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verstappen-cult · 1 month

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WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, LESTAPPEN.

PAIRING. max verstappen x female reader x charles leclerc.

SUMMARY — It's the day after the race in Las Vegas and Max and Charles wake up with a huge headache, two rings in their fingers and no idea of what happened the night before.

GWEN'S MESSAGE. this was requested by @piastrification! i'm so sorry it took me so long, but i had so much fun writing it! and i hope you like it. as always comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Max wakes up with an awful headache and very thirsty. He tries to adjust his vision to the sunlight but every time he tries to open his eyes, there’s a shooting pain in his temple.

He groans, rolling around in bed. Next to him is Charles still sleeping on his belly, messy hair and something like confetti around him.

Max can’t remember anything from last night. Well, he remembers going out with Charles, Lando, Daniel and Pierre and then a lot of shots and dancing and people shouting their names and then… nothing.

“Fuck this.” He whispers and gets out of bed very slowly, feeling dizzy.

He goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and have a big glass of water before he passes out from dehydration.

Max is filling a second glass when he sees it; a silver ring around his left ring finger.

He does not wear rings.

“Max?” Charles calls his name and Max walks back into the room with his heart hammering in his ears.

“Did you give me this ring last night?” He asks even before Charles has time to properly wake up.

“Uh?” The Monégasque says, sitting on the bed and looking confused at the hand Max has up in the air, showing him the piece of jewelry. “No?” Charles rubs his face with his left hand but stops halfway when he feels something on his ring finger. “What the fuck?”

There is a silver ring, just like the one Max has, on his finger.

And that is not one of his rings because this has three little diamonds encrusted in it.

“Max,” Charles breathes, a shiver running down his spine as he looks at his boyfriend. “What happened last night?

They look at each other with wide eyes, a million thoughts running through their heads.

“I remember leaving the club with the boys and then everything goes black.” Charles gets out of bed to look for his phone because there must be something in there, but all he finds are five missed calls from Pierre and a lot, a lot, of messages from you on the group chat.

“What’s wrong?” Max asks as he walks away to fill a glass of water for Charles.

“Y/N is here,” He answers, showing him the phone and thanking him for the water with a kiss on the cheek. “She’s downstairs waiting for us with Lando.”

Max groans, falling back onto the bed.

“I feel like we did something really stupid last night.”

“Shut up, we didn’t do anything.” Charles busies himself with looking for clothes in his suitcase, so he doesn’t have to think about last night.

They should forget about last night. Last night didn’t happen.

By the time they made it to the lobby, Max and Charles had agreed that they needed to talk to Lando before talking to you about the shit show that was last night.

They may not know exactly what happened, but by the matching rings they know it’s nothing good.

However, they forget about it when they see you standing next to Lando wearing the most beautiful floral dress and your perfect smile.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Max says, taking off his sunglasses for a second to give you a peck on the lips. Then, he’s putting them back on.

“How’s the hangover?” You tease them, feeling Charles' body tensing next to you. And you really want to laugh because you know exactly what happened thanks to Lando and a very detailed story. “What did you do last night?”

“Nothing,” Charles is quick to answer, looking at Lando and silently begging him to do something. But Lando just laughs. “Lando, can we talk for a second?”

“What do you need to talk to him about?”

“Oh, just about something Dani asked us to do before he left last night.” Max lies and if it weren’t because you’re in a good mood and know why they are lying, you would feel angry.

“Oh, but Dani’s right there.” You point behind his backs and they immediately turn around to find the Australian man talking on the phone. When he sees them, a big smile spreads over his face, giving thumbs up before going back to his conversation.

“Now, why are you lying to me?” You bite your lip, trying to keep up with the show. “Did you do something I should know about?”

And then, they say at the same time:

“I swear we didn’t do anything, we went to sleep early!”

“We don’t remember what we did last night, okay?!”

Lando bursts out laughing, even bending down as he tries to breathe properly, which draws the attention of a few people around that slowly start to recognize them.

“Well, I guess I’m not needed here since you keep lying to my face.” You pretend to be hurt and it's not easy when all you want to do is laugh in their faces.

Max and Charles start talking over each other, trying to make you understand what is actually happening.

“And then we woke up this morning with these!” Charles takes Max hand in his, showing their rings. “I swear to god we don’t know what happened.”

“We were so drunk.” Max looks at his feet, feeling embarrassed. He never drinks that much, but apparently last night was a special occasion.

“Oh, but I know.”

They look at you, expectantly, surprised, confused, a mix of emotions on their faces.

You take out your phone, looking for something before turning the device around so they are able to see the screen.

“You got married.”

There on the screen is a picture of Max and Charles with an Elvis impersonator between them, holding his left hands up in the air showing their rings while Charles is holding up his phone with a picture of you, a drunken smile on both of their faces.

You slide your finger to the left, and a video starts playing.

You can hear Lando laughing while recording. “What are you doing?” He asks, walking closer to Charles who is looking down at the picture of you on his phone.

“Baby, we got married!” He exclaims as Max wraps an arm around his waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. “She doesn’t answer. Why isn’t she answering… Are you mad, baby?”

Dani appears on the video, laughing his ass off as he takes the phone away.

“You’re not on facetime, you idiot. It's a picture.” Pierre says from somewhere next to Lando, probably.

“Say hi to Y/N!”

“Hi baby!” Charles really likes to call you baby when he’s drunk.

“We got married!” Max says a little too loud, but doesn’t care and kisses Charles cheek. “Look, we have your ring right here.” He shows a silver ring similar to the one they have, the difference is that the diamond in the middle is slightly bigger. “Congratulations!”

The video ends with all of them laughing.

There’s a minute of silence before Charles speaks.

“Okay, it wasn’t that bad.”

“What!?” Max looks mortified.

“Well, everyone knows that weddings in Las Vegas aren’t actually weddings.” Everyone looks at him at a loss of words, but he just keeps going. “We aren’t actually married.”

“Charles,” Lando laughs a little more. He’s definitely having the time of his life. “weddings in Vegas are very real. You are married.”

“No we’re not!”

Max sighs, placing a hand on his boyfriend — husband’s shoulder. “Charlie, we are.”

Charles gaps, immediately looking at you. “I’m so sorry! We didn’t know!”

You can’t help it anymore, so you laugh.

“Oh my god, you should see your faces!”

Max and Charles look at each other, and then at you. They don’t have a clue about what is happening anymore. Not since last night.

“You’re not… mad?”

“Well,” You wipe the tears from your eyes, shoving your phone back in your purse. “I was at first, now i just find it hilarious.”

“I’m so sorry, schat.” Max runs his hand through his hair, looking sheepishly at you with a pout on his pretty lips.

“It is your fault!” Charles says out of nowhere, pointing a finger in Lando’s face. “Why didn’t you stop us?”

Lando raises his hands in surrender. “I tried!”

“You should’ve tried harder!”

“Max promised to let me win if I let you get married!”

“Max!” Charles says, offended.

“I won’t do that.”

You shake your head, patting Max’s cheek lightly, condescendingly. “You will if you want me to forgive you.”

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #lestappen x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #max verstappen fluff

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tieronecrush · 10 months

Note

I’m finally sending you a request!!

it’s a bit based on Waking Up In Vegas by Katy Perry with Javier x reader.

they have known each other since high school but haven’t seen each other since after graduation, until one night they bump into each other in Las Vegas, while both are there for their friends’ birthday parties.

At some point it’s only them left at the bar and they spend the night drinking, talking about each others’ lives and other things 🫢

they wake up the next morning in the same bed, hangover and married.

I already know I’m going to love this!!

FINALLY have finished this, thank you so much for your patience friend! <3

(re)union with elvis

rating: E

word count:

summary: ask above!

warnings: alcohol use, drunkenness, silly decision making, chatting about marriage/kids/life, discussion of failed previous relationships, vegas marriage, elvis getting annoyed, making out, fingering, unprotected p in v, sloppy drunk sex with ur new husband lol, discussions of annulment/ending marriage, use of spanish (all translated), etc.

Eyes open to sunlight beaming in through the wide opening of the blackout hotel curtains. You shut them again immediately, turning over away from the window, stopping when your hand brushes something next to you. Your eyes spring open again at the feeling, taking in next to you the dark, touseled hair, relaxed brow, hooked nose with a full mustache above plush lips.

Javier Peña.

You completely forgot about the little reunion you had last night at the bar with your high school crush.

And clearly forgot that the two of you ended up coming back to your room—no, wait, this is not your room. Same hotel, though, you can tell from the similar art hanging on the walls and the same blanket at the end of the bed. Must have been nearly missing each other the whole weekend you’ve been here.

A grumble from the man next to you turns your attention back to the bed, pulling you out of your thoughts. Half awake, his arm moves and slings across your waist, tugging you closer. He hums and his eyes slowly peel open, widening as he fully awakens in the low light. His arm stays loosely over your waist, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he faces you.

The two of you take in your bare skin against each other, under the scratchy sheets. Warmth radiates between the two of you, Javier fully pulling his arm away and sitting up, the sheets still covering his lower half as he looks down at you.

“Um…did we…?” Javi’s voice hoarse with sleep and a hangover, right hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he swallows the words that he doesn’t necessarily want to speak out loud, in fear of awkwardness that already coats the air.

The moment pulls a laugh from you, completely involuntarily, and you fall from your side onto your back. With a slow nod in confirmation, you shrug your shoulders with the sound of sheets rustling.

“Guess so,” you chuckle again and a smile stretches across Javi’s lips, a scoff of a laugh as he shakes his head.

“Is it bad I’m kind of mad I got too drunk to really remember that?” his eyes drag along your form under the thin bedsheet, hand coming up to his face to pull his thumb across his bottom lip from the corner, “Don’t really know if it came up last night, but I had a huge crush on you in high school.”

“The Javier Peña had a crush on me?” you tease, shades of memory from last night at the bar with him coloring your mind, seeing his sheepish grin as you beam back at him, “Think you did mention that last night. And pretty sure I told you that I also had a huge crush on you.”

Both of you giggle softly again, your face shifting into a wince as your head pounds from the sounds and strain of laughing. Your hands come up to your face to wipe under your eyes and rub circles in your temples, groaning quietly and opening your eyes to Javi’s face dropped in shock.

With a quizzical expression aimed at him, you open your mouth to question him when he suddenly takes your left hand and crosses the arm over your chest as he brings it closer to him, eyebrows furrowing as he studies your fingers. When you follow his stare, your stomach drops when you see the golden band with a plush oval diamond. His thumb runs over the gem, pressing the ring into you and you can tell it’s cheap, the gold coating a flimsy metal ring.

Javier’s eyes meet yours again, wide eyes and raised eyebrows matching yours, “Uh—-um, I—Did we get married last night?”

Music thumps around you, sending vibrations from the shaking floor throughout your body as you stand in the middle of the dancefloor in the club. Your friends surround you, all dancing along to the pop song with you. It’s a long weekend at the end of summer, and you and your closest friends from college all gathered in Vegas to celebrate your younger friend’s thirty-fifth birthday. She was always a bit of an extra person, so when you received an invitation via email to join her in Las Vegas for the weekend, you weren’t quite surprised that she was going big for her birthday. And besides the fact that you were having fun celebrating with your girlfriends, it was nice to get away for the weekend and let loose completely.

Your drink swishes in the cup in your hand as you dance, facing your friends and unaware of the man approaching you from behind, leaning in asking you just loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Care to dance, beautiful?”

Immediately, you roll your eyes at the question, typical of a man to be so blind to a woman having fun with her friends and not wanting to be bothered. A rejection sits on your tongue as you turn around over your shoulder, lips pursed in a sour pout.

The man comes into view, a lilac short-sleeve button-up stretched across broad shoulders and tapering into a waist and thigh sculpted into tight blue jeans. Your eyes flutter back up to the man’s face, soft brown eyes striking into your chest and a warm smile showing off his teeth from under his trimmed mustache.

A gasp slips from your lips out of reaction to the sight in front of you, your own smile widening to match his.

“Javi Peña? From Laredo?”

His arms move out at his sides, showing himself off for you to consider the answer to your question with a chuckle.

“I knew it was you,” he smiles sweetly as you pull him in for a hug, squeezing your arms around his shoulders. From under the fabric of his shirt, you can feel his muscles flex under as he wraps his own arms around you in an embrace, one of your hands dropping to his back and feeling the deliciously taut strength. He smells like tobacco mixed with notes from his cologne, vetiver, musk, and lemon tingling your senses as you take another breath in your hug before pulling away. Your hands remain on his shoulders as you look him up and down, meeting his eyes with an incredulous laugh.

“I can’t believe it’s you! God, it’s been…”

“Years? Don’t remind me I’m old, I already feel like it in this whole city,” he laughs.

You hit his shoulder gently before dropping your arms back to your sides, rolling your eyes playfully as you grin.

“Oh, hush. You can’t say you’re old cause that makes me about to be old. You were only a grade above me, Peña.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t spend years running on rooftops and trekking through the jungle in Colombia. That shit ages you. You, on the other hand, don’t look a day over twenty-one. Bet they had to check your ID coming in here, didn’t they?” He sends a wink to you, smile quirking up to one side as it turns into a smirk, the look releasing butterflies in your stomach.

“You probably asked them to check your ID to follow all the rules, Agent Peña. Never pictured you becoming a cop when I knew you in high school, Javi.”

“You think I follow all the rules, hermosa?”

You grin and shrug your shoulders, leaning in closer to hear him better as he continues.

“Hate to tell you, but I am not above breaking some rules to get the results I want. Not too far from the ‘me’ you knew in high school.”

“Hm, guess I have a lot of catching up to do with you,” you nod to the bar across the wide dance floor, “Wanna grab a drink and chat? My treat.”

He rolls his eyes this time, shaking his head as he leans in, lips brushing your ear as he speaks to you, “Couldn’t live with myself if I let a woman as beautiful as you buy me a drink. You go find us somewhere to chat, I’ll grab us a drink.”

Goosebumps trail down your spine, nodding at the instructions and giving him your usual drink order. The two of you linger near each other in the middle of the sea of bodies before you step away first, brushing past him in search of somewhere for you to talk.

A couple of hours have passed since you and Javi have retreated to the corner of a booth in the back of the club, multiple empties on the table in front of you and a few tequila shots taken courtesy of both of your friend group’s happy for your little high school reunion.

Over the course of your catch-up, you’ve learned about his time in the DEA, now retired back to his father’s ranch in your hometown of Laredo. You could tell from the quip of his lip that he was omitting details at certain parts of the stories he told, likely covering up unsavory bits that would paint him in a bad light. It would have likely done little to quell the flames of lust that were licking inside of your torso, the slow and low lilt of his voice going straight to your core whenever he made a flirtatious comment or told a harrowing story about chasing down bad guys all around Colombia. You pictured him hot, sweaty, relieved with his chest heaving, immediately placing the visual in a different location — over you, under you, behind you. You weren’t picky in your choices.

The long-abandoned high school crush you had on Javi came rearing back with a vengeance, heart rate pounding in your chest to the point you were convinced he could hear it over the music. It was an intimate position to be in, hip to hip with his arm around the back of the booth, leaning into each other's ears to speak, breath cascading over each other’s necks and shoulders.

You’d told him about your time post-high school, going to university not far from him in Texas, and receiving your degree. You’ve held a handful of jobs over the last fifteen years or so, ending up with a new position not too long ago. It brought you back to Laredo, purposefully, in order to care for your aging parents. Javier understood your troubles, despite the fact that Chucho was still healthy and working the ranch with him, he still felt the need to slow his father down by shouldering the majority of responsibilities to keep the business running.

Life was turning ordinary for the two of you, and surprisingly, the topic of marriage or partners or family of your own was not brought up until now.

“So, have you met anyone? Married, kids, the whole nine yards?” Javi questions, his eyes leaving your face to stare at the ice clinking around with the whiskey in his glass. It made you smile, his reservations in waiting for your answer. You’d wondered the same thing yourself — who had been lucky enough to lock down Javi Peña?

“Nope. Well, not right now. I actually was engaged in my early thirties to a guy I had met while living in Austin, but as it got more and more real that I would actually have to marry him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t supposed to happen. Turns out he was cheating on me for months with his coworker who he always went with on ‘business trips’. So, no marriage, and no kids for me.”

Javi’s eyes come back to you, sympathy washed over his features as his arm strewn across the back of the bench curls his hand to play with the hair at the back of your neck.

“Shit, I’m sorry, cariño. Sounds like a stupid motherfucker to mess things up with you.”

You wave off the comment, shrugging nonchalantly, “Nah, I mean, clearly I’m not marriage material cause haven’t been snatched off the market still in years. And they actually ended up getting married, so it worked out for them in the end.”

“No, that’s total bullshit. You’re incredible — you were incredible already in high school, and now? Just another level.”

You snort, covering your mouth with your hand as you shake your head.

“Tell that to all the age-appropriate eligible bachelors. If there even are any at this point,” you say with a laugh to break the tension building, swallowing down your nerves as Javi locks his eyes on you, raking them down and back up quickly. His tongue prods out to swipe his lips, shrugging his shoulders as he looks back into your eyes.

“I’m an eligible bachelor. Age-appropriate, if that’s a dealbreaker.”

“Oh, c’mon, no one’s got their ring on you? Really?” you can hear how surprised you sound, unable to hide the disbelief in your tone.

Javier laughs and keeps his eyes on you as he speaks with a smirk playing at his lips, “Nope…Well, not sure if you remember her, but I did almost get married to Lorraine. Told me she was pregnant, and I was gonna do the right thing. The night before the wedding she told me she got her period…” he takes a swig of his whiskey, eyes falling from yours to the table in front of you, “Left her standing at the altar alone the next morning. I was back at my pop’s house, packing up to take my job with the DEA. Left the US not long after.”

“So, someone’s nearly reigned me in, but didn’t work out.”

“Did you want to get married and have a baby? Or do you still want to, I guess?” you pause and internally scold yourself for the overly personal question spurred on by your inebriation, “I’m sorry, Javi, that is not my place to ask when I’m drunk off my ass.”

“S’alright, cariño. I asked you first, technically. Only fair I answer, too,” he smiles to himself before setting his glass down, turning in his seat to face you more, “I did want to back then, just didn’t feel right with Lorraine. Kinda like what you said, it felt off the closer it got to actually doing it and when I saw an out, I took it…But now? Now, I am—God, it’s a little embarrassing, but yeah I do want all that. The wife, kids. T-ball practices or dance recitals and date nights. I dunno, though, think it might be too late for an old bastard like me.”

A hand of yours rests on his midthigh, shaking your head with an encouraging smile, “Definitely not too late for you, Javi. You’re a handsome, great man. Bet I’ll be hearing around town that you’re shacked up in the next year,” a soft laugh falls from your lips and Javi grins while his eyes drink you in, lingering at your lips. The heat of his stare makes you squirm, adjusting in your seat and sipping your drink.

Just when the tension was mounting from the moment, your best friend from college walks over, one of Javi’s friends following and both approaching your small corner of the club. They tell you that both of your groups are heading back to the hotel, the same hotel, and you deflate as you start to gather your bag next to you. Javi’s hand reaches out and squeezes your thigh gently to grab your attention, one look shared between the two of you that was an invitation to stay and keep talking. With a smile, you silently agree and tell your friends that you’ll make it back together.

Your best friend dawdles, and as you’re about to tell her that you’ll be alright, Javi reassures her with his kind smile, “I’ll get her back safely, you have my word. Fought off drug dealers and soldiers and a few sicarios in my day. She will be back at the hotel and chipper for the girls’ birthday brunch tomorrow. Cross my heart.”

Both you and your friend laugh, standing to give her a hug goodnight and telling her that you’ll be just fine, to which she replies, “Probably more than just fine. Tell Javi he can join us for brunch when you wake up with him tomorrow.”

You gasp and roll your eyes as she walks away with a laugh, heading out of the bar with your friends before you sit back with Javi, jumping into a whole different conversation.

The early hours of the morning have crept in, cool desert air from around the city wisping around your skin as you stroll down the strip with Javi. The two of you are leaning against each other in a drunken stupor, giggling wildly as you talk to each other and get stares from other people out at this hour — which is a lot, it’s Vegas.

Javi’s arm is around your waist, hand curled at your hip and his fingers rub gentle circles that send your nerves firing throughout your entire body. Your own arm is resting against his back, feeling those same muscles as earlier. He’s strong, steady, even in his inebriated state, and safe. In any other situation, you’d be anxious to walk back to the hotel along the street, too many characters milling about for the alcohol to keep you calm. But with Javi next to you, there’s a freedom in it, the way he makes you feel protected despite the short amount of time you’ve been reunited. Even in school, he was a troublemaker but only in the way that he stood up for people, got into fights on behalf of the underdogs, always concerned with fairness and righteousness. It was honorable, that he always was a protector, wanting to do right by people that were affected by those doing wrong.

Ramblings about life filled the space between you two, bright lights blinding you against the midnight skies. Javier is in the middle of saying something when you stop in your tracks, the sight across the street captivating your attention as your own light blinks with an idea in your head.

It’s a small wedding chapel, a carport out in the front with a classic car parked in the middle, and kitschy decorations littering the outside with a hot pink and cream color scheme painting the facade.

Javier walks a step or two before his arm around your waist tethers him back, his eyes looking at you before turning toward the opposite side of the street. He laughs to himself, tucking into your side again as smiles.

“How many people got married tonight, d’you think?” He leans his head to the side to rest on yours, the small affection making your idea seem even better in your wasted mind.

“I dunno. But I could guarantee two if you wanna,” your head turns to him on your left, a Cheshire grin stretched across your face as a giggle slips from your chest. Javi looks at you, confused for a moment before it all clicks, and his expression turns to one of surprise.

“You’d wanna do that? With me?”

“Why wouldn’t I? We spent the whole night talking about how we both wanted to get married and have kids and all that, why not do it with each other? I mean, I had a massive crush on you in high school. Would be my dreams back then coming true,” you say with a laugh, biting your lip as you await his response.

It’s a beat of silence as he contemplates the offer, surveying between you and the chapel across from you.

“Fuck it. Let’s get married, cariño.”

“Yes! Let’s go before we chicken out,” an infectious smile fills your face, eyes crinkling as you rush across the street with him, hand-in-hand. Upon entering the chapel lobby, you’re greeted by a chipper employee behind a large reception desk. The two of you give over your IDs, anxiously waiting with each other’s hands linked together, sharing quiet, excited laughs. Once everything is settled, the employee directs you back to a room to get ready in, offering a too-small suit jacket to Javi that sits two inches above his wrists, a sight that sends you into a fit of laughter.

He brushes off your teasing and takes the bouquet that another employee arranges quickly for you, holding it as you lean over and primp yourself in the mirror by cleaning up your makeup and fixing your hair.

Javier stands behind you, watching you with tender eyes and a faint smile on his face. Making eye contact with him in the reflection as you finish, heat spreads at the back of your neck and across your cheeks at the way he’s looking at you.

“Ready, hermosa?”

Turning around and standing to your full height in front of him, bouquet held out to you. You take it, wrapping your hand around his and nodding.

“Ready, Peña.”

“Think I should be saying that to you,” he winks and drops his hand from yours, turning and grabbing something off of a table across the room. Crossing back to you he holds up a costume veil, eyebrows raised in questioning, “Wanna complete the look?”

“Of course. Don’t think I would look like a bride without it since I’m not wearing any white,” you grin and stand still in front of him, letting him put the headband securely behind your ears. Delicate fingers lift the veil to cover your face, a warm, closed-lip smile lighting up his eyes.

“Haces una novia hermosa. You make a beautiful bride.”

The sincerity laced in his voice despite the drunken haze chokes the words in your throat, only answering by taking his hand with your free one and leading him over to the chapel’s double doors. He gives you one last look before slipping in first when you’re called up, whispering to you, “See you in there. Don’t get cold feet now.”

After a couple of minutes, the doors open for you again, and immediately you’re faced with Javi standing next to a costumed Elvis impersonator. The traditional wedding march playing through tinny speakers, everything overwhelming you to the point that when you make eye contact with Javi, the pair of you break out into uncontrollable giggles. His shoulders shake as tears prick your eyes from the ridiculousness, your tipsy minds thinking everything is extra funny.

Calmed down at the altar, you stand across from him and half listen to the officiant attempt to maintain his accent throughout the ceremony. Each of you exchanges drunken repetitive vows, given cheap rings that were paid for at the front desk. Javi slips yours on and squeezes your hand, giving you his to do the same.

At that moment, rings and vows given to each other, knock-off Elvis pronounces you husband and wife by the power vested in him by the state of Nevada.

“You may now kiss your wife, dude.”

Javier chuckles as he reaches up to lift your veil away from your face, leaning in as he drops it at the back of your head. One hand cups your jaw, the other dropping to your hip to pull you in closer. He catches your lips in a kiss that’s all teeth from your smiles, mouths relaxing as he deepens the embrace when your arms wrap around his neck and the flowers rest at his back.

He huffs into your mouth, tongue tracing your lip and slipping against yours when you open your mouth for him. A soft sigh melts your body into his touch, the two of you completely wrapped up in each other.

“Alright, alright, lovebirds. We got another wedding to get to so you guys are gonna have to quit sucking face in here and take your party of two outside. Congrats,” the officiant has dropped his character, Javier pulling away from you and glancing at him.

“Thanks, Presley. See ya,” he calls out over his shoulder as he takes your hand, receding down the aisle, throwing off his jacket, plus your veil and bouquet on the desk as you make your way out of the chapel building completely.

It’s a rush from the elevator when it reaches Javi’s floor, limbs fumbling over each other as you frantically stumble down the hallway, mouths attach in a potent kiss. Javier’s touch is only adding to your intoxication, clouding your mind with his wandering hands and his tongue against yours.

He grips your waist as he reaches his room, pressing you against the solid wood door as he exhales into your mouth. Pulling away mere millimeters to speak, his low and gravelly voice rasps out to you.

“Front right pocket. Room key’s in my wallet,” he kisses you again, hands moving from your waist to your ass as his lips trail from your mouth and along your jaw. Your own fingers slip into the front pocket he directed you to, taking out his wallet and attempting to fish out the plastic card as his teeth graze at the sensitive skin on your neck.

“Fuck, Javi…Here.” You pass the key card to him and he unlocks the door, wrapping his arm around your back and walking you inside the room as he catches your lips in a rich kiss, a whimper slipping from your mouth and into his. The plush mattress hits the back of your legs and he lets you go to fall backward onto the bed, staring down at you with his chest rising and falling quickly and swollen lips parted.

“Cristo, eres hermosa, cariño. Te deseo tanto. Puedo tenerte, mi esposa?” Javier lifts one knee to rest on the mattress, leaning over you and pressing open-mouth kisses at the open chest of your night-out dress.

“Javi, that all sounds very sexy, but I think I need a translation,” you sigh as he tugs the neckline of your dress down, exposing your bare breast to the chilled, conditioned air. Javier chuckles as you gasp from his thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple, darkened eyes combing up to meet yours with a devilish smirk.

“I said ‘Christ, you’re gorgeous, darling…’”

His fingers slip a strap of your dress off of your shoulders.

“And ‘I want you so bad…’”

The other strap.

“And I asked ‘Can I have you, my wife?’”

With one tug to the body of your dress, your full chest is bared to Javi, who in that moment you realize is technically your husband.

Your sexy, heroic, competent, charming husband.

Damn, your drunk self kind of hit the jackpot.

“Can I, baby?” he asks again, one hand reaching down to palm his growing bulge in his jeans. The sight makes you salivate, this man above you asking to have you, telling you how badly he wants you, calling you his wife.

A rush of arousal floods between your thighs and you nod, lifting yourself to sit up on your elbows under him.

“How do you say ‘my husband’ in Spanish?”

Javi’s smirk deepens, the dimple in his right cheek cavernous with the satisfaction painted on his face.

“Mi esposo.”

“You can have me any way you want, mi esposo.”

The groan that comes from Javier is guttural, as if something is unleashed in him and rumbles it’s way out. He moves with a fervor after those words, stripping you of your dress and lacey panties, carelessly tossing them aside. You sit up fully, working his button-up undone as he fumbles with his belt and jeans. As you push the material off of his shoulders, he kicks off his pants, left naked from his lack of underwear.

You chuckle softly at the choice and bite your lip, looking up at him playfully.

“Guess you’re always prepared for a quickie.”

He smirks with a slow nod, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Didn’t know where the night would take me. And now I am incredibly glad for my choice.”

A gasp leaves your lips as he kisses you passionately, pushing you back to the mattress as he climbs over you. Your legs spread for him, leaving him room to nestle between your thighs. Everything is blurred in your inebriated minds, burning touches on sensitive skin, teeth grazing with purple bruises left in their wake.

His fingers slide through your arousal, collecting your wetness with two of his fingers, slipping in and out of you at an expert pace. The heel of his hand rubs against your clit, the combined stimulations and your laxed body working you up quickly to a peak. Moans and whimpers of his name fill the space between you, coming down as he guides you through your orgasm.

With the fingers once inside of you, he strokes himself, glistening in the low lighting coming from the neon outside on The Strip. Your fingers dance across his strong chest, feeling the muscles of his biceps flex under your touch.

“You okay, amor?”

His voice is hushed, tender and sweet.

“I’m okay. More than okay. I want you, please, Javi. Please, mi esposo.”

“Fuck, say it again, cariño.”

The head of his cock pushes into your tight walls, feeling the delicious stretch of him inside as he gives you only a few inches of himself.

“Mi esposo.”

A moan slips from his mouth, kneeling between your legs and filling you completely with one strong thrust.

“Again.”

“Mi esposo.”

A hypnotizing rhythm is found in his hips, fucking you deeper with each hard snap of his lower half. His thighs hit against the backs of yours with slaps, alternating with your own moans and whimpers, deep grunts from Javi.

“Fuck…” he breathes with a long exhale, head rolling back to reveal veins in his neck. Fingers grip at your thighs, one drifting up to toy with your nipple before it drops between the two of you to circle your clit.

“Javier—Fuck, gonna come…” you whine, eyes screwing shut as the coil inside of you tightens with a burn.

“Eyes on me, cariño. Wanna see your face when you come for me.”

At the next hit of himself against that particular spot inside of you, your eyes snap open as the coil snaps, walls clenching around him with repeated moans.

“Oh fuck, Javi, yes…”

“Good girl, good fucking girl…”

With a few more thrusts, he spills inside of you, twitching as he lets go of a moan of your name. Once the both of you have come down from the highest peaks of the night, Javier slowly pulls out of you and falls back to the bed.

“Do you think we’re gonna remember any of this when we wake up?” you ask, laughing softly as you slip under the sheets with Javier, fatigue catching up with you from the long night.

“God, I hope so. Don’t want to ever forget anything that’s happened since we got into this room,” Javi winks as he extends an arm for you to cuddle into, faint laughter from both of you.

“I can’t believe we got married by an Elvis impersonator.”

“And he was so bad at it.”

The two of you are now in a fit of sleepy giggles, laying your head on his chest and his hand behind you playing with your hair.

“Go to sleep, cariño. Got breakfast to get to in a few hours.”

You groan and close your eyes, adjusting your position next to him.

“You’re invited too, y’know.”

“I’ll gladly come with. Now sleep, esposa.”

“Night, Mr. Peña.”

“Night, Mrs. Peña.”

Between the two of you, you were able to piece together most of the previous night. The memory of the horrible Elvis impersonator and the wild chapel interior made you laugh hysterically again, Javi wiping the tears from your eyes when you couldn’t stop.

Once everything had been recounted that you could remember, save the details of the last activities of the night — those were certainly memorable, just not spoken out loud — Javi studied his ring before taking your left hand with his, eyes trained on the two pieces of jewelry laying together.

“So, what do we do?”

You’re silent for a few beats of your heart, loud in your ears as you sit up, pulling the sheet to cover your chest and facing the man next to you.

“No idea.”

The next words were laced over each other, your voices interrupting the other:

“Is it weird to say that I don’t regret it?”

“I don’t know if I really want to retract it completely.”

You laugh out of the tension built, shrugging your shoulders and nodding your head for Javi to speak first.

“I don’t know if I really want to say that it was a horrible idea, that we should completely backtrack it…” He cards his fingers through his hair nervously.

“I mean, yeah, probably shouldn’t have this be legally binding marriage for the rest of our lives, but maybe we could, I don’t know, try some version of us?”

Relief washes over you at his thoughts, fiddling with the ring on your finger.

“I agree. I think just like, being married fully after this would be silly, but it also doesn’t mean that if we do something about that, we would never have to see each other again.”

“Exactly,” he nods confidently, eyes locking on yours before they drop to your lips. You make the move to lean in, capturing him in a slow, morning kiss much different than yours from late last night.

When you pull away, Javi’s smirk is plastered on his face, hand holding yours and running his thumb over the ring.

“So…an annulment? And then a date when we’re back in Laredo?”

“I’d really like that, Mr. Peña,” you say with a grin, pecking his lips.

“Alright, it’s a plan then,” he nudges his nose against yours before giving you one last kiss, “Now I promised I would get you to the birthday brunch, so let’s get this show on the road, Mrs. Peña.”

tagging some mooties: @beskarandblasters @swiftispunk @joelsversion @lunapascal @addictedtotlou @deathwife @johnwatsn @darkroastjoel @pedrospartner @atinylittlepain @soaringcloud @wannab-urs @javiscigarette @yazsos @northernbluess @pr0ximamidnight @theelishad @thetriumphantpanda @dinsdjrn @midnightswithdearkatytspb @ladamedusoif @cannolighost @undrthelights @jksprincess10 @bearsbeetsbeskar @perotovar @leslie-lyman @cupofjoel @egcdeath @mrsquill

#asks #writing #javier #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña smut #javier peña fic #narcos fic #javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x you

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verysium · 6 months

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if you had to associate a city from the world w any bllk character of your liking which cities with who and why? sorry for the odd question lmao it just crossed my mind. love ur works btw!💗

i love unconventional questions like these cus then i have to really think hard to come up with a good answer. i will admit i am slightly biased because i feel that the current teams they play for already represent them well, so some of these might be a repeat. also i am not that well-travelled (wish i could if i had the money), so i'm merely going off the reputed description of each city.

rin would be paris. i know it sounds unoriginal, but pxg rin has already grown 10x prettier than he was during the u-20 arc, so something in that city air must be doing him right. also i feel like he just dresses like a stereotypical european lol. the winter coat and scarf combo plus the perpetual scowl on his face. he probably walks super quickly down the metro too. i have this fic in the drafts where rin and reader meet up at his shitty parisian apartment and eat hotpot and smoke cigs on a random sidewalk in winter. rin is also high class. it just comes naturally to him. like if u ever take a walk near place charles de gaulle (the arc de triomphe area), there's this quiet luxury that is prominent in the fancy hotels and brand stores that make up the vicinity. even better if u go during christmas time because they have these intricately detailed light fixtures. i remember seeing this one cartier store with a giant glittering jaguar on the front. not to mention their swarovski christmas tree. rin's like that. i feel like in a few years once he goes fully professional, the media would go wild over his poise and refined grace. he just has that subtly enticing aura, like a silent glamour.

sae would be madrid. not just because it's canon but also because i feel like the city is just the polar opposite of him. madrid is one of the hottest cities in europe, and sae's just perpetually cold. even in the literal sense, i feel like he would have cold hands and feet too. if u see those wes anderson style travel commercials of madrid, it's always some variation of pastel houses, sunshine, and bikini beaches. that is exactly what sae is not like. i also chose this for...*ahem* spoiler reasons in my upcoming fic chapter which i'm not going to delve too much into. but the gist is that the contrast is why sae fits so well in madrid and also why it's a bit tragic to see how drastically he has to change in order to adapt to a new environment. if not spain, i feel like he'd still end up somewhere with a large coastline because of how fundamental the sea is to him throughout his childhood. it's sort of his safe space. if i had the choice to assign two cities, i'd also include his hometown of kamakura since he seems like the type to be secretly sentimental. i picture sae as someone who values his roots even though he constantly says he has bigger and better places to be. like he would tell everyone that he was born in the wrong country but then proceed to sigh melodramatically whenever he actually misses home.

kaiser is a weird mix of munich, new york, and las vegas. i chose munich largely because of his german roots. i also picture him as bavarian. new york and las vegas are mostly attributed to the duality of his character. when we first see kaiser, he's this figure of flamboyance. his entrance was hands-down the most theatrically dramatic one, and there are theatre motifs throughout his dialogue (eg. roles on a stage, rejecting yoichi's script/play). i feel like this would fit well with the extravagant nightlife las vegas is known for and, of course, broadway in NYC. furthermore, kaiser is this prime example of clawing your way to the top. he seems charismatic and welcoming at first, but then we see his internal motives and well...it's something. he is cutthroat when it comes to competition, and he's not afraid of using others in his ascent to the top. i mean...he literally holds people by the hair as if they're mere objects. that seems pretty ruthless and machiavellian to me. i doubt he even humanizes any of his rivals; rather, he views them as opponents to his ideology. there's also a reason why they say if you make it in new york, you can make it anywhere. there's a highly individualistic mindset, and if you really want something, the resources are there for you to achieve it. kaiser is like that in the sense he is willing to put his all into getting something he desires, even up to an obsessive degree.

yukimiya is london. like u know what taylor swift said about the english? that's yukimiya for you. he treats his mother right, sleeps 8 hours a day, and said his first love was when his friend's 16-year-old sister kissed him on the forehead. he cannot be any more perfect. not to mention he's a literal model. like hello? IMG is calling.

shidou is somewhere in ohio. i'm not going to elaborate. the man's just weird.

isagi is somewhere rural. idk why but he strikes me as a country boy. probably helps his parents on the rice farm and bikes long distances to school. i found a lot of parallels between him and hinata shoyo from haikyu mostly because they're both from a smaller, lesser known neighborhood, have a pretty ordinary childhood, and become inspired by this influential role model. my secondary reason is just that isagi doesn't seem like he'd even be familiar with the urban landscape. he's lived his life in humble origins, so i think there might be some culture shock once he actually gets to the city. like...boy was genuinely amazed when he entered that blue lock facility. never seen so much high-end equipment and technology in his life.

ego lives in a sewer. i cannot tell u his precise location just that he probably hasn't washed his hair in 45 days and is still surviving off processed ramen noodles. please pray for him.

barou is los angeles and if not socal, then he's from the bay area. i took one good look at his artificially dyed red hair and the answer was clear. he is not immune to trends guys. it's almost embarrassing. furthermore, i think the general silicon valley area is known to be hardworking, and that encapsulates barou pretty well. he is disciplined to the core, and he knows that success is not going to come to him without him actively trying to reach it. he's also...(let's be real guys)...just a teensy weensy bit arrogant. he calls himself a king, as in a literal monarch. and he says this in the most serious tone too. now he rightfully earned that title, but it doesn't erase the secondhand cringe i felt from reading that dialogue LOL.

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twistedtummies2 · 3 months

Text

The sound of rollin’ dice to me Is music in the air! ‘Cause I’m a Gamblin’ Boogieman, Although I don’t play fair!

It’s much more fun, I must confess, When lives are on the line! Not mine, of course, But yours, old boy! ow that’d be just fine…

"Oogie Boogie's Song," Ken Page

—-----------------------------------------------------------

The long, LONG delayed final image in my “OCs & Inspirations” series, at least for now. This was originally intended to be part of a bunch of pics commemorating Disney’s 100th Anniversary, but the artist was facing some difficulties, so it took much longer than expected. I don’t mind in the least, however, because this was more than worth the wait…and hey, Valentine’s Day may not be the most obvious holiday of choice to release this, but a holiday is still a holiday. And with these two, it felt right to post their pic on such an occasion. Oh, on that note, before I go on: the image was made by @hooter-n-company, who also did my image for Nakoda and Kaa for the series a while back. I can’t honestly decide which of them I like more, between this image and that one; they’re both absolutely breathtaking. Her work always is. Thank you, Hoots. <3 ANYWAY…Reno was the first character I specifically created as a sort of “correction” to an old pred crush of mine. Nako and Billy being more “appealing” versions of their source inspirations (for me) was just sort of a welcome bonus. But with Reno, I deliberately created him with the idea of taking a character I used to have an interest in “that way,” but no longer do, and then creating someone I could “kinkify” more easily via the power of Twisted Wonderland’s universe. When I was a kid, I used to have a bit of a crush on Oogie Boogie from “The Nightmare Before Christmas.” I even had some rather…VIVID dreams, involving this big bag of bugs, which I shall always remember. However, over time, my interests and ideals with such things changed, and as they did, my love for Oogie dwindled. Reno was my way of trying to do something more “me” with the character.

The name “Reno” comes from Reno, Nevada. It was suggested by my friend, @belliesandburps. Since Reno is just a big a gambler as Oogie, it seemed fitting to use the name of a city known for gambling - and in the same state as arguably the gambler paradise of the world, Las Vegas - for his name. “Rovar” comes from a Hungarian word meaning “insect,” which of course fit perfectly. Combined, the two have a similar sort of “bounce” and syllabic structur to “Oogie Boogie,” and the alliteration was amusing to me. In terms of personality, Reno, in a way, is Oogie…but with a sort of soft side. Like, his source material, he is crass, crude, loud, rowdy, mischievous, a bit sadistic, and constantly thinks with his stomach. HOWEVER, for all his jagged edges, Reno isn’t someone who does bad things just for the sheer sake of it, unlike Oogie. Reno still has the capacity to care about people, and even some of the more “evil” things he’s done were usually out of a sort of bitter desire to get back at people he felt were more fortunate, while also helping himself and those he cared about in the process. He’s not the easiest person to get along with, but he’s not a literal monster.

I decided to sort of reverse things in terms of the way Oogie’s true self is revealed in the film, for Reno. In the movie, Oogie glows green in blacklight, but his actual appearance is a much duller beige hue. And of course, when you strip away the bag, he’s a collection of creepy crawlies underneath. So, with Reno, his human form has dull colors, with a sweater that resembles Oogie’s burlap, but his true form - a sort of “demi bug” - is colored in shades of vibrant green. His Overblot form, meanwhile - which Hoots helped IMMENSELY with working out - has a sort of neon appearance, inspired by the look of Oogie’s lair, and is a collection of different elements from different arthropods.

In this case, I think the different colors help the pair stand in good contrast to each other. ;)

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

Text

Three Way Script

A Sarge and lil Mama fic

Warnings: rather angsty and with some strong language -but with a load of gentleness and love thrown in as is typical with this universe, please note the subjects covered here relate to infidelity and the death of an infant. Everyone herein is coping and not in a very tidy way but they’re tryin’.

Note: this is written in experimental first person view from Ann-Margret’s perspective. I’ve zero intention to vilify anyone and even had a little bit of qualms regarding using her in this at all. As is, I’m creating more of a character for her in the form of “Thumper” and her dynamic with the fictional Presley’s than any true resemblance to the lady herself. Cheers 💋

Dedicated to sweet @ab4eva who loves her hot tamale

Circa: summer of ‘63 on the set of Viva Las Vegas

It was a dark and deathly quiet quarter to four in the morning. I’d just been decked in the face by a sleepwalking Elvis Presley for trying to wake him up. Face throbbing, nerves strained from our undefined tryst, I clumsily chased him as he wandered outside, strangely stubborn in his unconscious quest for air, or space, or -her.

I didn’t know the etiquette for this, for any of it. I’d told him just that as he, a married man of such notoriety, pressed his lips against mine and told me that we had a connection.

He and I.

As if I couldn't feel it thrumming and seething and tugging between us during every scene and more concerning still, in the lulls between, in the quiet and unpretentious moments of rest when it wasn’t our characters, when it was just us. When he admitted to being gutted by the loss of his child, estranged from his ever-ebullient wife in her own bereavement, envious of his son, not even four years old, who occupied his space in her bed and took comfort from her body while he was obliged to dance and sing his way to another hit as if he wasn’t fragmented by the grief of it all.

“I thought you’d be all tough n’shit, a real firecracker.” he’d breathed with immense relief after uncovering that gooey, soft, vulnerable place inside of me that something about his grief and his hollow smirk and his lonesomeness had almost immediately unleashed in my soul. That urge to comfort, to assure him he wasn’t going out on a limb, it had me spending my days making a fool of myself for him.

Yet it seemed the price for such misplaced loyalty and pleasure was about to be extracted as I trailed him, calling out to him in vain, ignoring my aching jaw in an attempt to stall his sleepwalking, quelling the panic I felt at what must be done.

His guys didn’t know he was here with me and I wasn’t sure if I should tell them anyway, though I would have at this crucial point if I could have found or telephoned any of them. Tell them he was about to wander bare as the Lord made him into the studio lot.

I had to spare her that at least.

I had to call Graceland.

When I had entered my studio apartment earlier that evening Elvis had been sat in the kitchenette chair, twirling the landline cord around his finger, feet propped up on the Formica table, perfectly at home in my space, saying his goodbyes to a child or four. He gave me a dazzling smile as I stepped over my own threshold yet held up his finger for silence in my own space as he finished speaking with his family.

“Your phone ain’t bugged like mine is.” he had said casually by way of explanation for his entitlement to my rented room and then took me in his arms. I’d forgotten to press my point regarding privacy and rumors after that.

Now I fumbled the receiver off its hook and with all the cold, dreading heroism of a soldier launching a nuclear missile, I pushed redial.

One of the Presley cousins answered, I calculated the truth would get me where I needed fastest, so I said outright “Elvis is sleep walking on the lot and no one knows how to wake him”.

I was asked to hold and about twenty seconds later the receiver picks up again and this woman’s soft drawl comes over,

“Thumper? Is that you? Is he with you?”

Elaine was anxious. I could feel the strength of it through the phone, a visceral connection with a total stranger just by the waiver of her voice. So very anxious in that way that people who’ve been in a rash of losing things start to freak over the slightest possibility of another blow. It was the first time we’d ever spoken and yet I told her the situation as it stood, clear and concise. She knew of me -not just of Ann-Margret but of Thumper- and god knows I knew of her.

Elaine gained strength with details, demanded how long he’d been asleep and if he had his eyes open at all. With the first question I thought she was trying to trap me and get me to admit something I was more than ready to own up to. But then I realized she was just trying to triage. I gave her all the details I could tell and she gave me some suggestions.

“Make sure you duck away when you touch him or he’ll wallop you in the face, Thumper.” she warned with the surety of a veteran and her tone was so kind it took me ten whole minutes later to process the fact she had anticipated everything that had occurred and would occur. Despite that she was kind.

She was still kind after she suggested I let the dream run its course and maybe try to steer him from the gates or keep the outer door locked, and I had to tell her sheepishly he wasn’t wearing anything. Again, instead of what I was expecting she just let out a little huff and said

“Why didn’t you say? That makes things easier, you’ve got an ice pail, don’t you?”

So I ended up tossing ice at Elvis Presley’s chilled skin till he woke up and startled. Then led him back inside and when he saw the phone off the hook he got spooked and yelled at me that it wasn’t something to call the police for.

I said it was his wife instead. It was like he turned into a little boy then, he just yanked a sheet off the bed and curled into a chair at the kitchenette table and picked up the receiver.

I heard him whisper,

“Tink?”

before he waved me away and off as if this wasn’t my place that he had crashed in. But they were still softly chattin’ in a foreign sort of gibberish on the line by the time I gave up and fell asleep with the lamp on and him mumbling to his wife about his dream and asking to talk to a kid if one was awake.

He was gone when I woke up, so were his clothes.

Next I saw him, he was on set looking chipper, full face of pancake makeup disguising his exhaustion, playing cards with the boys waiting for the director to show. A quart’s worth of makeup was lathered to my own face, meticulously plastered on my left cheek five layers deep to disguise the purpling bruise he’d given me.

He acted like nothing, and I do mean nothing of any sort, had happened the night before. It was puzzling and I began to realize just how well he could compartmentalize everything. Lines and paces and dances and duets, he moved through them all that day with ease, belying the man who told me the night before he didn’t think he could keep going on like this.

‘This’ being the continuing of the smiling and dancing and grinding for all the nation to applaud, anything to market his resilience, once again having to rebound from his unsellable grief. But a child buried comes back in a man’s dreams.

“They made me choose, Annie,” he’d wept to me, “came out in their coats and said ‘which would ya like us to save, Mr. Presley?’ What was I s’posed to say to that, Thumper?” he begged me for an answer like I had an opinion on such a horrific conundrum. It’s times like these when a twenty three year old starlet isn’t sure what to say. “I can’t live without her! Can’t keep ‘em all well and happy without her, chose her. Now my baby girl’s dead.”

Her was always Elaine. And baby girl had been named Joe.

Josephine Belleaza, though her daddy couldn’t say her name, the name he’d lovingly chosen in happier times, couldn’t say it aloud without sounding strangled.

“It wouldn’t have changed a thing.” I kept insisting, I didn’t know what else to say except the truth of it, “They just ask those things to put it back on the -the- the patient.” The victim, the father, the parents. Putting those sleepless nights about choices back on his shoulders. As if a child drowned in the amniotic fluid that had once been its home and haven could be revived if the mother was cut apart to take it out. It was cruel, there never was a choice that god hadn't already made. “Wouldn’t have changed a thing. She doesn’t blame you, does she?”

“No, no never.” he’d sighed bitterly.

We talked a lot about her for a young co-star and her married leading man, laying in those twisted sheets he laid me out on, reveling in the fact I had no old memories etched on my skin, yet was soft and giving in all the ways to mimic the familiar one. It was an unfair usage, but when you’re in love you take a married man happily even if he seems as if he’s looking for more and less than your unstoried body could ever give him. A respite from things associated with dreams gone wrong, turned dark and twisted. He made me feel like a lifeline, he made me feel indispensable for him getting up each new day, he made my body rejoice and thrum from even the smallest of child play beneath the sheets, he made me fall in love with him.

And then he railed at me for calling her. I was the lifeline to get him back to her alive, sane and somewhat devoted. I was never his wife and according to him I should never have made his wife listen to his passing dalliance recount our tryst. It was unfair, I had done it to protect him but the minute the cameras stopped rolling he had cornered me and cut me down for the night before.

“You told her about us!” I accused him right back, righteous and misled all at once.

“There ain’t no us!” and he said it so easily.

That was true, I’d never met a fully grown man with such drive who found a way to make love in every possible way except the typical insertion method. I had not pressed it before, thinking it connected to his fear of pregnancy. “You told her about me being Thumper!” I clarified my complaint.

“Course I did!” he acted like I’d cracked up, “I tell her ‘bout all of ‘em, she’s accommodatin’ like that. Don’t mean she should have to have salt rubbed in the wound by talkin’ to ya. Ain’t fittin. She’s my wife!”

That stung, the categorization. There was little ole me, one of an apparent host of good time girls, and then there was her. And the fact she was his wife, that he really had his priorities straight despite his wandering eye, was a virtue lost on my love sick heart.

I was just furious and hurt.

“Did she put you up to this?” I seethed and he said no, no she hadn’t but this was just the way of things. He told Elaine about all his friends, which he considered me one, and on the flip side he kept them separated from his family life. It was traditional and tidy and archaic and we fought bitterly over it and made up in my bed.

He was gone again when I woke the next morning. But across the room in his stead was a large spray of roses he must’ve allowed in, shaped in a heart like a valentine, though the month was July. I anticipated conciliatory words in his childish scribble on the note. Instead, there in a delicate cursive was a quote, from Anna Karenina, I recognized,

“There are as many kinds of loves as there are hearts”

and down below in tiny, achingly gentle words was the sentiment:

“to a very tender young lady, for her pains and kindness to us, hope the cheek heals by the time I come and kiss it, all my thanks, -Elaine.”

———————————————————

I so hope I can crank out another of these or one for Gigi before too long, and a happier one at that, but for now I hope y’all enjoyed and thanks for all the love and questions flooding into my inbox for this make-believe family, it makes me so soft 🥹

Hope y’all enjoyed xoxo, lemme know below if you’d like to added to the taglist

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

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@lookingforrainbows

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@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

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powerofelvis · 2 years

Text

No Longer The Housewife, Part 2

Pairing: Elvis Presley x f!reader; Austin!Elvis x f!reader

Word Count: 7.2K

Summary: Your husband is looking for you but you are too enamored with Elvis to care. However, you would soon learn that you shouldn’t have been in Las Vegas in the first place.

Warning(s): There are some TRIGGER warnings in this part. Physical Assault, Use of A Gun, Profanity, Angsty asf, SMUTTYYYY, Oral (m.receiving and f. receiving), masturbation (f.receiving), Foot Kink, Exhibitionism, Elvis gives reader slight aftercare.

A/N: I honestly hateeeee part of this, but I hope you guys are ready because it is very angsty and spicy. Make sure you guys read the trigger warnings before y’all dive in because whewwwww I literally had to think about how I was going to implement the husband and let me tell you, he’s dog shit in this part. I hope you guys enjoy ;)

read part one here.

masterlist.

Saturday rolled around too fast for your liking. You already knew that you would have to face Elvis after you told him that you would stay the night in his arms. Pulling yourself up in your bed, you looked over to see that Lindsay wasn’t in bed beside you. Maybe she went to breakfast; you thought as you got out of your warm bed. The cool air from the air conditioning system caused goosebumps to form on your skin as you stood in the middle of your hotel room, only dressed in your nightie. You decided to get ready for the day, walking into your shared bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, and you wished you were shocked by what you had seen. Elvis did a number on you the previous night–neck covered with purple-ish marks and little scratch marks that littered your skin. If you were any other vanilla woman, you would have been uncomfortable with the sight. However, you weren’t vanilla, and you wouldn’t become vanilla now. Your fingers brushed over the marks, wincing as some of them were tender to the touch. Your mind went back to the previous night in Elvis’s penthouse–him taking you over and over in different parts of the suite and especially the hot sesh on his piano. Your head was so buried in your thoughts that you didn’t notice your hands moving slowly down your body before your fingers rubbed at your now-sensitive bud.

After your masturbation session and a hot shower, you were finally dressed and ready to go for the day. At that time, Lindsay had returned to the room, so she wanted to know how your night with Elvis went. You sat on the bed with her, not sparing the details of the racy night of lovemaking that you had experienced with him. “Oh, Y/N! You can’t leave him after he made you feel that good! You must continue seeing him or something; screw your bonehead of a husband.” Of course, she would have said something like that. Lindsay couldn’t stand your husband, and yet she is trying to convince you that the only way out of your dead-end marriage was to continue with an affair with the most lusted-after man in all of America. You wanted out of your marriage more than anyone, wanting to escape from the misery that your husband has bestowed on you since he entered your life. You wanted nothing more than to be with Elvis completely, watching him perform every night before he took you until the sun rose in the sky the following day.

Lindsay had convinced you that a day out would be something that you needed, so you followed her around the Vegas strip as she wanted to shop for the second show of Elvis that you both would catch later. You were completely unaware that your husband was trying to find you, calling your family and your other friends to see where you went off to. He wasn’t pleased that you left, especially without your ring. The ring that he paid for signaled that you belonged to him. You were his wife. He may have slept around with a few women, but he felt as if you should have been grateful that he came home to you at night. You should have been grateful that he laid beside you every night and was there waiting for you the following morning. He wasn’t a complex man, all he wanted was his wife to cook and to clean, maybe even satisfy him. All he asked in return was that his wife wouldn’t abandon him, like you were doing. He had found out from your small circle of friends that you had gone to Las Vegas with that bitch, Lindsay.

How he hated Lindsay.

Lindsay was the reason that you were so unhappy with him. She never made it unknown that she hated him, but he could say that the feeling was fuckin’ mutual. In his eyes, she was a whore who always tried to convince you to leave him and become a whore like her. You weren’t a whore, you were his good girl; the reason why he decided to marry you in the first place. He knew how easy you were to manipulate, but he couldn’t help but admit that you were the love of his life. He played on the emotions that your family felt about you being married so young, but he knew all along that Lindsay didn’t buy it. He could care less though, as he only wanted you to believe him. He wasn’t marrying Lindsay, he was marrying you. So why were you running away from him all of a sudden? He wondered if you ever did like how he never wanted you to work, wanted you to stay at home and keep up the house. Any woman would like that, right?

He may have been wrong to step out on the marriage and maybe slap you around a bit, but he wasn’t a horrible husband like the others were painting him out to be. He took care of you, making sure that you never had to work a day job in your life, while working his fingers to the bone. How could you run away from that? Who would want a woman who doesn’t even know how to work a fax machine? He does, so off he went to Las Vegas to bring you home. He finally made it to Vegas earlier that morning, stepping out of the airport with a look of disgust over his features. Out of all of the places that that whore could have brought you, she brought you to the whore capital of the United States. Your parents would have been shocked to hear that you were parading yourself around Vegas with your shitty friend, possibly waiting for another man to pick you up. He hated the thought of some greased up hooligan running his filthy hands over his woman, but he wouldn’t have to worry about that because you were faithful to him.

Even through all of the times that he knew that you caught on to his cheating ways, you never left him before. He was frightened to say the least, the thought of him being alone without you bothered him. This is why he has to find you, he has to make things go back to the way that they were. He was comfortable with what he was doing, sleeping around but cuddling with you at night. He wouldn’t dream of tainting you with his dirty habits, which is why he hasn’t touched you in about a year. As he walked along the strip, he could have sworn that he saw you with Lindsay, your nervous energy he could spot from a mile away. He didn’t want you to know that he was in Vegas, so he stayed hidden but he knew that he saw you. The outfit that you wore sent his blood boiling. You never wore those types of clothes with him, but even if you did, he wouldn’t have liked it. He followed you around town as you and Lindsay shopped for clothes, overhearing how you were going to look amazing for the show that was happening later that night. What show? He had to find out, so he stuck around you for the remainder of the day.

He found out that you were going to see Elvis Presley in concert, like you had the previous night according to Lindsay. Why were you going to see such a washed-up musician in a seedy town? Why did you look so in love when you talked about him? He could tell that you were in love with Elvis as it was the same look that you used to give him. Used to. You never looked at him in that way, only giving him glares or the resting bitch face when he would come home. Were you whoring yourself to this Elvis fellow? The blood continued to boil in him as he stomped off to get a room at the hotel that the show would be happening—the International. Once he got his room, he spent hours pacing as he thought about what he had overheard from you and Lindsay. You were definitely whoring yourself to him, you had to be. The only reason you would wear the loved on look that you had was if he had pleased you in some kind of way. He knew what Elvis Presley was about. His parents used to warn him to never become like him, a sex crazed maniac with the power to make women turn into whores. He wasn’t about to let his wife become one of his whores. Something had to be done.

***

Lindsay pulled you into all of the shops that littered the Vegas strip, making you try as many skimpy outfits that you could fit into your hands. “Remember Y/N, you have Elvis Presley under your thumb. You have to make him want you more.” Her smirk turned your stomach upside down as your thoughts once again moved to the events that happened last night. Elvis had definitely brought out the fire in you, the fire that you didn’t know that you had. You had to see him again, but you were afraid of what he would think. He probably had already figured that you were long gone from his arms and he was probably upset about it too. You didn’t know how you were going to make it up to him, but you wanted him to know that you enjoyed yourself with him. You knew you sounded like other women who had their hopes up when they were with him, but you didn’t care if you sounded crazy when you thought about staying in Vegas for him. You wouldn’t tell Lindsay that because she could make an inch into a mile with hopes. You found the perfect outfit that you were going to wear later on that night, pulling Lindsay towards the front of the store before paying for it. “You’re right, Linds. I have to make him want me tonight, but I am still going to have to find him and apologize.” You just hope that he was willing to listen.

You and Lindsay returned to the hotel soon after, your heart immediately fluttered as your footsteps walked towards the elevator. You wanted so badly to press the button to the penthouse, but you had to get ready for the show later. You shook the thought of Elvis out of your mind as Lindsay pulled you into your shared hotel room, forcing you to put all of your energy into knocking Elvis off of his feet. The dress that you bought was tight in all of the right places, your curves making themselves known. The material was mesh, showing a bit of your skin but only a tease. You placed your feet into your black heels, before walking into the bathroom where Lindsay was—teasing her hair. You stood next to her, beginning to work on your makeup. You settled for the exact replica that you had worn the night before, but you focused more on covering up the marks that Elvis had left on your body. A knock on your hotel room door broke the both of you out of your routine, Lindsay leaving you in the bathroom as she went to get the door.

A black haired man stood before her, sunglasses clad over his eyes but he was staring right at her. “Is Y/N here?” He asked, eyes raking over her body as he was clearly enamored with her. “Yes, she is. Who is asking?” She asked, catching your attention as you walked out of the bathroom, eyebrows raised. His eyes moved from Lindsay to you as he smiled. “Elvis is looking for you. I’m here to take you to him.” Your heart picked up speed, immediately nervous about meeting with him. You nodded your head, grabbing your clutch off of the bed before walking up to the door. Lindsay stood there with a bright smile on her face, clearly enjoying that you had a man who was sending members of his entourage to pick you up. You glared at her, whispering in her ear, ‘calm down, I’ll see you later,’ before you followed the mystery man out of the room. He told you as you both entered the elevator that his name was Joe. “Pleased to meet you, Joe. What does Elvis want with me?” You wanted to know what to expect before you stood in front of the man who had the world in the palm of his hand.

Joe shrugged his shoulders, leaning against the wall as he pressed the penthouse button. “He just told me that he wanted to see you. Whenever he wants something, we do it. No questions asked.” He chuckled, noticing that you were a bit nervous. “Did you do something that makes you all jumpy like this?” He poked into your mind, wanting to know what you had done to be nervous as you were. “I-.. I just want to know if he needs anything, that’s all.” You turned away from him as the penthouse floor flashed on the elevator’s wall. The doors opened as he walked off out, turning to you before urging you to walk up to the door. “Well, whatever you two have going on, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Joe laughed out, knocking on the door before he walked off in the opposite direction before disappearing from your sight. The door opened, revealing Elvis in all of his glory. He immediately brought a smile to your face as he opened the door wider so you could walk inside. “I woke up and you weren’t here, lil’ mama. What happened?” Elvis closed the door after you walked inside, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

He smelled magnificent, the scent of tobacco and a hint of cinnamon hit your nostrils as you took him all in. Part of you wanted to tell him that you ran away because you didn’t want him to get caught in your secrets, but you were so scared that you would lose him that you coward away from the truth. You weren’t ready to tell him, but you knew that you had to eventually. So, you turned around in his arms, your eyes moving from the ground up to his blue eyes that were staring intently at you. You could tell that he knew something was up, but you wanted to reassure him that nothing was wrong. You put a wide smile on your face before wrapping your arms around his neck, standing up on your toes—leaning into his embrace. “I didn’t want Lindsay to freak out if I didn’t go back. I know I promised that I would stay, but if you want, I’ll stay tonight.” The voice in your head laughed at your poor excuse. You’re such a liar.

Elvis believed you. His bright smile spread across his face as he leaned into you, pressing his soft lips against yours. You were glad that he didn’t ask further, running your fingers up the nape of his neck before resting them in his locks. He tasted amazing, something that you missed so much as the visions of his body over you came creeping back. You pulled away from him, taking him by the hand before pushing him in the loveseat that sat near the piano that he had graciously taken you on the previous night. Elvis chuckled, reaching over to grab the already lit cigar that was in the ashtray. He stuck it in between his teeth, manspreading as his eyes clouded with something that was normal for you at this point. You got down on your knees as you crawled over to him like a lioness stalking her prey. Elvis was your prey and you were ready to pounce. You didn’t know what he had over you, but you were willing to embrace your wild side when he was around.

Your hands rubbed up his legs before stopping at his thighs, your eyes watching him as he sat there, puffing away on his cigar. His head was thrown back as a smirk crossed his lips, waiting for you to continue. Your fingers danced across his thighs before you grabbed his bulge that was proudly growing in his jumpsuit. You swore that you heard his breath hitch, but he never showed that he was affected as you unzipped the material. You pulled his erection out of his jumpsuit, wrapping your lips around the tip. Elvis hissed, pushing you to push him inch by inch into your mouth. You knew that he had a show that was soon, but you wanted him to relax. All the nervousness he may have been feeling should be released from his body, along with other things. Your mouth worked his cock, moaning as one of his hands moved to rest on your head, pushing you deeper on his cock. You gagged but quickly composed yourself as you took all of him inside your mouth.

“Goddamn, baby. You know just what I need.” He praised you, watching with a smile as you sucked him off. Your hand moved to wrap around the base of his cock, the other moving to fondle his balls as you continued on through his moans and praises. You pulled off of his cock, gathering spit in your mouth before letting it fall down his cock. You wrapped your mouth around his cock once again, lapping up what you gave him, smirking as he lost his mind with how dirty you were being. “Fuck, you’re my dirty girl, huh?” He pulled up off of his cock again, spitting on his cock as well. “Lap it up, slut. My little cum whore.” He let your jaw go, pushing you on his cock once again where you did exactly what he told you to. The slurping noises picked up as your head moved up and down his length. Your hands still fondling his balls, you knew that you were driving him closer to his orgasm. His cock twitched in your mouth before he spilled in your mouth, grunting loudly as you continued taking all that he gave you.

You sat up as you opened your mouth, showing that you were holding his cum. He tapped your jaw, indicating that he wanted you to swallow all of it. You smirked, closing your mouth as you swallowed his cum, putting his cock back into his jumpsuit before zipping him back up. He finished up his cigar, putting it out before pressing his lips to yours in a kiss. Elvis pulled you up to sit on his lap, nuzzling against your shoulder. “What did I do to deserve something like that, baby?” You looked down at him, running your fingers up across his chest—playing with the chest hair that sat prettily. “I want you to enjoy your shows tonight, relax. Everyone is gonna be there to see you.” You wanted him to know that you would be there to see him. As if on cue, a knock on the door broke you both out of your romantic stupor as you slid off of Elvis’s lap. Elvis stood up from the loveseat before crossing the room, opening the door to see Jerry and Joe standing there. You waved at them, rocking on your feet as Jerry told Elvis that it was time for him to head down because the show was about to start.

“C’mere baby.” You didn’t need to be told twice before you were immediately at Elvis’s side, gripping your clutch in your hands. “Jerry is gonna take you down to meet with your lady friend. We have a table for you and her so I can see you. I’ll see you later, okay?” He pressed his lips to your forehead, pushing you gently out of the penthouse as he and Joe walked in the opposite direction, disappearing once again from your sight. Jerry escorted you down to the showroom, your eyes immediately found Lindsay who stood next to the table you assumed was where you were going to sit. As you neared the table, you swore you could feel familiar eyes watching you, but you chose not to pay it any attention. You sat down at the table, conversing with Lindsay as you waited for the show to begin.

***

What you didn’t know was that your husband was also in the showroom, standing in the back of the room, watching you. He managed to get a ticket for the show tonight after hearing that you would attend earlier. He was still boiling with anger, watching as you giggled along with Lindsay as you waited for the show to start. He found a table that was out of sight for you, but he was still willing to keep his eyes on you. Once the show was over, you would know that he was there. The lights lowered as the music picked up, your husband’s eyes moved between Elvis and your table. He wasn’t impressed with the show, never being a fan of his music but he had to admit that he must have had a hell of a talent to have women throwing themselves at him. He noticed that you were also acting like those women. He didn’t like it one bit. You would soon learn that he didn’t like this type of behavior that you were exhibiting. You would soon go back with him and he would never let you out of his sight again.

He gripped the glass of the whiskey that he had ordered, downing the liquid as he gained alcohol courage for later. As the show moved on, the anger in him brewed and brewed until he was unable to keep the look of disgust from his face as he watched you and your friend swoon over the dancing man that was performing on the stage. As time went on, he didn’t realize that he had ordered more glasses of whiskey until his vision was getting blurred. He had to stop himself from drinking as his anger grew from the fact that you were enjoying yourself more than he was. You should be enjoying yourself in the comfort of his home, sitting with him and lusting after him. However, that was not the case. Elvis soon exited the stage, walking in the crowd as he kissed the women who wanted it. Your husband scoffed, not understanding what women found so attractive about him but he sure as hell wasn’t impressed. It was until he saw Elvis walk over to your table, placing his hand on your face and pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that his anger blew out of the top. He was so angry that he felt that he had steam coming out of his ears.

Once Elvis walked away from you getting lost in the crowd, your husband decided that he would make his move. He stood up from the table, walking over to your table. “So, this is where you are, baby.” He spat, smirking angrily as he noticed how shocked you were that he knew where you were. He grabbed your arm, yanking you from the table as he pulled you out of the ballroom. He ignored the screaming of Lindsay who was telling him to let you go and the pleas of yours—crying that he was hurting you. “I come home after working all fucking day to you gone. I find out that you’re in Vegas with your whore friend and now I know that you’re whoring yourself to see Elvis Fuckin’ Presley.” He stopped, turning back as he saw Lindsay tugging you away from him. He stopped in his tracks, shooting a glare toward Lindsay. “Let her go, bitch. You took my wife away from me and now you want to interfere? You’re so fuckin’ lucky that I don’t fucking call the law on you.” He pulled you away from her, pressing the elevator button before pushing you inside of the elevator—Lindsay begging for him to let you go as the door shut in her face.

***

You struggled against your husband as he pulled you into his hotel room. When did he arrive in Vegas? Why was he there? “Honey, please. Let me go, I’ll go back with you. Please.” You begged as he pushed his room door open, throwing you inside. He walked inside, slamming the door behind him as he rolled up his sleeves. You gulped, knowing that he was going to punish you. He gripped your hair tightly, tilting your head back as he looked over your face. “So, you came here to Vegas to fuck that washed-up pervert?!” His hand came across your face so fast that you couldn’t blink as the pain made your ears ring. You fell backward, pushing away from him as you whimpered. “Please, I’m not doing anything. I just came to-….” You couldn’t continue with your excuse as he pulled you up by your hair, pushing you onto the bed. The bed bounced as you pushed yourself up in an attempt to get away from him. Your husband was not having it, pulling you back to him by your legs as he sat on them. “I didn’t know I married a whore.” His fingers caressed your cheek as his other hand held your arms. “I didn’t know your parents raised a fuckin’ whore.” The hand that was once caressing your cheek soon wrapped around your throat, squeezing a little too tight for your liking.

You gasped, jerking underneath him as your oxygen was cut off. In your mind, you were begging for anyone to help you. You were begging Lindsay would get you some help. You were begging that Elvis would come to save you. You knew, you wishfully thought, as you knew that nobody usually saved you from the wrath of your husband. Your husband moved his hand that was holding your arms, punching you across the face as his other hand still choked you. You couldn’t do anything but cry, wondering why you didn’t leave the country instead of coming to Vegas with Lindsay. You were getting beaten and strangled in your husband’s bed, but no one could save you. As he sat above you, punching and slapping your face as well as choking you, you were fighting back with everything that you had. Your hands were pushing your husband’s face, scratching him across the face as you managed to get his hand from across your throat. You coughed, your oxygen coming back as you screamed out with the little voice you had. “Help! Help me!”

Your husband chuckled as he held your cheeks in his hand, glaring down at you. “No one will help you, bitch. I’m going to show you who you belong to and news flash, it’s not Elvis Presley.” His hand connected with your face once more and you heard a snap. The fucker broke your fucking nose, but you were so numb to the pain that it didn’t phase you. You were only worried about saving your life and not being found dead in a huge hotel in Las Vegas. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please stop!” You begged, now sobbing as you covered your face with your hands, which was becoming soaked with your blood. At that moment, you were sure that you were gonna die and you wouldn’t even be able to see Elvis again. The exact time that your husband was torturously assaulting you, Lindsay had found Joe. She was crying, trying to explain what was happening with you. “Doll, you’re gonna have to calm down. What’s happening?” Lindsay wasn’t sure where you were, but she wasn’t going to stop until she made sure you were safe.

“Y/N—is in trouble! Her husband has found her,” Lindsay started, noticing that Joe’s eyes widened. “H-husband?” He asked, shaking his head. “Long story, but he is probably killing her! We have to help her! He is so abusive to her; he literally will kill her if we don’t help her!” She sobbed, trying to get Joe to do something. Joe nodded his head frantically as he tugged her with him as they went off to find Elvis and the others. Joe led Lindsay to the dressing room where Elvis was after finishing up the show. Jerry was standing at the door, turning to look at the both of you. His smile fell from his face when he saw that Lindsay was crying and Joe was visibly angry. “What’s going on?” He started before looking back at Lindsay. Joe explained what was happening, noticing how Jerry’s face paled before he turned to knock on the door. “Hey, EP. We got a problem.” Elvis opened the dressing room door, immediately noticing that the aura was off. “What’s—where's Y/N?” He asked, eyes locking to Lindsay who clearly didn’t have Y/N standing next to her. Jerry leaned in, whispering the situation in his ear. Elvis’s fists clenched as he pushed past everyone. Joe and Jerry followed behind him, knowing exactly the reason why Elvis was upset.

Your husband had finally gotten tired of beating you, laying beside you on the bed as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You silently sobbed as you laid there, sick to your stomach. You were sick to your stomach because you were laying next to your husband, sick to your stomach because you were covered in blood and bruises, and most importantly you were sick to your stomach because in the midst of it all, you missed Elvis. You wanted Elvis to come rescue you and in the back of your mind, you knew that he would. There was suddenly a knock on the door, and you sat up in bed. Your husband grumbled as he sat up with you, yelling at the door. “I asked not to be disturbed!” The knock came once again, causing your husband to stand up and walk to the door. As he opened it, a gun was placed against his forehead. You gasped, sitting back against the bed frame as Lindsay ran inside of the room. You reached out for her, sobbing in her arms as you watched the scene in front of you. Elvis walked into the room, followed by Joe and Jerry with his gun pressed against your husband’s temple.

“You son of a bitch! You like beating women? You like hitting on MY woman!” Elvis gritted, his blue eyes were painted over with fury, and at any moment, he would have snapped. “She’s my wife! What in the hell do you mean, ‘your woman,’ Your husband spat at Elvis, careful not to say anything crazy as Elvis still had the gun pressed to his head. Elvis chuckled darkly, pressing his tongue in his cheek as he pushed the safety down. You gasped, closing your eyes as you feared that Elvis would kill him. The look in his eyes was so deadly that you were sure that the room would be covered with his brains if he wasn’t careful. “Do you think that I give a fuck that she’s your wife? After today, she’s going to be my wife. You don’t deserve to have her after the shit that you’ve done to her. I know all about you putting your fuckin’ hands on her, forcing her to stay at home while you go out and lay your dick in other women.” Elvis walked your husband backward to the nearest wall, still pressing the gun to his temple. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t blow your fuckin’ brains out all over these walls? You’re gonna leave Las Vegas tonight and crawl back into whatever fuckin’ hole you came out of, and you’re gonna leave Y/N alone. You ain’t gonna show your face back here ever again, or I will fuckin’ kill you. You hear me, ‘ya son of a bitch?” At that moment, he pulled the trigger, but it clicked. Your husband looked like he could shit an egg out of his ass.

Elvis laughed, smacking your husband’s face lightly before rearing his hand back—connecting his fist to his face. Your husband fell down on the floor, holding his cheek as Elvis climbed over him. The punches kept connecting to your husband’s face as Lindsay helped you out of the bed. Joe rushed over to the both of you as he picked you up bridal style, carrying you out of the room—the sounds of your husband’s groans echoing in your ears. You called out for Lindsay as your vision started to blur. You hadn’t realized that you had lost a good amount of blood until you passed out in Joe’s arms to the sound of Lindsay screaming your name.

When you came hours later, you were in Elvis’s bed. It was still the dead of night, but you could tell that the sun would rise soon. You winced, feeling your head pounding and your ears ringing. Your mind returned to your husband pounding into your face hours earlier, the fear jolting you out of the bed. “Woah, baby. Relax.” A soothing southern accent stopped you in your tracks as you were thinking of taking off once again–escaping from the wrath that your husband had inflicted upon you. “I know you ain’t tryna to leave me again, honey.” Elvis placed his hand on your shoulder, spinning you around; his blue eyes were once again looking into your soul. Although you knew that your face was covered in scratches and bruises, Elvis still looked at you as if you were beautiful. “Gee, honey. I hope you didn’t come here to think that you could come into my world and then leave. How long have you been dealin’ with that son of a bitch?” You were taken aback by the question as you thought that he would have asked about you hiding your marriage from him. “You’re not going to ask about why a married woman is sleeping around with you?” Your voice shook as your arms instinctively wrapped around yourself. Elvis laughed, leading you back over to the bed and sitting you down on the edge.

“Honey, married women are the least of my problems. There have been plenty who have wanted to be in your position, but none of them have made it past one night. D’ya know what makes you different? You have that fire in your eyes, as I do. You want something better for yourself, which is what I like about you. So no, I ain’t askin’ ‘ya about why you are sleepin’ with me. Unless you want to tell me that yourself?” Elvis looked over you with a look of understanding before sitting beside you. You took a deep breath before you started your story. You had met your husband when you were a teenager and immediately married him, but deep down, you did not want to. You told him about how your husband made you stay home while he was out sleeping with other women but would come home and beat you, even though you did nothing wrong. As you were talking, you noticed that Elvis’s fists were clenched–white-knuckled, and his jaw flexed. You placed your hand over one of his, reassuring him that you were okay. “I shoulda’ shot that bastard back there. I didn’t want to scare you off.” He pulled you into a hug before he kissed your forehead.

You melted into his embrace as he kissed down your face, running his fingers over your bruises. You winced, cowering away from him. “I’m sorry you had to save me back there. I feel embarrassed.” You shouldn’t be here with Elvis right now, as you thought that your husband was surely going to find you again. “If you think that your sorry excuse of a husband is going to find you here, he’s not. Joe and Jerry took care of him.” He spoke as if he read your mind. You instantly relaxed, not caring where he was. You were done with him as far as you were concerned. Your husband had ruined your life for far too long, so now it was time for you to live for yourself. Elvis continued to be attentive to your needs more than your husband had ever been. The thought of this made you feel warm inside, so you leaned in pressing your lips to his softly. Elvis stilled before pressing his lips back to yours gently, careful not to hurt you. He pushed you back to the bed, moving his lips down to your neck.

He traced the hand print that was around your neck, grimacing as he thought about how your husband could have killed you. “That bastard, I should have killed him.” He repeated, pressing soft kisses along your skin, licking and nipping at your collarbone. “I think I’m going to worship you tonight. Don’t need to worry your pretty little head about pleasing me.” He whispered, pushing your straps that held the dress to your body down your shoulders. As the straps fell down your shoulders, his lips chased them—nipping and licking at your skin again. He smirked, noticing that purple marks that littered your skin that he knew came from him. As Elvis removed your dress from your body, you shivered with anticipation as you watched him continue to kiss down your body, undoing your bra before throwing it on the floor. He pecked around your chest, wrapping his lips around your nipple. You could have died and went to heaven at that moment. His mouth felt hot on your skin, pushing you to release a whine from your lips.

Elvis continued to show your breasts much needed attention, but you were needy for him. You needed him to assure you that he would protect you. “Please, Elvis.” You whined but you knew he wanted to take care of you tonight. You pushed the urgency of having him inside of you aside as your eyes continued to watch him, kiss and lick down your body once again. His fingers quickly pulled your panties down off your hips, throwing them down where your bra now lay. His lips wrapped around your budding bud, fingers rubbing between your folds. Your arousal was beginning to pool around your walls, slowly oozing out of you. Your back arched off of the bed as he slid two fingers inside of you. Your folds fluttered around his fingers as your own fingers found their way into his hair. Your moans grew louder and louder. You didn’t care. You were deep in pleasure, ignoring the pain that was screaming all over your body from the abuse your husband gave you. You lived for the pleasure mixed with the pain, remembering how Elvis was close to shooting your husband earlier. Your pussy fluttered again with the thought, whimpering curses under your breath as he continued to eat you.

Elvis enjoyed the sweetness that was coming from you, lapping up the arousal that was pooling on his taste buds. He moaned, sucking your pulsating bud, spreading your legs wider as his fingers fucked into you. “You want me badly, dont’cha baby?” He teased, licking around your pussy lips as he pulled away from you; continuing to finger fuck you into oblivion. Your orgasm was growing closer and closer, your toes curling into the sheets as you continued whimpering louder. Elvis pulled his fingers from you before you could cum causing you to groan out in disbelief. He tsked as he kissed down your leg as he pulled your foot up to his face, pressing kisses along the padding of your toes. You gasped, not used to the feeling as he kissed up the side of your foot. Elvis smirked, wrapping his lip around your big toe, playfully moving his tongue around it. Your body arched off the bed again as Elvis pulled your toe out his mouth. “Touch yourself, baby. I wanna watch you cum.”

‘Your hand moved down to your clit, rubbing in a circular motion as Elvis continued to wrap his lips around your toes. You never knew that Elvis was into feet, but you would be lying if you didn’t find the idea arousing of Elvis licking and sucking your toes. You would even entertain the idea of giving him a footjob later, if he wanted. As your brain replayed the moment of Elvis scaring your husband with his gun, you chased your high as you continued rubbing your clit with your fingers. “Fuck Elvis! You were so hot today, scaring my fuckin’ husband with your gun.” You whimpered out, not caring that it could have ruined the moment. Elvis’s brow raised as he smirked at your words. “Yeah? You loved seeing me take care of your husband for hurting my woman? For thinking that he could take you away from me?” He continued kissing at your toes, his eyes not leaving the sight of you pleasing yourself. “Use your other hand to finger yourself slowly, baby. Don’t rush..” He commanded as he moved away from your foot, getting on his knees—only watching you. You groaned, throwing your head back against the bed as your fingers continued to rub at your clit, the overstimulation at its full peak. You could feel all of your orgasm pushing forward like a train, the urge to pee crashing over your body as your hips lifted off of the bed, your juices shooting straight into Elvis’s face. You screamed at the top of your lungs as your legs continued shaking and your orgasm continued to crash over you. “Holy shit, mama! ‘ya fuckin’ covered my outfit with your squirt.” Elvis chuckled, standing up from the bed as he unbuttoned his blouse.

His chest glistened with the mixture of his sweat and your juices, which you couldn’t help but to stare at his dark hair that littered his chest. You collapsed on the bed, trying to catch your breath as the pounding of your heart took over your hearing. Elvis walked away from the bed, heading into the bathroom as he wiped himself off with a towel before he headed back towards the bed, where you laid. He leaned over to your lips, pressing an passionate kiss to your lips before he wiped the glistening arousal from your thighs and your pussy. “Get some rest, mama. Tomorrow, we have a lot of things to do before we get you settled to stay here.” Your brow raised as you looked over at him. After everything that happened tonight, Elvis was still willing to allow you to stay by his side. He was willing to help you escape your husband. Your eyes fluttered as darkness surrounded you. Somehow, as you slumbered beside Elvis, you had never felt more safe. You were never safe with your husband–the bruises and scratches were proof of the pain and anguish that you lived with. However as you laid in Elvis’s arms, snoozing away, Elvis made it his business that your husband would never touch you again. He was going to make sure of it, even if he had to handle it himself.

Taglist:

@aconflagrationofmyown @lindszeppelin @headfullofpresley @venus-haze @ash-omalley @oh-my-front-door @oh-kurva @loving-elvis @lovininapinkcadillac @ep-supremacy @sournatromanoff @woundmetender @rainydayz101 @aysiiarenee @godlypresley @bisexualwvtson @samfangirls @missmaywemeetagain @literally-just-elvis-fics @polksalademma @flwrs4aust @rosaminny @foreverdolly @austinbutlersbaby @ggwritesstuff

#elvis 2022 #elvis presley #elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis #austin!elvis smut #elvis smut #elvis presley angst #austin!elvis angst #daisy writes

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bullet-prooflove · 2 months

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Monday Through To Sunday: Trey Cahill x Reader (CSI: Vegas)

Tagging: @kmc1989

Trey Cahill is an instrument of chaos. You learn that within five minutes of meeting him in the CSI parking garage. He’s charming, roguish and has a smile that’s racked up more notches on his bedpost than cases you’ve closed.

“He has never met trouble he hasn’t loved to get into.” Josh tells you distractedly as he drops the screwdriver into an evidence bag.

That includes you.

It starts when he comes to your rescue during one of the most turbulent thunderstorms Las Vegas has seen in years. Your car breaks down and you ended up stranded by the side of the road when his tow truck pulls up alongside of you.

“It must be fate.” He smiles as the two of you sit in the cab of his truck, completely soaked to the bone. He turns up the heating, tilting the vents towards you so you get the lion’s share of the hot air.

It’s that simple act of kindness that leads to him spending the night at your place. He ends up tangled in your bedsheets, fucking you to the sound of the rain pattering on the windows.

“Let’s do this again sometime.” He murmurs against your lips as he lingers on the doorstep. “Maybe tonight after I drop off your car.”

He pops by frequently after that, to change your oil, check your tire pressure, tune up your engine. It always ends the same way, his hands running through your hair as he fucks you so hard you see stars.

You don’t realise how serious it’s become, not until he ends up in jail. When they release him back into the wild you’re waiting for him on the steps of the precinct.

“Folsom told you what happened?” He asks as you hand him the strawberry slushie you’d bought from the kiosk down the block. He presses it to the bruising that’s blossoming across his cheek bone.

“I don’t need you to play the white knight.” You tell him, prodding at the ice with your straw.

“Noone talks about my girl that way.” He says fiercely. “I don’t give a fuck who it is.”

What happened was this…

Trey had dropped by the Crime Lab, hoping to grab lunch when he’d overheard a defence lawyer call you a sanctimonious cunt. The two of them had ended up scuffling on the floor of the reception area. You’d been in interrogation at the time, interviewing another suspect with no knowledge of the chaos that was unfolding around you.

“Your girl?” You question and he gives you that look.

“Yea.” He says, his eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he sips through his straw. “I’m not seeing other people.”

“I thought you had a woman for every day the week, that I was just your Tuesday girl.” You say and he pauses beside you.

“Monday all the way through to Sunday more like.” He retorts before pulling something out of his back pocket. “I keep a picture of us in my wallet, the one from the photobooth in the bowling alley.”

He hands you the photo strip and you find yourself smiling as you study the images. Your faces pressed together beaming, your lips brushing over his grizzled cheek, the two of you kissing, your teeth grazing his lower lip.

“I’m not seeing anybody else either.” You tell him as you return the photo strip. He tucks it back into his wallet before returning it to his back pocket.

“I’m sorry if I caused trouble for you today.” He murmurs, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “I just couldn’t stand to hear him call you that, not when I know how hard you work.”

“I must be doing something right.” You say softly, your palms coming to rest upon his firm chest. “Especially if he was cussing me out that badly.”

“Oh he said terrible things.” Trey teases before he cradles your face between his hands. “I meant what I said baby, you really are the only girl for me.”

Love Trey? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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#trey cahill #trey csi vegas #trey cahill x reader #trey cahill x you #trey x reader #trey x you #csi vegas #Daniel di Tomasso

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from-memphis-with-love · 1 year

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Songbird Chapter 1 - The Handsome Stranger

Pairing: Elvis x female OC (Valerie Pedretti)

Word count: 2,500

Warnings: None!

Summary: Valerie Pedretti is a quiet, unassuming girl of 22 with little money but a lot of heart who just so happens to turn into a force of nature when she sings. A chance encounter with Elvis in an elevator at the International Hotel changes her life forever, for good and bad.

Las Vegas, Nevada, 1969

Valerie Pedretti was not at all prepared to meet Elvis Presley.

If you had told her she would soon come face to face with the biggest star on the planet, she would have probably laughed in your face. Then, if she realized you were actually serious, she would have at least wanted to look nice. Without question, she’d have spent hours in the front of her tiny, chipped robin’s egg blue vanity primping and preening and making sure her nails were a beautiful crimson red.

Then, she’d have slipped into a knit wrap dress to accentuate her waist or something flirty like that and made sure her ink black locks were curled into place. Her face would be painted to meticulous perfection, having obsessed over every flick of eyeliner, pump of mascara, and swipe of strawberry pink gloss.

In that alternate reality, Valerie Pedretti would've met Elvis looking every bit the star that he was. But life, with its unpredictable turns, had other plans.

Instead, she found herself dressed for comfort in her oldest and rattiest pair of jeans, her hair a tangled mess on top of her head, and she’d been schlepping, with great difficulty, what seemed like the two largest suitcases known to man. She thought her face must have been horrifying, what with the dark circles under her eyes and the sleep-smudged mascara running halfway down her cheeks. Val, as her friends lovingly called her, wanted nothing more than to dart out of the airport, peel off her sweat-slicked clothing, plop into her hotel bed, and start fresh tomorrow.

It had been a horrendously long day. A simple six-hour flight to Vegas turned into a 19-hour odyssey thanks to inclement weather. On the cab ride to the hotel, she didn’t even care to look at the lights illuminating the strip. Normally, her eyes would have been peeled, taking in all the sights and sounds of Sin City as they flashed by the window and melded into one big neon strobe. Instead, she lay her exhausted head down against the inside of the doorframe and drifted off to sleep. Before she knew it, she was shaken awoke by the gruff cabby, drool pooling at the side of her mouth. So attractive.

“International Hotel,” he grunted, his voice an ice bath to her face. As if on autopilot, Valerie stuffed a few crinkled bills into his hands and spilled out onto the hotel's paved entryway in a crumpled, tired heap. The fluorescent bulbs were absolutely blinding, and she felt the rumblings of a searing headache. She fingered inside her purse, hoping to find her sunglasses, and almost broke into tears of joy when she realized she'd remembered to bring them with her. The sweet promise of sleep propelled her legs forward as she pushed the doors open to another world. An arctic blast of air conditioning greeted her. It sent a chill across her sweat-soaked back, making her already uncomfortable clothes feel like shards against her body.

It was 11 pm, but you'd never know it by the comings and goings in the cavernous, opulent lobby. Smartly dressed men walked arm in arm with elegant women decked out in sequined gowns and impressive bouffant hairdos. It seemed as if everyone was either puffing on cigars or sipping on zippy little cocktails and she could scarcely see more than 10 feet in front of her for all the smoke. Impeccably uniformed bellmen milled about while friendly, peppy reservation agents stood at the ready behind a gigantic marble check-in desk.

As she moved closer into the foyer and her eyes adjusted to the light that even her sunglasses couldn’t dim, she realized there were Elvis banners, pennants, and signs everywhere. Shit, was it his opening weekend? If only she could afford a ticket! The people buzzing around must have been fans, mingling in every corner of the lobby and all over the first floor of the hotel. Their elegant clothing belied an excited boisterousness, and the energy in the room was absolutely electric. Standing there holding her meager belongings and looking decidedly out of place in her t-shirt and Robert Clergerie knockoffs, she felt as if she’d been plucked from Long Island and dumped on Mars. Scanning the crowd of revelers in their finery, her clothes had never felt so threadbare.

Even though music was her life, Valerie didn’t have the money to spend on concerts, nor was she the type of person to ask for charity to do so. Her gentle presence caused some to underestimate her and, moving through life with a calm and quiet grace, she often blended into the background. But her soft-spoken voice belied a deep steadiness within (not to mention a wicked sense of humor), and the kind of resolve one attains only from truly having struggled. With her doll-like features and tendency to speak only when she deemed it absolutely necessary, it was easy to mistake her for a fragile and delicate creature. But there was a depth of strength lying just beneath the surface, for Valerie Pedretti’s life had been anything but easy.

Born to a single mother who struggled to make ends meet, Valerie often found herself bouncing from one apartment to another in search of that which eluded her little family most, stability. Her mother worked long hours as a waitress, leaving Valerie home alone for much of the day. The radio became Valerie’s constant companion, and she learned to channel her pain, her hunger, and her uncertainty, into singing. She never knew when her next meal was coming, but she could always depend on her voice to carry her through the bad times.

Ah, her voice. It was a thing of beauty, a rare gift that she honed and fine-tuned to stunning perfection. When Valerie sang, her quiet exterior crumbled to bits, transforming her into a thundering force of nature that could shake the rafters. Transmitting a power that was both breathtaking and awe-inspiring, Valerie’s voice left listeners in a state of bewilderment, for nobody thought it possible that so much power could come from someone so little.

At seventeen, she dropped out of school to work full-time, toiling away scrubbing floors and flipping pancakes just to help her mom keep the lights on. But even though her weary bones ached and her spirit was tired, her inner light wasn’t entirely dimmed. Valerie refused to give up on her dream of becoming a singer. I’m going to see this through, she told herself as she recorded some songs on her neighbor’s tape deck and sent them away into the ether with a prayer.

She spent every spare moment rehearsing and writing her own music, and took every odd job related to singing that was made available to her. Any gig was a good one, whether it was singing a jingle for a supermarket or working as a session singer on one-off contracts. One day, she’d even gotten the call to audition for Frank Sinatra in Las Vegas. Well, technically, she didn’t get the call. It was her friend Deena who did, but she’d come down with mono. Nevertheless, this was her shot, and she was going to make the best of it—come hell or high water.

Someone walking by spilled their drink on her sleeve, and this brought her back to reality. Weaving through the crowd, Valerie found her way to the check-in desk. She cleared her throat.

“I’d like to check in, please.”

“What’s the name of the reservation?”

“Val—uh, Deena Lovelace.”

The blonde woman with a pixie cut whose nameplate said Brenda thumbed the appointment book and, after what seemed like an agonizing wait, found her tired guest’s name. “I’ve got you! You’re in room 2106. Just a moment, please.” She headed into the back to retrieve the key, and Valerie swayed from side to side in order to stay awake.

In an instant, weighty keys were plunked into her hands. Avoiding direct eye contact, she turned on her heel and hoofed it for her room. The hotel was a dizzying array of turns—this way and that—and in her tired stupor, it reminded her of a twisting maze. Her thudding, ungainly steps were muffled by both the shag carpet and the din of the fans congregating in the reception area.

However, as she continued her journey, the ambiance gradually shifted. The hum of voices grew fainter, replaced by an overwhelming silence that signaled she was far from the bustling core of the hotel. Finally, she found herself in a secluded spot, standing alone in front of an elevator. She pressed the button and waited, arms aching from the weight of her bulging valises. Inner Valerie cursed herself for packing way too much.

With no effort at all, she slipped out of her heels and bent her toes backwards and forwards, allowing her feet to relish the feel of the carpet below. It was soft, springy, and just what her aching soles needed. On instinct, she began singing a familiar, yet nameless tune—just a few absentminded bars of sweet little sounds to make the time pass. Notes she’d always turned to when she needed comfort. The thought of washing her face and jumping into bed was the only thing on her mind as the golden doors opened with a tinny ding, only half-startling her out of her exhausted stupor.

The light emanating from the gilt cabin was so intense she hadn’t realized there were people inside. As her eyes adjusted, she quickly shoved her feet back into her shoes, feeling like a complete mess.

"Evening, miss," greeted a man with a shock of red hair and a face peppered with freckles. He held the elevator door with a gesture of gentlemanly politeness, his eyes twinkling with warmth. As she stepped inside, he turned his attention to his companion. The contrast between them was stark.

Beside the redhead in white stood a tall, lean man, exuding an air of effortless elegance. He was dressed head-to-toe in black: sleek trousers, a crisply tailored shirt, and a sharp tuxedo jacket that hung perfectly on his lithe, powerful frame. The one pop of color came from a chic scarf looped around his neck, its pink, black, and white patterns accentuating his perfectly tanned skin. His raven-black hair, styled to perfection, gleamed like quicksilver in the elevator's light. But what really gave him away were the expensive-looking horn-rimmed sunglasses perched atop a flawlessly sculpted nose.

Valerie didn't need a second glance. Even with those sunglasses on, there was no mistaking him. His images, large and in living color, adorned the walls of the hotel's lobby. Everywhere she looked downstairs, his face stared back, and now, she was sharing an elevator with him.

Every ounce of self-awareness about her disheveled appearance vanished instantly, eclipsed by the sheer magnitude of his aura. Her eyes widened to an almost cartoonish extent, and she found herself involuntarily scanning him with exaggerated deliberation—starting from his polished shoes, moving upwards past tailored seams, and culminating at the crown of his meticulously styled hair.

If only he could've peered behind her sunglasses, he'd have seen a gaze not just of surprise, but of utter disbelief. Valerie had never met anyone famous before, let alone a celebrity of his magnitude.

The man she recognized as Elvis leaned casually against the elevator’s plush wall. His observant eyes, always used to the spotlight, now turned their attention to her. He took in her slumped shoulders and the subtle signs of fatigue etched into her features as she leaned into the far wall across from him.

“You’ve had a long day, haven’t you, honey?” His voice, usually filled with the charisma of a performer, now carried an undertone of genuine warmth and concern. It startled Valerie.

She nodded, feeling her heart rate pick up. "I—uh, yeah. No. I mean, yes. S-something like that." She cursed at herself for not being as eloquent as she wanted to.

"Hey,” he soothed. “I get it.” He flashed a smile that seemed to blind her in the already bright cabin. "My name is Elvis, and this here is Red. And who might you be, honey?"

Her intuition was right—it really was him. As if he needed any introduction. A warm blush colored her cheeks. "Valerie," she murmured, her eyes darting downwards. “My name is Valerie.” A small sigh of relief escaped her lips when she saw her shoes snugly in place on her feet and not in her hands.

"Val-e-rie," Elvis repeated, rolling the name over his tongue—savoring every syllable. "That's a beautiful name. Are you in town for a show?"

Valerie shook her head. "Technically, yes. Well, no. Just an audition," she replied, her heart thundering in her ears. Her pulse quickened. She wondered if its rhythmic beats were audible.

“Who for?”

“Frank Sinatra.”

“Too bad. Could’ve used a pretty little voice like yours in my show. Never hurts to have another one,” he chuckled, his eyes dancing with mischief and warmth behind his tinted sunglasses. "Well, I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead," Elvis said, chuckling softly. "You have a lovely voice, I can tell."

Suddenly, Valerie’s cheeks scorched and her throat felt tight. "How do you know that?" she managed to stammer.

Elvis laughed again. "Well, darling, I have a sixth sense about these things," he said. "Plus, I heard you humming just as the door opened. You're just a li’l songbird, ain’t you?"

As Valerie tried to process what was happening, her breath grew rapid and shallow. Every ounce of air she inhaled seemed charged with energy. Here was Elvis Presley, the King of Rock and Roll, not more than three feet from her face, complimenting her voice and giving her a nickname on the spot! She was floored.

Before she could give an answer, Elvis extended a graceful hand and took hers in his. His cold rings practically smoked upon touching the searing heat of her flushed skin. And just as the elevator doors began to part, revealing his floor, Elvis leaned in and whispered with heartfelt sincerity. “Give it your all tomorrow. I’ve got a feeling they’re in for a treat. Knock ‘em dead, songbird.” Valerie shivered. She thought she saw the slightest glimpse of a smirk on his lips.

Then, wordlessly, he smoothly, almost teasingly, stepped out of the elevator alongside Red. All that remained was a cloud of heady, spicy cologne. So utterly captivated and dizzied by the overwhelming rush of the brief encounter was Valerie that she found herself leaning against the elevator’s cold wall for support, lest her legs give out and she crumple to the floor. “What was that?” she muttered to herself in disbelief, frantically pressing the button for her floor. As she ascended, her ragged breaths slowly returned to normal. Her body, coiled like a spring, gradually loosened. Warmth dissipated from between her legs.

It was the first time that Elvis Presley and Valerie Pedretti would meet, but it would be the last time he would ever forget her. Little did they both know that their paths would cross again, in a way that would change both of their lives forever. But for now, Valerie was content to sink into her hotel bed and dream of the handsome stranger she had met in the elevator.

-------------- Tagging you all, because who else would I be without an obsessive rewrite that I wanna show you all? @aliengoth3 @arrolyn1114 @basicpresleygirl @be-my-ally @butler-on-beale-street @buckyysdoll @babylovepresley @ccab @devilsflowerr @dirtyelvisfant4sy @damcoquette @elvislittleone @ellie-24 @foreverdolly @gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @heartbrake-hotel @if-i-can-dream-of-elvis @j-v-9-2 @kendralavon7 @kaiistheguy @loving-elvis @missmaywemeetagain @notstefaniepresley @polksalademma @presleyhearted @thatbanditqueen @whatstruthgottodowithit @whositmcwhatsit @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @vintageshanny @lookingforrainbows @prompted-wordsmith @samfangirls @powerofelvis

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis fans #elvis x oc #songbird

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 8 months

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Begin Again: Chapter Two | Spencer Reid

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

<< Chapter One

Chapter Two: Room 304

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC!Charlotte Morris

Warnings: Suggestive language, foul language, talk of murder, talk of death, description of a crime scene, mention of blood.

Author's note: Wooohooo part two!

Words: 1.6K

He had been staring at his phone for hours. The phone number he had saved last night had been screaming at him, telling him to call it. Yet, he still hesitated. Every logical sense in him told him he shouldn’t call her. It would’ve been too creepy, too stalkery for him to call her so out of the blue.

“What are you up to, Pretty Boy?” Derek asked when he found his coworker at his desk, staring at his cellphone, something the young profiler usually never did.

Spencer coughed and stuffed his phone in his pocket. “N-nothing,” he stuttered.

“Oh, come on now.” Derek sat down on the corner of Spencer’s desk. “You’re thinking about calling her, aren’t you?”

Of course Spencer couldn’t lie to Derek. To none of his colleagues, for that matter. They were the best at their job. It shouldn’t surprise him that he knew what was happening.

“Isn’t it weird to call someone after not having seen them for seventeen years?” Spencer asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

Derek shrugged. “It’s only gonna be weird if you make it weird,” he said, then sighed at the sight of his coworker’s forlorn expression. “If you don’t feel confident calling her, then don’t. Give it some time. Think it over. But, kid…” Spencer looked up at him again. “If a girl has been on your mind for seventeen years, it must mean something.”

“Yeah… I guess…”

“Morning, sunshine,” Thomas greeted when Charlotte raced out of her room with her blouse only half done up and still sticking out of her dress pants. The young man was enjoying the sight in front him more than his morning cereal.

His roommate was racing around the house looking for her stuff whilst still getting dressed, clearly in a rush to get to work.

“Morning,” Charlotte grunted as she clasped her watch around her wrist before moving to continue buttoning her blouse. “I-I need… Did you see my–”

“On the kitchen counter,” Thomas replied, pointing at the kitchen.

He didn’t even need any more information to know what she was looking for. It was the little bracelet she always wore with the Las Vegas charms. One had the Vegas skyline, the other was a deck of cards. She had taken it off last night when she was heating up the dinner Thomas had left for her.

She could never leave the house with it.

“Thanks, my sweet,” she mumbled as she walked over to the counter and put the bracelet back on around her wrist, right next to her watch. “Oh, hey, do you wanna have lunch with me and Val later? We’ve got the big meeting with the mayor just before noon, so we figured we could take a break and have some lunch together. Wanna join?”

Thomas sipped his coffee, letting the question simmer in his mind. “Oh, uh, yeah, sure!”

“Can I come?” The incredibly beautiful British accent of Yanisha Kumar echoed through the air.

The beautiful Indian-Brit slunk around her boyfriend and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She was wearing one of his shirts, which was big enough to reach beneath her bum and made her long legs look even longer. Next to Yanisha, Charlotte was but a blob, but she had managed to get over her insecurities the more she got to know Yanisha.

“Yes! Please, join us,” Charlotte affirmed as she tucked his shirt in her pants. “I’ll see you both later then.” She kissed both of them on the cheek, took a gulp of Thomas’ coffee and then grabbed her stuff to leave the apartment.

“Good luck on the big meeting, Lot!” Yanisha called after her whilst Thomas simply yelled out a “bye!”.

As Charlotte moved through the hotel on her morning walk-through, she ran all the things that she wanted to talk about during the meeting with the mayor through her head. There was so much she had to be thinking about. Nothing could make her stray from the boost of confidence she was on to tackle the mayor down and get what she needed for the hotel.

“Jeez,” Val complained when Charlotte walked into the back offices. The young receptionist was vacuuming the carpeted floor around their desks. “I suck dick better than this piece of shit.”

The thirty-something general manager chuckled. “You don’t suck dick, Val.”

She stopped her vacuum-cleaning and looked up. “Exactly my point.”

“You’re a menace to society, my darling.” Charlotte took a seat at her desk and sighed. “Can you go and check on Joy and Tinashe? One of them needed more rose petals.”

Valencia hummed as she straightened out her skirt before heading off to check up on the housekeeping team. With a sigh, Charlotte started rummaging through her files and wrote down all of the bullet points that had rushed through her head during her walk-through.

“Lottie…”

Charlotte looked up from her paperwork at Val and her heart shot up to her throat. The look on her face didn’t predict much good. In fact, it was the same look she had given her a little over a week ago when one of the guests didn’t check out on time and they were met with the most horrifying scene of their career.

“No,” Charlotte mumbled and got up before grabbing Val’s hand, allowing the receptionist to guide her towards the room in question. “304, again?” She whispered as she took out her keycard to open the door.

Neither of them stepped inside, but Charlotte did lean in to slide her card into the slot for electricity, her hands shaking as she did so. The lights in the room flickered on, revealing the one thing both women were so afraid of.

“Val, honey… Go downstairs and call 911…” She whispered, not taking her eyes off the man on the bed. Splatters of blood decorated the walls and furniture around. From where she stood, the man was stabbed to death, multiple times before his throat was slashed.

It was the second time she had seen something like this, though nothing could ever prepare you for how horrifying it is.

It made her wonder how anyone in law enforcement could possibly do it.

“We’re going to Hartford, Connecticut,” JJ started the briefing, showing the crime scene photos of the hotel room. “It’s the second murder in the same hotel in two weeks.”

Ignoring the little flip of his heart at the mention of the city, Spencer dove straight into the case file. “Stab wounds and a sliced throat, that’s overkill. Was the previous MO the same?”

“No. The first time, the victim died from asphyxiation,” JJ informed.

Emily’s brows furrowed. “Then how do we even know it’s the same UnSub?”

“It happened in the same exact room, room 304 and he left this behind…” JJ showed a close-up of the shreds of paper scattered around the body and room. “Paper shreds around the body, all seemingly with the same handwriting.”

Hotch nodded his head whilst gathering the files in the folder and scraping his chair back. “He’s accelerating. We’ll debrief further on the plane. Wheels up in ten.”

“Hey,” Morgan started when the team filed into the jet. Spencer and Derek sat down opposite each other. “Doesn’t Charlotte live in Hartford?” he asked with a half-teasing smirk on his face.

“Who’s Charlotte?” Emily queried, interested in any and all workplace gossip.

Chuckling, Derek turned to his female coworkers, wanting them in on what he and Penelope had found out for Spencer. “She's Spencer’s high school crush.”

“Oh,” JJ tried to bite back a smirk. The boy next to her was blushing furiously. “Weren’t you like twelve in high school?”

Spencer hummed. “Yes, I was,” he simply answered, not giving any details.

“How old does that make her?” Emily asked, furrowing her eyebrows in thought.

“Thirty-three,” Penelope responded as she pushed through the aisle with her luggage. “She was born on January twentieth, 1976, which makes her four years older than our dear Reid and a Capricorn.”

Derek’s brows furrowed as he shot up to help her put her luggage in the overhead compartment. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Hotch asked me to come,” she replied, nodding towards Hotch and Rossi, who had just boarded the plane. “Said I could do my sleuthing there with the security cameras and everything.”

“Can we focus on the case instead of Spencer’s high school crushes?” Hotch ordered, though he couldn’t hide the proud smile on his face. He knew something Spencer did not know yet and he wasn’t going to say anything before Spencer could find out himself.

For a good hour and a half, the team bounced theories off each other, based on the facts they had, until they landed in Hartford, Connecticut. Hotch had told them they were all going to set up at the hotel where it had happened as the general manager had told them they were allowed to set up shop in the meeting room, just so they could be close to the crime scene.

The team entered the hotel, looking around and taking everything in so they wouldn’t miss any details that could come in handy later. The only detail Spencer did miss was the young general manager walking up to them and shaking JJ’s hand.

“Hi, I’m Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone,” JJ introduced herself.

“I’m Charlotte Morris, general manager.”

As the words rolled off her lips, Spencer’s head snapped up and when his eyes landed on her, his world started spinning. There she was. Although her hair had grown longer and the pink was all gone, it was still her. The same girl from seventeen years ago was still very visible through her kind smile and her worry-filled eyes.

Then, their eyes locked and for a second, Spencer thought he was going to black out.

He watched all of it begin again.

Everything taglist: @calamitykaty @n0wornever @wanniiieeee @unnowhatthisistbh

Criminal Minds Taglist: @boimlers-gonna-boim @samsbirks @tinaasthings @dysphoricsanity @love4lando @elenamoncada-ibarra @r-3dlips @magstheslayer @astess @sylvcaplath @tillypettitt @mordechaisworld @ssameadows @spikedhe4rt @spencers-bookworm @littlemissaddict @kirbybean

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x oc!#spencer reid x oc! charlotte morris #criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader

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finch-the-fox · 1 year

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COMFORT AND CIGARETTES

Boris x Reader

WARNINGS: underaged smoking , somewhat self projecting lmao

The Las Vegas desert surprisingly gets real cold at night . Especially if like me , you lived in a nearly abandoned community of housing . Out of all the many homes available there are only 3 family’s here . Each of us living a good few streets away . Luckily enough I happened to become close to the two other kids around my age . Boris and Theodore .

Currently I laid beside Boris on the roof of his home . Boris smoked , blowing the smoke into the air . He smelt of cigarettes smoke and cheap cologne . However that seemed to be the most comforting scent to me . My home life was far from terrible . However I just had to wander off tonight from the fight between my mother and sibling . The screaming overwhelming . A sighed and fidgeted with my fingers as the thought comes back to me .

Boris’s hand comes to hold mine before his thick accent cuts through the silence .

“Here , take. It will calm your nerves” he spoke holding the lit cigarette towards me.

I sat up and took a drag of the Tobacco filled paper . Releasing the smoke I handed it back and laid my head onto his lap and I looked at the near clear sky . Stars had always been something that fascinated me .

Mindlessly I take hold of his hand and play with his fingers as I descend deep into thoughts . It wasn’t uncommon for me to zone , not thinking of a specific thing . More like everything at once .

“What’s the matter “ Boris broke the silence .

“Life is stressful ..” I said taking a moment to find the right words .

His had i fidgeted with entangled our fingers together as he look down to be face to face .

“Yes , life is stressful . However you must live it to the best ability “ he spoke calmly . He leaned down to tap our noses together.

I laughed lightly . Leaning up I kissed him . Pulling away we both smile . He never fails to make me feel better when I’m down .

Leaning back down , head in Boris’ lap we look at the stats and he lots another cigarette.

Tags: @mynameiscarat @wlfrdlvr @diorgirl444

#goldfinch finnwolfhard #goldfinch #finn wolfhard #boris pavlikovsky x reader #x reader #boris pavlikovsky

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gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot · 10 months

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Paulatim sed Firmiter (Slowly but surely) - Thursday

Warning: first part is a flashback and mentions someone's death

Tag (because they asked): @glitterypirateduck

I want to finish this damned week, geez...

Previous / Masterlist / Next

‘‘Situation has changed, Phoenix. A rocket was deployed forty seconds ago. Impending impact’’

‘‘YOU FUCKING…’’

No no no no no nonononoNO

‘‘OUT’’ She didn’t care if the separatists heard her. Her only concern was getting her team out of there. Deep down she knew it was too late. ‘‘Out of the fucking building!’’

She saw the light before she heard it. Standing on the stair landing to have privacy to contact their Overwatch, she had been looking up, and saw the sudden flash and the subsequent shock wave some floors above her.

Realistically speaking, she saw nothing. One second she was standing on the landing, the next she woke up beneath the debris.

But in her dreams, she always watched in horror how the upper floors started to crumble and collapse, hearing her team’s screaming in her ears.

She usually woke up at that point. Panting, sometimes screaming.

When she opened her eyes she could see nothing, but felt the dust in the air, filling her lungs as she tried to breathe in. Coughing, she tried to move, and could only use one of her hands to switch on the torch on her shoulder. The dim, white light illuminated large concrete blocks above and around her, and between them, a faint breeze and smoky smell.

‘‘Joder (Fuck)’’ She covered her nose and mouth the best she could with the collar of her combat shirt, trying to get air in her lungs more than dust. Her fingers reached her comm. ‘‘Phoenix Squad, status report’’

If she was alive, someone else must have survived too, right?

Only static answered, and she tried to move from below the blocks, but there was nowhere to crawl to. She was able to wiggle her toes in her boots, to move her legs and make her knee pads scrap against the concrete, her pinned arm hurt, but she could move her fingers. She wasn’t crushed, just trapped.

‘‘Phoenix Squad, status report’’ She repeated into the comm, a bit more desperate. Please, PLEASE. ‘‘Someone say something, please. Norry, Emil, Delvin, Miguel. Please, guys’’

Please don’t leave me alone in here

It seemed like ages, but finally, someone answered.

‘‘… Vega’’

Mosquito. God, he sounded very weak.

‘‘¿Cómo estás, pendejo? (How are you, motherfucker?)’’ She asked, pathetically relieved, still trying to move. Miguel Ramírez always giggled like a little kid when she used his own insults on him, her Castilian accent way different from his Mexican one. He barked a laugh.

‘‘Bien jodido (Quite fucked)’’ More static before he continued, his voice even more strained. ‘‘I can’t move. I don’t feel half of my body, güera (blondie)’’

Well, shit.

‘‘I’ll think of something, just you wait’’

‘‘I don’t think we have time for that’’ He coughed, and his cough sounded horrid. Wet. ‘‘Do me a favor, Vega’’

‘‘Ask me when we’re out of here, Ramírez’’ She grunted, still trying to do something, feeling pain everywhere, in every limb, but too stubborn to just accept it and lay there waiting for the end.

‘‘We are not getting out, jefa (boss)’’ Ramírez kept coughing, for a longer time, and her heart skipped a couple of beats meanwhile, listening to him and not being able to do anything.

‘‘What do you want, cabrón? (asshole)’’

‘‘Pray with me’’ He coughed again, gasping for air. ‘‘Ave María (Hail Mary prayer)’’

She wasn’t religious. She was baptized Roman Catholic, she’d gone to mass with her grandmother while growing up, she’d done her First Communion with her tiny, silly white dress and flower crown. If she ever had any serious faith, she had lost it years ago.

‘‘Dios te salve, María, llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo…’’ She started, listening to him following her words weakly. ‘‘Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres, y bendito sea el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús’’

He started coughing again, and she stopped for a second, feeling a lump in her throat and the tingle of tears in her eyes, or maybe it was just the dust.

‘‘Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros, pecadores…’’ She sobbed. She couldn’t help it, hearing him gasp for air and coughing. And she couldn’t even hold his hand. ‘‘… ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte… Amén’’

Silence. He had stopped coughing. There wasn’t even static.

‘‘Miguel?’’

Still silence.

Thursday lunchtime

‘‘You look like shite’’ Soap poked Riot’s side with his elbow, worried. He hadn’t seen her at breakfast, as she had gone directly to the training drill, and now at lunch was the first moment they could speak. She had started the day by wearing her mask, but after a couple of hours she had stuffed it in her pocket.

‘‘I love you too’’ She answered dryly. Big, dark circles under her eyes betrayed her lack of sleep, or the quality of it. She was even eating the horrid mashed potatoes with gravy without complaints, but had gifted the sausages to Soap and Gaz. ‘‘Someone told me during the drill that Robinson is losing his mind’’

‘‘What did you hear? ’’Gaz smiled beatifically, apparently innocent.

‘‘That he yelled at IT because his laptop has a virus or something and is receiving a lot of spam he didn’t sign up to, or something like that’’ She shrugged, with a tired smile when he winked at her. ‘‘Porn sites, religious sites, conspiracy sites… all sorts. Even flat-earther ones’’

‘‘My, my, how could that have happened?’’ Soap laughed, already devouring his dessert. Gaz’s smiled turned mischievous, trying to steal a bite from Soap’s pudding.

‘‘I’m sure he did something he shouldn’t have…’’ Laughing, he swatted Soap’s hand away when the Scot tried to steal his spoon back. ‘‘I also heard that he’s been rising hell every day because when he arrives at his office there’s glue in his lock’’

‘‘He must have pissed someone’’ Soap cackled, while Riot shook her head.

‘‘You’re going to get in trouble, big trouble, if you get caught’’

‘‘Nah, as long as we don’t touch him we’re fine’’ Gaz looked around, leaning forward on the table and lowering his voice, still smiling. ‘‘Bullies must be dealt with’’

‘‘I agree, but…’’ She started, but seeing a known face, a known frown, stopped her in her tracks. ‘‘Price’s coming, behave’’

The Captain approached the table with his three disasters, carrying a tray with his food, and set it down next to Gaz, sighing when he saw they had already finished eating or were about to.

‘‘The bloody meeting took more time than I expected. Sorry for being late’’ Price sat down, nodding gratefully when Soap pushed an unopened beer bottle in his direction. ‘‘Thank you. I was hoping to catch you here’’

‘‘We were waiting for you’’ Gaz patted his shoulder, and Price nodded again before starting to eat. ‘‘Any news that we should know?’’

‘‘Not yet, but shit’s brewing. We might deploy in the near future… God, this gravy tastes like shite’’ He grumbled, and then pointed with his fork at Riot. ‘‘Laswell has called me. Again. Will you just answer her calls, please?’’

She rolled her eyes, huffing and leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms. Price stared at her, frowning, even waving his fork at her.

‘‘Do not pout and fucking answer her calls, will you?’’

‘‘I’m not pouting’’ Riot grumbled, kicking Soap’s shin when he started to laugh. Price shook his head, continuing to eat.

‘‘Another thing. I have on my desk another petition from the privates, asking for permission for you lot to go with them to the town pub tomorrow’s evening’’ He eyed them up and down suspiciously. ‘‘Whose idea was it to take the babies to the pub, hmm?’’

The three Sergeants looked at each other, reluctant to be the first to speak. Soap started to twiddle his thumbs, grinning, while Riot was still sulking.

‘‘They asked us this morning, Cap’’ Gaz smiled brightly, completely innocent. ‘‘We told them we could only do that with your written permission’’

Price narrowed his eyes while looking at the wide, genuine smile on Garrick’s face. He smelled bullshit. His blue eyes slowly turned to look at Soap, who was still grinning, and then to Riot, whose blue-grey eyes were fixed on him.

‘‘Could be a good bonding experience’’ She shrugged, her expression neutral.

Captain Johnathan Price prided himself on being an observant and insightful individual, qualities that had helped him in his career. He could smell bullshit from a mile.

There, somewhere, was a trap. He could smell it.

‘‘Granted’’ Price shrugged, finishing the last of his mashed potatoes and starting with the pudding. He’d know about it, eventually. ‘‘Are you aware there’s a private in the infirmary? I’ve been told next week he’ll be able to rejoin, at a lesser pace’’

‘‘Davies, yes’’ Riot nodded, still calm, but her right knee was jumping under the table, bumping into Soap’s thigh.

‘‘Do you have any idea of what happened? The report mentions a beating’’

‘‘We do’’

‘‘Are you… going to do anything about it?’’

‘‘Yes’’

Price sighed, deeply, and looked at her directly.

‘‘Am I going to like it?’’

She kept staring at him, still neutral.

‘‘Probably not’’

The Captain nodded, absently noticing how Gaz and Soap exchanged looks. These three muppets would be the death of him. But if they truly had something planned to put a stop to whatever shit was happening at base… well. He’d allow it. Within reasonable limits.

‘‘Don’t get caught’’

The three sly, wolvish grins he got back did nothing to reassure him.

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