets up and scrambles behind one of the couches, only to then peek over the corner, as though to make sure he’s still there. 
“Ale, Mimi, come say hi,” the young teen says in a soft voice before she turns around and leaves him alone with them. Those names feel much more fitting of the small babies he’s pictured in his head, and even more fitting as he leans against the door frame of the little sitting room.
Mimi almost immediately begins to toddle over to him with a little stuffed doggy tucked underneath her arm. She looks at him and again there is not an ounce of recognition in her eyes as she merely approaches him wraps her arms around one of his shins before immediately going back to her toys. 
So much for the instant connection he was hoping to have with them, but he tries not to get too discouraged with this as he approaches. He crouches down next to his daughter and picks up a stuffed monkey and uses it to tickle her neck a little, and that has her shrieking in delight.
This does seem to settle Ale somewhat as he slowly comes from behind the couch to watch the two of them. Though he plops down right between them with his engine in tow and gives a wary look toward Elvis as though he means to act as her protector. He didn’t know it was possible to have a skeptical look while sucking on a pacifier, but his son somehow manages to do just that.
Elvis notices something in the boy's front overall pocket and when he reaches a hand to investigate it, his son is quick to react with an overhead swat to the intruding hand. Elvis can’t help but laugh at how very Jimi that reaction is. 
Before he knows it the bags are all packed and it’s time to go. Ale looks more confused than scared as Elvis picks him up with his wide brown eyes, while Mimi on the other hand is in awe of being so high up and she immediately starts trying to reach for things that he thinks would usually be out of reach when held by her mama. 
In the last few days he’s had ample time to imagine what exactly it would feel like to hold them in his arms, but all of it pales in comparison to the phenomena of the experience. Elvis is a man that has dabbled in many pleasures over the years yet all of that pales in comparison to just the utter rightness of this moment. 
It’s an indescribable, euphoric feeling that makes him never want to let go of either of them, even if one is seeming indifferent to him while the other tries to squirm out of his grasp.
He had been prepared to sneak out the back with them or pass them out the window to Jerry before sneaking to the car, hell he contemplated that he would even have to simply grab them and run. He never in a million years would’ve imagined it was as easy as scooping them both up in his arms and taking a brisk walk out the front door to the car while the babysitter hands over a baby bag to him. 
The fact that it was so easy was just further proof that he needed to get them out of there. What if it had been some crazy man that came in today and not him that took them? 
“E.P. What the fuck?” Jerry asks, more tired than confused. 
“Let’s get goin’ already.” 
The car ride gives him some time to truly appreciate how beautiful his babies are.  
Mimi has Jimi’s thick dark hair and her pouty lips, and those coupled with the cornflower blue gaze that came from him, he can already hear the heart's (and the kneecaps, Elvis will personally see to it) breaking across the country. And where Ale seems almost his exact copy, he can see Jimena’s touches here and there with the way his hair curls or the slight upturn of his nose. Truly it would be a crime to deprive the world of more pretty children like these two. 
Mimi in turn seems to also be fascinated by his face, and he takes a few playful nibbles that has her squealing in delight. Though she does lose a bit of interest in him as the car starts and she gets to see the world around her rush past her. She makes sure to point out every animal she sees whether it be a dog, a cat, or even a squirrel, and Elvis finds himself enjoying every moment of it as it feels like he’s looking at this whole city through a new lens.
“Mida, mida,” she squeals in her tiny voice as she points to a bird. “pajado!”
Ale on the other hand is just looking up at him owl-eyed, too in shock as to what’s going on around to look at anything but at his father. He clutches on to his little firetruck like a shield still unsure of this whole thing but Elvis takes it as a small victory that he isn’t balling his eyes out. Elvis resorts to trying to make faces at him to get him to crack even a little though it becomes apparent that what this kid lacks in looks from his mother, he more than makes up for by having her personality, as he barely twitches at any face. Granted it is hard to tell around the pacifier he refuses to part with. 
Jerry remains blessedly quiet for the rest of the car trip though Elvis doesn’t miss the occasional stolen glance from his young friend. The man -boy, really- had initially been on the side of letting sleeping dogs lie, and now Elvis pushes down the petty urge to hold up his own son to his face and have him try to deny his own image. 
Elvis’ living room could honestly give Santa's workshop a run for his money with the sheer amount of toys and playthings that occupy it now. All his boys had apparently been working overtime trying to make Elvis forget how skeptical they had been in his beliefs, and trying to worm their way back into his good graces. 
His daughter practically dives headfirst into the large pile of stuffed animals to be had, meanwhile his son stands in the middle of a treasure trove of toys, his red engine hanging limply from his hand, practically overwhelmed by choice. He eventually does settle on a set of blocks that he takes to stacking up only to ram his truck into the makeshift tower. Elvis can’t help the chest swelling contentment he feels in that moment seeing his babies love their new home so much.
He hardly sees anybody else all day, and he’s glad for it. He didn’t want any of them sticking around too long, as this was his chance to bond with his babies properly, and he didn’t need any of them to distract them. Aside from the occasional maid coming in to bring snacks or to change a dirty diaper, he gets an entire uninterrupted afternoon with the two. 
Mimi was so eager to play with him and show him all of her little toys, with her favorites being the little stuffed dog she hadn’t let go of, it’s neck floppy as she clutched it in her tiny baby hand. 
Ale thinks he’s subtle as he eyeballs Elvis most of the afternoon. He is not. He all but gapes at him when he thinks he’s not looking, only to turn around and try his darndest to look very busy with his blocks or cars when Elvis looks over to him. 
He tries to approach the toddler, only for the boy to rebuff him each and every time by shuffling to the opposite end of the room, and setting up shop there. Elvis has to remind himself to be patient, knowing that his son is handling being in a new strange place with a man he only barely knows better than most kids would so he has to let the boy approach him first. 
He could tell just by the way he watched Mimi like a hawk, that he was the older of the two, the same way Jimi always said she was with her sister. His weary attitude towards him only began to thaw out when Mimi stumbled over a block, somewhat able to catch herself on her hands but that doesn’t prevent her from still hitting her little forehead on the carpeted floor. Immediately father and son are at her side to comfort the wailing girl, Elvis crouching down to pick her up and rubbing her back, trying to imitate the few times he’d seen mothers do this, while Ale not fully understanding what’s wrong with her, only to tries to climb his father to try to take the girl in his own little arms and rest his head on her back. 
After a few more tears and she had been allowed to thoroughly ruin his shirt, Mimi was able to calm down and go back to playing as usual. Ale seems to only then realize that he had gotten close to his father, and nothing bad had happened, so blessedly he doesn’t seem entirely too opposed to his presence anymore. 
The only major hiccup of the entire evening was when Ale had entrusted Elvis with his most treasured toy. Elvis almost burst into tears when his son had reached into the front pocket of his overalls to pull out a small matchbox car, one that appeared to have been red at one point but had since faded into a light pink. 
This coupled with Mimi’s favorite stuffed toy being a stuffed beagle… Elvis is not one to just name anything as signs from God, but those two together had to mean something.
And it’s frustrating to say the least that Jimi refuses to see this. 
The twins begin to wind down around the evening, with full bellies and comfy pajamas on it’s not too long before Mimi practically falls asleep where she was playing, her little bottom in the air as she drooled all over her little blue doggy that now acts as a pillow.
Ale is far more stubborn about the whole thing, refusing to sleep even as he jealously looks over to his sister before stubbornly rubbing at his dark eyes and continuing to play with his toy cars. 
“Don’t go down so easy now do ya’ son?” Elvis says as though he’s actually commiserating over his miserable sleep with a friend and not his toddler son. “You get that from me,” The boy at the very least now tolerates him being so close, but Elvis isn’t going to try to push it by picking him up. Instead he would gently pick up his daughter and hold her in one arm, while offering the other to his son, a clear invitation to the boy.
In spite of all his mulishness, Ale does eventually give in and makes little grabby hands signaling he wants to be picked up, and Elvis does admittedly melt a little at the sight. He’s quick to accept the invitation and picks the little boy up and takes them upstairs. 
The nursery room as of right now is pretty barebones, having had to rearrange many things in the house, so as to make it a home for his family. But he thinks his boys managed to at least get the essentials with a crib and a rocking chair, and he figures that they can build from there. 
The experience of not just holding his children at the same time but of actually getting to do the fatherly thing of singing them to sleep is incomparable to anything he’s ever had the chance to experience. Something so new, yet at the same time feeling like his whole life was leading up to this point. Mimi’s already asleep and he knows better than to wake a sleeping baby, so he sets her down in the crib first before sitting down in the rocking chair with his son in tow. Elvis admittedly doesn’t have a wide knowledge of lullabies, and he briefly panics for a moment until remembering the one he’s performed maybe a dozen times in the last few months.
They call your daddy Big Boots
And Big Boots is his name
It takes a big man to wear big boots
That's your daddy's claim to fame
It feels only appropriate to sing this to his own son, and in a way he’s glad that he performed this before meeting either of them. He doubted he would’ve been able to keep it together singing this to any other child now, knowing they were out there. Much to his relief, Ale eases up a little on his chest, resting his chin on his arms to better look at his father, not so defensive anymore. 
Gonna tell you a little secret
You won't believe it's true
Did you know your daddy, Big Boots
Once wore little boots like you
Ale for the first time today removes his pacifier from his mouth and presses his tiny hand to Elvis mouth, seemingly entranced by the music leaving it and unbelieving that this is coming from a man and not a radio. 
But where he was barely keeping it together while singing, Elvis can’t help his reaction when Ale lets out a soft little “daaa…” 
His throat seems to close up and he has to blink away a few tears, but that doesn’t lessen the grin on his face. “Th-that’s right son,” he breathes, through quivering lips, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m your daddy.”
Something about that statement seems to settle something in the boy, as he finally puts his head on his chest and his breathing seems to even out. It’s as though he had been the ever vigilant man of the house. But now knowing that his daddy was home, he can finally lay his head down and rest. 
Eventually he has to put him down once he sees Mimi start to fuss in her sleep, waving an arm around and grasping for something, but she quickly relaxes once her brother is within her grasp. 
Elvis sits to watch them for a time, they’re simply so hypnotic to observe. The way they breathe in tandem and seem to gravitate toward each other, in a world of their own right now. It makes him wistful for the brother he never got to know. But wherever his brother may be right now, he feels joy that he can carry out his will and finally have a whole family once more.  
One look out at the sun setting and the clouds rolling outside his windows, he knows it won’t be too long before she arrives. He wants to be able to relax but he knows he won’t be able to until all of his family is under his roof. But he knows her well enough, to know she’ll be home soon. 
Finally he sees an unfamiliar pair of headlights shine behind the gates, before coming to a screeching halt and a familiar silhouette stands in front of the lights, to give a futile shake at the front gate. He can imagine she’s yelling to be let in, even muffled through the patter of the rain starting to really come down and the thunder rolling in the distance, he can just barely make out her voice. 
He sees Lamar unlock the gate for her, but the moment his guard is let down she takes off running towards the front, which is when Elvis takes this as his cue to start heading down to meet her. 
She was in no way prepared for this weather if her near see-through white blouse was anything to go by. Her makeup is running slightly, streaking down her cheeks making it impossible to figure out if it was rain or tears running down her face. All fury and passion, just like he loves her. 
She angrily stomps past him, still trying to ignore him only for him to block her with his full body.
“How many times?” she grits out. “How many times must I turn you away?”
“I don’t know darlin’,” he whispers in a just as low voice. “As many times as it takes ‘til you figure out I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“Cut the crap Elvis!” she shouts. “Where are they!?”
He responds with a single finger to his smirking lips. “If you wake ‘em, you gotta put ‘em down again.”
This immediately has her try to run past him towards the bedrooms, but he catches her in one arm over her waist and he sits her on the dining room table, sure to plant his hands on her knees so she doesn’t get any ideas. 
“That’s enough Elvis,” she tries to rip his hands away from her. The way she’s all clenched up, lets him know that she would scream at him if it were an option. “You’ve had your fun, now just let us go.” 
He just further smirks. “Y’know after all the things I learned ‘bout the last two years for you, I kept askin’ myself one thang,” he says pushing himself off the table to stalk towards her. “‘Why the hell is she still here?’”
Her jaw clenches tight at this, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I had to do what I had to do to support My babies.”
“Considerin’ what my guy dug up,” he starts making his way towards the table that has had her whole life laid out upon it. “You coulda worked anywhere else and left Hollywood behind a long time ago.” The heavy clench of her jaw and the daggers in her eyes tell him he’s getting close to the bullseye. “No,” he says, holding her chin between his fingers. “You stayed cuz you was waitin’ for me to get back.”
This infuriates her and she gives him a good shove, but he’s no longer in the mood to indulge her little tantrum so he stays put. 
“Is that what you wanna fucking hear Elvis, then fine! They’re yours!” she shouts, a bit of a tremble in her voice. “Are you happy now? Will it help you sleep better at night knowing they’re yours? ”
“I’ll sleep better knowin’ they’re under my roof.”
She freezes at this admission. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talkin’ ‘bout the fact that you and the little ones are gonna be movin’ in with me.”
The silence that passes is near deafening and he gets the pleasure of seeing the reality of the situation set in in her face. She gives a short mirthless but undoubtedly forced laugh but there’s no denying the fear in her eyes. 
Good.
After all, she was the one that wanted this when she wanted so badly to make him a villain in this. He’s not, he’s a father. 
“All this time, I thought you were stupid,” she says, that sardonic, slightly scared, laugh still laced in her tone. “Turns out you’re just fucking crazy.” Anybody else he would’ve been offended, but he lets her barbs slide right off his back, because truly words are all that she has left anymore. He’ll let her have them. “In what world do you think this is gonna play out like you want it?”
He gives a soft smile and raises a hand to take her chin, only for her to quickly smack it away. 
“The world the studio pays for.” 
She gives a derisive snort, “And you think they’re gonna pay for you to ruin your image.”
He simply smirks at her, finding her ignorance cute. For all that she knows how to work the system, he understands how the system works. More importantly he understands that the system works for him. His only direct response is to slide her the papers his people drafted up for him.
“What the fuck are these?” she asks, her voice lower, trying to mask her genuine confusion.
“That there is the copy of the marriage license ‘you’” he uses air quotes, “signed six hours ago, and an officiant from the studio officially signed off on these.”
“I-I don’t understand,” she says, her voice smaller than he’s ever heard from her.
“Now Jimi let me tell you two stories, only one of ‘em’s gonna be in tomorrow’s paper,” he says, gently rubbing her cheek that she quickly slaps away. He retaliates just as swiftly with his hand splayed across her collarbone to lay her back on to the large dining table, just below the neck, not enough to choke her, but just enough to remind her who the fucking man of this house is. “One is how I went and got married to a single-mother of twins and I adopted them as my own.”
“I would neve-”
“Or…” he cuts in as he puts a little more pressure on her neck. “And this one is the one the studio prefers… I marry some random girl they pick out for me and we end up adopting two poor little orphans, ‘cause their mama decided to run off to Mexico in the middle of the night.”
Almost like he planned it, he can hear the thunder roll in the distance as the threat hangs in the air. In his heart he knows he would never go through with this, but Jimi doesn’t have to know. 
All the anger drops from her face at that moment, in its place he sees something he’s never seen in her eyes: bold-faced fear. She showed her hand the other day when she told him why she wanted to keep the secret. He didn’t want to have to do this to her, but if it’s between having her fear him and staying with him vs not and her walking away, he will pick fear every single time. 
He needs them in his life.
He needs her in his life. 
“So you choose darlin’, which ones it gonna be,” he takes her chin between his fingers. She flinches slightly but knows she’s in no position to turn away from him now. “Either way… they’re comin’ with me.” 
Elvis is not a gambling man, and he wouldn’t do this unless he knew what her answer was gonna be. She’s just as crazy for family as he is, she wouldn’t be able to handle not being able to have them. She’s probably the only one who is capable of understanding what he would do for those two as he has no doubt that she wouldn’t do the same in his shoes. 
But between the two of them, only one of them had an entire studio willing to do whatever it takes to protect his image, no matter the expense. 
And for all her worldliness and experience, she knows full well what happens when you get on the wrong side of the studios. She spent the better part of two years trying to prevent them from learning this, because making her disappear and having her babies get lost in the system would have been nothing to them. 
He’s proud of her ability to successfully keep her and their babies alive in his absence, but he’s over her needlessly defiant nature to insist that they’ll never need him again.
He wouldn’t say he’s proud to see that defeated look in her eyes, but he does get the sense of relief knowing that he’s not going to lose anymore family today. 
“Let me see them,” she whispers, barely audible over the rainfall just outside the window. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and he’s practically giddy that she didn’t try to stop him. 
He finds them just where he left them, sleeping soundly knowing that their father is here to protect them, even from their mothers stubbornness. Ale is spread out like a starfish, one foot continually nudging his sister, while one hand is tightly balled up and a thumb in his mouth. Mimi on the other hand is squirming a bit, her little sock covered feet restlessly kicking at the blanket and her brow furrowed in her sleep. On pure instinct alone Elvis rubs a soothing hand on her belly until she’s calmed down enough and he quickly tucks her back in. 
The look of surprise on her face wasn’t part of the plan but is welcome nonetheless. “Y’see how important a daddy is sweetheart?” he whispers into her ear. 
He doesn’t exactly love the tears now freely falling out of her eyes, but he 
“I’ll stay,” she whispers, through her tears. “I’m staying for them.” She asserts but the words feel so hollow now. Even still he rewards her acquiescence with a kiss, more for himself and having been so patient for her. 
Even with her promises to stay now he knows that this is far from over. He knows that the next time she has them both in her arms is gonna be the next time she makes a break for it. He’s already let everybody know to never leave her alone with them, and he’s got some things in the works to make sure to make her face as recognizable as his own so she doesn’t get any ideas of trying to disappear. He’s even got a hail mary plan in his back pocket to deal with that doctor just in case he ever needs something big to keep her at his side.
But one thing he can absolutely do right now is work to get another baby in her so running won’t be so easy next time. A message she gets loud and clear the moment he works the zipper of her skirt down the mouth-watering curve of her ass. 
“Elvis please,” she half-heartedly bats away his hands. “Not tonight…” 
He’s been on a winning streak of getting exactly what he wants lately, and he’s not about to let her break that. He backs her against the wall of the hallway only to then nestle himself between her legs.
“C’mon baby,” he whispers in her ear, and he’s glad he can still get that same shuddering reaction from her, he remembers all too well. “It’s our weddin’ night and we gotta get to work makin’ it all official. ‘Sides you owe me more babies for keepin’ ‘em away so long.” 
He can’t help but be reminded of that beach fantasy he had not too long ago and while he would love to make that into a reality, he figures that he at the very least owes her more than a dirty quickie in the hallway for their wedding night. 
Besides, they'll have all the time for that in Hawaii.
So instead he opts for the classic groom move of lifting her up in his arms and carrying her into his -now their- bedroom. He doesn’t care none to be gentle with her clothes, she’ll be lucky if he cares to be gentle with her tonight after all the shit she’s put him through. 
Ever the contrarian, she obstinately looks out the window and looks as though she wishes to be anywhere else right now as he peels the wet clothes off of her body. He’s been half-hard since she walked through his door, but little Elvis stands at full attention now that he can behold his wife fully. He finds the cosmetic differences that having his children has caused her body, with the near invisible stripes he feels on her belly and her temptingly darker nipples, but what he sees first and foremost in her body is his future. 
That world-shattering knowledge that she will be where all of his seed is planted and he will never have to suffer being alone again. He has to push these thoughts aside lest he spill all over her belly like a green boy, and he has to remind himself that there’s no need to rush anymore now that he has her beneath him. 
He has to temper himself before he gets ahead of himself so he spreads her legs to dive head first for her pussy. 
He knows he has her when a simple kiss to her clit has her clenching her thighs over his ears. While it’s with reluctant acceptance does he acknowledge he wasn’t her first, he takes great pleasure knowing that he’ll be her last. It was frankly insane to believe that no one had ever done this to her before, as after he had gotten his first taste of her there was little else he wanted to do more than this. 
He remembers joking with her that he now understood where her womanly sweetness went given the lack of it in her personality. It’s true nonetheless, arguably she tastes even better than he remembers. Though he imagines it’s the same way a man dying of thirst calling his first sip of water the sweetest taste, considering how much he’s pined for her. 
Now that he’s been able to ensure she’s sufficiently wet enough he lets her hips fall back on to the bed, as he unbuckles himself, unwilling to waste another moment to undress himself, so that he can once more feel that connection he almost lost.  
Finally being able to slip into her feels like finally coming home, there’s truly no other way to describe it. He didn’t even get this feeling when he walked through the threshold of Graceland. 
“Elvis,” she sobs into his shoulder. For all the love she claims to have lost for him, her body has certainly not forgotten as he feels her thighs clench tightly around his hips, trying to keep him as close as possible. 
He quickly grabs a hold of the back of her knees and he forces them all the way back practically to her ribs. Her pleasured and shocked cries ring out though the room as her new position gives him a new angle to work with. He’s a man on a mission to ensure that he leaves a mark so deep that she’ll never be able to leave again. 
Forever, and just that thought alone has him frantically bucking into her over and over ripping her away from one orgasm to yet another as he chases his peak. One of the many he would have in that night alone, to try to make up for all the lost time. 
Once it’s all said and done and he’s sufficiently satisfied that her sleepiness isn’t being feigned, he carries her back to the bed properly so that she can rest and be ready to be the perfect mother for their two (hopefully more) little ones tomorrow. He wraps an arm around her, knowing how slippery she can be, and he rests easy knowing she’ll be there come morning.
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flwersgarden · 1 year
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i don’t know if this is gonna make a whole lotta sense but i’ve been obsessed with your writing for like ever and i was hoping maybe you could do a combination between little!reader and daddy!elvis but make elvis like a yandere sorta with it? like he takes advantage of readers little space and uses it to make sure that he’s the only one who can really like take care of her when she’s in that space you know? i have no idea if that makes sense or not, if it doesn’t or you don’t wanna write it don’t worry about it! :)
note: it makes sense, my love, don't worry! i will write this one with austin!elvis in mind since i'm not very comfortable in making real life elvis a yandere soooo, either way, please enjoy!
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“ how are you, baby? ”
you looked up from your drawing book, smiling brightly at the sight of elvis with his leather suit entering the room you were in.
“ daddy! ” you squeaked out, running up to him, leaving your crayons on the floor.
elvis smiled, crouching so he could hug you; giving you some twirls before kissing your face making you giggle a bit at how funny it felt.
“ hey, baby. ” he whispered before leaving you on the ground, patting your butt a bit before walking to the sofa. “ how was it? ”
you immediately knew he was talking about the small trip you went to with one of his bodyguards; you insisted on someone taking you to the park since you felt yourself dying from boredom locked in the room, elvis being the amazing daddy he is allowed you to (of course, not without security).
“ it was great, daddy! ” you jumped, taking advantage of elvis' tired attitude to pick everything up so he wouldn't rebuke you about it.
elvis nodded, sitting on the couch, patting his lap as he looked at how cute you were. “ 'm glad. ”
you sat on his lap after putting everything on its place, kissing his cheek before patting your own pink dress. “ how was the performance, dada? ” you put your face in the croon of his neck, enjoying the small touches he gave to your hair and back.
“ it was good. i think. ” he murmured the last part, kissing your forehead before a knock interrupted the both of you. “ who is it? ”
“ the colonel, my boy. ”
elvis rolled his eyes while sighing, patting your butt again but this time for you to move.
you pouted, not only did you missed him but you wanted some cuddles. so when elvis opened the door, you subtly showed your tongue to the colonel, who just frowned at you before turning to look at elvis.
“ we need to talk. ”
elvis hummed and for a few seconds it was quiet before he looked at you, who was still sitting on the couch. “ doll. ”
“ yes? ” you asked.
he grabbed his wallet from one of the closest tables around him, giving it to you as you walked to him. “ go and buy us some snacks, will ya? ”
you nodded, grabbing his wallet before leaving.
but just as you were exiting the room, you stomped in colonel's foot making him howl in anger.
“ THAT GODDAMN-. ”
you couldn't hear the rest of it as you ran away.
️️ ️️️️️️️️️
as you walked through the set, you couldn't help but stare at everything. when elvis and you walked in here you didn't paid much attention as you were too focused in playing with the new toy elvis gave you.
almost everyone in there knew you were little, that's why no one gave you strange looks. also because they were terrified of elvis and how he may react if you go and tell him if someone treated you badly.
you skip to the table full of food, beverages and drinks, smiling as you catch some cotton candy. you go to grab it but as you do it, some hand grabs it and offers it to you.
“ here. ”
you look up at the strange man, not bad looking but... strange.
“t-thank you. ” you stiffly say, grabbing the stick of the candy before turning to leave.
“ wait. ” he steps in front of you.
you are caught off guard with how this man is acting so you just bring the cotton candy to your chest, quiet.
he smiles. “ okay. look. ” he takes off a small notebook from his jacket, a pen too; clicking it as he searches though his notebook's pages. “ i wanted to interview you for so long and. ” he chuckles but it seems tired. “ that man of yours just doesn't fumbles the bag, huh? ”
you frown, confused at what he is implying.
“ so. y/n presley, would you mind telling me. ” he puts the pen ends in the notebook. “ is this, ” he points at your outfit. “ some kind of sickloving trap elvis has you in? ”
“ excuse me? ” you quickly answer.
the man just shrugs. “ yeah. is this some kind of syndrome he put in you after he married you? ”
you step back, feeling your heart crushing with his words. “ i don't know what you mean, mister, i-. ”
he laughs, interrupting you. “ come on. i mean, the press knew you were weird but-. ”
suddenly, a hand pushes the man's figure away from you as some arms surround you.
“ man, what did i said?! no fucking reporters! ” jerry exclaims from behind you, walking to the strange man with his fists clenched but abruptly turns and points at someone behind you. “ take her to ep! ”
that person grabs you, carefully, taking you to elvis while you drop the cotton candy on them ground. elvis' wallet is still being gripped by your hand as if it's the only thing telling you this is real.
️️ ️️️️️️️️️
“ i fucking told every single one of you! ”
you sit in the white couch of Graceland, the home your daddy bought, drawing some flowers while he and his staff, alongside the memphis mafia, are sitting on the diner room. bit far from you. enough for you to not hear anything that was being discussed in that room.
“ ep, we told y-. ”
elvis raises an arm, turning with his hands in his waist. he looks at you.
silence overpowers the moment, everyone except you and elvis uncomfortable. elvis slightly smiled as you frowned in concentration with your gaze stuck on the drawing.
“ did y'all ever fell in love, folks? ” he suddenly asks. some men clear their throat as everyone denies it. elvis nods. “ some of y'all may think that yes. you have. ”
he turns to look at them. “ but you haven't. at least not like me. ” he points at you. “ that girl keeps me from going insane. ”
he walks to the fridge. everyone keeps silent.
the fridge gets harshly closed, making some people jump in their seats, a beer being opened is heard.
elvis takes a gulp out of the beer.
“ i thought i was very clear. ” elvis mutters.
“ you were, ep. ” jerry stands up.
elvis looks at him.
“ it's our fault. ” he looks at everyone in the room as they nod and gives affirmative responses. jerry looks at elvis again. “ i promise you, that man has being taken care of. nothing like that will happen again. ”
elvis nods, walking up to jerry patting him on the back and just as he is about to give him his thanks for admitting his fault, someone stands up. the chair screeching. everyone looks at that man.
“ no. ” he says, clearly afraid.
everyone, expect him and elvis, open their eyes in shock and horror.
“ man, sit down. ” someone mutters with a harsh tone, trying to make him sit but he pulls his arm away.
“ no, man, this is fucked up. ” he shakes his head, looking at everyone before sticking his gaze to elvis' piercing blue eyes.
“ ep, ignore-. ” jerry tries to take elvis away.
“ no. ” elvis raises a palm, making jerry quiet. “ i'm interested. ” he keeps his arms on a chair top, looking at the man. “ why do you say that? ”
elvis' calm demeanor makes everyone tremble. the calm before the storm.
the man sobs before pointing at you. “ that woman doesn't know what the fuck is going on half of the time. ” he whispers, his arm falls to his side again. “ when you just introduced us to her, she was... ”
everyone looks down.
of course, they know what he is talking about.
when you and elvis started dating, you weren't much into your little space. you felt safe enough in your relationship for you to run to that comfort zone.
but after something personal happened to you, you cried to elvis, telling him how the little space was something you weren't usually comfortable in talking with partners since some of them shamed you for it but that you needed to run into it for comfort.
elvis just smiled at your ranting, kissing your head and caressing your hair while nodding his head.
“ it's okay. i understand. ” he said to you.
you raised your head, teary eyed, looking like an angel. “ w-what-... do you mean? ” a sob interrupted you mid sentence.
“ i mean that it's okay. you don't have to feel ashamed about it with me. my love. ” he grabbed your cheeks, making you look at him. “ i accept you and love everything about you. it's not something to be shamed about. ” he kissed your nose, making you pout.
he smiled. “ you'll just have to guide me through it. ”
and that you did. you explained him everything trying to be as clear as possible.
elvis loved little you. for multiple reasons. but the one that stood out the most was because little you always looked for him.
she always wanted him.
he loved to come back home from a long day of filming to find little you drawing, to see your shiny eyes looking up at him as if he hung the moon and stars.
he loved that you were so dependent on him. he loved to take care of you.
but when he noticed that you weren't into your space as much as he'd like... he started to change both of your lives.
making your room bright pink with the excuse that the color suits you.
buying you fluffy dresses with the excuse of how comfortable they looked to wear and how they would match his own outfits.
gifting you candies and toys with the excuse of them being from a different state so he had to bring you a souvenir.
and with small steps, he turned you into his little babygirl.
you started slipping into your little space more often since everything reminded you of how wonderful it is to be in it.
and everyone knew. because elvis told them to don't say shit about it.
‘ don't you dare make her slip out. ’
‘ don't let anyone question her about it. ’
‘ she won't do any interviews, not even with me, she will stick to the room. ’
that's how it was. of course, only if they wanted to keep their job and their future secure.
but it seemed like someone didn't want that.
elvis fully stood up, the beer long forgotten in the table. “ so. ” he slowly walked to the man, his hands on his back. “ you are saying... ” he raised an eyebrow.
the man scoffed, feeling confident all of a sudden. “ what i'm saying is that what you're doing is fucked up and i will no longer take part on it. ” he looked at everyone else. “ and every single one of you are as guilty as him, you are all going to hell, you fucking assho-. ”
a gunshot sounded through the room. everyone covering themselves.
jerry just jumped back, staring at the scene in shock.
elvis had his gun pointed at where this man's head would've been seconds ago, his posture stiff, showing his side profile to everyone. his jaw clenched with his free hand besides him forming a fist.
but he relaxed, sighing.
everyone looked at him again, slowly lowering their arms.
“ no bad words in this house. ” elvis simply said.
jerry simply sits in the chair he was sitting in the beginning, still paralyzed.
“ daddy?! ” a girly voice calls out.
elvis throws the gun in the table before walking out of the room. “ yeah, babydoll?! ” he calls back, exiting the room.
jerry grabs the gun. he looks at everyone before moving to the gun to a side, revealing its bullets.
he feels like throwing up as he sees all of them empty.
he only had one bullet.
549 notes · View notes
venus-haze · 2 years
Text
Can’t Help Falling in Love (Austin!Elvis x Reader)
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Summary: You wake up in a hospital room surrounded by unfamiliar faces, unable to remember much besides your own name. Elvis, your husband, is devastated at how close he came to losing you and at your amnesia as a result of the car crash you survived. The road to recovery is long, but he stays by your side as the two of you fall in love all over again.
Note: This is based on an anonymous request. Reader is a woman, but no other descriptors are used. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope everyone enjoys it (I feel like there’s a lot of crying in it, though. Which I guess tracks considering the plot). I’m not a medical professional so don’t take what I wrote in this as medical advice or expect a ton of accuracy. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 4.8k
Warnings: Depictions of amnesia and physical injuries as a result of a car accident. Do not interact if you are under 18.
The day you woke up from your three day coma was bright and sunny, but you couldn’t tell because the curtains had been drawn in the room that was crowded with people you didn’t recognize, expressing varying degrees of concern and surprise when you began blinking and shifted a bit in the bed. Your eyes moved from person to person until you had no choice but to focus on a man who had practically thrown himself into your lap, crying uncontrollably. Another man rushed out of the room, shouting for a nurse.
You had no idea who the dark-haired man sobbing into your hospital gown was, but you obviously meant a lot to him if you elicited this kind of reaction. He looked up at you, eyes red from crying, and lack of sleep as you’d later find out, heartbreak written across his handsome face at the realization that you didn’t recognize him. 
He was mumbling incoherently, his voice muffled, but you felt the urge to comfort him. Slowly, you reached over and stroked his hair. He looked up at you, kissing your palm as he continued to weep. Still confused as to what was going on, you tried to give him a sympathetic smile.
The other man from before returned to the room with a nurse and a doctor. The nurse immediately began checking your vitals, rattling numbers off to the doctor who made note of them on the clipboard he was holding. You were acutely aware of the various tubes hooked up to you, presumably what had been keeping you alive for however long you’d been out for.
“Can you tell me your name?” the doctor asked.
“Y/N Y/L/N,” you answered.
The crying man squeezed your hand gently, sniffling. 
The doctor nodded, writing something on his clipboard before looking at you again. “Do you know your birthday?”
You answered that to his satisfaction. When he asked if you knew what day it was, you didn’t have an answer. He continued asking you similar questions and taking notes, but you felt distressed at being the only person who had no idea what was going on.
“I’m sorry, why am I in the hospital?” you asked. “What happened?”
“You were in a car accident. Neither driver was at fault, just one of those freak things,” the nurse sighed. “You’re lucky you didn’t suffer more damage than you did.”
“Yes, we can’t discharge you just yet, we want to observe you for a few more days—get you started on physical therapy and see what level of occupational therapy you may need,” the doctor said. “You’re also showing symptoms of amnesia, and we’ll need to monitor that as well.”
“How do you know I have amnesia?” you asked.
“When I asked you your name, you responded with your maiden surname, not your married one. I assume you have no idea who the man next to you is.”
You looked at him, an apologetic smile on your face. “No, I’m sorry.”
“You might be the only person in the world who doesn’t,” the nurse quipped.
“It’s me, darlin’. Elvis, your husband,” he said, voice shaky. 
“Elvis,” you repeated, seeing if that would jog your memory at all. “Elvis. My husband’s name is Elvis.”
The doctor and nurse spoke among themselves, while Elvis introduced you to the other people in the room, explaining they were friends the two of you had known for a long time. You didn’t recognize any of them, but they all expressed how glad they were that you were awake. It felt a bit overwhelming, and your head started to ache.
“Do you mind if I speak with Y/N alone?” the doctor asked.
“Not at all, doctor,” Elvis said before turning to you. “I’ll be right outside, baby.”
You nodded. “Okay.”
After everyone left the room, the doctor explained your condition to you. While you hadn’t been comatose for too long, your memory had obviously been affected, and he recommended occupational therapy, as he expected you’d have to relearn how to do various day-to-day tasks. It’d take at least six months to a year of physical therapy to get you back to your full range of motion, but he couldn’t give any definite timeline as to when or if your amnesia would go away. Your leg broke in the car crash, and even after the cast came off, he figured you’d still be on crutches as you built up your strength again. Some of your ribs had also cracked, but the doctor didn’t expect any complications with physical healing.
In the hallway, Elvis paced back and forth as he spoke to Jerry and Red, his eyes glancing at the door every few seconds. He hardly had any rest since he arrived at the hospital, but despite the fact that he should surely be exhausted, your waking up sent a rush of adrenaline through him.
“Tell the Colonel to cancel it all—shows, concerts, records. I’m not doin’ a thing until Y/N is better,” Elvis insisted.
Jerry nodded. “He’s gonna be pissed, but I’m with you EP. Y/N needs you.”
“That sack of shit can do whatever he wants. My wife—” he choked up, taking a moment before he could continue, “my wife is in there, and she don’t even know who I am. I almost lost her. I can lose everything, but I can’t lose her.”
“You won’t EP. We got this,” Red assured him. “Sonny’s back at Graceland, so you say the word and he’s on it.”
“You guys head back to Graceland, get some rest. I’m gonna stay here with Y/N,” Elvis said. 
“You sure? You’ve barely slept the past few days. You should be getting some rest too,” Jerry said.
“I’ll manage,” he said. “Hey, when you get back to Graceland, will you have someone make Y/N’s favorite and drive it over? Maybe it’ll—I don’t know, do somethin’.”
The doctor walked out of your hospital room, his clipboard at his side. A different nurse from before went into the room. Elvis waved off Jerry and Red to go as he worriedly approached the doctor, who gave him the same rundown you’d gotten.
“I’ve got my people on it,” Elvis assured him. “Whatever she needs, it’s done.”
“Yes, your wife has more resources at her disposal than most. I’m optimistic about her recovery, but money can’t buy time, Mr. Presley, and that’s what she needs most of.”
Elvis considered the doctor’s words, thanking him before returning to your room. The nurse had already left, but she put the TV on for you. You smiled at Elvis, but there was little recognition behind your expression. It made his heart ache, you were everything to him, his best friend, but now he was a stranger to you.
He took his seat next to your bed, and you reached out for his hand. The two of you sat in silence as you watched TV, some comedy show on that made you laugh, but you winced when your ribs ached. Elvis hurriedly changed the channel, looking helpless as he didn’t know how to comfort you. Just then, the phone in your room rang, and you reached over for it.
“Hello?” you answered.
“Hey, Y/N. How’re you feeling?” Jerry asked.
“Hi Jerry, I’m okay,” you said.
“That’s good. You’ll get through this, we’re all here to help. Can you put Elvis on?”
“Sure,” you said, handing the phone to your husband. “Jerry wants to talk to you.”
“Thank you, darlin’,” Elvis said before getting on the phone with Jerry.
You didn’t pay much attention to their conversation, instead studying the hospital room that was previously filled with people. There were flower arrangements, gift baskets, and balloons shoved into corners and on top of shelves and even medical equipment. Were you really that important?
“I gotta run out real quick, darlin’. I got a surprise to bring up to you,” Elvis said, snapping you out of your daze.
You nodded, and he gave you a forehead kiss before leaving the room. Grabbing the TV remote, you flipped channels until landing on a news station, hoping some current event they’d mention may jog your memory. You caught the last half of the weather forecast, warm and sunny through the weekend. The station cut to a news anchor behind a desk, a large photo of you and Elvis next to her head.
“Good news from Graceland,” the woman said, “Y/N Presley, wife of rock n’ roll icon Elvis Presley, is awake after being in a coma for nearly four days following a car crash in Memphis less than a week ago. Elvis has announced an unprecedented career hiatus to support his wife’s recovery. The two met on the set of his 1961 movie musical ‘Blue Hawaii’ and their wedding in 1966 was one of the highest viewed live television events in history. We wish Mrs. Presley all the best. In other news—“
Your furrowed your eyebrows. Getting married on TV seemed kind of tacky, but maybe it was what you wanted at the time. From what the anchor said, though, you’d known Elvis for over ten years, yet you couldn’t remember a thing about the man who was such a major part of your life. You were frustrated, tears welling up in your eyes as you figured you could at least remember your wedding day, but it all came up blank.
“Y/N, darlin’, what’s wrong?” Elvis asked as he returned with the container of food.
“Why can’t I remember you? The lady on TV said we’ve been married for six years.”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” he whispered. “I love you no matter what, no matter how long it takes you to remember, or even if you never do.”
“Thank you,” you said with a weak smile.
“Here,” he said, handing the container of food to you. “It’s your favorite. I had it made special for you.”
As soon as you took a bite, your face lit up and his did too. While it didn’t bring on any old memories, it at least tasted familiar and delicious. 
“What’s Graceland?” you asked through a mouthful of food. 
“It’s our home. You’ll be goin’ back there real soon,” he said. “The doctor says that with your amnesia, it’d be good for you to have your physical therapy there, since it might be familiar to you.”
“Yeah, he said even after the cast is off, I’ll be on crutches for a while.”
He nodded. “I’m gettin’ that all taken care of, got a bedroom on the first floor made up for us until your leg is better.”
About a week later, after some physical therapy sessions and brain pattern monitoring, the doctor cleared you to go home. Elvis had informed him that he arranged for physical and occupational therapists to come by a few days a week to follow the plan the doctor had laid out for your recovery. 
A car drove you and Elvis to Graceland from the hospital, and as it approached the mansion, you knew your eyes were practically bulging out of your head. Hundreds of people were crowded outside the gates with signs of well wishes for you and Elvis, some of them crying as they banged on the car windows and shouting incoherently. You knew by then Elvis was famous, but you had underestimated how much.
Though you didn’t remember Graceland, it felt like home. From the furniture to the decor, it was familiar enough for you to feel comfortable there. Some of the people from the hospital were already inside, waiting with even more flowers and gifts than were in your hospital room. Again, everyone was glad to see you. You hung around the living room with everyone before getting tired, and Elvis announced the two of you were going to bed for the evening.
“I’ll wait out here while you get changed,” he said, letting you into the bedroom.
“Okay,” you said.
When he closed the door, you picked up the sleepwear that had been laid out for you, a nightgown that was easy to slip in and out of so as not to strain your muscles. You could tell it was a guest room by the lack of personal decor, and found yourself observing the small details of the room before being startled by a knock at the door.
“You alright in there, baby?” Elvis asked.
“Yeah, sorry,” you said. “You can come in.”
He opened the door, scratching the back of his head. “I guess I could have waited in the bathroom, but I didn’t want you to feel—well, I don’t know. It’s just nice to have you home, darlin’.”
“When I watched the news the other day, the lady said we met on a movie set. Was I an actress?” you asked.
“No, you did hair and makeup. I found every excuse to sit in that chair and talk to you,” he laughed. “One day you caught me messin’ up my hair before I went over to talk to you.”
“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” 
He grinned. “That’s exactly what you asked back then.”
“Guess it all worked out, huh?” you smiled.
“It sure did.”
He gave you a kiss on your temple. You were thankful you were at least going through all of this with a husband who seemed to really care about you. Being around Elvis put you at ease, and it was easy to have conversations with him and the whirlwind of people who were in and out of Graceland.
When you weren’t busy with physical therapy or doctor’s visits, you and Elvis would spend a lot of time listening to music or watching old home movies together. The music seemed to jog your memory a bit, but there were no significant breakthroughs. The home movies were bittersweet; you and Elvis looked so happy together in all of them, carefree and in love, but you couldn’t remember any of it.
For a few weeks, when you couldn’t sleep, you’d sneak out of bed and watch the home movies in hopes of recognizing something. Every time Elvis found you like that, he would get upset, not at you, but toward the situation the two of you had ended up in because it just wasn’t fair. Eventually you stopped, not wanting to see him so distraught.
About two months went by with major progress in physical and occupational therapy, but your memory was hazy at best. Still, even if you couldn’t remember all your relationship with Elvis, you knew you loved him, becoming more affectionate and trusting with each day. As you built your strength back up, the two of you would spend more time outside, walking around Graceland and even talking to the fans who seemed to keep vigil outside of the place night and day.
You and Elvis had developed a routine of sitting on the lawn to watch the stars at night, weather permitting. He’d bring a blanket and a radio, and the two of you would talk until someone started yawning, usually, it was you.
“Well, it is about nine, don’t wanna keep you up past your bedtime,” he said one night, a hint of amusement in his voice.
You stepped out of the hair and makeup trailer to see Blue Hawaii’s star running his hand through his styled hair, pushing it any which way so that it was wildly out of place.
“Now what are you undoing all of my hard work for?” you asked, a smile on your face as Elvis looked at you like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Guess I gotta find a new excuse to talk to you,” he said.
“Or you could just talk to me.”
“How about tonight?” he asked. “The beaches are real pretty at night, the way the moon reflects off the ocean. Not as pretty as you, though.”
“Don’t lay it on too thick, Presley.”
He laughed. “Alright, I was askin’ for that. Just meet me on the beach later, please?”
“What time?”
“Nine.”
“That’s past my bedtime.”
“Y/N, you’re killin’ me.”
“Elvis! They need you back on set!” a production assistant yelled.
You walked over to Elvis, using the comb in your hand to get his hair looking decent enough for filming, as if he needed to try anyway. “See you at nine,” you smiled.
“Im’a hold you to that,” he said before running off to redo whatever scene he had been shooting that day.
“I said that to you on the set of Blue Hawaii,” you said excitedly.
He laughed. “I can’t believe out of all the things, you remember me makin’ a fool of myself.”
You couldn’t help but laugh too.
“I think I fell in love with you that night,” he said. “By the end of filming, I had you workin’ on all my movies. The Colonel said you were a distraction, but I didn’t care.”
The Colonel. A name you’d only heard referenced with tones of disgust by those around you. You couldn’t remember anything about Elvis’ manager, but from what Jerry had told you, when you begged him to clue you in on what everyone else seemed to know, you were glad you didn’t. After all, it was his idea for you and Elvis to get married on TV, a decision that the two of you detested, according to Jerry.
“How many movies did you make?”
“A lot,” he said, “so we spent plenty of time together, believe me.”
“Good, I like spending time with you.”
“I’d hope so.”
You rolled your eyes, pushing him playfully. The two of you went to bed for the night not long after that, and as the next few months went by, bits and pieces of your memories would come back, mostly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it was progress. After several appointments with your doctor, you and Elvis had come to terms with the fact that your memory may never fully recover. Despite that, your relationship was strong, and when you told him you loved him for the first time since you woke up from the coma, he cried so hard he almost couldn’t say it back.
The next day, he bought you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, almost an apology of sorts, even though he had nothing to be sorry for, you thought his reaction was sweet. He was always around, but it never felt suffocating, and your physical therapist even commended him for how well he helped you on the days she wasn’t there and you practiced the exercises on your own. 
Your occupational therapist was similarly pleased with your progress and began encouraging you to do Elvis’ hair and makeup again in your free time to work on your fine motor skills. The first time you did so, your hands were shaky, and you stayed the hell away from doing any eye makeup, but you found styling his hair relaxing. As you built up your confidence in your skills again, you carefully applied the eyeliner to his eyelids. The result wasn’t perfect, but as you practiced more and more it was like your muscle memory began to kick in again. If only your brain could do the same, you lamented to yourself as you dabbed eyeshadow to Elvis’ eyelids, a look you found he had mostly kept early on in his career, but you liked it.
“When are they gonna let you make the movies you wanna make? You’re Elvis Presley for crying out loud,” you said, applying makeup to your boyfriend of going on three years. His latest movie, Girl Happy, was yet another movie musical, when he’d been wanting to star in more serious dramas for years.
“People don’t wanna see movies where I don’t sing,” Elvis shrugged.
You sighed. “Maybe you could make something with one of those independent directors. They’re doing really amazing things in New York. I mean, that one director–”
“C’mon, baby, what’s this about.”
“I just want you to be happy.”
“As long as I’m with you, I’m happy,” he said.
You bit the inside of your cheek as you smiled. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
You liked to watch when Elvis filmed his movies. You didn’t think he was a bad actor by any means, but you wished he got to work with serious directors on more dramatic roles like he wanted to. Still, he had a knack for comedy and his natural charm made his chemistry with his co-stars stand out. You never felt jealous or insecure; you figured if he wanted to try something, he wouldn’t bring you along to every movie set with him. 
After filming was over for the day, he asked you to walk on the beach with him. This time, being in Los Angeles, meant most of the Memphis Mafia had to tag along to make sure you two got some privacy without fans hounding him. Most of the time, he didn’t mind, but tonight was different. He was fidgety, and you knew something was on his mind.
“You alright?” you asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I just thought it’d be a lot easier to do this.”
“Do what?”
He took a deep breath, digging into his pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. When he got down on one knee and opened it to reveal a gorgeous diamond ring, your hands flew to your mouth.
“Y/N, I always thought soulmates were real, and meeting you only made me sure of that. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” you choked out, practically tackling him in the sand as you threw your arms around him. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
You dropped the makeup brush you were using, to Elvis’ concern.
“You feelin’ okay, darlin’?” he asked. “Should I call the doctor?”
“Yeah, I just remembered something is all,” you answered quietly.
“What was it?”
You smiled. “When you proposed to me.”
His smile matched yours. “I had the ring for weeks. I was waiting for the right moment, and that was it. Just like that first date in Hawaii.”
It was nice, finally remembering some of the more significant aspects of yours and Elvis’ relationship. As the months passed, you were almost completely physically recovered from the car crash, and you didn’t need to do physical therapy nearly as often as you did when you first got back to Graceland. Still, Elvis was overly cautious, not that you could blame him, but sometimes you needed to remind him that you weren’t made of glass.
The two of you started going out more too, mostly to different restaurants in Memphis or to see shows, but you felt almost normal. Maybe you would never be the exact same person you were before the car accident, but you were happy with the progress you’d made and especially that you’d woken up to a husband who didn’t hesitate to drop everything for you. You felt a bit guilty that he was putting his career on hold for you, but it didn’t seem to concern him or anyone else very much. In fact, it seemed like everyone was enjoying the ‘time off’. Well, almost everyone.
Jerry rolled his eyes as he heard the voice on the other end of the line. The Colonel had been a pain in the ass the previous few weeks about Elvis getting back to performing, insisting enough time had passed for you to be fine on your own at Graceland. As much as Jerry tried to stall the Colonel and make up excuses for why Elvis couldn’t come to the phone, it got to the point where the man wouldn’t stop calling.
Finally, Elvis answered, fuming at the Colonel’s audacity. “What? What do you want?”
“It’s been eight months since you’ve performed a show or recorded a new song. You’ve had your time with Y/N, but you have a job to do,” the Colonel said.
“It can wait until she’s better,” Elvis said. “Hell, people still show up every day with their signs and flowers for her.”
“My boy, I understand your sentimentality toward Y/N—”
“Sentimentality? Like Y/N is some girl I keep around and not my damn wife? I knew you were low, but this is somethin’ else,” Elvis raged.
“You’re at risk of violating your agreement with the International Hotel. Need I remind you the debt you owe Jamboree Entertainment. I’m not above taking legal action to get what’s owed to me.”
“How’s it gonna look, some lyin’ old bastard tryin’ to put a man takin’ care of his sick wife out on the street? Do what you want, you’re out. For good this time,” Elvis spat, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders as he hung up on the Colonel.
“‘Bout time, EP,” Jerry said with a grin.
“You’re damn right, Jerry,” Elvis agreed.
For what felt like the millionth time, you found yourself flipping through your wedding album on your own. It was beautifully made, and the photos were just what you’d expect from one of the most widely covered weddings at the time. There were dozens of them, but a photo of you and Elvis at the altar particularly caught your eye, and you pulled it from the album to get a closer look.
Your wedding day was a fairytale. Everything exactly to your taste as you married the love of your life. It was also, however, nothing short of a public spectacle due to the insistence of the Colonel that if Elvis was going to break millions of hearts across the country by getting married, he may as well make money off of it. You felt like it cheapened the whole thing, and you knew Elvis did too, but for some reason he never wanted to push back against the Colonel. It was the biggest source of tension in your relationship, especially as the wedding got closer.
The day of, though, you weren’t going to let anyone ruin your day. The whole world could watch if they wanted to, but the wedding was for you and Elvis, let them cry into their cake at home. As soon as you got to the altar, you and Elvis broke into tears upon seeing each other, and he pulled you in for a hug that you welcomed.
‘I wish there were no cameras, nobody else here but us,’ Elvis whispered, kissing your cheek. ‘The honeymoon is gonna be completely private. I promise.’
‘It better be,’ you sniffled. “I want you all to myself.”
“You got me, baby. Always.”
You dropped the photo, feeling all of the emotions of that day flooding into you. It was almost overwhelming, the love you felt for him. You didn’t even notice him walking in to find you sobbing over the book.
“Oh baby, it’s okay, you don’t have to remember,” he assured you.
“I do remember. Oh my god, it was beautiful. Even with those stupid cameras, it was the best day of my life,” you cried.
“Mine too,” he said. “The reception was great. You remember how Charlie was cuttin’ it up on the dancefloor?”
“I don’t know if I want to,” you laughed. 
It’d been a little over a year since the accident, and while your memory wasn’t completely back to where it had been, you remembered enough, especially how much you loved Elvis and he loved you. It was the push he needed to reevaluate his life. He began considering his career again, touring in a way that wasn’t as physically demanding as his previous schedules had been, and he sure as hell would never step foot in the International again.
The most important part of it all, however, was you. Music was his passion, and he wanted to get on stage again and connect with his fans, who’d been unbelievably supportive of him and you through his career hiatus, but he’d only do it if you were on board. He was a bit apprehensive when he sat you down to share his idea, but you were encouraging, reminding him that he could tell you anything.
“Now, this is just an idea, and it completely depends on you, but I was thinkin’ of tourin’ again,” he said, a smile spreading across his face at your excitement. “I’m not goin’ without you, though, so whenever you’re clear with the doctor, we’ll start plannin’.”
“That sounds great,” you agreed. “I’d absolutely love that.”
“Before we do that, though, I was wonderin’—I know our wedding wasn’t exactly what either of us had in mind. I was thinkin’ maybe we could go to Hawaii, just us, back to where it all started and renew our vows,” he said, almost as if he was nervous, that for some reason you’d answer anything but yes. “Whattya say? Finally have the wedding we both wanted?”
You couldn’t help the tears that began streaming down your face as you nodded, throwing your arms around him to give him a sweet and tender kiss. “I love you so much.”
“I love you more,” he whispered, kissing you again.
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