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crash-and-cure · 1 year

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Every Minute, Every Hour (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You were out. You were out goddamnit. How was he here?

A/N: Soooo.... It’s been awhile. Writer’s block is an absolute son of a bitch. So this is based on an idea I had and requested to @venus-haze a couple months ago and which I almost completely forgot about until I got this request and I decided two birds and all that. I also acknowledge that there was another similar request made a while back, to the person who requested it don’t worry, I do have plans for it.

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior. Dubious Consent in regards to coersion being involved. Loss of virginity. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f.recieving), female mastubation, slight dumbification, and implied anal play. Brief depictions of choking. Touch-starvation. Mentions of Pregnancy. Referenced cheating on Elvis' part. Self-loathing. Stockholm Syndrome(?) Probably more that I am blanking on. Period-typical homophobia and closeted characters depicted. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Word Count: 19.8K

Masterlist

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You look like an angel (look like an angel)

Walk like an angel (walk like an angel)

Talk like an angel

But I got wise

You’re the devi-

It takes you longer than you would have liked to reach the radio and turn it off. And it’s only as you reach it do you realize how odd it looks from the outside when you see a customer looking at you funny.

“Not much of a fan,” you say with an admittedly pathetic smile on your face.

“I can see that,” he replies with an awkward smile, before going back to browsing the books.

You bashfully turn the radio back on and quickly try to turn the knob to anything even remotely comprehensible, but it’s just your luck that this is the only station you get decent reception on in the store. With no other choice but to simply grin and bear it you put the volume on low and return to reading your book.

You do keep an eye on your final customer of the evening, and hope he hurries up so you can finally close up for the day. Susan had been complaining about a migraine since lunch and Gina was caring for her upstairs and so it was on you to close up the shop on your own today.

You feel embarrassed to have been seen that way but that all falls away when you hear the shop bell ring, only to be immediately followed by tiny rapid footsteps and an excited little “mama!” and you grab onto the counter before your little two and a half foot terror can knock out from behind you. Which ends up being the right call as you feel her head butt your knees and locking her arms around them nearly knocking you down.

“Mama! Mama!” she squealed, practically vibrating, she was so excited to see you.

“Rosie! Rosie!” you say, equally as happy to see her though you do a far better job at reining it in. She takes your hands in hers as you crouch down to look at her, and take stock. Her hair is askew with the ribbons you had tied in place this morning holding on for dear life in her beautiful curls, her face is smudgy with what you’re hoping is chocolate, and one of her socks is just gone, but both shoes are in place so you can only imagine how your little hellion managed that. Overall this is the best condition Rosie has returned to you in, after a long day with Jenny.

“Mama, Aunty Jenny took me to the Candy store!” she says, showing off the candy bracelets on her tiny wrists.

“Really,” you say, shooting a look at your friend for giving her so much sugar before bed. The woman in question has the courtesy to at least look a little guilty about it, before giving a small laugh.

“Mm-hmm. And we saw Danny at the playground and we-we saw Uncle Lee’s friends, and then we listened to a lotta music, and we saw a movie about a wizard and there was no one else in the whole room, and then-then…” she rapidly rambles on but you pepper her face in kisses before she can pass out from the lack of oxygen. She giggles uncontrollably and tries to squirm out of your grip, but you gotta get in one good raspberry on her cheek before you let her go.

“Alright, why don’t you go upstairs and help Aunty Gina finish up dinner,” you tell her with a smile on your face. Her “help” in the kitchen is typically watching and holding spoons and spatulas on a step stool, but she’s at an age where she believes the whole dish would fall apart without her important contribution to it, so she goes rushing to the stairs.

But she quickly comes running back while taking the uneaten bracelet off of her wrist. “Danny said to give this to you for your birthday,” she declares. Ever since meeting Jenny’s nephew she’s seemed to hang on to every word of his, and though you’ve never met the boy he seems to be a good kid, always polite and saying hello through your daughter, but has, as you've heard, an extreme affinity towards spinning a few too many fantastical stories. But your daughter is far too young to see him as anything but a friend so you doubt you have anything to worry about as of right now.

She’s always so eager to tell you about everything, and you’re just as eager to listen. Your folks never wanted to hear anything from you, and you pray that your attentiveness will pay off one day when she is never afraid to come to you with your troubles. Maybe if you had that with your mother you wouldn’t be where you were.

“Well tell him I said thank you,” you say, as you pull it on your wrist, placing a small kiss on her forehead before she books it back to the stairs behind the counter. As you stand back up, to your surprise you find the customer now at the counter with a good stack of books.

“Sorry to bother Miss…ummm…” the customer says nervously.

“Love,” you clarify for him. “Y/N Love.”

He gives a shy smile at that, “Well Miss Love, I’m ‘bout ready to check out so…” he says gesturing to his tower of books.

“Of course,” you answer and you begin to ring him up. He’s got quite a few so at least he makes the extra time staying down here somewhat worth it.

“Whatcha readin’ there,” he asks you, pointing to the open book you’ve left to your side. You show him your copy of We have always lived in the castle. “I-is it any good?”

“I would say so,” you answer. Though that ending did hit a little too close to home, you think to yourself.

“So umm, d-do you like to read?” he asks hesitantly as he quietly adds a copy of the book to his pile.

“I’d be in the wrong business if I didn’t,” you joke, and he laughs a little too hard. “How ‘bout you?” you ask, wanting to not have an awkward silence, as you’re not even halfway through the stack.

“Yeah, I-I love reading though I don’t got a lotta time for it these days,” he says with a guilty smile on his face.

“Why’s that?” you ask, since it seems to be the only way this conversation could go.

“I-I just started my residency at Charity Hospital,” he says bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m Sam by the way,” apparently realizing that he hadn’t made the proper introductions.

“Y/N,” you say, giving him a small nod and a smile. “And congratulations on your residency,” you're almost done with the final few books, but you may or may not be taking your time to finish them up, wanting to prolong the conversation you’re having for a bit.

“Thank you, and I- well, umm… I couldn’t help but overhear your daughter, but umm… Happy Birthday,” he says ducking his head, a bit embarrassed at his own admission.

“Oh, thank you,” you say, your face heating up slightly that he had heard.

“Your Husband’s a lucky man,” he says, though he does steal a quick glance at you, no doubt trying to gauge your reaction.

So this is what it’s about, you think to yourself. “I’m actually not…” you trail off, and hope that he gets the message.

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” he stated before his eyes widened as he realized what he just said. “I-I mean not glad like I’m happy that you-you’re not married, bu-but glad li-like I’m relieved that I hav-haven’t been trying to build up the courage to talk to a cute girl for the past few weeks only to find out she’s married already.” he blathers on and you can’t help but laugh.

Your heart does flutter a bit at his confession. Everything about this feels like it should be perfect. Unfortunately for the both of you, you finally get a good look at his icy blue eyes that are a little too familiar for comfort, and it feels like your throat closes up.

You can feel your stomach churning (and not just from the baby that fills it) and cold regret for not buying an extra pair of socks as you sit at the Greyhound terminal in Nashville, your feet starting practically turning into ice blocks. That cold November morning you had made a show of telling everybody you were gonna make a quick trip down to the shops for some eggs, now you’re almost a full state away praying that the bus gets here soon, jumping every time a set of headlights passes by and you're just barely keeping dry underneath the metal canopy.

But for as cold as you are physically, your chest starts to heat up at the prospect that you’re so close to freedom from an even colder gaze. When the bus does get there you hardly sleep a wink afraid to let your guard down even now. You know how well he could sabotage your plans if he was so inclined, from small things like spoiling the surprise party you had planned for him to the major of ruining your chances to get into another school.

You know he’s half a world away yet that still does little knowing what the most loyal of his are willing to do for him. It’s not until you finally make it to the train station in Atlanta that’ll take you down to New Orleans that you finally give in to your heavy eyelids, willing to trust strangers with your safety, aware they can’t hurt you any worse than those you know have done.

You shake your head as you’re brought back to the present, and you hear him say something, “I’m sorry what?” you covertly wiggle your toes as you try to ground yourself and get sensation back in them as though you were just getting them out of the cold.

“I was just sayin’ there’s this club down on Bourbon that I been meanin’ to check out since movin’ down here, and I was hopin’ a local such as yourself could show me ‘round these parts,” he says, a nervous but hopeful smile on his lips.

For a moment you can almost imagine saying yes to him, how he would take you out on the town, how he would kiss you, how he would throw your daughter up in the air. How maybe you could be happy with him.

But like a looming black cloud, in spite of the lowered volume, you hear what the new station is now playing, clear as a bell.

Oh please come to my arms and say you'll love me forever

For with the dawn, you'll be gone

It’s almost as though He’s following you, serving as a constant reminder of what you did, and that you’re never allowed to imagine being with another man. You wordlessly turn off the radio before you’re forced to listen anymore. “Uhh, I-I’m sorry, I-I really don’t go out much,” you say, trying to shut this down as gently as you could.

“Oh-uhh, that’s fine I umm,” he says, pivoting hard. “I’m more of a movie guy myself, I hear he’s got a new one out, and we can go and watch anything but that,” he gives a small laugh pointing to the radio, but quickly drops it upon seeing your grim expression.

Without knowing it Sam just shut the coffin on any potential happenings between the two of you. “I’m sorry, it’s late and I gotta close up for the night,” you say softly, and he’s smart enough to take the hint.

“O-of course,” he says looking down at the books he has in his hands. “But can you promise you’ll think about it?” he asks as he reaches the door to look back at you.

Even before you open your mouth, you already know that your next words are going to make you lose a customer forever. “There’s nothing to think about,” you say, trying to feign apathy. Harsh as your words may be, you know this is far kinder to him in the long run as opposed to getting more involved with you.

You watch him leave the store with a sagging shoulders and a long face, before you feel a hand meet violently with the back of your head, and you swivel around to see Jenny with an exasperated look on her face. “So a handsome, single, doctor who loves to read, and doesn’t mind that you already got a kid, asks you out and you say…” she trails off, seeming to only get more offended with every dreamy quality he had.

“Don’tchu get like that Jenny,” you defend yourself, as you stomp to the door in order to flip the sign to closed and lock up for the night. “I’ve got a daughter to worry about and I don’t have time for a boyfriend right now.”

“Well newsflash Y/N,” she argues, “Rosie needs a daddy.”

You feel your hackles rising at that statement. “No she doesn’t,” you state firmly, not wanting to raise your voice, because you know better than anyone how easy it is to be overheard.

She deflates a little at your obvious fury at this line of questioning, before letting out a long tired sigh. “It’s just that… when we were at the park today… she asked me why she didn’t have one. And she… she just kept pressing,” she says obviously ashamed that she hurt you, but wanting to get across her reasoning. “What am I supposed to say to that? Especially when you won’t tell nobody what happened. I only got her to drop it when I took her to the candy shop.”

You feel guilty for snapping at your friend. Jenny Hodge had been an absolute godsend since you met her almost a year ago, when she and her new husband, Lee, had moved down from Alabama. Her arrival had coincided when Rosie started becoming aggressively mobile and insisted that running was the only way to get around anymore. And because she felt she needed practice with being a Mama before she had one of her own, she insisted on being your one and only babysitter, in exchange for free books every so often.

The story around the block is that you are were the young widow who “tragically” lost her husband in an accident before he ever had the chance to meet your beautiful daughter, and with no one in the world left to turn to, you ended up on your “spinster” aunt and her “good friend” Susan’s doorstep. And Jenny, since hearing your story, has by far been your most fervent supporter outside of this house, with her support primarily coming in two flavors: 1) helping you with your daughter so she isn’t so cooped up in the store while you work and 2) trying to set you up with any moderately successful man.

“Y/N,” she says softly. “I get that it’s hard to get back out there, but you need to think about the bigger picture, because it’s only a matter of time before she starts asking you.”

You know she��s right, and that’s the worst part about it. Your little Rosie Love is a stubborn one, not to mention smart, always has been. Didn’t want to walk because she wanted to run. Hated her diaper so much she learned how to unpin it when she was barely a year old. Wanted to try to feed herself when she first took to solid food, and would snatch the spoon out of your hand when she could. She’s broken out of every play pen she’s ever been in. Hell, she was almost two weeks overdue, and the doctors were forced to induce you, she didn’t want to come out until she was good and ready.

She, like someone else you knew, is capable of throwing a wrench into any plan you make. For as endearing as it can be, it is all the more frustrating knowing exactly where she gets it from.

With a long defeated sigh, you concede to her point and thank her for both her input and for being a good friend this past year. And maybe someday you’ll be ready to find another husband.

She has a wide cheshire-cat like grin as you say that, “And I’mma ‘bout to be a better one,” she practically sings. “Lee’s friend is in town, and I think you two would hit it off.”

“And I think we wouldn’t,” you state, putting books back where they belong.

“C’mon Y/N, I thought we were past this,” she whines.

“I did say someday, not today,” you emphasize.

“Y/N, your birthday’s comin’ up soon, and it ain’t like you’re gettin’ any younger. Besides Lee and I are already trying for a baby, so I ain’t gonna be so available much longer neither,” she says in a soft voice holding your hands in hers. “And you need to find someone you can rely on too, it’s not like you wanna end up like your Aunt Gina”

You say nothing not wanting to say anything incriminating about the relationship between your Aunts, as for all that you trust Jenny, you don’t trust her enough with somebody else’s secrets.

“Just promise me you'll think about it at least,” she pleads, hands clasped over your own.

What is it about people that, not trusting you when you answer the first time, and thinking given enough time you’ll come around?

Yet you're no better as you let out a long tired sigh, before ultimately agreeing, if only to get her off your back. Or so you tell yourself.

She tells you a bit about the man she has in mind for you, or more accurately she keeps insisting how perfect the two of you would be together. In her mind it’ll be love at first sight, how he’ll love and accept Rosie as his own immediately, how she guarantees that you’ll be married within a year and be trying to give Rosie a little brother or sister. You have to bodily shove her out the door by that point lest she get into any more specifics in her attempt to sway you.

Jenny’s a little older than you, but she is very much a romantic at heart, you suppose, though that’s the benefit of things going right in your life.

But your story went wrong.

“Why you in such a hurry to get out girl?” your accomplice would ask as he handed you the money (He had made it a point of order that you were never to handle any) the day before your escape.

“There’s someone else,” you say simply, because it’s true and if they were to ever betray your trust this would be worse on them than on you.

You got away with quite a bit back in the day like getting out of trouble for making out in a dark empty classroom by claiming to have been caught by surprise by your monthlies and now you couldn’t bear the thought of being seen like this. Or when you got hired by the library for the summer after you approached the front desk and claimed to be the new hire ready for her first day of training and nobody really bothered to check in with anybody else. Even that one time when you confidently strolled backstage at a music hall He had wanted to perform all to sneak them in through the back door and convinced just enough people that his band was meant to perform that night.

Your ability to make up stories on the fly and map things out in your head had led you to believe that you would make for a pretty good mystery writer. You had even tried to go to school to be one, though you told everyone it was to be a teacher, a far more respectable and womanly job.

Well not everyone.

He certainly knew.

Knew about your talent for planning and story-telling, and was practically always in awe to see it in action. But this recognition came at the expense that he was aware of your tricks and he always knew how to throw you off just enough to make any plans you made go belly up. Whether it was something relatively small like figuring out you were planning a surprise party to the major… like when you tried to end things the first time around.

He called you almost every night when he was on tour, and you had done your best to relay all that was going on back in Memphis. And in spite of his insistence that he wants to hear about it, you suspect that he wasn’t being truthful. He especially seemed disgruntled when you made any mention of doing anything with anyone else. Your friends, his friends, even your own family weren’t safe from his ire.

When He was here you would do everything together, yet now that you tell him about all that you’d been doing, there is a slight but noticeable edge when he speaks to you over the phone. Everytime you mention how you went to the movie theater or you went to the record store or the bookshop, it was almost always met with a solemn “we used to do that together.”

You would have gone with him, had your parents let you, and He knows that so you don’t understand why he’s so sore about the fact that you’re not simply sitting on your hands back home waiting for him to return.

So in an effort to spare his feelings you asked him about the things he was doing, you even go out of your way to say how happy you were when he was telling you about all of the fun things he had done on the road. You’re happy to hear it all and you thought

You miss him just as fiercely but you don’t want it to stop you from living.

But when you got your acceptance letter, you saw the writing on the wall. You both were going in different directions: you were going to be studying, were barely going to be home and his star just kept growing and growing each day taking him further out and making him harder to reach. You know you wanted this and you begin to suspect you may want it more than you want to stay with him, if staying with him meant being alone all the same.

This was only confirmed in the weeks leading up to Prom when you couldn’t get a straight answer out of him of whether or not He would be able to make it. It was on you to practically plan everything down to what he would wear, while his whole contribution was to show up- maybe?

Whether He did show up or not that night, you thought the result would be the same with you officially breaking things off between you two. But you still held out hope that at least if he did come you would have one last good memory.

And to your relief He does make it, but he’s a little off the whole night. Not in the sense that his mind is elsewhere, more like he’s trying to commit everything about the night into memory, and looking at you with sad eyes when he thinks you’re not looking.

It all comes to a head when you’re parked outside of your house, and you’re sitting in a loaded silence with him at the wheel. He’s gripping onto that thing for dear life and you’re wondering if maybe you should save it, but you think you know yourself well enough to know that if you don’t say it now, you won't say it ever.

So as he’s opening his mouth to say something, you cut him off with his name.

“...I-I got accepted to Southwestern,” you blurted out to him and He looked so confused at your admission, but you push through. “I start in the fall, so I’m not gonna be home much anymore, and with y-you being on the road so much, I think it best that we-”

“Marry me,” he blurts out, panic etched across his face.

Your jaw is left practically on the floor as that was the last thing you ever expected out of his mouth.

You would later find out that he went to Prom with the same intention as you did but it was in that moment that he realized you weren’t going to wait for him to come back did he want to lock you down. But you didn’t see that in the moment.

What you saw at the time was the declaration that he was just as committed as you were, and so overwhelmed by the love you still felt for him at the time, you had no choice but to give an emphatic yes to him.

“We’re gonna figure this out baby,” He promises with a kiss.

That was the first time you tried to leave him.

“-Danny’s a real good singer Aunty. He told me he lives in Neverland and one day he would take me and-and he told me this is the only place in the whole word that they sell peanut butter cups,” you would hear as you made your way up the stairs connecting to the apartment above the store. You look into the small kitchen where you see your little girl sitting on the counter talking her aunt’s ear off idly dangling her little feet while holding a spatula you're not entirely sure is necessary. Gina looks over to you and gives you a playfully exasperated look, and you simply shrug your shoulders before moving into the small kitchen to pepper your little one's face in kisses.

“Alright sticky missy,” you announce, blowing a raspberry on her cheek and swiping the utensil out of her hand as she trills in delight. “You go wash up for dinner now, ya’ hear, and go wake up Aunty, I think she’ll feel alot better seeing you.”

“Ok Mama,” she says. She is utterly fearless as she slides herself to get off of the counter, and lands on her feet below. You can’t help the swell of pride that bubbles up in your chest seeing it, how brave your little girl is. You hope that you can take it as a sign that you’re doing ok at this motherhood thing.

Gina likes to say that you were just as bold at that age with the confidence of someone so sure they can take on the world, and in quieter moments she’ll lament how you lost that in you. You would be offended if you didn’t already know when exactly you lost it.

She had always been your favorite Aunt until you were about twelve and and your father would coldly tell you she died and was in hell now. Rather than a funeral, the family got together to destroy her things and swear to never speak of her again.

That didn’t stop her from visiting you one last time and telling you she was moving down to New Orleans with her friend Susan. She would take you to your favorite bookstore one last time in Memphis and promised that if you ever needed a place to stay, to not even hesitate to come, because she knew better than anyone what your family would do to girls who stepped out of line.

For years the only evidence that she was even alive was the annual birthday and Christmas gift you would get from her all under the guise of Nancy Drew books stamped with the name of a bookstore all the way in New Orleans. You cherished them and it’s one of the few things you took after your parents kicked you out.

You only wished you had taken the offer when your father had kicked you out and you were forced to rely on someone else.

“So I hear you broke another heart,” Gina idly says as she starts scooping some rice onto a plate.

You let out a long sigh, “When did Jenny find the time to tell you?” You’re more amazed than annoyed considering she didn’t leave your sight once down stairs.

“Jenny?” she says, raising a brow. “No Sue told me earlier how Lou from King’s Cafe ‘s been askin’ after you.”

Lou who always had extra beignets to give away when you took Rosie for a walk in the mornings. He recently asked if you had ever been on the Algiers ferry, and how beautiful it looked at night.

…You’ve been taking a different route to the playground since then.

“Is my love life just everybody’s business,” you ask frustrated that you weren’t even given a five minute break from this.

“In this house: yes,” she states, a grin on her face.

“Gina if this is about me movin’ out, you can talk to me, I’m a big girl,” you insist, trying to deflect and not have to think about it anymore.

“Sweetheart,” she says solemnly, placing a hand on your cheek. I may not be your mama, but I do think that you need to think about what’s best for Rosie,” she insists as she puts place mats down on the table.

Gina’s a little closer to the situation than Jenny, as she had asked no questions as to why you all of a sudden needed a place to stay far from your parents with nary a husband or boyfriend in sight to take responsibility for the baby growing within you. She had also been the one to help spread the tragic young widow narrative, and for as much of a gossip she can be, you know she’s a steel trap for secrets that matter.

“What does me getting, or not getting, a boyfriend have to do with Rosie?”

“A boyfriend? Nothing,” she dismisses. “A husband on the other hand…”she says with a smile.

“Don’tchu come talkin’ to me ‘bout gettin’ a husband,” you say, handing her another plate of food.

She laughs at that, “It’s not just about you gettin’ a husband, it’s about Rosie gettin’ a father,” she insists amused at your mulishness.

“Not you too,” you mourn what you thought was going to be a quiet evening.

“I’m just sayin’ that every child deserves two parents,” putting the lid back on the pot.

“She’s got three mama’s,” you counter.

“No,” she says waving the wooden spoon in front of your face. “She’s got one mama and two grandmas that spoil her rotten behind your back.” You open your mouth to protest, until she quickly follows up with, “Oh speak of the devil herself,” as you see your little troublemaker dragging Susan by the hand to the table, whom you had to bully into taking a rest to somewhat alleviate the migraine she had been having for most of the day.

Your daughter can talk for hours if left unchecked and you're eager to hear all of it as she bounces from subject to subject at the dinner table. You had always felt somewhat guilty intruding on their space, but Gina insists nothing of the sort and Susan jokes that the two of them are getting the full kid/grandkid experience through you and Rosie, since the traditional way ain’t for them.

Between bites she regaled the three of you with all that she did today which included seeing a dog, the playground being shiny, spinning around so fast on the merry-go-round she almost went into space, made friends with some of the ducks, saw another dog, Danny gave her his popcorn, got a lot of candy from the candy shop, and gave some jelly beans to the last dog she saw today, but only the green ones she doesn’t like, and then feeling bad about it and giving it some of the red ones to even it out.

She doesn’t mention anything to you about asking Jenny about why she doesn't have a daddy, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the first break you’ve had all day. Some may say you indulge her too much, but all three grown women at this table know exactly how it feels to have their thoughts and feelings ignored, and you all had come to the mutual understanding that Rosie would never have to feel this way in this house.

“Mama, I forgot to tell you,” Rosie states after she shoveled the last of her food into her mouth. “Barbie got a new job today!” she delights as she thrusts the doll in your face.

“Really?” you say trying to match even a quarter of her excitement. “Is she mmm… a firefighter?”

“No!” she squeals, delighted in the game you play with her.

Making a big show of putting a finger to your temple and closing one eye, apparently deep in thought, you ask, “Is she a… detective?”

“No that was yesterday!” she’s practically buzzing to tell you, but holds it in to keep this game going.

“Oh!” you say, pretending to have a lightbulb moment. “She’s a wizard!” You know your daughter well enough, so you’re reasonably confident in your guess knowing that Jenny took her to see that Disney movie today.

“No,” she laughs, “She’s an actress, but she also sings in all her movies.”

“O-oh,” you say, genuinely caught off guard by that. “Why’s that?” It’s certainly not an unusual thing for a little girl to declare, but for your daughter it most definitely was. When she declared what Barbie was going to be it was always influenced by something she saw that day. Sometimes she was a baker, sometimes a ballerina, even one memorable time a bus driver, but this is a first. Even when she has seen movies with actors in it she didn’t quite understand the concept that those aren’t their real jobs on screen, and she would pick that, which is why you guessed wizard.

“Because Danny does that,” she declares, as she starts to make Barbie dance on the dinner table.

And then it made sense, your daughter’s friend, Danny, who according to Jenny, has a penchant for making up stories. To your daughter the boy’s been a cowboy, a soldier, he’s as strong as superman, can play any instrument, and now apparently is a famous actor.

You give an amused huff, “I see Danny’s at it again,” you state, as you take her plate. It’s a literal miracle that Jenny’s impromptu trip to the candy store didn’t spoil her appetite, and but you don’t know how much of an appetite she’ll have for dessert so you decide to just split a slice of King cake with her.

“At what mama?” she asks as Gina wipes some of her food off her face.

“He’s telling stories again,” you say as you bring Gina and Susan their dessert plates.

“No he’s not,” she states, furrowing her brow, and you can’t help but quirk a smile at how stressed she looks as you sit down. “I saw it myself.”

“I’m sure you did, but Honey, it's just… sometimes boys have a habit of telling… tall tales,” you suppose that’s the nice way of putting it. It’s a fine line you walk with her, wanting to have her believe in herself most of all, but also wanting her to not believe everything she’s told, especially by boys. You’re the textbook example of what happens to supposedly smart girls who get in too deep with charming boys.

“But it’s true mama,” she insists, raising her voice a bit.

“Sweetheart, I think he means, he wants to be that when he grows up,” you try to gently justify, as you subtly try to nudge the fork closer to her.

“No mama, I saw it,” she asserts, getting progressively more upset defending her friend. “He is a famous actor and he was singing and dancing at the theater.”

“And I’m sure he’s gonna be a big star one day when he’s all grown up,” you try to assuage how worked up she’s getting. “But I don’t think he’s one right now.”

“No mama!” she yells at the top of her lungs, angry tears streaming down her face. “You’re a liar!” You feel your stomach drop to the floor and she herself looks shocked at what she just said. She proceeds to cry even harder before turning tail and running straight into the room you share with her and slamming the door as hard as she could.

When you were far enough away, and somewhat comfortable in your new environment in Your Aunties home, the first thing you did was read nearly every book about motherhood you could find. You were determined to do this right as you had made the unilateral decision for your baby to only have one parent. So you decided as a means of making up for it you would be all the parent she would need.

Doubt creeps into the back of your throat that you made the wrong decision and that you in fact were not enough on your own and that she never would have done that if He were around.

“You want me to go talk to her?” Gina would ask after hearing your door slam shut.

As bad as you want to say yes from the exhausting day you’ve had so far, you’re not about to foist your duties as a mother off onto her right now. She understands but you don’t miss the pointed look she gives to Sue, as she walks away to clean up dinner, and you bury your hand in your face hoping if you wish hard enough this day will finally come to a close.

“I remember the first time I yelled at my mama,” Sue off-handedly says after a few minutes. “Always too scared that that wretched woman would beat me black and blue if I was ever less than perfect,” she takes a sip of her tea. “And she did just that when I got fed up with all her teasing about me getting a boyfriend.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“What I’m gettin’ at is… I was never comfortable enough with my own mother to be angry with her.”

“Am I bad at this?”

“You’re still new at this Hon,” she reassures you. “There's a big difference.”

Despite the fact that Gina was the one related to you by blood, Sue’s the only one in the world who even has an inkling as to what exactly you left behind. And that is only because she was a front row spectator to it.

You had managed to get permission to leave the hotel room for a few hours while He was on set that day. He had brought you down from Memphis, not wanting you so far out of reach and yet you were still pretty much kept confined. You had long since exhausted the books you had brought for the trip, and you were practically itching to get out.

Books were your only escape from this place. Where you could vicariously solve a mystery or meet royalty or stop a war or any other number of exciting things in your head. But inevitably you close the book and the story ends and your back in this fucking hotel room.

You realize by getting more books you're just masking a symptom rather than actually treating the illness. You couldn’t take it anymore and had begged Him to at least let you go to a bookstore to keep you occupied, because by that point you were willing to pay the price for it.

Sue had been the only one in the store the day but you hadn’t really taken notice of her, your eyes had been darting around everywhere trying to find Gina. Sonny was in there as well, as you were only able to bargain your way to being in here and picking out the books, but not enough to be able to enter the store alone. Sonny had been the one to pull the short straw and had been put on Y/N duty today. Usually that consisted of sitting in the hotel and making sure you didn’t go anywhere while also completely ignoring you.

Everybody knows the story of the last guy that paid a little too much attention to you. You still couldn’t look at raw ground beef without crying.

Outside of the occasional gathering you don’t really interact with anybody out of the immediate vicinity of home. It’s funny how He can put you in a room filled to the brim with his people yet make you feel so alone at the same time. It would be amazing if it didn’t make you feel so awful at the same time.

It’s a terrible thing He does, but it’s made all the worse that so many people can see what he’s doing keeping you prisoner and isolated and yet no one will ever dare breach it

If anything they actually help him as they all report to him practically what you did that day, do their best to talk you out of leaving the room, and even when you do insist on going off on your own, the men are quick to remind you that He won’t like it one bit. They won’t physically stop you, (they know the worst thing they can do is put their hands on you) but you know that’s where their “help” begins and ends.

At one point you even tried to play ball and asked for His permission last time you were in LA and you had wanted to go to the Griffith Observatory. You had asked in advance, agreed to only being there for two hours, and even gave in to being essentially chaperoned from a distance. Initially He had agreed to the terms and You thought you had done good and maybe you were finally coming to somewhat of a middle ground with him.

But in the days leading up to the trip He would ask for favors in return. They all just happened to be things you had refused to do for him up until that point. When you refused He would at first seemingly accept your answer, and then He would idly remind you of your upcoming trip before asking you again. You weren’t stupid enough to miss the connection and so you did what you thought you had to do for just the slightest taste of freedom.

Who are you kidding?

You practically begged and did tricks for Him like a dog for just the slightest bit of slack on your leash.

You could barely move the morning of the trip both physically and emotionally drained from what he had you do the night before, but you still persevered if only to make all that you went through worth it.

It wasn’t worth it.

Everything you saw that day was completely soured by what you had to do to get there. Every step felt like agony, and you had to make a conscious effort to not walk funny. And before you knew it the two hours were up and Red was telling you it was time to leave.

You don’t know what’s worse, the punishments or the favors.

You had to go the favor route today as otherwise he would have simply sent for someone to get you whatever books they could find, rather than letting you pick. You already know you’re going to get it when he finds out you went to a different bookstore than initially planned. You thought you could at the very least make it worth it by seeing one familiar face, but even fate denied you that as Gina was nowhere to be seen.

It was cold enough to justify wearing something to cover up most of the bruises, but that didn’t mean they were all hidden. You wouldn’t know it at the time but your skittishness coupled with the bruises struck a chord with Susan before you fully checked out of the store.

“I’m sorry if this sounds like an odd question but ummm…” you say, glancing around, making sure that Sonny was too far to hear. “Does Gina work here?”

Sue immediately tenses up, and you curse your caginess, as you reassure her that you’re Gina’s niece, Y/N. She seems to relax hearing that so at least she knows that you try to maintain a good relationship, sporadic your letters may be.

“What happened there honey?” she asks, gesturing to your wrist that has a ring of bruises on it, which you quickly move to hide. You internally curse yourself for your sloppiness. He doesn’t mean to hurt you but he tends to lose himself and be a little rougher especially when he’s worried about something else.

He’s been a little rougher for a few months now.

“Oh-ummm,” you steal a glance at Sonny, who was making his way to the counter. “Yes I am ready to check out.” Gesturing to the three towers of books you’ve managed to accumulate.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by Sue nor does she miss Sonny's statement of remembering the rules as to what you’re allowed to get, if her disapproving look is anything to go by. He’s fine with you reading but doesn’t like you reading books that will put “ideas” in your head.

You don’t exactly know what that means as the standards seem to change depending on His mood and it’s always a gamble as to what he will or won’t allow you to have. You fear the day He grows the same hatred for fictional men that he has for any man within your vicinity.

You're genuinely sad when it comes time to pay, (Well Sonny pays, He doesn’t like the idea of you handling money), and then Susan does something you could never have anticipated in a million years as Sonny grabs one stack and goes to put it in the car.

You wished it had been anybody but Sonny that day. His last girlfriend, whom he swore he was gonna make Mrs. Sonny West, had made the mistake of trying to befriend you outside of gatherings. She stopped by the house frequently just to visit and even invited you out to the salon.

And it was your mistake to believe you could have a friend that he would finally approve of. Friend or family, He eventually found something to disapprove of for everybody close to you previously. You thought that because she was already nominally part of the group, it would be fine to go.

He made it clear by the time you got home that it wasn’t.

You never saw her again after that and Sonny’s resented you ever since. You can hardly blame him, it’s easier to point the finger at you for not anticipating the unspoken rules, as opposed to the man who signs his checks and makes the rules.

You know that even the slightest toe out of line will be reported back to Him in the worst light. So you had to be on your best behavior.

“Y’know I highly recommend this book,” Sue says, sliding the book she had been reading at the counter to you.

Wide Sargasso Sea, the cover reads.

“Oh thank you but I already paid,” you say, almost afraid of this conversation. “And besides I already have enough books.”

“Sweetheart you can never have too many,” she insists and without looking opens it up to the first page where you see a little handwritten note. She closes it up before you can see what it says and slyly slots it in the middle of a stack.

Later on when you feel sufficiently safe enough to look at it you nearly burst into tears.

In case you need help

feel free to call

(xxx-xxxx)

Such a small thing really, but it’s the most human connection you’ve had with anyone else but Him in a long time.

You spend the next hour or two committing that string of numbers to memory before you proceed to rip out that page, shred it, and flush the remnants down the toilet.

Even when you were burning the number into your brain, you never thought you would have ever had the guts to use it. Back when you thought you could accept what looked to be your fate.

It would be unfair to say it was all bad, after all there was a reason you did fall for Him in the first place. When you would read mysteries and He would listen to you criticize the culprits' plans and schemes and he would look in awe at how you would’ve gotten away with it. Or how fun it was to sneak out with him, your family none the wiser. Even when things got bad and it felt like He was the only one that would talk to you for days, you cherished it because it truly felt like he was your life line.

When things were good they were great, it was just when they were bad did you start to recognize them.

Things were bad a lot towards the end.

Gladys had been one of the few willing to go to bat for you, and perhaps the only one who He would listen to. She was the only one who could set him straight when he got huffy at the thought of you having some basic independence of being able to go outside and not needing to be watched like a child all the time.

She was the one you went to with your suspicions and early symptoms, when you were too afraid to go to the doctor that reported right back to Him.

She had also been the only one who knew your fears about having this baby. In your mind there were a total of two possibilities for the life the baby would live. One that they would live a life like yours, isolated within the walls of the house under their fathers obsessive gaze, never to experience the outside world. Or two He would hate the baby on principle and see it as just competition for your time and attention like he did with everybody else.

She did her best to try to quell your fears, trying to assert He would never do either of those things, especially, the last one.

But you saw it in her eyes how she knows how sour He would get when he would come home to find you playing with his younger cousins. How He gets when someone new so much as looks your way a beat too long, or has the gall to get your attention.

How you’re barely allowed to talk to other girls your own age and that’s only saved for special occasions when his friends bring their girlfriends and He’s otherwise occupied. And even then He has a penchant for just removing you from them just to have you sit with him, and you’re out in the awkward position of being the odd one out in his group.

How when you did gather up the nerve to bring up the topic of babies to him one night his answer was “I ain’t ready to share ya’ darlin’, I don’t think I’ll eva be.”

But your most hard-hitting evidence was what happened to your dog, Hardy. He had been an old stray you saw skulking around the property, and whom you took in when He was touring. Hardy didn’t have much of an interest in running around or playing fetch, just sitting by your side and eating treats.

Everything was good until He returned. You knew it was gonna be trouble the moment He walked through the door and saw you scratching the dog’s belly. Inspite of the fact that Hardy was usually tolerant of strangers, something about Him immediately put the usually placid dog on edge. You immediately got to work on trying to find some sort of compromise in regards to him, and offered everything from making Hardy a permanently outside dog to even being willing to have him be boarded with a family member while He was home.

You had asked Gladys where Hardy was the very next morning when you couldn’t find him anywhere, only to be told that He had taken him out for a walk. You didn’t have the heart to be told a lie when He returned alone.

He started taking you with him at that point, and you hardly knew a moment's peace after that.

Your attention is not your own to freely give away, let alone your affection, He expects it all to go to him. He did lord knows what to a dog that had had the misfortune of occupying some of your time when he was there, you hardly wanted to chance the life of a baby that would need all of it.

However in spite of all of that, you thought with her by your side you would be able to weather his reaction, whatever it may be. Even if your worst fear came to be and He didn’t really want anything to do with the baby, you could at least have someone to love the baby just as fiercely even when you were otherwise occupied by Him. It wasn’t necessarily fair, but you could somewhat see the function of it, and in spite of the weariness he’s instilled in you by that point, you were still reasonably confident in your ability to plan for the long term.

And then Gladys died.

And you were left to navigate the hardest thing you could face alone.

“Ain’t nobody ever talks about how hard this can be. Or how easy it is to mess up,” Sue continues as she polishes off her plate. “But maybe…” she prods. “If you had a partner to help ease the load, you wouldn’t doubt yourself so much.”

You groan at this point wanting to truly be done with this day already. “Not this again,” you bemoan.

“Honey,” she says with a firm but comforting grip on your shoulder. “I know a thing or two about leaving bad things behind, but I do think sometimes you need to let someone else in to help you recover,” she says. And almost like they rehearsed it, Gina comes in with a mug of tea, and a kiss to Susan’s forehead as she demands she go back to bed to rest up.

You want to argue back that you did a good enough job of recovering by yourself, but that’s hardly fair to say considering how you were about as helpless as Rosie herself that first year and a half you were here. You had thought that you would’ve been out of here maybe a couple months after giving birth, and been in a completely new place with no ties whatsoever. But the reality is that there’s no possible way you or Rosie would have survived without the help they were so willing to give.

And that’s all they’re trying to do now.

You take a minute to fully gather yourself, as you realize you being upset won’t help Rosie in the slightest. You also pick up the slice of cake, as you don’t want her to think she’s being punished for being upset with you.

You find her hiding underneath the blankets of the bed you share with her and you can only hear sniffling at this point. You try to approach this delicately, as this is new territory for the both of you, so you place the cake on the nightstand, crawl underneath the sheets with her, and allow for her to come to you. Luckily you don’t have to wait for long.

“Mama!” she cries as she buries her face in your bosom, her tears already soaking through the cotton material. “Mama, I didn’t mean it! Please don’t be mad! I’m sorry Mama! Please don’t leave.”

“Sweetheart it’s okay,” you reassure her, running your nails up and down her back, as it always did the trick of settling her down when she was a baby. “Mama’s not goin’ anywhere without you. I’m always gonna be with you.” You hardly put her down her first year of life, going against all the books and holding her at just about every possible moment, so you can hardly fathom where she got this idea in her head that you would leave if you got upset with her. But remembering what Jenny had told you earlier, you have the sneaking suspicion it is related to her noticing the lack of a father in her life.

“I’m sorry mama! I’m sorry…” she repeats over and over again, and for each time you make sure to reassure her that nothing she could ever do would make you leave.

Finally when she’s tired herself out and her eyes are red and raw do you finally speak. “Rosie, it’s okay to be mad, but it’s not okay to be mean, because you’re mad,” you say softly to her running your nails on her back, something that has always soothed her.

She rubs her eyes and wipes her runny nose before looking up at you again, and gives a groggy “I understand Mama.”

“Good,” you say, kissing her forehead. “Now can you help me finish this cake.”

You see her eyes widen before she eagerly grabs the fork and dives right in. With your help, it’s not long before it’s almost entirely gone and when she takes that final bite of the cake she goes wide-eyed sticking her fingers in her mouth to pick out the errant piece. “What’s this Mama?” she says holding the little porcelain baby up.

“Oh you found it Rosie,” you say excitedly, “This means you’re going to have good luck.”

“... Like a wish?”

“Sort of,” you answer.

She gives an excited shriek before she clasps the little figurine in her hands and whispers something almost inaudible to it, with the only recognizable words being “Danny” and “Neverland.” You’re slightly disappointed that your lesson hadn’t quite landed today, but you choose to leave it for now, as you don’t see the harm in wishing to go to a non-existent magical place.

Once teeth are brushed and pajamas are put on, Rosie settles into bed, but not before making sure you’re not about to break your long-held tradition of storytime. She’s the type of kid who when she likes one story she demands to hear it over and over again.

And lately she’s latched onto Rapunzel.

The whole concept does unsettle you greatly, for how close it is to your story. But whatever qualms you have with the story you’re not gonna deny your daughter, because your problems are your own cross to bear, not hers.

As you read it you get to the part where the witch mother casts her out of the tower and she wanders the forests with her children. You wonder if Rapunzel ever found joy in those years away from the mother who isolated her, away from the prince who could have taken advantage of her. She survived not only on her own, but kept others alive as well. WHat did she do? Did she forage and hunt for her babies, did she find a village where she could work to support her family?

Sometimes you wonder if she did truly live happily after the end of the story, or if she traded one cage for another as you did before.

Your daughter is long asleep by the time you reach the happily ever after part of the story. She’s still in the habit of sucking her thumb at night, so you gently remove it, and put one of her favorite stuffies in her arms. And that marks the end of your daily duties, so in theory you should be able to finally fall asleep and be done with this day.

In theory.

In actuality you creep out of the bed you share with your daughter into the single bathroom of the apartment. Usually her steady breathing tends to be enough to get you to fall asleep, it’s been that way ever since she was a baby, but you’re left feeling agitated having had to think of Him more than usual today.

Not just because of the song on the radio, but Rosie’s outburst reminded you far too much of her father. It feels like the worst injustice that she mimics someone who isn’t even here.

Now that ain’t my fault now is it darlin’? A familiar voice whispers in your mind. You feel a shudder run down your spine at the thought of him, not to mention the way you shamefully feel yourself pool within your underwear. You slide down the bathroom door, out of sight of the mirror, as though that will prevent you from facing what you’re about to do. You even close your eyes for good measure as your hand reaches your folds and your fingers caress the slick outer lips of your pussy.

You had tried to ignore this part of yourself for so long. You justified it during your pregnancy, as your body had been making you want to do other stupid things like sleep right in the middle of the store or eat paint chips. Even after giving birth and your inner feelings remaining unchanged, you justified it by thinking you were just particularly lonely, and for all that he kept you isolated, you were never alone when you were with him. Or that he was the only man you ever knew that way so he’s all you had to go off of in order to satisfy these urges.

For as much as your mind curses Him for ever coming into your life, even after all these years, your body has yet to catch up.

You’re far from unique in your desire for him, but it’s especially shameful for you as you know what he’s truly like. It’s like scratching a mosquito bite, you may know that it’ll just make the itching worse, but dear god did it feel good in the moment.

But even that is far from an accurate description as you plunge your on fingers into your sopping channel in a poor imitation of what you remember.

You bite your lip in an effort to keep noises at bay but it just makes you concentrate on the wet squelching sounds echoing through the bathroom as you plunge your fingers into yourself. The sharp sting of pain forcing your mind back to where you experience the most of it.

“You’re so sweet darlin’,” he purrs, his jaw glistening from your juices having just made a feast of you for the past hour or so. He had made it a game to see how close he could bring you without actually letting you cum, something he tends to do when someone looks your way for a little too long, as though he means to re-establish his claim over you. That only he can give you pleasure like this but take it away on a whim if he chooses.

“No more…” you beg, new tears forming and following the trail previously set, your lips undoubtedly bruised from how much you have been chewing on them throughout. “Please,” your thighs aching from the death grip he has them in, undoubtedly leaving bruises for you to feel in the morning.

“Alright,” he says seemingly conceding. But before you can breathe a sigh of relief, he continues, “we’ll switch it up for tonight.”

He flips you over to your front, spreads your legs wide open again, and dives right back in.

You can’t help the way you’re left trembling from the memory, but what does shake you somewhat is the when you realize that it’s not simply the ghost of the memory that is making you feel that bruising pressure on your inner thigh, but in fact your own hand keeping it there.

Still the masochist within you that yearns for the ghost of a man you once thought you knew takes a hold and refuses to let go now that you’re so close to release. So you give in and continue your frantic movements biting down hard on your lip to prevent any errant cries from leaving, and grip onto your thigh for dear life, even now trying to deny yourself that you want him here with you.

As you’re coming down from your high, you fight back your tears of shame. Trying to remind yourself why you left in the first place. How for all the moments he made you feel amazing, they weren’t worth the amount of grief he caused you on a near day-to-day basis.

Grief he’s still causing you more like it.

You don’t think you could have written a better love story in the beginning. You met him when your eyes locked on each other from across your favorite bookstore back in Memphis. He had oh so shyly approached you and asked what you were reading, a bit starry eyed as he listened. Back then and arguably still the concept of a man listening to you was such a novel and unique thing to experience.

It progressed from there, hand-holding in the school hallway, shared milkshakes at the local diner, and Sunday dinners with his family. Of course there were the less than wholesome aspects of your relationship of stray hands when no one was looking and heated kisses after a particularly rousing performance.

Truly the hallmarks of the greatest love story the world had ever seen.

If only you knew how wrong a love story can go, because your story went very wrong.

You vividly remember your first time with him.

Undoubtedly the cruelest thing he ever did to you.

You were never supposed to find out about the other girls, well that’s not true. The newspapers sure knew about them but he had convinced you that it was all nonsense and that he would never do that to you. All of his friends knew, hell even some of their girlfriends knew, but ideally you were never supposed to find out.

But the only chink in the armor was that there was in fact someone who had wanted you out as soon as he stepped in. Fact of the matter is that he was practically giddy as he told you what your fiance had been doing on the road up until that point. You were heartbroken and humiliated as to what he did and even more so when you learned he had been gearing up to break up with you the night he proposed, but only stopped when he realized that you wouldn’t be waiting for him, once his career settled.

He had been calling your house non-stop and sending his friends over all with the mission to coax you into talking to him. Worse still he even got your own friends in on it and now you can’t have a single conversation with any of them that doesn’t turn into them telling you how sorry he feels for hurting you and how he desperately wants you back.

The only people, aside from his manager, that were happy at this development were your parents. They had liked him up until he started to really take off in his career, and they wanted none of the controversy, especially when it came to your squeaky clean, good girl image they had for you.

They’ve been walking around with the smuggest “I told you so” looks ever since you announced that you were done with him. If only they knew their good girl had been sneaking in her boyfriend for the past three years and had a whole routine for doing so.

But the downside to this is that He was just as aware of the routine as you were. And despite it having been awhile he evidently remembered enough as he stood outside your window, right after all the lights in your house had gone out.

“Get outta here,” you hiss at him, opening the window just a crack. “You’re gonna wake up my parents.”

“Baby I gotta talk to you,” he pleads, his face utterly heartbroken. Guilt eats at you, knowing how there were days you wished you could go back to not knowing at all. But then you get angry at not only him but yourself for these thoughts.

If only all of your love for him had died the moment you found out, you would’ve had the strength to shut the window on him that night, and your life probably would’ve taken a very different course.

But no, you’re hurt and you felt that you had to have the final word. “Talk to one a your other girls,” you say as you move to close your window but he beats you to it and ends up opening it wider, allowing for him to fully step into your space.

“Get out,” you say severely. “Get out, or I’ll scream.”

“Darlin’, please listen,” he begs.

“Don’tchu ‘baby’ ‘darlin’ me,” you whisper-yell.

“I swear things’ll be different this time round,” he pleads, clasping his hands in yours.

“I’m done with your nonsense, I want you outta my house and outta my life.” tears are already streaming down your face and you make no motion to wipe them away. If he’s gonna hurt you like this he deserves to know.

He looks at you. Truly looks at you and sees that you’re dead serious about this, that for you there is no coming back from this.

“Okay,” he says solemnly, looking down at you more defeated than you’ve ever seen him, unfelled tears doting his eyes, and his bottom lip trembling.

That takes you by surprise, but you try not to show it. “Good,” you say, trying to stamp down the urge to be mad that he’s not fighting harder. There is a hurricane of emotions going through your entire being, hating him and loving him at the same time, but you recognize that you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being able to sort through said emotions while he’s here.

“But…”

“But?” you say, confused as to what more there is to say.

“Let me have you,” he begs breathlessly, stepping closer to you, boxing you into the wall behind you. “Just for tonight,” he clarifies as though that’s gonna make it better.

That offends you but you can’t afford to raise your voice so you hiss at him that it’s not as though you didn’t offer when he was here. “I ain’t ever gonna forgive myself for bein’ so stupid and steppin’ out on you, I-I thought I had more time, tha-that we’d got the rest of our lives together,” he says his voice painfully small, and his eyes pleading with you to agree.

Your heart swells hearing his words, pleading with your brain to forgive him seeing how much pain the thought of never being with you again is causing the both of you. Another, unmentionable part is also hounding your brain to accept his offer if only for the fact that you had wanted this yourself for so long.

“If-If I do that…” you say in a low voice, your face burning as to what the both of you want but aren’t saying aloud. “Then you’ll leave and never come back?” though even as you say that you’re not exactly sure how you feel over that prospect.

“Just one night sweetheart,” he begs, giving you a quick desperate kiss to your lips. “One night to know what a life with you could’ve been like, and I’ll be outta yer hair forever,” he says with a quick peck to your lips.

He makes it almost sound romantic, not like he’s quite literally backing you into a corner, and coaxing you into something you’re not sure you want just so that you would finally know peace from him. But that's far from your mind as that little bit of contact does something to you and it’s like opening the floodgates for all the feelings for him you’ve been trying to bury.

It feels like you're transported to almost a year ago when, he would sneak his way back into your room after having said his goodbyes to your family and parking his car around the corner out of view. How you both move your blankets and pillows onto the floor to avoid the creaky springs of your mattress, how you both keep your voices low, and muffle most sounds with the pillows, how he kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his shirt before slowly undressing you, your body being treated like a present to unwrap.

Like this it’s easy to forget what he did, easy to forget the pain he’s caused when he’s treating you so sweetly. Kissing every inch of skin, nipping at your sensitive skin every so often, before laving at the bruising area with his tongue. You bite down on your lip hard, willing yourself to keep a cap on the filthy moans and declarations of love alike.

You had done things with him before but it had never felt quite like this. He had always been insistent that you wait until the wedding night for that, wanting to savor you and all you had to offer before the time came. Which made it feel all the worse when you did find out about those other girls. Your friends had tried to justify it by saying that he was just getting in some “practice” for you, but that hardly made it feel any better.

But the way he touches you, so sure of his newfound skills, it’s almost easy to forgive him. He treats you almost deceptively sweet, and for as hard as you try to keep yourself quiet, you admittedly don’t do a great job at it. But you manage to keep a good enough lid on yourself. But as it goes on it feels like he himself forgets that he had to do the same, as moans and groans alike continue to escape from his mouth.

That should’ve been your first clue that he was up to something, but by then as he continues to bury himself deeper and deeper into you, you can’t focus on much else. Had you been thinking straight you would remember he arguably has better control of himself than you do, as he often would tease you over it.

But in the moment that’s not what you’re thinking about. All you had on your brain was him, and how good and right he felt.

If you could go back in time you think you would’ve strangled your younger, far more naive self, as now in retrospect it became clear what he was planning on doing. He had no qualms to exposing what you had done already with him if it meant merely getting a chance to talk to you, why wouldn’t he take the opportunity to go full scorched earth if given the chance.

He continues his steady rhythm, and when he whispers in your ear, “It’s only ever gonna be you, darlin’,” you find yourself letting out a silent scream. Your eyes screwed shut, so lost in the pleasure of it all, you would only get the tail-end of the disdainful look he would give upon failing to get you to crack.

Still you vividly remember how conflicted you did feel in the moment, how for all that it felt good, it also made your stomach turn, for all the hurt he’s caused you yet how deceptively sweet he could be to you. It just gave you a serious case of whiplash.

But you were so focused on keeping as quiet as possible not even being able to fathom the heap of trouble you would be in should your parents ever find out. You could hardly fathom the agent of your destruction laid within you, but it wasn’t until it was too late did it truly click.

That devious look he had in his eyes, the one that spoke nothing but trouble. The very same look that seemingly first trapped you all those years ago when you caught it staring at you from across the bookstore. He picked up his rhythm, not allowing for you to fully recover, from the last time, as he pistons into you seeking out release for himself.

You were so dizzy in that moment you didn’t register how he raised his hand onto your night table, before quickly slamming it three times into the wall.

The very wall you shared with your parents.

Even in the moment you didn’t fully recognize what he had just done, everything sort of blurring together. Before you can even hope to get your bearings, he’s spinning the both of you around so that you now were on top of him, his fingers digging bruises into your hips, as he thrusts back up into you, no longer trying to feign tenderness, as he seems to rip another climax from you as he lets an unrestrained groan fall from his lips, while your inner walls tighten around him.

Even in your haze, you realize that this is bad, and you manage to gather yourself enough to slap your hand over his mouth, but that does little to muffle the singer. Especially as it seems as though he's hellbent to be heard. “What did you just do?” you ask unbelieving, frozen in fear even as you hear the muffled shouts of your father through the wall. You feel underneath your palm as his mouth curls into a grin, as he shudders and you feel his hot seed burn you from within. And that’s when you hear the powerful footfalls of your father burst out of his room before he slams open your bedroom door.

You can only imagine the image you make at that moment, naked sitting astride the nearly fully clothed boy you had sworn up and down for weeks you were done for good with. “What in the hell is going on in here!” your father shouts at the top of his lungs.

Everything after that happens in a blur of your fathers harsh shouts and the sharp sting that comes from your mothers hand across your face as she calls you a whore. By the time it’s all said and done you’re on your knees at the front door begging them to let you back into the house.

“Take her with you,” your daddy practically spat at him as he tossed you to your knees outside of what was once your home. “I didn’t raise no whores, and you seem to now be in the business a collectin’ them.”

You can almost hear the sound of a rattlesnake as his arm coils around your shoulder, laying his jacket over your weeping form like a gentleman. “Don’tchu worry baby,” he whispers in your ear.

He’s almost angelic in his appearance, playing the savior role well, having escaped your home relatively unscathed and in remarkably high-spirits for the situation. But you don’t have much of a choice in the moment, remembering Gina’s words of how easily this family will toss aside wayward women, but it never truly sunk in that you were liable to become one.

He would tell everybody that your daddy had thrown you out after asserting that you still wanted to be with Him in spite of all of that he’s done, and your folks practically disowned you for it. You let him say what he wants because you don’t see a point in telling the truth and if you’re being honest, part of you wants to believe it. It was a far more romantic story than what had actually happened.

As you’re coming down from your second and somehow less satisfying orgasm, does the guilt start to creep in. Even after all these years you still yearn for his touch.

But that is so much easier to admit than the alternative of missing Him.

It eats at you that you still think of Him like this after all that he did to you, and worse still it’s almost like you want him to come back.

Your heart practically leaps out your chest when you hear a soft knock at the door and for one horrifying second you think you’ve somehow summoned him to you.

“Mama…” you hear a small voice whimper behind the locked door, and you breathe a sigh of relief. “Mama, I threw up.”

You don’t know if it’s a consolidation of three different people telling you the same thing in one day, the culmination of your late night loneliness for the past four or so years, or the noxious fumes of the truly unholy combination of stomach acid, red beans, and Jelly Beans that you had to clean up in your sleep deprived state, but you come to the conclusion that you can no longer do this by yourself.

Being a mother tended to be enough of a deterrent to most men in the city, which didn’t bother you one bit, but it did make you feel all the worse when you did meet the few who were still willing even after learning about Rosie.

Sam or Lou may very well have been as nice and understanding as they seemed to be, but because of Him, you now look suspiciously at every man trying to get close.

Perhaps the women in your life were onto something and it is about time for you to move on with your life. Because if you resolve yourself to being for all intents and purposes a shut-in who never knew another man’s touch other than His, then you ran for nothing.

So it’s with a semi-defeated sigh that you tell Jenny the next morning to send over Lee’s friend to the shop while you’re working to “see how it goes.”

You do admittedly put a little more effort into your appearance than you would on an average day and you perk up every time a man who looked close to your age walked in. But if any of them were sent by Jenny they didn’t mention it.

You only ever had one boyfriend when you were a teen, so it feels more than a bit intimidating to go into this, but you can’t deny yourself a life anymore.

Afterall if you don’t then you may as well have stayed in Memphis.

The day goes by and of the few men that do enter the shop, of the few that seem interested in you, none of them knew who Jenny was.

It’s well past closing and feeling both tired and rejected, however the bane of your existence you call Jenny has yet to return, so you instead just flip the sign without properly locking up and hope they’ll be back soon. This isn’t necessarily unusual but you’re just eager for this day to end and hope that a nice cuddle with your daughter will be enough to lift your spirits.

But for now there are books that need to be out back.

Soon you finally hear the shop bell ring, but instead of the comforting tiny footsteps or the recognizable clack of Jenny’s heels, you instead hear an unfamiliar pattern of heavy footsteps over the low volume of the radio. You look between the shelves from where you’re stocking books in the back and while you can’t make out specific details you see what is undoubtedly the shape of a man standing at the counter.

“I’m sorry Sir,” you announce still from behind the shelf. “We’re closed for the evening, but please feel free to return tomorrow.”

“Oh I ain’t going anywhere sweetheart,” a voice drawls.

A voice you would recognize anywhere.

You think you begin to understand at that moment why some animals will chew off their own arms to escape a trap. After all, what is a limb or two in the face of inevitable doom? And even when they do eventually die, they will at least go with their head held high knowing that they did all that they could, because better dead than captured.

But you stand there frozen, barely capable of breathing at a steady rate. You feel like every drop of blood has been drained from your body. Like someone reached into your lungs and snatched the air right out of them. Like your bones have lost all integrity and you’re only kept standing by the mere fact you don’t want to draw attention to yourself.

He is here.

Elvis is here.

Not only that but the footsteps getting louder tell you he is getting closer.

Fuck.

Your mind is going a million miles an hour to try to get out of this, but all of them fall flat when you remember your daughter is not here and if you were to run that would just leave her in his clutches. So rather than act on any plan, you walk out from behind the bookshelf, because there is no point fighting the inevitable.

You’re hoping your look isn’t so much deer in the headlights and more awestruck and in disbelief that he found you. Which is true to some extent as you thought you had been so careful all these years, so all you can muster out when you see him for the first time is a pathetic little “h-how?”

Your hackles raise slightly as you see him reach behind him, and to your surprise he pulls out an old battered copy of Nancy Drew. You’re so confused for a second until you recognize it as yours.

One of the many that Gina would send you periodically when you lived with your parents.

One of the many that had the name of this very store stamped to the inner cover.

One of the many you took with you when you were kicked out.

One of the many left behind at Graceland.

Fuck.

You want to kick yourself both for being so careless in your haste to leave, but you have no time for that as he says, “I ain’t as smart as you baby, but I figured out your breadcrumbs eventually.”

He thinks you wanted him to find you.

Didn’tchu though?

“E-Elvis…” you whisper, the single name somehow feeling wrong as it comes out of your mouth. You’ve avoided even thinking about it all these years, as though if you try hard enough you’ll be able to purge him from your mind and thus from your life. As though simply uttering it will somehow summon him.

That theory isn’t disproven as he, as usual, wastes no time in getting straight to what he came here for, his long legs carrying himself to you as he moves to engulf you within his arms. You stave off the immediate instinct of putting your hands up and allow this to happen, remembering what used to happen when you would deny him.

He even goes so far as to spin you around, and you lose your footing and have to rely on him in order to not face plant onto the floor. But this works all the better to create the image of the long-lost lovers joyfully reuniting after so long.

But as he gazes into your eyes, it isn’t fully complete until he leans down to capture your lips. You would like to say you had to force yourself not to flinch away, but even you would know you’re not that good of a liar.

It’s a kiss for the ages truly, both all-consuming and yet leaving you longing for more. The pitfall of having denied getting close to anyone these past few years now show themselves full-force as you on instinct lean full-force into his touch, and welcome his kiss, even fully knowing how precarious your situation is.

All these years you never could’ve imagined how much you could miss touch- how much you could miss his touch. The kiss itself isn’t even broken until he roughly moves you against the bookshelf and forces his thigh between yours and your left gasping for air as you feel him for the first time.

And you can’t help the little whine that leaves your lips before you gather yourself once more to look him in the eyes.

“Did’ya miss me sweetheart?” he whispers against your lips.

“I…” you say, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ve thought about you every night.”

This is not a lie.

His fond expression doesn’t crack an inch as you say that, but before you can sigh an internal breath of relief, you feel a tight grip on your wrist as well as on your jaw.

“Then where’ve you been all these years,” he says, low and dangerous.

It’s certainly not an unfair question to ask. But you’ve been prepared to answer this question since the moment you stepped foot outside of Graceland for a quick errand.

You don’t know what he knows yet, and that’s terrifying.

“I…I…” you say in a quiet voice, all your years of preparation failing you when you needed it the most.

In the back of your mind, though you are loath to admit it, you think you always knew this day was coming, that he would find you, and the only thing you could do was to try to lessen the blowback you would experience. It’s why yours and your daughter’s last name is Love. It’s why you never tried to get involved with another man. It’s why you even made that goddamn deal in the first place.

“I’m going to disappear,” you say, casually taking a sip of your tea, not truly a fan of the taste, but lately it’s been one of the few things your sensitive stomach could handle. “And you’re gonna help me do that.” You couldn’t just ask anyone for help on this, you were surrounded only by sychophants who would do practically anything for Elvis, so you had to look elsewhere to the person whose only side he was on, was his own.

“And why would I help you?” The Colonel said, idly stirring his coffee, but obviously trying to mask the spark of interest in his eyes. For as much of a slimeball as he can be, you would be a fool to not acknowledge that he’s a decent enough businessman at the end of the day to recognize a good deal when he sees one.

“Because you want me gone as much as I wanna be gone,” you state. He hated that Elvis kept you around, even more so when Elvis made it clear he had no intention of staying a bachelor once he finished service.

Truly under any other circumstance he would be the last person in this house you would confide in, but though your desires were very different they did often run parallel. Something you realized when he talked Elvis out of eloping right before he got shipped out and into a long engagement. Truly the greatest boon you’ve been given since you’ve gotten here, the lack of recognizability or association with the rockstar will serve your purposes all the better.

“Can’t argue with that logic girl,” he says, taking a bite out of the muffins you had baked this morning as a peace offering to him. “Why do you even need my help?” he questions.

“Because I need someone to make sure that he doesn’t ever find me,” you declare, you had practiced this in your head so many times, too afraid to ever voice it aloud or write it down should any of it get back to him. Even an Ocean away you still feel his breath on the back of your neck, with the only safe place being inside your head.

You had excused yourself from following him to Germany by feigning sickness with the promise that you would join him as soon as you felt better. Which wasn’t hard to do considering your symptoms before he left, left you practically bedridden.

Ever since you figured out your… condition (it felt too scary to even think in your head, let alone voice out loud), your mind had been running rampant with all of the possibilities of how he would react. None of which you're willing to risk coming to fruition.

“And if I said No?” he asks, but from the look in his eyes he’s all but ready to pack your bags himself. Part of you feels guilty to leave the boy you once loved with such a man, but you have bigger things to worry about now.

“You’re absolutely free to say no, Parker,” you assure, but he’s savvy enough to know that’s not the end of it. You don’t know whether it’s you mimicking the late Gladys Presley, or something that comes natural with becoming a mother, however you do know you need to assert yourself now of all times, not just for your sake but your baby’s. “Regardless of your help or not, I’m gonna to leave. Now whether I’m gone for twenty minutes or twenty years, will all depend on you, but know that this will also determine how long you’ll be able to keep your position as Manager.”

He seems to bristle at your words, “And how do you figure dat Lil’ Miss?” he says with a dangerous look in his eyes as you seem to threaten the only thing he happens to care about. But once you do explain it he looks at you with no small amount of respect in his eyes as he mulls over your plan. “Quite devious,” he comments, literally tipping his hat at you. “I think I’m beginnin’ to get what he sees in you.”

You're far from proud of your plan, and the slimeball’s admiration of it doesn’t help either, but you know for a fact it will work, and Parker is gonna make damn sure that he doesn’t ever find you.

You made that plan practically bulletproof, but you never factored into account that you would choke in the moment that it truly matters. “Elvis I…” you trail off, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, clutching your hands on his shirt to keep yourself somewhat steady, trembling from the effort it takes to maintain that makeshift barrier. You’re either about to give the performance of a lifetime or… or…

You can’t think like that otherwise…

This has to work.

Your brain is going a million miles a minute, trying to remind yourself that you have to make this work if you have any hope of getting out of this without him ever having a chance of finding her.

But in real time you watch as this notion turns to ash in your mouth.

You feel as your blood freezes in your veins when you hear the door slam open only to be followed by the familiar little dashing footsteps. Your heart drops into your stomach as you hear your daughter stop dead in her tracks and you want to throw up at the thought of him laying eyes on her. This is truly what all your nightmares have been building up to, but even they paled in comparison to the reality of what would actually happen.

“Danny!!!” she squeals at the top of her lungs, before sprinting right into the arms of the man you were so desperately running from. You’re too shocked to do anything about it at the moment, and only watch in horror as something beyond your worst nightmare plays out before your very eyes.

Even when your instincts kick in to keep her away from him, he casually moves your hands out of the way as he easily scoops her up and over his head, practically playing keep away as you try to take her back. “Is today the day!?!?” she squeals, wrapping her arms around his neck as best she could, giving him a kiss on the cheek, none the wiser at the danger the two of you were in.

“It sure is baby girl,” he says with a mile wide grin on his face. “Why don’tcha go pack everything you’re gonna need in Neverland?” You don’t miss the way his eyes slide your way, no doubt trying to gauge your reaction.

She squeals in delight, as she jumps out of his arms and makes her way to the stairs, completely oblivious to your state.

Everything your daughter ever said about “Danny” suddenly makes a whole lot more sense, and you can’t help but want to kick yourself for not paying attention. You thought she was safe with Jenny, you want to throw up at the thought that you unintentionally sent her into the lion's den without her.

She doesn’t even have the decency to face you in that moment, seeing her right outside the window, in Lee’s arms -or Charlie as you would later learn- pointedly not looking in.

You don’t have the luxury of being mad as you feel his attention focus back on you in that moment.

“Now…,” he says as he brings your face closer to his, tenderly grabbing your chin, wiping away a tear. “You wanna try again, sweetheart,” he grins maliciously, knowing you’ll have no choice but to be “honest.”

And that’s it you have only one card left to play and you pray whatever forces that have written the story of your life will be merciful and let this plan work as you hoped it would all those years ago.

You fall to your knees and begin to sob uncontrollably into your palms. It’s actually easier than you had initially hoped, it in fact takes more effort not to cry when you think about him. It’s a miracle you’ve been able to stay this intelligible up to this point.

“Elvis,” you cry, trying to sound as pathetic and heartbroken as you possibly could. “Elvis I-I-I’m so sorry,” you stutter trying to really sell it. “He-he told me that you kn-knew and you didn’t want me anymore,” you hiccup for good measure. “Ho-how you couldn’t have a baby weighing you down, and that-that if I ever came back, he would make sure I would lose her for good.”

You start to hyperventilate, but it’s far from intentional, as you know your very life is at stake in this moment. If he doesn’t believe you… you can’t think like that.

You know him well enough to know that he won’t believe your words specifically, but he does believe in the world he’s created in his head. That regardless of what you feel, what you say, or even what you do, you love him and want to be with him- always. It’s just others preventing that from happening. It was the women who tempted him on the road, and then it was your family speaking poison in your ear, and then it was the men he couldn’t trust to not look your way. It was never you personally, regardless of how he would sometimes lash out at you, you wanted to be there because he wanted you to be there.

In the back of your mind when you had just barely begun to formulate leaving, you knew it would be foolish to believe there wasn’t a chance, no matter how slim, that he would find you. And you knew that it wouldn’t go without punishment should he ever find you should it ever occur. So you had to formulate a plan not just to leave, but how best to set yourself up if he ever returned.

(There have been some nights that you lay awake believing that you prepared so well not because you were paranoid, but because it was an inevitability.)

You hear his clothes shift as he kneels down before you, and he takes your chin into his hand though much gentler this time.

“Who’s ‘he’” he demands, voice as cold as a tomb.

He’s buying it, you think, though you have no time to celebrate. You let out a truly pathetic little blubber through your tears, purposefully unintelligible trying to sell the emotions.

“Who?” he asks, softer this time around, but no less urgent.

“The co-” you cut yourself off taking a deep steady breath. “The Colonel,” you whisper as though you fear speaking his name aloud will bring him to this very spot.

Parker’s far from innocent but you feel a slight twinge of guilt that his downfall would be for something he didn’t do as opposed to all the things he had done. But you can’t think like that anymore, it was gonna be either him or you.

Someone would need to suffer because of what you did, and you would be damned before it was you or your daughter.

And so Parker is now the villain who cruelly kept you and your daughter away from him, and not that you wanted so desperately to get away from him that you practically disappeared off the face of the Earth. But it seems like a fair trade. Parker loses his job, you lose your life. Maybe not in the literal sense, but in all the ways that matter you’ll be gone.

You don’t relax at all when you feel him gently cup your face in his hands to softly wipe your tears away. You look upon the devastatingly handsome man, as he looks as if he means to take you in his arms to never let you go.“Don’tchu worry baby,” he says, wiping your tears away. “You don’t gotta worry bout that rat bastard no more.” You let out a small cry, hoping it sounds more out of relief than out of devastation to his words. “So now you and Rosie can come home,” he states with a delusional smile on his face.

Despite the fact that you knew this would realistically end one of two ways, you can’t help but balk at the words. You try your best to smile at his words, but even you realize how hollow that gesture is, in spite of the part you know you’re meant to play in the moment, between the two of you, only one of you is an actor.

He’s having none of it as you feel the previously gentle hand cupping your face wrap around your throat. “Now. You. And. Rosie. Can. Come. Home.” he grits out, his grip around your neck tightening with each word emphasized.

He knows what your answer is, no doubt he’s just trying to rub salt in the wound knowing that it’s not a choice he’s giving you. This is all the proof you need that he doesn’t fully believe you, but is willing to play along. Leaving may have been forgivable, staying away for so long is another matter entirely.

He’s just punishing you for not being as enthusiastic as you should be at the prospect of coming “home,” as you should be.

You’re not playing pretend well enough.

“Mama!” Rosie squeals excitedly and when he lets go, you turn to see her making her way back downstairs, her favorite blanket now a makeshift rucksack of what you assume to be all toys dragging behind her. “Mama it worked!” she said, as she ran full tilt toward you, holding something in her palm. “Danny’s gonna take us to Neverland today.”

You see the little porcelain baby from the king cake and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere else. But you know better than to believe in wishes.

“Can we go now?” she says, her little hand grasping one of Elvis’ fingers and shaking furiously. “Now please,” she begs, before he scoops her up into his arms and propping her on his hip. He holds her close and you're forced to face what you have been ignoring all these years. The shape of the nose, the way her lips curl in such a specific way, there is only one place she could have gotten all of that from. It feels like just your luck that your child would be practically a carbon copy of the man you so desperately tried to get away from. Really it was only a matter of time before someone figured it out.

“Now hold ya’ horses yittle,” chucking her under the chin in a far too familiar manner, as she giggles in his arms. “Yer mama’s gotta get ready herself.”

“I… do…” you say, playing along, trying to keep a cap on your distress for your daughter's sake. “I-I gotta pack a few more things baby,” you say, giving her a kiss on her forehead, hoping she misses the tears in your eyes. “I’ll b-be right back.” you manage to stutter out.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” his voice so saccharine sweet it makes our teeth ache. “We’ll be right here.”

As you turn around you feel a hard smack on your ass, and you fully stop, burning in humiliation that he would treat you like that, especially in front of your daughter.

The humiliation only further ramps up as you walk up the stairs, and you can feel the slick already gathering between your thighs. Less out of titillation you believe and more out of a defense mechanism, knowing what will more than likely happen the second he's able to get you alone.

Or is it?

It doesn’t feel real as you step into the upstairs apartment, you see Gina at the stove and Sue filling out a crossword puzzle, her glasses threatening to fall off her nose, none of which suggests they have any idea of what’s going on downstairs. You’re almost angry about that, like it would’ve been easier to walk away from them if they had also been in on it as well.

“Where’s Rosie so eager to rush off to?” Sue asks idly, not looking up from the paper.

“Oh ummm…” you say, trying to think on your feet for a decent enough lie. “ Sh-she’s going to a sleepover with-with Jenny.”

You’re usually a better liar than this, but him being so close again has you all out of sorts tonight. Not to mention your mind is running rampant with all the worst case scenarios possible at the moment with the most egregious being that he’s gonna take her and run, forcing you to chase him down the same way he’s undoubtedly done for you these past few years. You’re practically feeling every second tick by, fearing the longer you take the greater the chances will be that they’re both gone.

Is that how he felt when he was away from you? A small voice in your head asks. It’s an awful roiling feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how it would feel if the person you loved most wasn’t where you left them. Would he be so cruel to do that to you?

“Did that fella Jenny setchu up with ever show up?” Gina asks, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Ye-yeah and… and I’m gonna get dinner with him,” you swallow, the lie tasting like bile in your mouth. As you turn to your room, already mentally mapping where the important documents were in your bedroom, preparing to pack a few outfits for Rosie, and whatever other odds and ends you would need.

Your answer catches Gina off guard, and Sue immediately looks up from the paper sharing a look with your other Aunt. “Ain’t that a little fast, Hon?”

“Maybe…” you say, hesitating as you try to hold back your tears.

“Ya don’t gotta go if you ain’t ready for it,” Sue says behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder, that you flinch away from. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong If it’s still a little too early for you.”

That’s the worst part about it. You know they would fight tooth and nail for both you and Rosie if you just asked. But you know the type of mess Elvis can and will bring into this house should you decide to fight him on this. After all they’ve done for you, keeping them out of the type of spectacle he brings is the least you can do.

“I have to go,” you say sternly.

One look at your squared back shoulders and your far away look they know there’s no stopping this. You hold back your tears as you accept their hug and accept their well wishes. You say your goodbyes promising to be back soon, unsure if you will ever see them again, and you put on your biggest fakest smile as you let go of them, wanting to at least leave them with one happy memory.

Relief floods your entire being seeing her at the bottom of the steps, only for the dread to return seeing him there with her. Especially when you hear the story he’s telling her. You don’t miss the glance he steals your way before focusing on your daughter once again. “I thought to myself, ‘thas the girl whose gonna be mine.’”

“Like-like love at first sight,” Rosie asks, and you can practically hear the stars in her eyes.

“Exactly yittle,” he drawls out. “Took her awhile to figure it out though but she learned eventually. Now we’re all gonna go home.” His eyes slide right off her and cut directly to you. Her eyes follow him and she quickly scurries off of him to reach you.

“You ready Mama?” she asks you as she takes you by the hand leading you to the door where you see a car parked right out front. It may as well have been a hearse in your mind.

You pick her up and you look down the darkened streets and you briefly flirt with the idea of just sprinting and never looking back. But the hand on your elbow guiding you to the car puts a halt to those thoughts.

You still don’t know how much of your story he does actually believe, so you sit yourself down in the car without so much as a fuss and resolve yourself to your fate. Though that doesn’t stop you from seating yourself in the middle and placing Rosie by the window, as you still aren’t totally out of the mindset of keeping her as far away from him as possible. Neither of them seem to mind as she eagerly presses tiny hands up to the glass in awe of the nightlife of New Orleans, while he slithers an arm over your shoulder bringing you closer to him.

As you contemplate what your life will look like from now on, you pass by so many places you’ve become familiar with these last four years, but what nearly breaks you are the unfamiliar places. Record stores, movie theaters, restaurants, and so many other places you avoided all due to an irrational belief that he would somehow be there. You did your best to limit your time in the outside world to only when you absolutely had to be out.

Maybe that’s why you were so willing to trust Jenny and her altruistic generosity to watch over your daughter and take her places you were too anxious to venture to.

You caged yourself into your new seemingly better life, but you didn't live at all. You were hiding. Always so afraid that he would somehow find you, you neglected to live. You put yourself in a different cage and convinced yourself you were free.

“Mama? Mama, why are you crying?” your sweet little girl asks.

But you’re gonna do what you’ve always done for your daughter. What you’ve always done when it comes to Elvis. You’re going to play pretend.

“Mama’s just so happy we’re going baby,” you say with a solemn kiss to her forehead as his grip further tightens on your shoulder.

“I know what’ll cheer you up!” she declares and completely unaware of the salt she’s about to pour on your wounds, she pulls something out of her little rucksack. “Danny, do you know the story of ‘Punzel?”

“Can’t say that I do darlin’” he says, eyeing you over her head. She sets the Grimm fairy tale book down on her lap and opens it to the worn pages she’s seemed to memorize by heart. She proceeds to read to the both of you, in the sense that she recites the story she’s heard maybe half-a-million times before word-for-word, going off pictures more than the actual words on the page to know where she’s at in the story. You try your best to focus on the book for your daughter's sake, but it’s nearly impossible to do when you feel Elvis' familiar bruising grip on your inner thigh.

You shoot him a look and grab a hold of his wandering hand, trying to signal for him to stop and pay attention to Rosie. He gives a mirthful smile to you as he feels the slick there and seemingly tightens his grip in retribution, as though he wants to get a head start on re-establishing his claim over you. You in response bite your cheek and bear it, until at one point it nearly becomes too much and one lone tear rolls down your cheek and onto the page of the prince wandering blindly through the forest.

Your daughter is far too sweet for her own good, as she notices this and gives you a gentle pat on your cheek, trying to comfort you the same you’ve done for her before.

“Don’t worry Mama,” she reassures you, mirroring what you’ve done for her when a story gets her a little too worked up. “They always live happy ever after.”

You give a shuddering sigh as Elvis finally let’s go of your thigh. You clutch onto that little porcelain figure in your pocket and hope she’s right.

You make it to Memphis in record time, Rosie having long since tired herself out, is wrapped securely in your arms, but you’ll find no suh peace with his arm coiled around your shoulder as he sadistically whispers how Rosie’ll have a blast meeting the rest of his family while the two of you get “reacquainted,” of course he used more colorful language but you don’t want to have to think about that for right now.

When the familiar gates come into view

“Ahh, my baby missed home that bad,” he whispers, giving a deceptively sweet kiss to your tear-stricken cheek. “Why don’tcha hand the ‘lil one over to me and you just head up to bed and get ready for me?”

Despite the questioning lilt in his tone you know for a fact he’s not asking. And so going against all of your instincts screaming in your head, you let go of your daughter and watch as he takes a hold of her. To your relief she’s at the very least on the same floor as you, but you can only hope that she, at the very least, will sleep through the rest of the night, because you doubt he’ll let you out even a minute sooner than he has to.

The bedroom has changed in many ways since you’ve been gone, though the most striking thing was how your side of the bed looks as though it were converted into a little shrine for you. Small baubles and trinkets you left behind on the stand, you even find an old nightgown of yours on your side of the bed, the last thing he ever saw you in. It doesn’t fit you like it used to, having and breastfeeding a baby will do that to you, but you put it on all the same knowing he will want to see you in it.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, seeing your breasts straining against the silk material and the bruises peeking out beneath the scandalously short hemline, it really does settle in that this was all inevitable. This is the very same image you saw the night before he left for Germany.

The same image that confirmed your decision to leave in the first place.

This moment, feels like the dread you always felt when getting to the last few pages of a book. As things were wrapping up and you would have to face the harsh reality of your situation...

You’re back in the fucking hotel room.

You won’t even have the luxury of daydreaming of your escape, because there is no world where you leave without Rosie, and he knows that. He knows she’s the reason you ran, and knows that without her you’re never gonna run again. That’s why he went to the lengths he did to endear himself to her first before you ever had an inkling as to what was going on.

Your thoughts turn to Jenny, and how you entrusted what you loved the most to her, only to have her spit in your face by turning around practically handing her over to him on a platter. Either she knew that he was her father and didn’t bother to question why you were so desperate to get away that you faked a whole other life, or she didn’t and handed over your daughter to a stranger. You don’t know which is worse.

You also can’t forget how she was perhaps the most vehement about you dating again, which you can’t even begin to understand if she was working for him the whole time. But you can’t put it above him that he wouldn’t have Jenny push the issue if only to further twist the knife if you ever did take up her offer. As though to remind you that you never had a chance of moving on.

Because it always goes back to him.

You want to hide from it all and you give into the urge, and crawl under the silky sheets of the bed, for all the good it will do to protect you.

Monsters don’t hide under your bed. They crawl into it. Those are your last conscious thoughts as you feel the bed shift

“Welcome home Satnin,” he whispers before you feel the sheets being ripped away from you.

Taglist

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stephstars08 · 9 months

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Falling Apart

Austin!Elvis Presley x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Mention of Drugs being taken, Drugs, Mention of Drinking Alcohol, Divorce, Depressed Elvis, Yelling/Fighting, Elvis having a meltdown on stage, Colonel trying to manipulate Reader, Mention of Elvis collapsing, Fluff at the end, and Maybe some Grammar Errors. (Sorry if I forgot any!!!)

Summary: Due the Colonel making Elvis take a bunch of drugs to keep him energized to perform, it’s making Elvis completely fall apart. It get’s even worse when Pricilla packs all of her stuff up and leaves Elvis taking their daughter with her. After Elvis’s dad’s assistant Y/N hears the news she does everything she can to help Elvis pull himself back together.

Word Count: 2,162

Author’s Note: FINALLY MY FIRST ELVIS MOVIE STORY IS HERE! I’ve been waiting for basically a year to finally get a plot for a story for one of my favorite movies of all time! This isn’t just my first Austin/Elvis story but this is also my first story of the new year so I hope you all enjoy! If any of you want to you can read this as Elvis x Reader or Austin!Elvis x Reader! It’s up to you!!

Y/N Y/L/N is the assistant to Vernon Presley who is of course the father of the one and only Elvis Presley. Vernon is in charge of Presley Enterprises. Vernon hired Y/N to be his assistant when Elvis came home from the army. Due to all of the films Elvis was staring in at the time it was getting too hard for Vernon to take care of everything by himself so that’s why he hired Y/N.

When Y/N got the job, she wasn’t expecting to be around Elvis so much. Of course, Y/N isn’t complaining since Elvis has brought her in with open arms and so did his wife Priscilla. Elvis has thanked Y/N so much for helping his father out.

Y/N would be lying if she said that she has never had a crush on the heartthrob. When Elvis first started out Y/N immediately grew a crush on him, but that crush did fade away after she graduated from high school and when Elvis went overseas to be in the army. But as time went on that crush returned and the more, she was around Elvis, the more the crush grew. Y/N wished she didn’t feel that way about Elvis since he’s married to Priscilla, and she is really good friends with Priscilla as well. But those thoughts just flood her mind whenever she is with him.

Y/N loved everything about her job except having to work with the Colonel who is the manager of Elvis. Ever since the first day she met the Colonel she knew he wasn’t very fond of her. She hated being around him since she always feels uncomfortable around him, and she always gets bad vibes from him.

But Y/N didn’t see the Colonel’s dark side till Elvis started to play a residency in Las Vegas.

********************

Y/N was at her apartment getting ready to meet Vernon at a business meeting. Right before she walked out the door, she heard her phone ring. When she answered the phone, she heard Vernon’s voice.

“Hi, I was just about to walk out the door to meet you.” Y/N said into the phone. “Priscilla left Elvis this morning.” She heard Vernon tell her which made her heart drop. “Oh my gosh.” Y/N said in a shocked tone. Even though she’s shocked by the news she knew the reason why Priscilla left. “She moved all of her stuff out and she took Lisa with her.” She heard Vernon tell her. She could hear the sadness in his voice. “How is Elvis?” Y/N asked in the phone. That was the only question that was coming to her mind. “He’s a complete mess.” She heard him tell her which broke her heart.

“Can you go to Graceland and just stay there with him till I come back from the meeting?” Vernon asked her. “I just really don’t want him to be alone right now.” He added. “Of course, I can.” Y/N answered into the phone.

“Thank you so much dear.” She heard him say. “I’ll talk to you soon.” He added which made her smile a little. “You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you soon.” She told him through the phone. After they said their goodbyes Y/N hung up the phone.

********************

Y/N parked her car in front of the big Graceland mansion. She turned the car off and grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. She got out of the car closing the driver's seat door. As Y/N made her way to the front door she wrapped the strap of her purse around her shoulder.

When she got to the door, she rang the doorbell and waited but no one answered so she rang the doorbell again but still no answer. Y/N put her hand on the doorknob and twisted it which made the door open. Y/N walked inside the mansion. “Elvis!” Y/N called out as she closed the door. She looked around and noticed that things that belonged to Priscilla were gone. Y/N let out a sigh she she walked into the dining room and put her keys and purse down onto the table.

“Elvis!” Y/N called out again as she walked over to the bottom of the staircase and again, she got no response. She knew Elvis had to be home because where else would he go. Y/N walked up the staircase and right when she got to the top, she heard whimpering. Y/N walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the door to what was the bedroom Elvis once shared with Priscilla. That was where the whimpering was coming from. She was going to knock on the door, but something was telling her to just walk in.

When she opened the door, she saw a bunch of medicine bottles on the floor. Y/N walked in and at first, she didn’t see Elvis till she walked past the king-sized bed. Elvis was sitting on the floor crying into his knees that were hiding his face. It broke Y/N’s heart seeing Elvis in this kind of state. “Elvis.” Y/N said in a soft voice. Elvis looked up at her with his eyes filled with tears and his cheeks soaked with tears running down them. “What are you doing?” Elvis asked her. She could hear how broken he was in his voice. “Your father wanted me to be here with you till he comes back from his business meeting.” Y/N told him. Elvis didn’t say anything back. He just looked away from her.

Y/N sat down next to him. “I’m so sorry about what happened.” Y/N told him with sincere in her voice. “Why are you saying sorry to me?” Elvis asked still not looking at her. “What do you mean?” Y/N asked him. “I’m the reason why she left. She said I’m like a zombie.” Elvis told her as tears continued to stream down his face like a waterfall. “Those pills are what turn you like that.” Y/N told him which made him finally look back at her.

She can’t just keep jumping around it anymore. When he’s on those pills it’s like he’s a completely different person. Those pills are making him fall apart.

“The pills. They just keep controlling me. It’s like they have taken over me.” Elvis told her as he started to cry harder if that was even possible. “I know.” Y/N started. “That’s why I’m here. I’m going to help you get through this.” Y/N told him looking him straight into his eyes. Elvis believed her as he stared back into her eyes. “Okay.” Elvis said in a soft voice.

“I’m going to go downstairs into the kitchen to get you some water.” Y/N told him but before she could stand up, he grabbed her hand. “Please, don’t leave me. Please stay with me.” Elvis said to her in a pleading tone. “Okay! Okay, I’ll stay here with you.” Y/N told him in reassurance. Y/N wrapped her arm around him and rubbed her hand up and down his arm as he cried.

They stayed like that till Vernon came home.

********************

As a lot of time pasted Y/N kept her promise to Elvis. She’s been looking after him as much as she could. Even though Y/N has been doing her best to take care of Elvis, he’s still not the man he once was.

The only time Elvis looks happy is when he is on stage in front of his fans. The only people that knew what he was going through were the people he sees every day.

Elvis was playing another show in Vegas. Y/N watching him perform from the side of the stage with Jerry by her side. “You’ve been very quiet this evening.” Jerry said to her which earned him a glare from her. “You know damn well why I’ve been quiet.” Y/N told him in a stern tone. “The Colonel came before I could call you and right away, he made Dr. Nick shoot him up with drugs.” Jerry explained to her. “I’m not mad at you, okay!” Y/N told him with a heavy sigh. “He should be in a hospital bed but instead that monster decided to make the decision to shoot him up with the same drugs that is what made him collapse in the first place.” Y/N said with anger in her tone.

Jerry saw the tears forming in her eyes, so he brought her in for a hug. He knows about the feelings she has for Elvis, so he knows it’s hard seeing him like this. As Y/N returned the hug she tried her best to keep her tears in.

They released from the hug when they heard Elvis singing to Suspicious Minds with no music. Y/N could sense right away that something was wrong, and it was just going to get worse. As Elvis went on a rant about how this was going to be his last show in Vegas the Colonel immediately made his way up to the stage.

“Pull the curtain down!” Colonel told someone in a demanding tone which made Y/N and Jerry look at him. “What is going on here.” Colonel asked Jerry in a stern tone. Jerry took a glance at Elvis and then back at the Colonel. “I think he wants to know that, too.” Jerry told him.

When Elvis saw the Colonel started to act even more out of character. Elvis was having a melt down and it was starting to scare Y/N a little since she’s never seen him act like this. As the curtain started to fall Elvis started to yell at the Colonel. When Elvis said, “You’re Fired!” to the Colonel Y/N felt her heart rate speed up.

As the Colonel walked closer to him, he just kept saying “you’re fired” louder and louder each time. “YOU’RE FIRED!” Elvis screamed into his microphone which made everyone, and everything go silent. Everyone looked at Elvis with shock as the Colonel looked at him with sadness. “You’re fired.” Elvis said more calm and not into the microphone.

When he dropped his microphone, it made Y/N jump by the loud noise the mic made when it hit the stage. She watched him turn away from the Colonel and walk off the stage.

********************

Y/N decided to wait an hour before going up to Elvis’s room to check on him. Y/N was walking down the hallway to the elevator when she felt someone grab her left wrist. Y/N turned around to see that it was the Colonel who grabbed her wrist.

“Let me go.” Y/N told him in a demanding tone. “You go up there and tell him to take me back.” Colonel told her in the same tone she used. He knew she was going upstairs to talk to Elvis. Y/N let out a scoff as she pulled her wrist out of his grip. “You are the reason why he’s falling apart!” Y/N told him. “You’re the reason why he’s hooked on all of those drugs and you’re the reason why Pricilla and Lisa left him!” Y/N added as she looks at him with a fiery look in her eyes.

“Do it or you’re fired!” Colonel told her in a warning tone. “You’re not the boss of me and you never were.” Y/N said not back down to him. “You stay the hell away from him!” Y/N told him in a warning voice and walked away from him.

********************

When Y/N got to Elvis’s room before she could knock on the door it opened to reveal Elvis. “When I heard footsteps, I figured that it was you coming to check on me.” Elvis told her letting her inside. Y/N could tell that he was more calmed down then what he was just an hour ago. “I was going to come up here right away, but I decided to let you cool off.” Y/N told him while he closed the door.

“I’m sorry that you had to see me like that. I guess I just lost control.” Elvis told her turning around to face her but didn’t look at her. “Elvis, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Y/N told him. She put one of her hands onto one of his cheeks which made his eyes meet hers. “It was the drugs and that shot of alcohol didn’t help either but that’s what made you lose it.” Y/N reassured him.

“But what you did right was you set yourself free from that monster.” Y/N told him stroking his cheek lightly with her thumb. “I didn’t want him taking you away from me, too.” Elvis told her.

Before she could say anything, Elvis’s lips connected with hers. Y/N immediately returned the kiss. They continued to kiss until they had to pull away for air.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Elvis confessed to her. Y/N’s lips curved up into a smile. “Me too.” Y/N told him and leaned back up to reconnect her lips with his soft lips again.

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prettyprissyblvd · 11 months

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This is my renaissance, I shall even go so far to say this is my, "The Creation of Adam"

But instead of Adam it's Elvis

#elvis fandom #elvis movie #elvis film #austin gp 2023 #elvis 2023 #elvis presley #austin butler #austin!elvis

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surferblues · 2 years

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keep going | a.b

fuckboy!austin butler x fem!reader

requested prompt ❛ shh. there’s people in the other room. ❜ debating on making a part 2 to this.

warnings smut (18+ only, minors dni), unprotected sex, dom! Austin, praise, p in v, unestablished relationship, spelling errors, and obviously sexual themes. ALL FICTIONAL. inspired and dedicated to the one and only @dreamersparacosm 🫶

Kaia and Austin had been dating for months, but there was always one person that he would let get in between his relationship. you.

But, in your defense, you knew they wouldn't last long, none of her relationships ships did. A year, tops.

Since the time Kaia introduced you to Austin at the Cannes festival, you and Austin had this undeniable tension that Kaia was blindsided by.

with him eyeing the whole night, even when kaia followed him around like a lost puppy. all he could think about was you.

it was the same night, that when kaia introduced you to one another - he and you snuck away to a empty room, and discovered each other in ways that would get you in trouble if anyone caught on.

and continued, him sneaking around his girlfriends back just to fuck her best friend - what a headline.

“Is it funny to make me hard when you know I can’t have you?” He grunts out, his rough hands shoving you into a (hopefully) unoccupied room.

A cocky smirk was plastered on your face as you rested your back against the wall, you bat your eyelashes at him and bite your bottom lip, making him lick his own as you get up in his face.

"she's never been a problem before." you hummed, your fingers working their way towards black dress pants, the satisfying sound of the zipper being unzipped was music to your ears.

“Look at you, such a dirty slut, y'know exactly what to do." he chuckled in amusement, his pants dropping. but, as quickly as his pants were off he worked towards the short dress that covered your body.

“Yeah, yeah. Be quiet.” You pushed his lips against his in an attempt to shut him up, grabbing his collar, and it worked miraculously. While you felt his hungry lips on yours, you also felt his eager hands riding up the tight dress up to your hips.

"no panties?" he breathlessly rasped, pulling away from the passionate kiss - clear humor in his tone. his blue eyes yours, head tilted as you nodded relentlessly.

"it's easier, yeah?" you giggled, but you were quickly cut short when he slipped two fingers into you without warning, making your jaw drop before he clamped a hand over your mouth.

"makes you look like a little slut." he degraded, pulling his fingers out of your needy hole. he hurriedly repositioned you, to where your chest was against the hard wall and your back was pressed against his rising chest. "a dirty one."

you didn't reply to his comments, instead you pressed your ass to his clothed dick - indicating that you were tired of waiting.

his dick was hard, he wasn't lying. he let out a hiss as you rubbed yourself against him, his boxers being the only thing stopping him from entering your body.

"stay still." he instructed, one of his hands flying towards his boxers while the other gripped your hip - arching your back subtly.

it had been a few seconds, and you were beginning to get impatient. "what are you d-" you curious words were quickly cut short, again, when you felt his dick slam into your needy whole without any warning, again.

Austin held you up against the wall, his hand slowly wrapped tightly around your throat, moving your head in his direction, just so he could meet your eyes.

" y'gotta be quiet, sh..." he murmured breathlessly, nodding slowly to make you understand and in attempts to hush your whimpers." there’s people in the other room." you nodded understandably, throwing your head back against his shoulder as you got used to the feeling of his dick in you.

he removed himself out of you, but quickly slammed back in - attempting to find a steady pace. you both let out a chorus of hushed moans.

the boy letting out a slight hissing sound and you biting down on your lip to keep from moaning out in pleasure.

he found a steady pace, thrusting into you so easily, Austin pressed his lips back to yours again, both of your lips parted as he pushed into you perfectly every time.

he always knew how to make you feel your best, he knew your body better than anybody else. It was a blessing and a curse, really, due to the following circumstances.

"please..i ... jus' keep doing that" you whimper, his rough hand removing itself from your neck, and sneaking around your waist to pinch at your nipple.

Another moan slips past your lips when he drags his plump lips down your spine, leaving a trail of messy kisses.

"pussy was made just for me, nobody else" Austin rasps against your shoulder blade, you feel his grin against your skin when you clench around him at his words.

Austin trails his hand down, his finger tips grazing down your skin, this time to rub at your sensitive clit.

and he thought quickly, his tongue found its way into your mouth effortlessly, his teeth sinking down into your lower lip before you let out a soft moan that was swallowed by the kiss.

Everything was happening in slow motion, it felt out of this world. hips thrusting down to meet yours, his blonde locks now messy and damp with sweat hair falling over his forehead as he hung over you. It felt surreal and you couldn’t get enough of it.

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headfullofpresley · 2 years

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Ruin Me

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: You knew it was wrong. He was your father’s friend and fifteen years older, but you always got what you wanted and this time, you had your sights set on him.

Word count: 9,4K

Warning(s): 1968!El, comeback special!El, strong language, alcohol consumption, age gap (fifteen years), dom!El, bratty!reader, virgin!reader, smut; spanking, thigh riding, oral (f. and m. receiving), fingering, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, choking if you squint, reader lies about being on birth control.

Author’s note: enjoy, ya filthy animals. jk, i love yall <3.

masterlist

It was like every single person in every corner of the world dropped everything the second Elvis Presley’s Comeback Special was announced─it would be his first time performing in front of a live audience since years and his fans were quite literally fighting anyone that stood in between them and those tickets when they went on sale. Despite him working on his movies the past couple of years, the fans missed him and were craving for something fresh, something new. And Elvis would be sure to give them exactly what they wanted.

You were one of the lucky ones that was part of Elvis’ inner circle. With your father working in the industry and working with Elvis on a couple of his movies, the two became fast friends as they bonded over music, motorcycles and whatever else they’d talk about whenever Elvis came over at the house. You had no idea what they talked about most of the time and you simply did not care─the only thing you cared about was how good Elvis smelled whenever he leaned in to you to kiss your cheek as a way of greeting you and how he’d wink at you from across the dining table. You were hopelessly in love with your father’s best friend and you wouldn’t be surprised if he was well aware of it.

Elvis was indeed very aware of your feelings toward him. He could see it in your eyes the first time he was introduced to you and how you’d make it your mission to make the effects you had on him very difficult to hide. The way you’d flutter your long eyelashes at him every time he made eye contact with you and how your outfits got a little more skimpier every time he came around made it nearly impossible to keep up a conversation with your father. When he’d go in the living room to smoke a cigar with his friend and you’d clean the dining table with your mother, he didn’t miss how you’d bend over a little further than necessary, showing off your panties. At some point he noticed you stopped wearing panties all together, making him nearly lose his goddamn mind when he noticed your bare ass and tight little slit. Every time he was over at the house, he was praying that your parents would go to bed earlier than usual, leaving you behind with him. Unfortunately, they never did.

He never had the chance to make his move and when you started dating some 20 year old, he realised you thought he wasn’t phased by your actions or that he was simply rejecting you. You wanted him to do something so bad, take you up to your room and fuck your brains out while your parents were in the other room, and when he never did, your feelings were hurt. You figured it was time to take the next step─making him jealous. Show him what he was missing.

You nearly begged your father to let John, your new ‘boyfriend’, come along to the show and your father eventually agreed, knowing that you weren’t going to give up when your mind was set on something (or someone). You couldn’t give two shits about John, all you wanted was to see the look on Elvis’ face when you’d be all over your boyfriend.

As soon as you were all backstage before the show and Elvis wandered in the room clothed in a leather suit, exposing most of his chest, you nearly fainted right in front of everyone as if it was the first time you were seeing Elvis Presley in person.

He noticed you immediately and you watched as he greeted some people before making his way over to you and your family. John stood next to you with his arm wrapped around your waist and he could feel you were feeling nervous – you didn’t even give him a proper response when he asked if you were okay, your eyes glued on Elvis as his aura nearly swallowed you whole. If you were a cartoon character, hearts would definitely be popping out of your eyes right now.

“Hello darlin’,” he hummed after he greeted your parents, grinning at you as he leaned in closer. He planted a shameless and firm hand on your waist as he leaned in, kissing your cheek only inches away from your lips. His thumb that caressed your waist burned right through the thin fabric of your dress and you had to stop your eyes from rolling back, wanting nothing more than to grab him by that unholy leather jacket and be all over him. You were snapped back to reality when he moved back and looked at John, the grin on his face felt taunting.

“Who’s this?” he asked you, although his eyes were still very much on John and you watched as John seemed to shrink a few inches in Elvis’ presence. It was probably the hottest thing you had ever seen. “This is John,” you spoke up for the first time since he came in the room, slipping your arm around John’s shoulder as you pressed yourself against him. “My boyfriend,”

Elvis was in the middle of shaking his hand as those words left your mouth and he didn’t let go as he looked at you with a raised eyebrow, squeezing John’s hand firmly in his grip. John just smiled as he stood there, shaking his hand while trying not to show he was uncomfortable with his fingers being squeezed together.

“Boyfriend, huh? Didn’t know ya had one, doll,”

You hummed as you nodded, adding a bit more fuel to the fire as you kissed John’s cheek, placing a hand on his chest. Elvis chuckled deeply as he eventually let go of John’s hand, buttoning up his jacket. Your eyes were quick as they moved to his chest but Elvis noticed it, licking his lips as he tilted his head a little. “Let’s hope this one sticks, hm?” he laughed softly, trying to sound as casual as he could.

“Believe me, he will. We might even get married,” you told him matter of factly, the annoyance that was already bubbling in your veins full on cooking now when he just laughed and nodded, shooting you a wink.

“Oh, stop it with the nonsense, Y/N,” your father interrupted with a laugh, knowing that you and John definitely were not getting married – you hadn’t even been dating the kid for two weeks. You shot a glare at your father and Elvis as they fell into conversation with each other, leaving you to entertain John by yourself. You were happy when Elvis was eventually called out of the room since the show would be starting soon.

All throughout the show, you were close to having a mental breakdown. You had always known what a great performer Elvis was – you heard the stories, listened to the songs and even had him singing during get togethers at your own house but this was just insane. The way he was working the crowd, making contact with the people that were seated on the edge of the small square stage, made you curse everyone that worked on this special for the fact VIPs were not seated at the front. You still had a very good view at the back of the venue seeing it was a small one but when he got on his knee and let girls touching his leather thighs, it felt like you were turning green with jealousy. He knew exactly what he was doing when he found you in the crowd and shot you a wink as everyone was reaching out to him, manicured nails inching further up his thighs. You nearly broke every bone in John’s hand when he slipped it in yours, not giving him the chance to pull away.

You loved every minute of the show but you couldn’t be happier when it was over. Your parents must’ve thought you lost your damn mind when you pulled John along to follow Jerry back to the show room. You had to mentally prepare yourself for seeing Elvis again, all sweaty and hot this time, and for what you were going to say. It was time to bring the spoiled little brat to the surface.

As soon as he came into the room, champagne was popped and he was immediately swarmed by people congratulating him on finishing the first part of the special. The other parts would be shot without an audience the next day, so you wouldn’t have to sneakily rub your thighs together again until you’d watch it back on the television. You allowed John to pull you into his lap after you handed him a glass of champagne and grabbed his hand, placing it right on your ass as you pulled your legs up a little, letting the fabric of your dress ride up to expose more of your skin. You made a show of it when you’d kiss your boyfriend, giggling obnoxiously when he’d whisper in your ear, playfully slapping his chest as if whatever he was saying was oh so funny, perhaps even a little naughty. You forgot the words as soon as they came out of his mouth, but Elvis didn’t need to know that.

The raven haired man could barely keep his eyes off of you – he’d try and be part of conversations, not showing anyone he was distracted, but you were putting him through hell. He was standing on the other side of the room and he had the perfect view of the back of your exposed thighs – he wanted nothing more than to stride over and pull your dress up a few inches more to expose your panties. If you were wearing any at all. Wouldn’t be the first time if you weren’t.

When you lifted your head out of John’s neck and looked over your shoulder to meet his eyes and give him a little finger wave, he downed the rest of his drink and excused himself from the people he was talking to.

Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed him walking over and you didn’t know if it was because your prayers had been heard or if it was because John felt so intimidated, but your boyfriend lifted you off of his lap as he said he was going to find a bathroom that wasn’t so crowded like the one in the show room.

You didn’t stop him, kicking off your heels to sit on your knees to look at Elvis as he sat down next to you. Your parents were distracted by other people and Elvis took the opportunity to place his hand just above your knee, fingertips dancing further up your thigh.

Other than an arm around your waist or around your shoulder, he had never touched you so boldly and especially not with your parents in the room. It certainly was a risky move but it made heat flush in between your legs, a tingle running down your spine as you pressed your elbow deeper into the back of the couch where it was resting.

‘‘What’s with you and this John kid?’’ he blurted out as his hand disappeared underneath the fabric of your dress, finger sprawling out against your skin before he squeezed the flesh of your thigh. You quickly took a sip of your champagne to not let out a squeak, looking at him and that stupid smug grin that was raising the corner of his mouth. You swallowed the bubbly alcohol and cleared your throat a little, moving your glass to your other hand. You were trying to keep up your act and not show him that he was making you feel all hot and bothered, but you were pretty sure you looked flushed and as if you were about to slip right off this damned couch.

‘‘What do you mean by that? I told you, he’s my boyfriend,’’ you said, keeping your voice as steady and confident as you could, even trying to sound a little sassy. You thought you were rather succesful, but he saw right through you.

‘‘He treat you well?’’

Your eyes met his and even though he was still showing dominance as he always was, you were wondering if that was jealousy that you heard on the back of his tongue. You didn’t comment on it though, instead sinking your teeth into your lower lip as you tilted your head. ‘‘Hmhm, he does. Takes me to the most expensive restaurants, buys me flowers,’’ you lied through your teeth, taking another sip of champagne. It wasn’t like John didn’t try to take you out but you always declined─growing up with one foot already in the entertainment industry due to your parents’ line of work, you always got everything that you wanted and you were used to the finer things in life, not deeming anything less acceptable. When John took you out to a drive in movie theater, you were bored out of your mind. You would much rather be mingling with people that had status and sipping champagne.

You’d make up all kinds of excuses to John to not have to go out with him most of the time, not only because you were spoiled but also because every time he’d kiss you, all you could think about was Elvis, Elvis and Elvis.

Before Elvis could speak, you looked around the room and when you noticed your parents were still distracted, you leaned in closer to the man next to you as you cupped your hand at the side of your mouth.

‘‘And he has a huge cock,’’

A complete lie. You were 18 and still a virgin─after Elvis Presley came into your life, you had made it your mission to lose said virginity to him and him only.

Elvis knew you were a virgin, he could see it in the way you were so needy for him. For a man to touch you. But he wouldn’t put you on the spot─if you wanted your first time to be with a man who knew how to actually fuck a woman, he would be more than willing to make that little dream of yours come true.

As you giggled and leaned back again, Elvis squeezed your thigh a little firmer and he succeeded in shutting you up immediately, teeth sinking into your tongue to hold back a small moan. His eyes found yours and you could’ve sworn his ocean blue ones darkened a little, tongue swiping over his bottom lip teasingly.

‘‘Seems like he hasn’t been using it well then, sweetheart. You still got a big mouth,’’ he whispered, though it was loud enough for you to hear. You squeezed your thighs together, trapping his fingertips in between them in the process, and you could feel your arousal sticking against the fabric of the panties you did decide to wear tonight. Now you wish you weren’t─with his fingers so close to where you wanted them, he could’ve touched you so easily. Just thinking about it made you almost jump the man with everyone present in the room. You cleared your throat a little, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you looked at him, steadying your breathing before you spoke.

‘‘Think you can do better?’’ you challenged him, tilting your head as you bit your lip seductively.

At this, he removed his hand completely and leaned in closer to you. He reached a hand out to your face, caressing some of your hair behind your ear with his fingertips as his eyes wandered over your face. You arched your back a little to stick out your chest, showing off the delicious cleavage your dress gave you─he looked down at it for a second, grin curling the corner of his lips as he looked back into your eyes again. ‘‘You bet I can,’’ he told you, leaning in even closer until his face was right next to yours, hot breath tickling against the shell of your ear. ‘‘You really think I believe your little lies, doll? You’re a spoiled little brat, there ain’t no way you’d think of someone like that worthy of your time,’’ he whispered, leaning back a little as his eyes found John in the crowd who came back into the room, awkwardly smiling and nodding at some people that walked by him. He stole a glass of champagne from a high table and stood near your parents, who weren’t giving him any attention either. Your parents weren’t interested in John at all, knowing that he wouldn’t last anyways.

Elvis laughed deeply, slipping his hand down to the back of your neck and he grinned at the way he could feel your heartbeat underneath the pad of his thumb. It was picking up by the minute and he knew it was because of him─perhaps it could’ve been your nerves, but in reality, it was because you were so excited to be this close to him and to have him say these words. You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he just told you he could fuck you better than your boyfriend.

‘‘You’ve been a tease since the moment your father introduced me to you. Showin’ yourself off, eye fucking me from across the room,’’ he grinned as he turned back to face you, eyes wandering down to your cleavage again. You felt your cheeks heating up, nearly moaning at the way his thumb added a bit of pressure against your neck. ‘‘You’re playin’ a risky game, baby. Due for a spanking, if you ask me,’’

Oh sweet baby Jesus. You were going to lose your fucking mind, you were absolutely sure of it. As his eyes met yours, you grabbed onto the leather jacket he was still in, popping open some more buttons. He laughed as he removed his hand from your neck and grabbed onto your wrists, peeling them off of him which made you pout. You were so turned on that you didn’t even care John was looking right at you and that your parents were only a few feet away. Not to mention the other 30 something people in the room.

‘‘Get a few more of those in you and pretend you’re drunk,’’ he whispered in your ear before he nodded at the champagne glass in your hand and you knew it was an order, dominance dripping off of his tongue. All you could do was nod eagerly, watching him get up from the couch after he released his grip on you to walk over to Jerry. John immediately made his way over to you and you rolled your eyes in annoyance, downing your champagne before you were already on the hunt for a refill.

You did exactly as Elvis told you, drinking a few glasses of champagne but you made sure you wouldn’t really get drunk. The slight buzz you felt was enough because you had no idea what this night would bring you, even though you were fantasizing about Elvis fucking you in every corner of this room in great detail, and you did not want to black out when those fantasies would come true. He kept his eye on you the entire time, winking at you, holding up his glass as a sign for you to keep up the act. You were still able to act like a normal person because you weren’t exactly a lightweight but you made sure to slur your words a little more whenever speaking to John or anyone else, gigling obnoxiously. Anyone that spoke to you could see that you had a bit too much to drink and when Elvis could hear your mother expressing her worries to your father, he assured them he’d take care of you. He promised them to drive you home or have someone drive you home when you felt like leaving and since your father was so close to Elvis, he allowed it. The fact that you assured them you were still having fun and feeling good helped as well─your parents had never been really strict, so you were happy that they were not making a problem of this either.

‘‘Do you want me to stay, sweetie?’’ John asked as your parents were saying their goodbyes to other people, holding your hands lovingly. You nearly gagged in his face, but decided to feign a smile and shake your head. ‘‘No, no! Go. I know you have work in the morning,’’ you told him, kissing his cheek as you pulled your hands out of his. He looked at Elvis who was still next to you, his hand placed casually on your lower back. Even if John wanted to, he was too much of a pussy to say something to the man and you didn’t blame him with the way Elvis was impatiently tapping his boot on the floor, waiting for him to leave. John sighed and nodded, smiling at you as he pecked your lips─as he turned around to leave the dressing room with your parents, you wiped away his kiss with the back of your hand and turned to Elvis as soon as the door closed, smiling brightly.

He took you around the room for a little bit, socializing with people and even though you still wanted to jump his bones, you were actually having fun without having John breathing down your neck or the presence of your parents in the room. Elvis kept you by his side the entire time and it felt like he was showing you off, marking his territory─you had no idea if that was all just in your head, but you were indulging in the delusion nonetheless. After having a few more drinks and conversations, Jerry and Elvis exchanged a look from across the room and you were visibly startled as Elvis suddenly clapped in his hands, demanding everyone’s attention.

‘‘Alright, party’s over, folks. Y’all are wastin’ my liquor and I’m gettin’ tired of seeing your faces,’’ he announced with a big smile on his face, laughing as everyone did as well. Even though he made it come off in a playful manner, everyone started saying their goodbyes and collecting their things before slowly leaving the show room. That was just the kind of effect Elvis Presley had─people listened to him, wouldn’t matter what came out of his mouth. You admired that in a man, you admired that in him. You craved someone like that.

Within the span of five minutes, the room was completely deserted aside from you and Elvis. Even people he worked with or people from his private life that rarely left his side were gone and as you saw him closing the door and looking at you with hungry eyes and a grin on his face, you suddenly felt like a lamb caught in a wolf’s trap. And you enjoyed every single second of it.

‘‘Alone at last,’’ you hummed, grinning as you immediately grabbed onto his jacket when he was in arms reach. His hands cupped your face, licking his lips before he sunk his teeth in them, looking down at you. You were feeling so incredibly small and it was turning you on to no end. Your heart was beating so fast that you felt it could explode right through your chest at any second now and when his lips crashed onto yours, you felt like fireworks bursting into an array of colors throughout your entire body. You raised yourself on your toes a little, hungrily dipping your tongue deeper into his mouth as soon as he parted his lips─his hands tightened their grip on your face a little and you were nearly levitating, legs shaking as you tried to keep your balance on your toes. He noticed it and released your face but he was quick to wrap his arms around your waist, fingers tapping against your ass. You took the hint and moved your arms up to his shoulders, hopping up into his arms and you couldn’t help but clench around nothing at how easily he managed to catch you. He allowed you to pull back from the kiss and grinned at himself as you immediately started planting open mouthed kisses in his neck, tongue hungrily lapping at his cologne stained skin, not caring about the taste of it on your tongue. You barely noticed him walking over to the couch until he sat down on it with you straddling his waist, making you pull your head out of his neck.

He didn’t even have to ask you or do it himself, your hands already moving to the hem of your dress to pull it up and over your head, flinging it across the room. He raised an eyebrow at the pleasant surprise of you not wearing a bra and licked his lips, hands flying up to cup your breasts immediately, his thumbs caressing over your sensitive nipples. He could feel them hardening under his touch and hummed softly as he heard you moan softly, the sound making blood rush to his semi hard on that was making his leather pants tighter by the second.

He couldn’t wait to have his way with you.

‘‘Get up,’’ he ordered, his hands slipping from your breasts to your hips, lifting you off of him. You didn’t question him, you’d probably do anything he asked of you at this point, and got up, looking at him curiously. He grinned at you as he sat up a little straighter, nodding down to his lap. ‘‘Bend over,’’ he said, grabbing your arm to gently guide you over his knee─you had completely forgotten about the spanking comment he made earlier but you should’ve known he would be going through with it. After all, the man always lived up to his word.

Aside from when you were a little girl and you had stolen your mothers’ pearls, you had never been spanked. Especially not in a sexual setting like this one, but you couldn’t keep yourself quiet every time Elvis’ flat hand came into contact with your ass. He had pulled the fabric of your panties between your cheeks tightly so that his slaps would have more effect on your bare skin, both in sound and the delicious sting that came along with it. You lost count but you wouldn’t be surprised if his hand print was marked into your ass─neither would you mind it. Every time his hand landed against your skin and made your ass jiggle, it sent a vibration right to your pussy and you were absolutely sure you were leaking by now.

‘‘If only they could see you now,’’ he grinned menacingly, obviously meaning your parents. And probably also John.

His hand connected to your skin harshly, making you moan as you grabbed onto one of the decorative pillows on the couch, squeezing it. He pulled it out of your hands roughly, pulling your arms back to hold them behind your back. Trapping your wrists against your back underneath his large palm, he let out a mean laugh, making your walls clench pathetically.

‘‘You always get everything you want, don’t ya?’’

Another slap, followed by another moan.

‘‘You’re.. y-you’re.. giving m-me what I want r-right n-now,’’ you whimpered, trying to wiggle your ass, already missing the pain. He tightened his grip on your wrists, leaning down to you a little bit. ‘‘What was that, doll?’’ he hummed, landing a slap against your ass cheek so hard the sound bounced off of the four walls in the room and you could’ve sworn you were seeing white spots clouding your vision. It hurt like hell, more than the other ones, and tears stung in your eyes. Yet you still found yourself wanting more. More more more. You wanted him to ruin you, use you.

You didn’t repeat the question and he grinned as he looked back down at your ass, his palm rubbing the spot he just slapped. ‘‘That’s what I thought. About time someone taught you a lesson,’’ he chuckled devilishly, his fingertip hooking underneath the fabric of your panties to pull it up and back a little, the fabric rubbing against your clit roughly but oh so deliciously. You pressed your head into the couch, moaning lewdly and needily as he continued the action for a little bit. You were desperately trying to chase the feeling, whining when he released your panties from his grip and he continued his assault on your ass for a little longer. It got to the point where you were nearly crying and when he noticed your thighs shaking out of your control, he released your wrists out of his grip and pulled you up. You let him pull down your panties, a string of your slick coming down with it and the sight of it made his cock twitch in the confinements of his pants. He wanted to take his time with you tonight, not knowing when the opportunity would present itself again.

He spread his legs as he grabbed onto your waist, guiding you down to straddle his thigh. The contact of the leather against your exposed pussy made you whine softly and he sat up a bit more so you were able to plant your knees on the spacious couch. You looked at him as he laced his fingers together behind his head, arrogant smirk on his face as he just raised an eyebrow at you. As if to say, ‘‘What are you waiting for?’’

You placed your hands against his chest as you slowly started thrusting your hips back and forth, your leaking arousal making it easy as you slipped right over the leather of his pants. The feeling was foreign─nothing like the pillow you had humped in your teenage years, nor did it come close to the feeling of your own fingers. The leather was heating up the faster you were moving and perhaps you should be worried, but you couldn’t get yourself to stop, moans rolling over your tongue like a prayer. His eyes were on you the entire time and the longer you went on, the more you regained your confidence and he enjoyed every second of the little show you were giving him. You were sitting up a little straighter now, hands running through your hair, slipping down your neck to your breasts─you heard him let out a deep groan as you squeezed your breasts, pinching your nipples, as you threw your head back and circled your clit on the flexing muscles of his clothed thigh.

‘‘Look at you. Such a little slut,’’ he mumbled as you looked at him again, teeth sinking into your index finger as you squeezed your breasts together with your forearms, moaning extra seductively for him. ‘‘Bet you fantasized about this moment so many times before, hm?’’

His words were only motivating you to go faster and harder, ruining the fabric of his pants but neither you or him seemed to care. You moaned as you nodded at him, your hands falling back on his chest to keep yourself steady as you found the right spot of stimulation which would get you right where you wanted to go. He unclasped his hands from behind his head and grabbed onto your chin, parting your lips as he grinned at you. ‘‘Use your words, little girl,’’

‘‘Y-Yes,’’ you moaned. ‘‘I h-have. Always t-thinking ‘bout you, D-Daddy,’’

He hadn’t expected those words to leave your mouth but with the way it made his cock twitch in his pants, he wasn’t complaining. He would be a fool to.

‘‘That’s right,’’ he grinned smugly as his hands landed on your waist, guiding your movements as he made you move even faster and kept you steady on his thigh. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’d slip right off of the leather with how wet you were. ‘‘I’m your Daddy now, baby girl. You understand?’’ he hummed as he leaned forward a bit to plant a few kisses on your jawline, giving you the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck which you greatly took. His words were making your head spin and all you could do was nod and mumble a ‘yes’. He allowed the lack of words this time.

Every single one of his touches felt as if your bones were set aflame and you could feel your orgasm fast approaching. You were a moaning mess as you clenched your toes, clinging onto him for dear life, fingers tangling into his dark locks. He guided you right through your first orgasm of the night, holding you still with his large hands on your waist as you came undone on his thigh, your chest heaving erratically as if you just finished running a marathon. You were dizzy, your heart thumping in your ears─even though you still technically gave yourself this orgasm, it was your first time coming undone in front and with someone else. You felt vulnerable and comfortable at the same time, a feeling that you did not want to lose any time soon.

‘‘You enjoyed that, baby girl?’’ he grinned at you as he pecked your lips. Despite this being the same man that bruised your ass a little while ago, he was still able to make you feel comfortable around him. Honestly, he could do anything and you’d still think he was the perfect man, because to you that was the truth and nothing but the truth.

You ran your hands through his hair as you nodded, catching your breath as you looked at him. He smiled but before he could kiss you once more, you brought yourself back to your feet as you pulled open the rest of his jacket, pushing it down his shoulders. He laughed softly as he helped you take it off, watching you place your hands on his knees to spread his legs─he allowed it and bit his lip at the sight of you getting on your knees in between his legs. He probably had been waiting for this as long as you had, but the alpha male and the size of his ego wouldn’t let him speak those words out loud.

You did not care at all, because you were getting exactly what you wanted in this moment. You were about to lose your virginity to Elvis fucking Presley, you were riding high on that pink cloud.

Your fingers were greedy and quick when you undid his pants, pulling down the leather to the best of your abilities. It wasn’t the best fabric to work with when in heated situations like this, but you managed to get it down to his thighs which was all you needed for now, really. Since he wasn’t wearing any underwear, his cock sprung free right in front of your eyes, twitching impatiently as you looked at it with those hungry eyes. As you looked up at Elvis, you squeezed your thighs together at the sight of his half lidded eyes looking back at you, impatient hand gathering your hair together in a makeshift ponytail. You felt a hint of panic settling in your stomach─you had a big fucking mouth, but you had never sucked a dick in your life. Even though you were pretty sure Elvis already knew this was your first time, you did not want to seem like you were completely inexperienced. As long as you wouldn’t use your teeth, you’d be fine, right?

You started off slow, letting your tongue trace the veins of the shaft before you’d swirl your tongue around the tip. You had one hand wrapped around him to hold him up, lowering it a little as you wrapped your lips around him, moving your head down to take him in deeper. He gently grabbed your hand with his free one, removing it from his cock as he moaned at the feeling of his tip touching the back of your throat. You groaned softly, bringing your head back up only to repeat the action of deep throating him again. And again. And again. And again. Tears were starting to sting in your eyes, clouding your vision but the sounds he was making made you almost addicted to having his cock in your mouth. He could see you were struggling and bit his lip, grinning softly as he released your hand.

‘‘Use your little hand, baby,’’ he told you and you immediately did as he told you to, wrapping your hand around his cock again to assist you with the blowjob you were giving him. You were looking up at him with curious eyes the whole time and eventually you found yourself falling into a comfortable rhythm which he seemed to find pleasurable as well by the sounds of his moans and the way he was bucking his hips up a little. You picked up your pace and it didn’t take very long before drool was spilling out from the corners of your mouth, slipping down your chin as you gave him the most sloppy but delicious blowjob he had ever gotten. Most girls weren’t very fond of blowjobs and therefor not very good at it because they lacked motivation and didn’t have fun with it, but you were enjoying yourself down there. You wanted all of him, every inch of his body and soul, and if that meant you gave head like this, he certainly wasn’t complaining.

You wanted nothing more than to suck him completely dry and for him to paint the back of your throat white, but he pulled you up before he could fulfill that fantasy of yours. You licked your lips before you pouted at him, allowing him to pull you up nonetheless.

‘‘Can’t always get what you want, princess,’’ he grinned teasingly and you giggled softly, wiping your chin with the back of your hand before you kissed him. He allowed it, slipping his tongue into your mouth hungrily as he did not give a damn about tasting himself on your tongue. He kicked his boots off, pushing you down onto the couch─his tongue was still exploring your mouth as he turned around and placed his hands on the arm rest of the couch your head was against, teeth nibbling at your lower lip teasingly as he eventually pulled back. He stood up straight and you watched him take off his pants, laughing softly as he struggled with it for a little bit but before you could help him, he managed to get it down and off of his ankles, kicking it aside. You waited impatiently and nervously as he spread your legs, situating himself in between them as he got on his knees. You pictured him in this exact moment so many times and now that it was actually happening, you felt as if you were dreaming. It made you sneakily dig your fingernails into the palms of your hands, smiling softly at him when you realised this was in fact very real.

He made sure you knew it was real. You couldn’t compare it to anyone or anything else, but the way he was eating you out was mindblowing. You couldn’t be quiet even if you wanted to and you were sure anyone that walked by the show room knew exactly what was going on, but you simply did not care. His name was rolling off of your tongue like a chant as he slipped in a finger, adding another one a few seconds later─he was preparing you for what was about to come, just as he was preparing himself. You were tight as hell around his fingers and he could only imagine how you’d feel when wrapped around his cock, all snug, wet and warm. God, he could hardly wait anymore, but he wanted this to be comfortable for you despite you acting like you were so tough and ready for it all.

He knew losing your virginity was something big, especially for young girls, and he did not want your first time to be something you’d look back on with regrets or whatsoever. He wanted this to be good for you, wanted you to remember it for the rest of your life.

The feeling of having two fingers buried knuckle deep inside of you was new and a little uncomfortable at first, but as you felt yourself getting used to it, you couldn’t stop your hips from chasing his fingers and mouth. He was everywhere─curling his fingers inside of you, sucking on your clit, tongue flattening as he slipped it through your folds. At one point, his entire mouth covered your pussy but this time, he pulled back before you could reach that little piece of delicious euphoria. You whined at the loss of contact and he laughed softly, getting up to plant one foot on the floor and one knee on the edge of the couch, situating himself in between your legs.

‘‘I’m on the pill,’’ you immediately said before he could do or say anything. A lie, but you were too impatient for him to go around the room and look for a condom. Neither were you sure if he even had one in here or anywhere else and you just couldn’t wait anymore. You needed to have him and you needed it now.

He was just as impatient as you and didn’t question you on it, pulling you down on the couch a little further until he was lingering right in front of you. Wrapping his hand around his cock, he slipped his tip through your folds, circling it against your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

‘‘Are you ready for me, baby girl?’’

A stupid question, honestly. You were more than ready for him and when you whined and nodded eagerly, his lips curled into a smirk. He slipped his tip down to your untouched little hole, pushing himself into you.

You gasped at the painful intrusion, hands flying to grab onto the couch as you stared up at him with wide eyes. You didn’t give him any indication that you wanted to stop, so he pushed himself further and further, until he couldn’t anymore. He held still as he pressed his hips forward into you firmly, holding onto your shaky thighs.

You felt so fucking full.

You had no idea if you were delusional or not, but you could’ve sworn you felt him in your stomach.

You were whining and panting, the pain almost unbearable as tears formed in your eyes. You had no idea how people could enjoy this and you hated your body for betraying you and being so needy for this man. Maybe John should’ve been the one who took your virginity instead, you knew he was way smaller than the one inside of you right now. But you weren’t giving up. You could do this, you were a big girl.

Elvis was still Elvis and you were still head over heels for him. He was finally giving you what you wanted for so long, you wouldn’t dare to complain about it now.

His hands caressed up your thighs before he placed them on the back and arm rest of the couch. As he leaned over you, he pressed into you harder and it made you gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders instead. He could feel you clenching around him viciously, panicked.

‘‘Relax, little girl. This is what ya wanted, right?’’ he whispered, his breath hot on your face as he grazed his lips over yours. You whined softly, nodding as your hands grabbed onto his hair. You were clinging onto him for dear life.

‘‘Then relax. Won’t feel good if you don’t,’’

You were trying. You were trying so hard. But as he slowly pulled his hips back before he thrusted forward again, you let out a strangled moan, teeth sinking into your lip as your cheeks flushed a shade of heavy crimson.

‘‘H-Hurts..’’ you croaked out, looking up at him with tear filled eyes. He grinned softly as he nuzzled the tip of his nose against yours, his eyes boring into yours.

‘‘Give Daddy a kiss. It’ll take your mind off of the pain, baby,’’

You didn’t hesitate for one second, pressing your lips onto his harshly as you allowed him to slip his tongue inside of your mouth. He kissed you like you had never been kissed before, teeth grazing your lower lip, sucking on your tongue─and it did take your mind away from the ache in between your thighs as he continued his movements. The more he thrusted into you, stretching you out on his cock, the more pleasure returned to the pit of your stomach. It was still a tad bit uncomfortable, but not enough for you panic over anymore.

You wanted more. Wanted it harder. Faster.

‘‘P-please,’’ you moaned in his mouth, your hips moving up to try and follow his movements. You were a complete amateur, not even knowing what you were doing, but you were far too gone to be embarrassed about it now. He didn’t care either. The way you were sucking him in every time he’d thrust into you and the way you’d clench around him got him growling into your mouth, his tongue lapping needily at yours. He picked up his pace and your moans steadily grew louder, having to pull away from his face so you could gasp in a breath of air.

‘‘Feel good now, hmm?’’ he grinned as he straightened himself up again, his large hands holding onto your hips to keep you still as he fucked into you. ‘‘Like it when Daddy fucks you like this? Been waitin’ on it, haven’t ya?’’

You couldn’t give him a proper answer other than eager nods and whiny moans. While he had been nice minutes earlier and gave you the time you needed to adjust to the feeling of having him inside of you, he could see you were starting to enjoy the feeling more and more and he was done playing nice.

One of his hands wandered up, grabbing your jaw to make your head turn and have you face him again. ‘‘Lost your tongue, little one?’’

You tried to shake your head no, which was nearly impossible with the dead grip he had on you. You grabbed onto his arm, but it wasn’t to get him off of you, you just needed something to hold onto. ‘‘F-feels.. g-good.. so fuckin’ good,’’ you moaned as your eyes rolled into the back of your head as his thrusts became calculated and hard. He’d pull out to the point where the head of his cock nearly slipped out of you, but before it could he had already thrusted back into you. Your entire body shook, moving further up the couch with every thrust. ‘‘W-Waited for so so l-long…’’

‘‘Turn around, baby,’’ he suddenly ordered as he pulled out of you completely and let go of your face, making you whine desperately at the loss of contact. ‘‘On your knees,’’ he grinned at you, sending you a wink that made your heart stammer against your ribcage as he softly tapped your thigh.

You didn’t question him on it as you sat up and quickly turned around, getting on your knees as you leaned your forearms on the back of the couch. You arched your back as his hands caressed down your sides and over the shape of your ass, moaning softly as he squeezed the flesh in his large palms. One of his hands moved to your thigh, tugging on it softly as he spoke, ‘‘Put your leg up like this,’’

You raised your leg, allowing him to place it the way he wanted to─your foot flat on the couch as your other knee was still pressing into it. The position wasn’t uncomfortable but even if it would’ve been, you’d probably allow this man to fold you in half and still think of him as the man of your dreams. You looked over your shoulder as you felt the couch dip, biting your lip as you watched him align himself at your entrance again.

‘‘Fuckin’ tight little pussy,’’ he hummed as he pushed himself into you, looking at you with a cocky smirk on his face. God, he was so fucking beautiful, you could cum by just looking at him and listening to his voice─wouldn’t be the first time. But this was so much better than touching yourself when looking at a picture of him. ‘‘All for me, ain’t that right?’’

Your nails dug into the fabric of the couch as you frantically nodded at his words, moaning at being so full of him once more. The stretch was still there, the mix of pain and pleasure making you only want it more. In the position you were in, he was able to wind one arm around your waist and as he thrusted into you while his fingers circled your clit skilfully, you were pretty sure half of the building probably heard what was going on. Your voice felt foreign to your ears as you moaned out his name over and over again and even when he grabbed your face and made you look at him so he could kiss you, you weren’t able to keep yourself quiet.

You tried to tell him every time how your body belonged to him every time he questioned you on it, but he could see you were going dumb. He watched your face with a smug grin, loving the way you were looking at him with such needy and sex hazed eyes, your tongue stuck out as you tried to chase his mouth every time it came close to yours. You were so desperate, and he loved every second of it.

If you knew this is what an orgasm given to you by a man felt like, you would’ve never dared to have gone through with this. The first few seconds of it building up were scary─as if you were standing on the edge of a cliff with absolutely nothing around you to hold onto and all you could was let yourself fall head first. Elvis knew it was coming, with the way you were tightening around his length, nor did he miss the way there was a soft hint of panic on your tongue as you moaned desperately. Your eyes found his and he gave you a soft smile, his hips and fingers never faltering in their moment of assault. You were trying to get away from him, but you were trapped in between his body and the couch. You were positive you were tearing up the couch with your nails as you squeezed your eyes shut, letting pleasure consume every inch of your being─the fireworks that followed were definitely worth the panic which had now completely disappeared.

‘‘That’s a good girl,’’ he hummed in your ear as his hand slipped down to your throat, ringed fingers stealing a bit of your oxygen as sloppily kissed your jaw and neck. He was still thrusting into you at an ungodly speed, but you weren’t able to speak a single word, let alone form a cohorent sentence. ‘‘Daddy’s gonna fill you up, baby. Make you feel so full you’ll almost taste it,’’ he growled in your ear, moving his hand further up your throat so his fingertips were messily caressing over your lower lip. You took the opportunity to suck some of his digits into your mouth and he allowed it, grinning against your skin as he had his face pressed up firmly against yours.

‘‘W-Want that, D-Daddy,’’ you cried out, your thighs shaking like crazy because of the overstimulation he was currently having you go through despite his fingers having been removed from your clit. His arm was wrapped around your waist tightly, his hips relentless as he was grunting out profanities in your ear. ‘‘Want your c-cum in me,’’

It was all he needed to hear. And now was the first time you could feel the movements of his hips faltering, stuttering forward as he bit on your earlobe while painting your soft moist walls white. You knew it was probably dangerous since you lied to him about being on the pill, but you wouldn’t care if you’d get pregnant. Despite the age difference, you wanted him, you needed him. And if that meant you’d be put in a position to carry his child, so be it. You’d give up everything and anything to be with this man. You were obsessed.

He slipped out of you, watching you slump over the back of the couch as you put your leg down, his cum dribbling down your thighs. Your ass was red from the way he had been slapping it earlier and his wandering hands squeezing at it every chance he got. Truly a sight for sore eyes.

You turned your head to look at him when he sat down on the couch next to you, pulling your weakened body onto his lap. You stretched your legs onto the couch─they felt like jelly, in the absolute best way possible. Wrapping your arms around his neck as he held you against his chest, you smiled softly at him and pressed your bare chest against him as far as the position would allow you to. Despite the orgasm you just had and his cum dripping out of you, you were still needy.

You’d probably turn into a sex crazed maniac because of this man and you were more than okay with that.

‘‘Get rid off that fucker,’’ he referred to your so called boyfriend, his eyes taking in every little detail of your face. You’d blush at the way he was looking at you, but you were still too turned on to care about it now. The tone of his voice was demanding and you’d be a fool to protest. ‘‘I ain’t gonna watch you fool around with anyone else,’’

‘‘But what if I want to fool around with other people?’’ you grinned teasingly at him and even though he glared at you and squeezed your thigh in warning, he liked it when you were a little bratty.

‘‘Then I’ll kill ‘em,’’ he grinned as he watched you throw your head back with a laugh, his hand slipping in between your thighs. You bit your lip as you looked back at him, immediately spreading your legs open for him. You shivered as his fingertips ran through your folds, dipping into you to cover his digits in your arousal and his own cum. ‘‘This pussy is mine. You understand, don’t ya, darlin’?’’

He brought his fingers up to your lips and you took them in your mouth immediately, nodding at him as you licked his fingers clean with a flutter of your eyelashes.

‘‘I belong to you, Daddy. Only to you,’’ you assured him eagerly as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, grabbing your chin to bring your face closer to his. He placed an open mouthed kiss on your lips but before you had the chance to deepen the kiss, he pulled back and smiled at you. His hand was back in between your thighs again, pushing two fingers inside of you without warning. You gasped, planting one hand against his chest as your other was wrapped firmly around his shoulder, clinging onto him.

‘‘You didn’t think I was done, did ya? We got all night, baby,’’ he hummed as he curled his fingers as he was knuckle deep inside of you, rubbing his palm against your clit. You dug your nails into his shoulder as you moaned, leaning your head against his. ‘‘And I plan to take my time with you,’’

And that he did. You had been fucked on every surface in the room. Even in the shower you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other and when he brought you home in the early hours of the morning, you felt and looked like an absolute mess. Your muscles were aching, your neck and collarbones marked with hickeys, eyes dark with make-up. You managed to sneak into your room without waking up your parents and crawled into bed as soon as you pulled your dress off, not caring about your messy make-up or hair that was still damp from the shower you took at the venue.

You needed an entire day to recover from the night you had with Elvis, but you couldn’t wait for the next time. You loved him and now that he had finally given you what you wanted, there was no way in hell you could leave him alone anymore.

You craved for him to ruin you, in the worst (and most delicious) way possible.

#elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley smut #austin!elvis smut #elvis presley imagine #austin!elvis imagine #elvis presley fanfiction #austin!elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #austin!elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis biopic #elvis presley history #elvis #dom!elvis #tamwrites

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floralcyanide · 1 year

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˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

! please remember, in order to participate in kinktober, you must be 18+ as there will be nsfw material involved. anyone not following these rules will be blocked!

✧ hello! it's that time of year again (: I did my first kinktober last year, and it was a success (and still is), except I never fully finished it ): I'm hoping this year will be different because I'm starting as early as feasibly possible.

✧ please fill out this form (form is closed) before august 21st. this gives everyone a week to see this post and vote on who they want to see get kinky this october! I'll try my best to complete all of the prompts by october 1st and schedule out the posts for every day of kinktober. but PLEASE fill out the form, it would help me out a lot, just so I know what you all wish to see! I will update the prompt list when I get the results of the poll.

✧ again, here is the form: click meee!♥ (form is closed)

✧ here is the taglist form if you'd like to be tagged in my kinktober works! click meee!♥

✧ prompt list is below!

day one. cockwarming with: Cillian Murphy

day two. nipple play with: Jonathan Crane

day three. blood play with: Jonathan Crane

day four. orgasm control with: Jonathan Crane

day five. praise kink with: Cillian Murphy

day six. degradation with: Jonathan Crane

day seven. bondage with: Billy Loomis

day eight. edging with: Ethan Landry

day nine. breeding kink with: Cillian Murphy

day ten. mutual masturbation with: Austin Butler

day eleven. throat fucking with: Ethan Landry

day twelve. threesome with: Stu Macher/Billy Loomis

day thirteen. knife kink or gun kink with: Gun Kink/ Tommy Shelby

day fourteen. sex toys with: Cillian Murphy

day fifteen. hate sex with: Jonathan Crane

day sixteen. thigh riding with: Cillian Murphy

day seventeen. sex tape with: Cillian Murphy

day eighteen. squirting with: Cillian Murphy

day nineteen. public play with: Jackson Rippner

day twenty. voyeurism with: Ethan Landry

day twenty-one. corruption kink with: Jonathan Crane

day twenty-two. daddy kink with: Cillian Murphy

day twenty-three. spanking with: Austin!Elvis

day twenty-four. shower sex with: Cillian Murphy

day twenty-five. roleplay with: Austin Butler

day twenty-six. face sitting with: Cillian Murphy

day twenty-seven. dom/sub with: Ethan Landry

day twenty-eight. drunk sex or high sex with: High Sex/Stu Macher

day twenty-nine. phone sex with: Ethan Landry

day thirty. anal sex with: Cillian Murphy

day thirty-one. mommy kink with: Jonathan Crane

322 notes · View notes

foreverdolly · 2 years

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𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 | austin!tex watson x kidnapped!reader

summary: the year is 1969 and you find yourself lucky enough to live up in the hollywood hills, spending your days dancing away to your favorite rock n’ roll vinyls in an old farmhouse and looking after your wild roommates. the only problem? you’ve caught the eye of tex watson. how does he spend his days? making moves towards finally getting everything that he could ever want. you.

pairings: obsessive!tex watson x kidnapped!reader

word count: 16,557

warnings/notes: HEAVY SMUT! serious gunplay, sexy russian roulette, cream pie, breeding kink, marking, claiming, possessiveness, tex literally stalks you, tex then kidnaps you, mention of the manson family, mentions of murder and violence- this is the sexiest thing i’ve ever written, and i will fully finish editing it tomorrow. i’m emotionally drained after finishing this.

masterlist | requests are currently closed for now.

Up in the California hills there sits a small house, nestled smack dab in the middle of a few sprawling acres of farmland. This is where Tex first saw you.

There’s a long drive leading up to the old farmhouse, and behind it is a small red barn which has faded to a rusty orange over time due to the blinding summer sun. Every once in a while an older gentleman that looks to be in his early fifties will make his way up the mountainside to his little stretch of heaven, the large tires of his wide body chevy truck easily making it over the bumps and divots in the land, so that he can check on his tenants. He’s the kind, homely sort that the Texan was used to interacting with in the south. Watson, who was currently parked on the back bend of the mountain and just out of sight of the house and the main road, watched the older man closely. Tex’s shoulder length hair blew into his face with a large gust of wind, and he was quick to tuck it right back behind his ear, readjusting his cowboy hat to stop the annoyance from happening again.

A gaggle of girls lived in that farmhouse, all appearing to be what the Californians would consider to be hippies. The free lovin’, barefoot walking, rock n’ roll dancing type of gals that Tex had been told to stay away from once or twice. Of course, these types of girls were the kind that Charlie seemed to like the most.

The older landowner seemed to have no reservation about their scantily clad forms or the fact that three out of the four of them smoked like chimneys. The man would always climb out of his truck and head to the side door that was connected to the kitchen, and then you would duck your head out with a smile and beckon him in. Tex had been watching that house of yours for what seemed like days, but had really been weeks. Charlie had said in passing that he had seen a car full of pretty girls that might want to come stay at the ranch, and had given Tex the task of extending the invitation. What the “prophet” hadn’t expected was that the tall, lanky boy might grow fond of one of them.

It was impossible to deny your charms, even from a few hundred feet away. You’d dance to your records like no one was watching, your head thrown back as you loudly sang the lyrics to your favorite songs. It was obvious to him, even after the first few hours of watching you through the windows of the house, that you were the designated ‘mother’ of the group. You cooked most of the meals and cleaned up after the messy hellions with little to no complaints. He supposed that the older gentleman must have been someone’s father, though Tex didn’t care enough to get a very good look at him and his features. Why would he pay attention to anyone else but you? Charlie would ask every other day about the progress Tex was making with talking “the pretty little things down the road” into joining the family, and Tex was guilty of lying about the strides that he was taking to make nice with the group.

Today was just like any other day. The sun was beating down on the brunette and his tanned skin, his sensitive blue irises shielded by the brim of his hat. He was wearing a t-shirt that communally belonged to the family, though it was a size or two too small for him. It must have been one of the girl’s shirts, because it was quite snug. When he raised his arms the shirt would brush up and over his navel, and when his arms were at his sides, like they were now, it brushed against the soft flesh of his stomach. Today's outfit wasn’t exactly appropriate for crouching down in briars. Not even the fabric of his low waisted, boot cut jeans protected him from the painful stick of thorns. Nothing was going to get in his way of getting a good look at you though.

“Thanks for dropping by to fix the sink, sir. I’m just sorry that Debbie was out of the house though. . . I know you don’t get to see her often, Mr Swanson.” You were talking to the old man out on the front porch, opening the screen door for him so that he could make his way down the rickety old steps.

It wasn’t often that Tex got to hear your voice so clear. You seemed apologetic, and from where he stood in the tall brush and thorns, Tex could see that your eyes were soft on the man. Almost like you felt bad about something. The man, who Tex now knew as Mr Swanson, stopped by the door of his truck, quickly waving off your concerns.

“I’ll just see her the next time I swing by. Let her know that I love her though, will ya?” His voice was deep, with a southern drawl that made the brunette feel a sort of kinship. It wasn’t entirely unusual for people to move to Los Angeles from southern states, but it was rare to meet someone with an accent as thick as his own. ‘Tex’ was a nickname he had been given by the group, and he found that he preferred it to his birth name anyway. Texas, they called him.

“Will do. Thank you again, sir.” You made sure to watch the man drive off, staying on the porch until his car disappeared behind a thick patch of trees.

For a second Tex worried that the man might be able to see his car once he got far enough down the mountain, but relaxed when he realized that there were a couple of thick saplings that covered up the car completely. Tex was quick to stand up, clenching his teeth as a few thorns ripped into the skin of his hands as he continued to shuffle through the bushes. Thankfully his cowboy boots protected his lower legs, but the rest of his lithe body was fair game for the sharp weeds.

He watched your form float through the house, smiling softly to himself as you ended up in the kitchen, just as you always did. You were currently stirring away at something in a big pot, and he was sure that you were already getting things ready for dinner. You were kind and thoughtful like that. It was one of the many reasons why he was so enamored with you. He waited a few more minutes, watching to see if there was anybody else in the house. The upstairs lights were all off, meaning the girls probably weren’t in their rooms. You had also apologized about Debbie’s absence, who he assumed must have been the older man’s daughter. Clearing his throat to calm his sudden nerves, Tex walked out from the bushes, over the dirt driveway, and up the front steps of the house. The porch creaked under his weight as he stalked his way up to the front door.

He stood there for a few seconds, his fist raised and hovering over the wooden door. He had come up with a story as a means to get you to trust him beforehand, but a strange sense of guilt had begun washing over him. Tex was by no means a good person. He wasn’t shocked by the fact that he was really standing on your front porch, mere seconds from stealing you away to the ranch. Instead of being shaken to the core by his innermost urges, he had mindlessly acted on them. Now here he stood, right on your front porch. Right where he shouldn’t be. He still had time to turn around. He could have told Charlie that he knew you personally, and felt odd about taking you back to the ranch. The head of the family would have been annoyed, and perhaps Tex would be forced to prove his loyalty, but you would at least be safe and untouched. You were too sweet and pure to be tainted.

Tex slowly turned his head to face the long drive, biting the inside of his cheek as he wracked his brain for some sort of definitive answer. What should he do? The second that he took you there would be no turning back. You’d be forced to stay with him… but wasn’t that what he really wanted? Fate had placed you right into his lap. You were meant for him and nobody else. You gave the lanky man no time to mull over his decision. From the kitchen window you had seen him walking up the drive and decided to investigate.

At first you had been terrified, and rightly so. You rarely got any visitors since you lived so far out in the middle of nowhere, so it was unusual for a man who was around your age to be wandering around on your land. You had placed the wooden spoon down on the counter, shuffling over towards the front door in the hopes of being able to see him through the small windows that overlooked the porch. Sure enough he seemed to just be standing there, his eyebrows knit in concern, his plush lips downturned into a deep frown. It was his obvious distress that made you open up the front door, looking at him through the screen. Little did you know that you would be sacrificing both your safety and your life. He blinked at you, his handsome face hidden behind the shadow that was cast from the brim of his hat.

“U-Uh. . . can I help you, sir?” You asked, trying to keep the fear out of your tone.

You’d recently caught wind of a few recent robberies, and the last thing that you wanted was for something like that to happen to you. The longer that you looked at the handsome stranger, the harder it was to believe that he could be a thief though. You eyed his clothing for a second before finally deciding that he must be one of the girl’s guests. The cropped shirt and tight fitting jeans made him fit in with the sort of crowd that you usually hung around. Without a second thought you swung the screen door open, allowing him to shuffle a few steps closer to you. “Are you here to see one of the girls? They’re actually headed into town right now, but feel free to wait around-” Your heart lurched as you watched him lean against the doorframe, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watched you.

No one had ever looked at you the way that he was looking at you in that moment. Sure, you attracted men’s attention, but this wasn’t just a glazed over sexual glance- this man was staring at you almost as though you were his favorite person in the whole world. Like you were some celebrity that he was finally getting to meet after years of idolization. It was wholly unsettling.

“I’m actually not here for any of that.” Your face paled, and all you could do was pray that a robber wasn’t halfway through your open door. “I was actually headed up the mountain to go hiking? But I must have turned onto your drive instead. I’ve got an ole’ piece of shit beater, and it broke down on the way back down the mountain. Can I use your phone, darlin’? Just to call a friend.” His southern accent was thicker than Mr Swanson’s, and there was something about that Texan drawl that disarmed you. It made you feel like he was someone kind and trustworthy.

“Yeah- of course. People get lost up this mountain all the time. Here, come on in.” You took a step back into the house, your mind far from accepting of the possible dangerous circumstances. It was nineteen sixty-nine, so what was the worst thing that could happen? Not to mention that the man looked like he understood the way that you lived your life. He seemed free spirited, what with his outlandish sense of style. “Our phone is right in the living room.” You called out to him, your bare feet creaking on the old hardwood floors as you made your way down the hall. Tex took his time looking around the house, his palms beginning to sweat as he realized how close he finally was to you. He could finally tell the exact color of your eyes, and smell the incense coming off of your long, wild locks. He loved you more than he could express in words.

The rugs on the floor looked handmade, like someone had tied a bunch of silk scarves together. They felt plush under his boots as he made his way down the hall and into the living room. The southerner had spent a lot of time watching you from just outside that living room window. He could see his hiding spot where he stood now, just behind a thick patch of trees and brush, far off from your driveway just in case your roommates got any late night visitors. The house smelled like patchouli, nag champa and whatever you were currently cooking on the stove. Though of course this wasn’t the first time that he had been inside of your home. He had made visits from time to time when no one was home, eagerly shoving keepsakes into his pockets that you wouldn’t miss.

You and your friends didn’t spend much time watching tv, but there was a small television set up in the corner. He could tell that you had quite the record collection, but now that he was finally in the home, he saw that there were crates everywhere. “You like the blues?” He asked, bending down so that he could leaf through a few of the vinyls that you had right beside the telephone. You blinked a few times, almost in shock that he was going through your things before you relented, looking almost shy.

“Yeah, don’t you?” Tex froze, taking a steadying breath so that he could gather up the strength he needed to look at you head on again. You were so beautiful that it hurt him to see you this close up. He didn’t think that it was possible to fall deeper in love with you, but he was. .

“Me? I love rhythm and blues. You’ve got a nice collection here too. I see ya like Neil Young. . . he’s a real nice guy; a buddy of mine, actually.” Tex was stalling, and he knew it. Either he made an excuse and left the house now or he took this opportunity and brought you back home with him. He risked another glance up at your face, tracing your plush bottom lip, and then making his way up to your large doe eyes. Another stab of guilt hit him when he realized just how much you trusted him at this moment. He’d teach you how to protect yourself later, but for now he thanked God for your innocence. You were his sweet, naive baby. He’d take good care of you from now on.

He reached out and picked up the phone, holding it against his ear as he stared at the dial pad. For a few seconds you thought that maybe he was trying to remember the right number, but there was something blank in his stare that made you begin to feel uneasy. Unsafe. Your heart picked up, pounding away in your ears as you shuffled in your spot, trying to soothe yourself by running your foot along the shag rug you had set up in the living room.

“A-Aren’t you gonna use the phone?” You finally asked, motioning to it with your hand.

Before you could drop your arm back down to your side he was gripping your wrist, yanking you down towards him. You barely had enough time to scream before you were lurching forward. The phone made a shrill sound as Tex threw the receiver to the ground, yanking hard at the cord to tear it out of the wall. The second that you were on the ground, Tex was moving to straddle you, trying his best to calm you with his words. “I’m not gonna hurt you, darlin’. You’ve just gotta calm down.” He tried, grabbing your wrists in one of his large hands while he fought to tie the phone cord around them to bind you.

Your beautiful features were twisted with fear, tears pouring down your cheeks as you came to the hard realization that you had been betrayed. That you had chosen to trust the handsome stranger and that you had been an idiot in doing so. Tex watched in real time as you realized that your own innocence had been your downfall. He wanted to tell you that he wanted you to hold on to those rose colored glasses of yours. The hurt that he saw in your eyes made him want to stop what he was doing, or even turn the gun that he had burning a hole in his side on himself. He was hurting you. Tex was hurting you.

The fear felt like it was going to eat you up alive. You could barely fill your lungs with enough air to keep yourself conscious, your loud sobs and screams tearing up from your throat only to be muffled by his hand. The stranger allowed you to buck and kick from underneath him, his hips moving with your body almost as though you were a bull trying to catapult him off. He must have had a lot of experience riding horses, because he stayed anchored to you, his solid weight crushing into your much tinier form. The long haired man flinched when your small foot made contact with a lamp on a nearby table, listening to the glass shatter behind him.

“You’re evil!” You bit out at him, briny tears slipping past your lips and into your mouth.

“Pure evil. Practically the devil. But I’m an angel where you’re concerned, so you better stop tryin’a kick’ me or else, lil lady.”

Still, he kept trying his best to shush you, whispering sweet nothings to you that you weren’t quite ready to hear or understand. Finally, after what felt like hours of tirelessly trying to fight him off, you succumbed to your aching muscles. You sucked in gulps of air, shaking like a leaf as he smoothed your hair off of your sweaty forehead, cooing to you gently.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, pretty girl. I’m not going to do anythin’ bad to ya, alright? I just want ya to come home with me.” And then it all made sense. Things started to click into place.

You’d felt like someone had been watching you for weeks, but any time you looked out the window or flicked the porch light on there would be no one there. Your roommates had tried to tell you that you were being paranoid, and while a part of you wanted to give up and tell them that they were right, you had known that something just wasn’t right. You didn’t want to ask him if he had been watching you. You were too scared to hear him say it- not like you needed to hear the answer anyway. You already knew. Deep down you knew that he had been trailing you for weeks. For what purpose? You weren’t quite sure of that yet.

You pressed your cheek against the carpet, closing your eyes tightly as he slowly climbed off of you. He wanted to make sure that you weren’t going to hurt yourself with all of the glass on the floor. He hovered above you for a few seconds, making sure that you were done putting up a fight before breezing through the house, acting almost as though he owned the place. If there was ever a time to try and get up, now would be that time. You refused to die without putting up a fight. So once he was off of you and looking around the house, no doubt for something to probably tie your legs up with, you fumbled to sit up, pulling at your arms with all of your might. The plastic wires didn’t bend or break at all, and so you were left to pull yourself up with great difficulty, hissing softly in pain as broken pieces of glass embedded themselves into your bare legs. You were tired, terrified, and now injured. This didn’t stop you from stumbling up and onto your feet, breathing heavily as you made your way down the hall as quietly as you could, the front door in sight. Maybe you could run down the driveway and out onto the road, praying that someone in their car might see or hear you screaming for help. It was worth a shot. You’d almost made it to the screen door when you heard a very soft clicking noise directly behind you. You’d heard the sound in enough western films to know that it belonged to a weapon. Specifically an old revolver. Something with enough power to blow a hole straight through you.

“I was tryin’ to be nice, honey. Now I know you’re not the type to go ‘round takin’ advantage of others kindness.” Kindness. You heard his voice right behind you, your muscles tensing as you realized that the only chance you had was now gone. This was it. Either you died right here or did as he said.

Of course you didn’t know that he was madly in love with you. How could you know that? The gun was merely a prop, something that he had brought to scare you, and if there happened to be a confrontation at the house while he was getting you, he would use it to protect both you and himself. Even if you managed to run out of the house, he would have never shot you. Not in a million years. You could do anything you wanted to him, and he still wouldn’t raise a hand to you. Besides, even if you somehow managed to get yourself free, Tex knew that he could outrun and overpower you in seconds. You had absolutely no chance of escape. He just needed to scare you enough to get you into the car with him, and from the looks of it you seemed to be absolutely petrified already. He watched your legs buckle underneath you, eyes wide and watery as you stared at him.

“A-Are you gonna kill me, sir.” Maybe it was the way you looked at him like he had deeply betrayed you, or the fact that you had tears running down your cheeks. Perhaps it was the way your voice broke as you tried to speak, sounding far more innocent than anything or anyone Tex deserved to put his filthy hands on. Whatever it was, Tex felt like he was going to burst into tears right along with you.

He blinked them away, quickly shaking his head in the hopes of alleviating your fears. “I promise you that I will not hurt you or let you be hurt by anyone else. I just gotta have you, is all.”

Your shaky legs weren’t able to keep yourself up anymore. You were cut up and your muscles felt like jello from all of the constant kicking and jerking from earlier. The pure, unadulterated terror had filled your joints with cement. You had fought as hard as you could, and it still had been nowhere enough. You had seen movies in the past where girls were kidnapped or held for ransom, and you felt horrible now for ever thinking that they didn’t fight half as hard as they should have during those scenes. Because you must have looked the exact same way they did. Kicking and flailing without any real rhyme or reason, praying that your legs or fists might connect with something to make him back off of you. Now here you were, battered and bruised- and the worst part was that it was all your own fault. He really had stayed true to his word. He hadn’t hurt you at all, save for the fact that he had bound your wrists so tightly that it felt like it was cutting off your circulation.

You looked up at him like he wasn’t speaking English at all. To you he might as well have been speaking in tongues. He had to have you? He noticed your confusion instantly. Tex had all of your mannerisms downpat already. You two might as well have been lovers for years. He studied you much like a devout catholic might study the holy bible. Front to back. No page left unturned. Every twitch of your nose, pout of your lips, and twinkle in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed by him. He wanted to massage the small line that was appearing between your furrowed brows, and now that he had you bound and weakened, he was finally able to. Tex let out a breathy sound that sounded like a sigh of relief to your ears as he pressed his thumb in between your eyes, rubbing out the worry lines that had appeared on your adorably scrunched up face. Your skin was hot, sticky with sweat under his hands. He was practically buzzing as he made the realization that he was touching you. . . touching you so nonchalantly. He’d be able to do this from now on too.

“Ya see… I’ve been watchin’ your house for some time now. I came for Charlie but stayed for myself.” He told you this almost as though he was telling you that it was going to be overcast tomorrow. Not a lick of shame.

At the mention of another man’s name your terror began to mount. Why did he want you? What would you be used for? Were there multiple men in on this kidnapping? Were your roommates in any danger? It was almost as though Tex could read your mind, quickly getting down on his knees in front of you, grabbing your shoulder in one strong hand. You noticed the scratches on them, the veins visible, twisting up his strong forearms. You immediately made the connection to the briar patches in the wooded area around you.

“No one else will have anythin’ to do with ya, alright? Like I said darlin’, i ain’t gonna let nothin’ touch ya.” But you weren’t sure that you believed him.

For a minute or two you both just looked at each other. He was willing you to trust him and you were willing him to let you go. His handsome features weren’t lost on you. Even despite the hell that he was bound to put you through, you couldn’t help but look up at him and see a beautiful face. Pillow plush lips, big blue eyes framed by thick lashes, and a body that both towered over you and easily overpowered you. He had slung you around like a ragdoll earlier. Like you weighed nothing more than a bag of downing feathers.

He was oleander; both beautiful and deadly.

Tex had left you alone for far too long. You had busied yourself with following the shapes and designs of his crumpled comforter with your eyes, hoping that it would fight off the panic and horror that was beginning to grip at your lungs. You still felt shaky, like at any moment you might break down into some unsalvageable fragment of your once carefree self. You readied yourself for the madness, but it didn’t come. No matter how hard you tried to disassociate from your current plane of existence, no relief was awarded. Whatever commune or “family” that Tex had dragged you into was one of labyrinthian complexity. He had parked his rickety car right in front of the farm, which happened to be not far from your very own home. It made you think that perhaps he had seen you driving home one day and had felt compelled to follow you onto your little safehaven of land.

The girls and you had joked about it being your own little slice of heaven. A paradise. All the four of you had to do was look after the land and make sure that no one looted the house. Debbie’s father was a very kind and very rich man who never made a fuss about taking care of all of you. He had been born and raised in North Carolina; a man that had been brought up on good southern values. He loved his daughter more than anything, and so he always saw you as family. You had been there for Debbie when they had first moved to California, a fast made friend all the way back in high school. Your heart squeezed uncomfortably in your chest, aching to the point where you were sure that it might just pop in your small heaving chest as you began to imagine what Debbie might be feeling right about now. You always took such good care of her. Loved her and your other friends like sisters. They were probably in a frenzy, calling up all of your friends to see who might have been there with you. Who might have hurt you.

All Tex had told you before sitting you down on his bed was that he had to talk to Charlie. Had to explain things to him and then all would be well. That must have been thirty minutes ago now. You had only caught a glimpse of the group of misfits on your way up the stairs to his room. Most of them looked high out of their minds. You recognized that glazed look in their eyes. You were all about people joining hands and living as one, but this wasn’t that. This was something strange all together. This was something so completely other that your brain couldn’t quite define what it was that you were thinking or feeling. All you knew for a fact was that alarm bells were sounding off in your head in a steady stream of white hot noise. You had seen a man that you thought might be Charlie. Three girls were practically laid out on top of him when you and Tex had walked through the front door.. One had been playing with his scraggly hair, the two others rolling what might be a smoke, but you knew was probably dope.

You didn’t tend to judge when it came to couples like that. You’d seen your fair share of “free love” at festivals. Most polyamorous couples stuck to themselves, nothing more than good and honest people who had a little too much love in their hearts. There was something odd about the damn near robotic way the girls were fawning over that man though. Almost like they felt as though they needed to take care of him. Like they were nothing more than servants. Just homely little wives that were born and bred to fuck, feed, and fawn over him. You hoped that this wasn’t something that Tex expected of you. You hoped that in a few days he’d change his mind and bring you back. You already had a speech ready: If you take me back now I won’t tell anybody what I’ve seen or what you’ve done. I’ll just lie and say that I got a bad phone call and had to blow off steam for a few days.

The sad thing was that your friends would probably believe that lie. Your home life has been one of constant disappointment and misery. No one would ever question Tex, and you sure as hell didn’t want to get yourself mixed up with the cops. Whatever was happening on this ranch was bad news. Really bad news.

“Little lady?” Your sore muscles tightened again, wide eyes instantly flashing back over towards the closed door. It was Tex. His accent set him apart from everybody else. Made him memorable.

He looked even taller than you remembered him being now that his back was pressed up against the doorway. He was quick to slip in, closing the door behind him. He seemed happy about something, and it unnerved you to no end. He was smiling at you almost as though he had just won the lottery.

“Charlie said that you’re welcome here,” He purred out, striding towards you confidently before crouching down on his knees, placing one of his hands on your thigh as he spoke, acting as though the two of you had known each other for years. “You’re part of the family now, which means you don’t have to worry. No one is gonna hurt ya or try to take ya from me.”

Your heart jumped, lodging itself in your throat. You felt light headed. His smile slowly fell, his blue eyes rounding a bit as he stood up hurriedly, laying you back against the mattress. His hands shook as he grabbed your calves, situating you on the bed so that he could pull the comforter up and over you. His sheets smelled like fresh ivory soap, sweat and man. Your vision was tunneling and your teeth chattering. What little hope you had that this delusional man would take you back home was gone. No. . . he didn’t look even the least bit nervous about taking you. What timidness he had shown during the drive up to the ranch must have been about whether or not Charlie’s reaction to your presence would be negative. Now that the confrontation was out of the way he seemed fit as a fiddle and right as rain.

“Your lips are turning white. . . y-you okay, honey?” He was rubbing your arms up and down through the fabric of the comforter, your skin pulling uncomfortably at your wrists where you were still bound. “Come on. Speak to me. I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wron-”

It was the utter audacity of the stranger that turned your nerves into rage. You felt it building up, the heart aching sadness morphing into some big, ugly beast that you didn’t recognize in yourself. “What’s wrong? I-I was just attacked in my own home and kidnapped. Now you’ve got me tied up in a house with a bunch of weirdos-” His large hand was quick to cover your mouth, his eyes narrowing on your face before turning towards the door quickly. He must have been nervous of someone overhearing you.

When his friends got their feelings hurt they usually blew the offender’s head off or slit their throats in their sleep. You tried to speak through his calloused hand, but he only pressed down harder, your lips digging uncomfortably into your teeth. His hand smelled of sweat, men's cologne and grass. Judging by his boots and dirt stained pants he had probably been working out in the yard before he had come for you. “Those weirdos have short tempers, darlin’. If someone hurts you. . . then i’ll react with violence myself, and I don’t wanna make an enemy outta any of em’. Do you understand what I’m tryna say?”

You didn’t understand exactly what he was saying… aside from the fact that he had just told you- in a rather roundabout way- that they were dangerous. You tried to calm down, realizing that panicking and yelling wasn’t going to get you anywhere with the man. You took a few steadying breaths through your nose, nodding your head to let him know that you were catching on to the severity of the situation. Slowly he removed his hand, allowing you to quickly lick your lips and gather your bearings. You could taste his salty sweat on your tongue and fought back the urge to spit. When you looked back up at him, ready to question as to what the hell was really going on, he seemed to be distracted with his hand. The very hand that had just been pressed against your lips. You cleared your throat to get his attention, hoping that you hadn’t ended up biting him by accident. He might have said that he wouldn’t hurt you, but that didn’t mean that you believed it. He seemed to be entranced by the palm that had been pressed against your lips. Before you could question him as to what he could be staring at, he brought his palm up to his mouth. You wanted to voice your disgust as you watched him drag his tongue along his calloused skin to lap up your spit.

He let his eyes flicker up towards your face, almost like he was daring you to say something. It was almost like he wanted to explain himself. You didn’t want to act too shocked. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting some kind of reaction out of you. Now that he had removed the jet black cowboy hat from his head you could see his eyes better. They were as blue as a summer midday sky. They looked startlingly bright against his sun kissed skin. You needed to avert your eyes away from his face, especially since he was still licking at his palm, seemingly to get every remnant of what had been left over from your mouth. The heated eye contact that he was making with you whilst doing that had you nearly shivering as a result. It was startling. Grotesque. He was staring at you like he wanted to devour you. Like he wished it was your own mouth that he was lapping at instead. Or maybe even. . .

You tightened your thighs on impulse, blinking wildly to rid yourself of the image that your panicked brain had conjured up.

“W-What is your name?” You needed to work your way from the ground up, you could tell. He wasn’t about to volunteer sensitive information straight away. At least. . . you didn’t think that he trusted you that much yet.

His face fell, his hand falling limply on top of your legs as it finally dawned on him that you didn’t even know his name. You really did no nothing about him. How ridiculous it was of him to forget. “Tex. Tex Watson.” He cleared his throat before letting his eyes bounce around the room, his cheeks getting a bit pinker as he continued. “I-I mean people call me Tex. I’d prefer it if you called me that too.” Which meant that Tex probably wasn’t his real name. Ah- there it was. The shame in his eyes. The sudden realization that you knew nothing about him, yet here he was, talking to you like you were long time lovers. Touching you like it was all he had been doing for years.

The self reflection was gone just as soon as it had come though, a gleeful damn near smirk soon pulling at his lips. “Ask me anythin’ you want.” Perhaps he wanted you to ask about the happenings of the ranch. Maybe he enjoyed the fear that it was instilling in you.

“What is this place?” You tried to keep your voice steady and school your face into an expression of slight indifference. If he was just playing with you like a cat would a mouse, the last thing you wanted to do was give him what he wanted. Maybe he would kill you quicker if you helped him play out whatever sick fantasy this was, and you couldn’t have that. Still though, you couldn’t help but find his behavior out of the ordinary for someone who might just want to kill you. No matter how terrified you were, you were beginning to believe him. He wasn’t going to kill you. He just wanted to keep you. Stare at you. Possibly even love you. It was odd, and to your sane and sound mind this was the farthest thing from normal, but if you had any hope of getting out of here alive and in one piece, you had to play along.

“We call ourselves a family- one that you’re now’a part of,” He placed a hand on your cheek, and you couldn’t keep yourself from flinching, your body giving in to it’s natural instinct to evade his touch. If he noticed he didn’t seem to mind. He ran his thumb against your cheek, marveling at how soft it was. He was beginning to feel a bit more greedy with his touches. “But Charles looks after all of us. We have a divine purpose on this earth. You do too. I knew it from the very first second that’a laid eyes on ya. Ya were destined to be my wife.”

You found out a lot about the family and it’s dynamic. Charles was the leader and they- the people that you had seen downstairs- were his followers. Most of the women in the family were romantically involved with the man in charge, and they called themselves his “wives”. The more Tex spoke, the faster you realized that this place was less of a group of friends and more of some sort of a religious cult. They seemed to believe that it was their duty to help and bring on the apocalypse. From what you could remember of the countless brainwashing bible camps that your parents had forced you to attend, the apocalypse was supposed to not only be the end of the world as everyone knew it, but the end of the human race. No one evaded death. The good went to heaven and the bad suffered and went to hell.

Did this mean that Tex and the rest of his “family” members wanted people to die? Did they do any killing? It was all very strange and very confusing. You pried a little bit more about Tex and how he fit into the hierarchy of the family. He seemed to be high up on the totem pole, stating that the only person that he answered to was Charles himself. You asked whether or not he had any other wives, but he was quick to try and “alleviate your fears”, letting you know that he strictly practiced monogamy.

You asked him questions until the sun set behind your beloved mountain, the two of you now talking in a dark room. He offered to feed you, bringing back a plate of dinner that one of Charlie’s “wives” had prepared for the entire ranch, but you declined. You were positive that if you tried to eat anything that it would come right back up. He had hesitantly accepted the fact that you were in no state to eat, finishing the plate of food himself.

Getting to know Tex did nothing to deaden your fears. If anything, you felt terrified for your well being far more than you had before. He was absolutely unhinged, but the fact that his friends were ten times worse was crystal clear. As long as you laid low in the house and stuck to Tex like glue, it sounded like you would be able to slip right under the radar. There was no way you were going to get off of the ranch by yourself, so you needed help. You needed Tex’s help to do that, so you needed to get on his good side sooner rather than later. You couldn’t afford to have a mental breakdown- not yet at least. You could scream and cry after you were home safe.

After he had told you his entire life story he seemed content enough to place his hands on his knees, standing up with a small groan before heading towards the ensuite bathroom. Being left alone, even if he was just in the other room, made your body lock up in terror. You were able to shyly ask him through your nervous cottonmouth whether or not he’d be willing to let you sit in the bathroom with him. He seemed to hesitate but gave in regardless. It wasn’t until the both of you were standing under the bright fluorescent lights in the bathroom that he finally realized how horrible your bound hands looked. They were practically white from the lack of circulation. “God damn it, baby! Why didn’t you tell me ‘bout this?” He was quick to exclaim, hurriedly reaching into the back pocket of his pants and pulling out a pocket knife. You were unable to keep from letting out a small shriek, backing up against the bathroom sink as tightly as you could. He threw his free hand up in what seemed to be exhaustion and annoyance.

“I just rattled on for ages about how I was meant to marry ya, and you think imma hurt you? Stop fussin’ so much, alright? You’re safe. I’ve got ya. I have the means to protect ya, so nothin’ is gonna happen.” With that being said he closed the gap between your bodies, shoving the knife under the tightly wrapped cord and pulling, hacking away binds.

The second that the blood started rushing back to your hands you felt a sharp sting. You flinched and tried desperately to get your fingers to move. Tex closed the pocket knife, shoving it back in his back pocket before reaching out for your hands, rubbing at the sore skin with his thumbs. It felt like you had ducked your hands into a pocket of spiders, your nerves twitching and coming back to life. After making sure that you were alright, Tex stood up a little straighter, nodding his head towards the bathroom door.

“I don’t like threatenin’ you, honey, but you need to know that if you leave this room without me there will be consequences.” His hands moved to his shirt as he spoke to you, slipping it off without any hesitation in front of you. You were quick to avert your eyes as his hands moved down to his pants, biting down on your lower lip as you tried to keep yourself from screaming yet again. How could he ever think that this was normal?

“You can look if you want,” He was still standing right in front of you, his deep voice still sounding just as close. “It’s all yours.”

It’s not like you had never had sex before, but it was infrequent enough for the shame of this entire situation to redden your cheeks and ears. Your roommates weren’t opposed to sleeping with friends or strangers on a regular basis, and while you never judged them for what they did, you weren’t the kind of person to involve yourself with someone you didn’t know well enough. You half expected Tex to try and coerce you, but the second he saw the look on your face he turned the shower on, climbing in and closing the curtain tight behind him.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have undressed in front of ya. That was wrong of me.” That was the most regretful that you’d heard him sound this entire time. “I just. . . I just love ya so much. It’s very hard to control myself, but I will. You don’ have to be afraid of me.” But you were. Terrified. Petrified even. You didn’t answer him.

“I know that eventually you’ll come ‘round. You’ll see. You’re mine and I’m yours, and isn’t that how it’s supposed to be between a married couple?” You had dropped your head into your hands as you sat down on the counter, your feet dangling above the floor. You didn’t have the energy left to be shocked.

“Married?” Your voice came out more even than you expected it to.

“Spiritually, at least. We’ve been tethered since our very inception. That’s what Charlie told me at least, and I believe him.” But you sure as hell didn’t.

Much like you had done with the comforter just hours ago, you laid awake on your back, eyes staring up at the ceiling. You tried to find any cracks or imperfections with your eyes, making unnecessary note of each one. Tex, though he had stayed true to his word the entire night and hadn’t hurt nor forced himself upon you, had insisted that you sleep with him in his room. He had given you space, scooting back far enough on the bed to where only your feet touched under the blanket. You’d be lying if you didn’t think about making a run for it, and he had made sure to let you know that staying with him would be safer than running into his friends downstairs. It wasn’t exactly a threat, but sure as hell felt like one. You hadn’t been able to fully relax until you heard his breathing even out, risking a glance over at him once you were absolutely certain that he had fallen asleep.

Once again, the duality of him was on full display. It was difficult- damn near impossible- to imagine someone that looked like he did to do such a thing. How could he kidnap anyone when he looked like an angel? He had held you at gunpoint not even five hours ago, yet here he was, lashes gently fluttering as he dreamed. The gentle slope of his nose was nuzzled against his dark green pillow case, and the hair that was still wet from his shower was sticking to his cheeks. Now that his blue eyes were closed you were able to see just how thick his lashes were, even in the pale moonlight. The worst part was how innocent he looked. You hated him, but there was a small part of you that didn’t want to.

Was the crime that he committed a good indication that he had mental health issues? Was he someone that should be pitied rather than detested? Still, he was articulate and had a way with storytelling. He seemed intelligent and calculated with his thoughts and decisions.

You spent the rest of the night like that, staring up at the ceiling and trying to come up with excuses for his bad behavior. You had drifted off a few times, but startled awake whenever you felt his large body shift closer to yours, unused to sleeping next to someone. Your body was on high alert, sensitive to everything around you.

These anxieties bled into your daily life on the ranch. The more days passed though, the less afraid you were that you were going to be hurt. Rather you became hyper aware of Tex rather than just the things around you. Tex’s friends didn’t seem very interested in talking to you, not even during dinner.

Their loud voices blended in with the constant music pouring out of the media system in the living room. The Beatles, Neil Young and The Beach boys became the soundtrack to your everyday life. You weren’t mad about the incessant background noise either. It was in the dead of night when no one was awake to flip the vinyl that things got eerie. Silence became your worst enemy. You’d wake up in the dead of night to the dull crackling downstairs from the speakers, all of your newest fears at the forefront of your mind. Tex got closer to you as the days passed. He was testing the waters and chipping away at your resolve. You’d lost the fight that you once had, so you no longer pushed away his arms when he pulled you into a hug. He loved to be touching you at all times. Whether it was him brushing his hand against yours, placing your thighs over his lap when the two of you were in the living room, or even pressing his nose against the back of your head as you both slept so that he could breathe in your scent. You’d never had a serious boyfriend in your life, and to be touched constantly at all hours of the day made you feel confused and conflicted.

It also didn’t help that Tex wasn’t exactly a monster. He had asked to kiss you a few times as the days passed by, and all it took was a shake of your head for him to give up. Anything farther than fleeting touches were off limits to him. Even when you felt his hands shaking with need as they brushed over your thighs, he never pushed you. He never took too much from you. It was easy to fall into a pattern of monotony. Tex would wake up early to feed the animals, letting you sleep in when exhaustion was still melting you into the mattress. Then breakfast was served, oftentimes you helped the other girls wordlessly. You used to cook for your girls everyday, so the task made you feel normal. Like your life hadn’t just been torn from you. Then you and Tex would drift into the living room and listen to music with Charlie and the rest of the group. The way that they all spoke to one another just seemed like a close knit group of friends shooting the shit to most, but you knew that there were secret codes and heavy meanings between each nod of their head or odd hand movement. Tex might have loved you, but that didn’t mean that he planned to tell you everything about his life.

The group rarely called you by your name. They’d assigned you little nicknames, which was supposed to make you feel more comfortable around them. Tex also had a habit of referring to you as “the ole’ lady”, which you didn’t hate half as much as you should have.

“Why are you so against me dyin’ my hair?” He spoke up from his spot on the corner of the tub, picking at a small hole on his bell bottoms as he waited for you to get started. He had been wearing the same shirt that you had worn yesterday before he had shrugged it off and over his head, not wanting to stain it. That was another thing that made you homesick. The group liked to share clothes.

You were clutching the bottle to your chest, glaring at the back of his head as you tried to come up with an answer. “I just don’t think black hair is going to look good on you, is all.” You grumbled, quickly evading his eyes as he turned his head to face you with a smirk.

“So. . . what yer’ tellin’ me is that’cha like my natural hair color? S’ that it?” Damn him and his dumb accent. Damn him and his big blue eyes. Damn him.

Instead of answering you simply reached out, giving his hair a quick tug. You were trying to be mean to him and to get him to stop his teasing, but you being the one to initiate the touching must have caught him off guard. He let out a loud yelp, the sound echoing around the tiled bathroom. A few seconds afterwards you heard a shuddered breath slip past his lips, and the sound made you clench your jaw. His hands moved out to grip the sides of the porcelain tub until his knuckles were white, the muscles of his bare back tightening. There it was again. The tension was often unbearable between the two of you. Your passionate distaste for him had shifted into a passionate “something”. You just couldn’t pinpoint what it could possibly be. What it could mean for you. The fact that you could even tolerate the asshole wasn’t right. It made you think of your mother, who loved your father despite the constant hell he put her through.

All men had ever done was disappoint you and let you down. Tex, while he had done something awful to you and had hurt you, was always so soft with you. He did things without having to be told. He looked out for you. He tucked you in at night. He looked at you almost as though you were the only woman on the entire planet. He couldn’t get enough of you. He never stopped telling you how much he loved you, and you believed him. Maybe you were just as sick in the head as he was, because you believed that he loved you. When he said that there was no one else out there for him, you knew that he was telling the truth. It was because of this constant attention that you found it hard to deny yourself of the urge to explore. There was this insanely bratty part of yourself that wanted to test him and his devotion for you.

You stared down at his chocolate brown hair for a few more seconds, rubbing your fingers against a few fine strands before saying your final goodbye to his natural color. “Don’t cry to me when you look ridiculous though.” You tried to sound cold, but really just sounded like a nagging girlfriend. He didn’t seem to mind. You could hear him chuckling softly, his eyes glued to the yellow shower tiles in front of him. It didn’t take you long to apply the black dye, tossing the applicator in the trash once you were finished. His sudden urge to dye his hair confused you to no end, but very little of what Tex did made complete sense.

“How long do ya think I should leave this in for?” He finally asked, standing up inside of the tub and stretching out his long arms up and over his head as he waited for your answer. You watched the muscles in his shoulders tense, his biceps bulging ever so slightly with the movement. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed you staring, but you turned away from him to wash your hands at the sink before he could say anything.

“Uh. . . probably twenty minutes, I’d think.” You had gotten a few specks of dye on your wrists and palm, and no matter how hard you scrubbed at the skin with soap it didn’t want to wash out. Tex seemed to stain you that very same way. He had tainted you- did something fucked up to your mind, and now you were different. You felt damn near brainwashed at this point. You’d never be the same. He’d stuck himself right onto you, and no matter how badly you wanted him off, he wasn’t leaving.

You scrubbed at your palm until your hand was raw, Tex being the one to walk over to the sink and turn off the water. You dared a glance up at him, looking through your lashes. His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion at your odd behavior. You did this every now and again. It was almost as though you were too stuck in your own mind to really understand what was going on around you. This was one of those times.

“You’re gonna make yourself bleed, honey.” He took your palm in his hand, covering it with his unstained fingers.

You dared to look up at him, taking in his face against the black inky locks that hung down around him. You had smoothed the hair off of his face and neck so as to not stain him. You weren’t sure why you had been so gentle and considerate with him, but you had been. You weren’t sure if you regretted it either. He didn’t look half bad with black hair, and that made you want to rub at your skin even harder. If anything he still looked just as great. His eyes were such a vibrant shade of blue now that you found it hard to look away. If someone wanted to paint Tex, all they needed to do was grab a true shade of blue and mix it with a little white- they were so pretty that it was unnatural.

You snatched your hand out of his grip, clearing your throat before backing out of the room. You needed to escape and fast. Something registered in his eyes. They widened a bit, his lips parting in silent shock. You wanted to play dumb. You wanted to ask him what had his stupid jaw on the floor, but you knew that he had made a vital, fucking dangerous realization.

He finally realized that you were attracted to him.

Not just in passing, but as someone that you were beginning to enjoy being around. The kind of attraction that often resulted in dating in the normal, real world. You didn’t want to give him any time to mull over it either. If Tex said something to you, you weren’t sure whether or not you could answer him without sacrificing a vital part of yourself. The part of yourself that had been keeping you safe the last few weeks. The part of yourself that had shielded you from the fact that no one had come looking for you on the ranch. No one probably thought that you were really gone. Was your mother worried that you hadn’t called? Did your father even really care?

You sat in the bedroom alone for the next fifteen minutes, pacing back and forth next to the bed. Now that the shower was running, you knew that he would be unable to stop you from looking through his things. Your fear of being caught had been too great up until this point, but the self loathing made you bold. Most of his drawers were filled with pants, jackets, and shirts. You riffled through them and found nothing out of the ordinary. His bedside table was a little more exciting, but only because you had found drugs. He had a few novels shoved in, along with what you knew had to be tabs of acid. It wasn’t until you ducked your head underneath the bed that you finally found what you had been expecting to find all along.

That revolver along with box after box of ammunition. Your hands shook as you reached under the bed to grab the weapon, swallowing thickly as you held it up in front of you to get a better look at it. This was the same one that Tex had pointed at you the day that he took you. It was odd to see it up close, and even more odd that you were the one holding it. Not once in your life had you ever shot a gun, but you could probably find out through trial and error. How hard could it be, right?

There were other weapons underneath his bed that made your heart pound. Ropes and knives among other things that you couldn’t bear to stare at for too long. But then, further back, there was a shoebox that felt out of place amongst the other things. Setting the gun down you reached out, biting your lip as you dragged it out from underneath the bed as well, looking anxiously at the bathroom door. You were past the point of feeling guilty for prying. You tossed the lid off, your face paling instantaneously. Pictures. Pictures of your old kitchen, living room, and bedroom. You were in every single one, either smiling at something one of the girls had said or busying yourself with a task. Most of the photos weren’t so innocent though. No- There were pictures of you naked in front of your bedroom window, getting ready for bed. Your breasts were on full display as you looked out the window. You remembered those nights. You remembered how uncomfortable you had felt in your own home, almost as though someone was watching you. You tore the photos out, flipping through them with trembling fingers. What was underneath the photos was worse. Ten times worse. A hundred times worse.

Panties. Panties that you had worn and thrown into the dirty clothes weeks ago, only for them to go missing. You let out a small whimper when you grabbed a pair, holding them up in front of you just to check. Just to see if he had done anything. You regretted it the second that you saw the stain. “Oh my god. . .” You threw them back into the box, pushing the pictures under the bed with hurried hands.

There it was. The truth. All laid out in front of you.

Maybe he wasn’t ever going to kill you, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t a killer. If the cops came out here looking for him, you were sure that you’d be roped in with the lot of them. You would be seen as nothing more than another one of those hippies that runs off and joins a cult. You stood up and off of the ground, the gun still clasped tightly in your hand. You were shaking so badly that you weren’t sure how you were even able to keep hold of the thing. Has anything he told you about himself been the truth, or had he been lying this entire time? Spinning this huge web of stories just to catch you, waiting until you were completely tangled up just to sink his fangs into you. Were you hyperventilating? Were you crying? You slapped a hand against your cheek, wiping at the soft skin there. Sure enough you were in full blown hysterics.

Here it was. The long awaited mental breakdown.

Had you really been sleeping in a house with murderers this entire time? Sitting at the dinner table and breaking fucking bread with them all? You stumbled over towards the bedroom door, creaking it open to pop your head out and listen out for Charlie and his other followers. Someone was playing an acoustic guitar downstairs, all of them probably reading the bible and coming up with more religious nonsense to fuel their evil intentions. You let your eyes flicker to the bannister just down the hall that led out to the kitchen, trying to map out just how long it would take you to sneak your way through the kitchen door. You’d gone through that creaky door enough to know that everyone in the house would hear it open. You’d have to outrun men who had far longer legs than you. Even with the gun, you weren’t quite sure you could make it down the mountain to your home, or even to the main road.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” You gasped so loudly that you nearly coughed, your heart rattling in your chest as you swung around, pointing the gun out with a trembling hand.

Tex was drying his hair with a towel, his bell bottoms hanging low on his waist, the front unzipped to reveal the hem of his briefs. His plush lips pulled down into a frown as he raised his hands up in surrender. He didn’t look scared. Didn’t look angry. He looked annoyed and exasperated, like he had caught his child sticking their little nose into something that they shouldn’t have. He popped his hip out, putting his weight on one leg as he shook his head back and forth.

“S’ya were goin’ through my things?” He looked around you at the open door, letting out a small sigh before he took a step forward. You put your finger on the trigger as he began walking closer, your jaw dropping as he rolled his eyes.

“Stop! I’ll do it. I-I’ll shoot!” Without a second thought he gripped the barrel of the gun, easily angling it upwards and towards the ceiling as he boxed you in with his tall body, pushing the door closed behind you.

You tried to jerk the gun out of his grasp, but he held on tight, not budging at all. You were boxed in against the door, his hand still pressed against the wood behind you. He leaned in close, his breath fanning over your face as he spoke. “You ain’t gonna do nothin’, lil lady.”

It wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t him mocking you. He was saying that he knew that you didn’t have what it takes to hurt him. Sure, you would have been able to shoot and injure him at such short range if you had the guts to actually pull the trigger. There was a chance that if you had shot him that you might have killed him, but there was also the large possibility that you might have missed. The gun was shaking like crazy in your grasp, never once being aimed at any of his vital points. Factually, if the gun had gone off he might have been fine. He also knew you better than you knew yourself. You wouldn’t hurt him. No. . . no. . . not when you liked him so much.

He gently removed the gun from your grasp, letting out a small sigh as he tossed it onto the dresser with a loud thunking noise. He raked his hands through his soaking wet hair and dropped the towel so that he could give you his full attention. If you had snuck your little ass out of here while he was in the shower? His heart was pounding as he thought about what might have happened. If someone hurt you in the process of your escape, he’d annihilate the entire family without a second thought. He had enough ammunition beneath his bed to start a war.

Because Tex would have rather died than ever actually hurt you. He couldn’t even imagine your pretty little body completely still, utterly unmoving. The mere idea of you dying, even at the hands of fate, had him nearly doubling over. He could see the way that you eyed the revolver that he had on his dressing table. Your overly tired brain was trying to string together some sort of plan to overpower him in order to get your hands on the weapon. He could practically see the cogs turning. Even if you did succeed in killing him, there was no promise that you would make it off of the ranch alive. Tex had already put himself in the line of fire when he had decided to save you. His own neck was on the chopping block now, and he knew with surety that the other member’s of this cursed family were looking for any reason to slit his throat while he slept. Dying for you, especially after all of the wrong that he had done in his life, seemed like a pretty good way to go. If you killed him before he could get you off of that mountain and as far away from California as he could get you, then you’d be next. A simple revolver, buck knife, and whatever else Tex had in his room wasn’t going to save you from Charlie’s wrath. You were severely outskilled and outnumbered.

“How about we play a game?” Tex watched you flinch at the sudden sound of his deep voice, your eyes widening as you watched him cross the room to grab the gun. You were quick to back up into the bedside table, arm reaching behind you for something to grab onto. The sight of him holding the gun so nonchalantly by his side reminded you of just how many people might have met their maker at the other end of that thing. Your breath came out of you in deep pants, your legs growing wobbly beneath you as you yanked up the glass lamp, the plug sparking as it was roughly ripped from the wall.

Tex was quick to hold the hand that had the gun clasped in it in front of you, his fingers off of the trigger. His other arm was out in surrender. He didn’t need you getting glass on the floor unnecessarily, especially if it meant that you might end up cutting yourself by accident. “Hey- hey there, little lady. I’m not gonna hurt you. See?” He opened the chamber, letting the bullets spill out into his hand. The cold metal rattled, and slowly you inched forward, leaning a few inches closer to him so that you could make sure that he wasn’t trying to take you for some sort of fool.

“Look, honey. I’ve taken all the bullets out.” As if to prove his point the man slapped his palm against the barrel, it clicking back in place. He pulled back the hammer of the gun, aiming it to the ceiling. Click. Shoot. Click. Shoot. Click. Shoot. Nothing. No sheets of plaster rained down on you. No deafening shot echoed through the room. He really had removed all of the bullets. He smiled that straight, white smile at you as he watched your shoulders relax. You refused to die here. You couldn’t do it. You were a nervous wreck, your emotions all over the place. You were so used to men treating you roughly. The no good sort of men that Tex made look like babies.

The man standing before you, his newly black dyed hair still soaking wet and dripping onto his shoulders, confused you. It was so easy to despise him. He had stalked you with the purpose of killing you. Him forcing you to come with him up to the ranch did you no favors either. He tried to convince you that you were safe with him, but you could hear the other murderers downstairs even now, their loud whoops and laughter making your chest burn and your blood go hot. It was easy to hate him for everything that he had done. He had murdered people, and you weren’t even sure how many. He had ripped your life away from you in the blink of an eye, and tried to manipulate you into believing that it was for the greater good. What you absolutely couldn’t stand was the fact that it was working. Maybe it was because your past relationships with men had shaped and molded you to be the perfect candidate for manipulation. Tex was a horrible person, and he had turned your life completely upside down without any permission to do so. He had taken almost every bit of your free will from you, not allowing you to make your own decisions.

But no one had ever loved you the way that Tex presumably did. No one had ever looked at you the way that he looked at you.

“What kind of game?” Your mouth felt like it was going numb, your hip still pressed hard into his bedside table, the lamp clutched in your hand.

His blue eyes looked startling against his black hair. It was unreal how vibrant they were. They flickered down to your hand, staring at the lamp before he motioned towards his hand that held the bullets with a nod of his head. “It’s called Russian Roulette. Except this time we cut the bullshit and raise the stakes.”

You knew that if you said no that he would drop the subject. You also knew that, as far as you could tell, that he had no intentions of ever hurting you. “Raise the stakes?” You hated that you were so naturally curious. Your heart was pounding incredibly hard in your chest. You could feel it in your throat.

He smiled down at his boots, trying his best to hide the sly nature of it from view. He knew that he had you on the hook now that you were asking questions. “Each time we pull the trigger,” he popped a single bullet into the barrel. “And the gun doesn’t go off, we take off an article of clothing.”

You hated him.

You also hated the fact that you couldn’t find it within yourself to truly hate him.

Your hands shook as you placed the lamp back down on the wooden table with a clatter, your eyes flickering back up to his. “And what happens once we’re naked, huh? Why not just say that you want to see me naked. You haven’t exactly been a gentleman this entire time.” Your voice was shaking, and he seemed to take advantage of the weak tremor. He knew that all he had to do was calm you down. Lay out the facts all nice and pretty for you so that you can finally make your decision.

“I do want to see you naked.” He didn’t miss a beat. He didn’t shy away from telling you the truth, because there would be no use in denying it. He had already confessed his feelings. He knew that you felt how stiff he was this morning, pressed up against your side. Tex might be a mass murderer, but he wasn’t a fuckin’ liar. There was very little that the blue eyed man hated more than a filthy liar. “But like I said. . . I think it’s about time that we cut the bullshit. I love chasing after you. We’ve got a fun little game goin’, the two of us.” He motioned between the two of you with the gun, his eyes twinkling as he looked at your face. “But I want you, and I know that you want me.” He took a step closer to you, and if you hadn’t already cornered yourself against the nightstand, then you would have taken a step back.

Your hand gripped tightly onto the edge of the table, eyes widening as he crossed the room so that he could stand in front of you. He was so close that your chests were touching. The bullets clattered against the wood behind you, but he kept the gun secure in his hand. “There’s just one bullet in the cylinder.” He assured you, angling the gun so that you could see.

Through all the niceties and gentle touches, you had never stopped reminding yourself that Tex was slightly insane. He had to be a little crazy to join Charlie. This was your first time seeing that part of him. His eyes were wild as they took in the scared expression on your face, almost like he was enjoying your fear. He liked the meek, meager little expression on your face and the way that you had cornered yourself. If only you knew the half of it. If only you knew how turned on he was just by your glassy eyes alone. He wanted to possess you, body and soul. If he could have hollowed out your bones and fit his way inside of them- he would have.

‘Surely,’ He thought as he looked down at you. ‘No one has ever loved anyone else quite as much as I love her.’

“Here, I’ll teach ya how to do it.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, causing you to jump. He could feel your little heart pounding against his side, and it reminded him of a little rabbit. Jumpy, terrified, but just as adorable. “You press this button to release the cylinder,” He demonstrated for you. “And then you spin it. Don’t worry about the bullet coming out. It’s in there snug.” And then he slapped the cylinder back in place, putting the gun in your shaky palm. His large, warm hand swallowed yours up whole as he raised your arm, rubbing your finger so that he could nudge it onto the trigger. “And then you squeeze the trigger.” He raised the gun and your arm up to the side of his head.

You could have vomited, the fear gripping you so hard that you found it hard to breathe. But there was this strange sensation- a heat pooling in your abdomen as you thought about where this all might lead. You could try to convince yourself that you wanted him to die all you wanted, but the gun against the man’s head was a terrifying sight. Being alone on this ranch would most likely have deadly consequences, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the reason why you were so terrified of him dying. The truth was entirely unwelcome: you liked him. God damn it, you actually liked him.

“I’ll go first.” He stated, not a hint of fear in his eyes. He looked at you hungrily, like he could devour you whole. He pressed his finger down on yours, and in turn you were steadily putting pressure on the trigger. You wanted to say no. Wanted to scream at him to stop and that you changed your mind. You couldn’t find your voice. Your tongue felt swollen in your mouth, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

There was a heat pooling between your legs that you felt insanely guilty about.

Before you knew it the trigger had been pulled completely, a soft click echoing around the silent room. He smiled brightly at you, slowly removing his hand from yours. Your arm fell limply at your side, the gun still in your hand. He had just pulled the trigger and hadn’t even flinched. He could have died, and it would have been nobody else’s fault except for his, and he didn’t seem to care. The danger seemed to rile him up.

“Looks like I’m safe.” The jean button up shirt that he was wearing was the first article of clothing to come off. His long, nimble fingers made quick work with the buttons.

You watched as he slipped the faded blue fabric from off of his shoulders, revealing his lean body. His skin was golden from long hours spent outside in the California sun. No matter how skinny he appeared to be in his clothes, you could tell that he was surprisingly strong. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were on full display, his prominent v-line disappearing beneath his jeans. He was beautiful. Truly beautiful.

You hated him for that too.

The gun suddenly felt very heavy in your hand, and you remembered that it was now your turn to go. You brought the revolver up, twisting your hand this way and that to take a good look at it. You wanted to prolong this moment. You needed to calm your pounding heart or else you feared that it might stop all together. People could die from fear, right? You sucked in a breath, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tex made a small noise right across from you. It was a breathy sounding groan that felt so out of place during a moment like this. You let your eyes flicker up to his face, noticing his flushed cheeks and parted lips.

“That gun looks so pretty in your hands, honey.” He licked his lips, motioning towards the gun hurriedly. “Show it to me.” His voice was now barely above a whisper.

You felt confused yet again, his reactions coming across as unnatural. Here you were, standing before him with a loaded weapon, and he was moaning at the mere sight of you. “You’re crazy.” You whispered, your hand beginning to shake as you raised the gun a little more, nearly pointing it at him.

His lashes fluttered as he stared at your hand, taking his bottom lip between his teeth so that he could bite down on it. You nearly dropped the weapon when you watched him readjust himself in his jeans, your eyes widening as you finally realized that he was hard. He was actually getting off on all of this. You let your eyes drink in the sight of him for a few more seconds. You traced the shape of him through the pants, trying hard not to dwell on the fact that he appeared large, even through the cloth.

Slowly, never taking your eyes off of him, you did as you were taught. Your finger pressed against the cylinder release, gave it a good spin, and then slapped it back into place. Tex seemed tense as he watched the cylinder spin, but relaxed when he noticed something that your eyes didn’t. Your hand shook as you brought the gun to your head and pulled back the hammer.

“You're safe, baby. I wanna see you do it. Pull the trigger.”

You hated that you trusted him so implicitly. You squeezed down on the trigger, squeezing your eyes shut as your heart continued to pound away in your chest. The clicking sound echoed in your ears, your arm limply falling to your side as the damn near euphoric relief spread through you. It fizzled hot in your blood like champaign, setting every nerve ablaze. At the sight of your heaving chest Tex took a step closer to you, reaching out for the gun. He licked his lips hungrily as he stared at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he took in your relieved expression. The flush on your cheeks was adorable. He took the gun from your shocked form, giving you a few seconds to recuperate before he reminded you of the rules.

You just stood there staring at him, bubble gum lips parted as you sucked in air. You looked like a deer in headlights, and he wanted to devour you. The need to touch you, any part of you was overwhelming. It had been for weeks. Some nights he only pretended to sleep, just so that he could press himself against you. Feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest under his hand. He wanted to rip you to shreds only to put you back together again, piece by piece. Tex’s adams apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, clenching his jaw as he tried to show restraint. You hadn’t turned him down yet. Not today at least. You wanted this. You were okay with this.

He had you and he was never going to lose you. He’d keep you locked up and tied down if he had to. And if you ever happened to get away from him, he’d find you. Ohh. . . he’d find you.

You jerked back in shock as you felt the cold barrel of the gun press against your belly, Tex using it to push the fabric up. You’d been too busy staring at him to remember the rules of the game. Now it was your turn to remove something.

“Off.” Was all he said, his eyes burning holes into your body.

You gripped the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head before tossing it onto the ground. You wanted to hide yourself away from him once you realized that you weren’t wearing a bra. You started to cover yourself up, but stopped as Tex merely shook his head. Don’t hide from me.

It was nothing he hadn’t already seen though. The pictures.

The reminder of them made your stomach tighten, the heat between your legs becoming more prominent. Your face heated up in shame as you finally gave in. You surrendered to the full truth of it all. You couldn’t hide or run from it any longer. There was no escaping it anymore.

Tex’s devotion turned you on. Tex’s obsession made you feel loved and taken care of and you wanted to fuck him. You’d been attracted to him this entire time, too blinded by your own fear to realize that you were fucked up enough to develop feelings. Maybe it was familial trauma. Maybe it was all of the bad dates you’d been subjected to. Or maybe it was just you. Either way, there it was. All out in the open for you. You weren’t nearly as insane as Tex. You were no killer. You didn’t have it in you to hurt a fly, but his hands were capable.

He was big and strong. He could protect you. He was begging to let you relinquish your control and let him look after you. You’d never been looked after in your life, and yet here he was, looking at you like you were the messiah. You watched those big, capable hands clench into fists as he took you in. He was trying not to touch you.

“As soon as you give me the word. . . i’m going to eat you alive.” Those blue eyes were pinning you down, narrowed and heavy and so full of adoration.

You could feel your slick already pooling in your underwear, your eyes fluttering closed for just a second as you tried to ground yourself. You had to stay steady. You had to play this game with him for just a little longer. He was practically vibrating with need and you wanted to test him. Wanted to see him fall apart before he absolutely destroyed the last bit of sanity you were clinging to.

He pressed the button, spun the cartridge all while watching it closely and then slammed it closed. He pressed the barrel right back up to his temple, pulling the trigger without flinching. Without blinking.

“Are ya gonna let me have it?” You couldn’t fully process what he was asking you, just that his accent was sexy and his voice was so deep that it was vibrating in his chest.

“H-Have what?” You licked your lips, not missing the way he followed your tongue with his eyes.

He might as well have already been inside of you. Your knees were already starting to buckle and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Your body,” He handed you the gun, pulling his already undone jeans off of his legs. “I already own your soul, but I want it all. I want ya so bad that I nearly came in my pants just seein’ your tits. So are ya gonna give it to me now, or are ya gonna make me wait longer? Cause I can’t take it anymore, darlin’. I can’t keep lovin’ ya the way that I do and not fuck ya.”

Your eyes flickered back down to his crotch, your mouth filling with saliva as you noticed how hard he was. You could make out the exact shape of him, his length uncomfortably trapped beneath his tight briefs. He was gorgeous. Absolutely perfect.

And you didn’t answer at first.

Instead you just played the game. You pressed the button. You spun the cartridge while he watched closely. You slammed it back in place and then you pressed it against your temple. “Let me touch you. Fuck. . . Please let me just touch you.” Click.

You tossed the gun onto the bed, unbuttoning your own bell bottoms and pulling them down and off of your legs. You kicked them away from you, nodding your head towards the gun so that he would feel inclined to continue himself. He was in disbelief. Not only were you playing along but you seemed to be liking it just as much as he was. How could someone be as perfect as you were? How could you be real? He scooped the gun back up, knowing that there was just one more thing he had left to take off.

“If I take these off, will you add them to your little collection?” His eyes flickered down to your panties. The pretty pink bow. The lacy red fabric. He turned his attention towards the other side of the bed, realizing that you must have seen every secret that he kept hidden in his room. This turned him on even more. His hips involuntarily jutted forward, meeting nothing but air.

“F-Fuck. . .” He didn’t have words. He wanted to tease you and make it harder on you, but he could barely function. He was beginning to get scared that if you did let him touch you, that he might hurt you. He might lose himself completely. Tex didn’t mind though. You owned him. He was all yours.

And so he went through the motions one last time. Button, spin, and shoot. He watched to make sure that he was safe from the bullet, pulling the trigger that one last time. He didn’t let go of the gun this time when he shrugged off his underwear, his cock springing loose. He watched you take him in. You drank in the sight of him, the poor thing practically throbbing with need. He was bigger than anyone else you’d ever been with, and a part of you worried whether or not you’ll actually be able to comfortably take him. His angry red tip was weeping with pre cum, his underwear slick and stained with it as he licked it away from him. That was all it took.

“Please.” And your voice sounded so small. So pathetic. So broken.

He lurched forward, his muscles already tense and ready to attack. His lips pressed against yours so hard that you thought that your top lip might be bleeding. The free hand that wasn’t holding the gun gripped the side of your head, holding you to him as he forced his tongue into your mouth, his teeth gently knocking against yours as he opened his mouth to absorb your shaky breaths. Your mouths moved in sync, his lips as pillow soft as you expected them to be. He smelled so good fresh out of the shower, his warm hands all over you, cold drops of hair falling onto your shoulders as he pressed your bare chests against one another. He couldn’t be close enough. You bit his bottom lip, your eyes fluttering open just so that you could see him only to find that he was already watching you with half lidded eyes. He moaned into your mouth as he realized that he had been caught. The guttural sound, the smell of him as well as the way that he tasted was enough to make you bite down harder on his lower lip, his hips jerking forward as he grunted in pain. You could taste blood.

His blood.

You licked that up to, hands gripping at anything you could reach.

You felt something press into the hem of your panties, shivering against the cold metal as he brought the gun down further and further. He pressed the barrel against your heat, rubbing and nudging, stimulating you. You gasped loudly as you became aware of the fact that he was touching you with the gun. He stopped his movement against your clit only for a second, using the gun to slip your panties to the side. You felt it now against your bare skin, sliding against your soaking core.

“You’re so wet… are you turned on by this, darlin’? Are you just as fucked up as I am?” All you could do was moan, letting him hug you tighter against him as he spoke into your hair. “I’m gonna fuck you and make you mine. Rub my cum all over you, that way everyone will know you belong to me.” You nodded, your cheek rubbing against his stumbled chin as you began working your hips against the gun.

“So needy. You wanna be filled, honey? Want me to fill you up?” You could feel the barrel of the gun stretching you as he pushed it further and further inside. He was fucking you with a gun.

This man was fucking you with a gun.

You mewled as you moved your hips, your legs buckling beneath you as he continued his attack. Again and again he pushed it up inside of you, watching your face intently as he held you closer against his chest. He held up most of your weight as you leaned into him. He loved seeing your soft features pinched, eyes pinched shut, hips moving against his hand in a desperate search for release. He needed you. Needed you now.

Inside inside inside.

He tossed the gun somewhere onto the bed, his hands shaking like a mad as he tore the panties down your lips. You heard the fabric tear in his haste, already crawling onto the bed in an attempt to have him in you. You couldn’t deny him anymore. You couldn’t stop yourself.

“Oh god, I love you.” He thrust in, not giving you even a second. Not letting you take him inch by inch. He was ripping you apart. Stretching you out. Molding him to the shape of his dick. You cried out, moving forward as if to get away from him. The pressure in your abdomen was insane. You could practically feel him in your stomach. Your attempts at escaping him only spurred him on more though, his hips slamming into you, making you take all of him. Forcing you to take it all.

And you wanted it. Every inch.

The pleasure and pain all blended into white hot passion. It was impossible to deny the chemistry between the two of you now. There was no getting rid of it anymore.

“I’m gonna fuck my cum so deep inside of you. Do you want me to get you pregnant? Fucking ruin you so that you’ll be stuck with me.” And you didn’t know why you were nodding but you were. He was just fucking into you so well, hitting that same spot inside of you again and again. The spot that had you seeing stars.

His hands moved up to your breasts, his touch so hot that he was practically scalding you. His fingers pinched at your nipples as he continued to point into you. The pleasure was too much. It felt too good. All of this had been building for weeks now. It was almost as though all of that had been foreplay. Every touch. Every heated stare. All of it.

“Say it. I wanna hear you tell me that you’re mine.” He was talking through clenched teeth now, still slamming into you. He yanked your head up by your throat, wanting to look in your eyes. Wanting to see your lovely lips shape the words.

“I-I’m yours!” His hips stuttered, his loud moan only spurring you on. “I’m yours Tex. All yours. Please- please!” You weren’t even sure what you were begging for. The pleasure was building though, ready to snap.

“Give it to me. Cum- I want to feel you milk my cock. That’s a good lil girl. Come on.”

It was at his urging that you let go. Almost on command. Your muscles tensed, your eyes rolled back, and you could barely breathe. You must have called out his name. Must have screamed because he was fucking you even harder, panting in your ear as he pressed you down further into the mattress.

“That’s it, honey. Keep sayin’ my name. I want everyone downstairs to hear. Fuck, don’t stop.” So you didn’t. He ripped the orgasm straight out of you, chasing his own like a madman.

He came with something akin to a roar, his sweat slick arm wrapping around your throat, cutting off your airway as he hugged you tighter to him. You could feel his length twitching inside of you. Pumping you full. Giving you every drop. He fucked you through it, pushing the cum in as deep as he could.

He stilled after a while, gathering himself for a second before he pulled out, resting his hand against the mattress as he climbed over you on top of the bed. He was still panting hard when you finally found enough strength to turn over and face him.

He was back to looking like an angel again.

Wet hair sticking to his sticky cheeks, lips red and kiss swollen, and eyes glassy. He looked at you like you were God. And to him you were.

Your love was like god. Wholly. Infinite.

And all his.

special special special thanks to my sweet lil sluts. once again, they assisted emotionally with this fic and even beta read a few chunks! I heard russian roulette with tex and here it is. . . @babylovepresley @powerofelvis @ggwritesstuff @woundmetender @eliseinmemphis @polksalademma @flwrs4aust @headfullofpresley @cryingabtab @austinbutlersbaby @lindszeppelin @rosaminny

@knoxvillesshoes@cosmorant@ol1viam@simply-sams-things@haim80s@gabbcabb@8hgel@slutt4him@busy-bee-angel-misska@kaitaesupremacy@dazedshoon @4rt3m1ss@cryingabtab@kittenlittle24@austinsrealgf@austinbutlersgirlfriend@clearbolts @dark-as-love@anni-secret-account-75@ab4eva@starcatchxr @julietamidala @obbsessivereader@gwuide@blurredcolour@the-little-red-haired-girl@meladollsims@poppet05@shrekstheloml@randomwriter888@idc123sworld@vane28282@mirandastuckinthe80s@girlblogger2002@rockerchick05@screechingstrawberrysong@simpforevery1@girlabirla@dre6ming@obetrolncocktails@fairyjanes@jensenswinchester@lo-bells @in-my-body-bag@fxntxsix@petrparkrslut@eliseinmemphis @lelifesaver @screaching-cookie@fantuhsise@areuirish @bcofl0ve@mslizziesblog@shynovelist@ssstrangersblog @harrysthecraic@hangmanswhore@jyvnho@mymamalife @melodydior

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mrselvisbutler · 2 years

Text

THE THINGS I WOULD DO TO MAKE THIS MAN MOAN LIKE THIS OMFG 😩

THE FACT THAT ELVIS IS THE ONE MAKING THESE NOISES ARE MAKING ME GO FERAL 😩😩😩😩

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asshlyyyy · 1 year

Text

Red String

Before I see the comments, there will be no part two. I need to crank out these fics if I want to finish my ongoing stories. This idea came to me when I learned about the red string legend. I tweaked it ever so slightly, but the main concept still stands. This one is a weird one, and I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

Pairing: Elvis (Or Austin!Elvis) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Teasing, Some Angst, Spelling and Grammatical Errors. Some information regarding the legend may be false. Let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 2.1k

You looked down at your ankle and let out a sigh. No matter how hard you worked to try and shorten the distance, it never seemed to lead you to anything… or anyone. You were getting on in years and quite frankly, you were about to give up and cut your string. Which honestly, you weren’t sure if you could even do that.

The story of the red string was one that everyone grew up with. It was a way to explain why they had a red string attached to their ankle. One end was attached to yours, and the other end was attached to your soulmate’s ankle. Once your soulmate was found, the string would turn to gold and would turn into an anklet. It was to indicate you had found your soulmate.

Most people found their soulmate early on. Middle school early on, hell some even met them while they were still babies! Yet, here you were in your thirties, and still… no golden anklet. You’ve been asked so many times why you wouldn’t follow it to the other end. The answer was simple, by the time you reached your soulmate the string would rip. Greed is what breaks the soulmate bond.

You were supposed to find your soulmate off of some fate. You would bump into each other and you would mold. You watched your friends and family mold with their soulmates and you were tired. While no one has ever dared to cut their string. It is said that if you cut your string you give up all hope and chance. When you cut your string you give up the chance of ever having a soulmate.

It wasn’t like you wanted to give up. Heck no! You wanted to get married and have kids. You couldn’t do that without finding your soulmate. It was very rare that you saw two people together with red strings still. They were the rule breakers. The ones who didn’t care much for finding their soulmate. You wish you could have been like that.

“I need two cheeseburgers and fries for table five!” You told the cook and placed the menus in their dedicated spot.

“Coming up!” The cook responded and got to work. You leaned down over the counter and placed your chin in the palm of your hand. You looked around at the couples in the diner. Each and every one of them had their gold anklets. It wasn’t fair. How come they found their soulmate and you were still standing around like a lost puppy.

“How’s the soulmate hunting coming?” Sherrie asked as she came riding on by. You turned your head over to her.

“Well, I’m still tripping over my own red death so I would say… shitty.” You responded as you watched her skate around. She frowned and made her way over to you.

“Hey, one day he’ll show up and… it will be so magical… so romantic… And hopefully not embarrassing like mine was when I met Chris.” She let out a pout. You remembered the day. It was like any other day in the diner. Well, besides the fact she bumped into someone. Everyone here was practically skilled at skating so bumping into someone was weird.

“But isn’t meeting them supposed to be out of the blue? That’s why you can’t just follow your string.” You explained to her. In every single story you’ve heard or read about, soulmates found each other out of the blue. It was when they least expected it.

“Do you want to meet your soulmate while covered in burning hot coffee?” She raised her eyebrow at you. A soft laugh left your mouth and you shook your head. She had you there.

“Table five, order up!” The ding broke you out of your conversation. You skated over to pick up the order and brought it over to the couple. You asked if there was anything else you could bring them. When you heard that no response, you made your way back over to Sherrie.

“He helped you clean up though, and apologized a bunch. Your eyes met and…” you smiled softly, “and it was like you two knew. That was your magical moment.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right.” She smiled as she remembered that meeting. You rolled your eyes playfully at her. After you two started to do some other tasks you heard a bunch of high-pitched screams. You turned your head towards the sound and found a multitude of girls crowded outside.

“What’s up with that?” You asked Sherrie. She raised her eyebrow in confusion as she looked outside.

“I have no idea,” she shrugged. You two decided to ignore the screams and got back to work. You cleaned up some of the tables and helped the customers. Pretty much what you did every day.

You looked over at the clock and did a mental celebration. It was your break, or at least it was about to be. Not only did you finally get to eat, but you only had half a day left. You announced to the other girls that you were going on your break and grabbed your lunch bag and headed out behind the building.

It was very rare that you ate food from the diner. The food there is amazing, but you just liked being able to make your own food. The cooks already had to make so much food, they shouldn’t have to cook for you too.

As you walked outside you shielded your eyes from the blasting sun. When your eyes adjusted to the new light you noticed a tall man standing over you. You let out a scream but it was soon concealed by his mouth.

“Please don’ yell,” The guy said. Okay, who the hell did this person think they were? Not only to be standing out behind your business of work but for putting his hands on you. You took the opportunity while he was distracted and bit down on his hand. He yelped in pain and pulled his hand away. “The hell was that for?!”

“You put your hands on me!” You looked up at the guy. “I should be the one saying that.” You huffed and walked away from the creepy man.

“That still don’ give ya the right to bite me.” He followed after you. You stopped in your step and turned to face him.

“Do you want me to call the cops on you?” You said it in more of a statement rather than a question. When you first stepped out you didn’t get a good look at him. But now looking at him, you saw who he was and you froze. Your mouth gaped open and you heard him laugh at your reaction.

You quickly closed up your mouth and marched away. That self-entitled prick! Does he really think that he deserves everything and an apology just because he’s Elvis!? Hell no he doesn’t. You just wanted to enjoy your lunch in peace, and yet you had to deal with this famous rockstar, who was too busy in his actor era.

Don’t get everything twisted up. You loved Elvis Presley, you thought he was a great singer and some of his movies were great. However, you were on your break. It was your personal time, and you didn’t want to have to interact with anyone or anything.

“Hang on now,” his southern accent wisped its way through your ears. You couldn’t help but feel your knees almost tremble. Those southern accents always got to you.

“What could the king possibly want with a little low-life servant like myself.” You looked at him annoyed. Any other time, you would be crying at seeing his beauty. Right now though, he was taking out the minutes of your half-hour break. Quite frankly, you didn’t appreciate one bit of it.

“‘M sure you’ve seen those girls out front, I-I just wanted someplace to eat… Figured I would try the back door.” He tried to explain himself. Whoever goes and tries the back door first off? Especially when there are big letters on the door that say Keep out.

“You know that’s for employees only right?” You pointed out to him. You didn’t know if he was missing his glasses or just blind. The back door held big letters on it saying employees only, keep out, amongst other sayings.

“Yes, I can read. But I fi-”

“You figured just because I’m Elvis Presley I can get what I want.” You mocked him. He looked at you annoyed. Out of all the workers he could have possibly bumped into, he got you. The girl who possibly wouldn’t care if he was some high-top celebrity or even the president.

“Are you-”

“No, I am not, because you are wasting my lunch.” You peered down at your watch, “You already waste ten minutes of my thirty. So, I am going to walk away before you take away the other twenty.” You turned and walked over to the picnic table. You sat down and opened your lunch box and started to eat.

There was this small outdoor eating area that the surrounding businesses use. It was a small beautiful area. Around summertime and the weekends, you guys would get around and have a cookout. The community was great, and to sit outside and eat while enjoying the fresh air… It really helped you calm down.

“So-” you let out a loud groan and looked down over Elvis. Why was he following you? Why did he feel the need to talk to you while you were on your break? You didn’t want to converse while on your break. You wanted to sit, eat your food, and calculate when you had to get back to work.

“What do you want?” You asked him as you munched down on your sandwich.

“You treat me differently.” He stated the obvious. You looked at him with the Are you kidding me look. “I… look, ‘m used to people always screamin’ and runnin’ towards me. You… you yell at me. You don’ praise me.”

“Oh yeah, no problem. I would do that to anyone who bothers me on break so… You’re nothing special.” You explained with a shrug of your shoulders. It was true, you were gently a nice person. When it came to your personal time though… that’s when you started to get grouchy.

“Well, your string would say otherwise.” You looked at him confused before you looked down at your ankle. The once red string was no longer there. When you left for break it was there and no- that only had to mean one thing.

“You got to be kidding me.” You spoke under your breath. You slowly turned your head to look at Elvis who had… a pleased look on his face. It was like that… you teased me and now I’m getting my revenge.

“Oh come on, I can’ be that bad.” He chuckled lightly.

“You have taken away so much of my break time… I disagree.” You said in response.

“Well, now ya don’ got to work anymore. I can provide.” Because that is something every girl wants to hear. Quit your job, stay home, cook and clean… look after the kids.

“Who says I even want to be with you.” You tilted your head to the side lightly.

“Are you one to go against your soulmate's choosing?” Elvis questioned. He had you there. You weren’t one to go against the person who marked you and Elvis as soulmates. There had to be a reason for it, and you just couldn’t see that right now.

“Absolutely. Because all I want right now is to eat my goddamn sandwich-”

“Y/n! Your break’s over!” The cook called out to you. You closed your eyes and breathed in a long thick breath. You got three bites out of your sandwich. Three goddamn bites! You dropped your sandwich down onto its wrap and rubbed your eyes.

“I have to get back to work.” You said softly and gathered your things before getting up. Looks like another day where you’ll starve a work. The rest of your shift should be very exciting.

“Before ya go, could I get ya number?” He questioned as he turned to face you. As you looked at him you let out a sigh. He was your soulmate and you had to accept that. Maybe he couldn’t be so bad. Plus… you would be able to travel the world.

“Visit me at closing and I’ll consider.” You told him and walked off. Unbeknownst to you, Elvis wore a smile on his face. This was certainly not how he planned his day, but he was glad he met his soulmate. He was glad, he met you.

Mutual Taglist: @darlinboypresley @emmymaehereeeeee @venus-haze @austinstyles

#asshlyyyy writes #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis fic #austin elvis x you #austin elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #austin!elvis #austin!elvis fic #austin!elvis imagine #austin!elvis angst #austin!elvis x reader #elvis fluff

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pxnsneverland · 4 months

Text

Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 3)

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 2,714

warnings/notes: n/a

Chapter 3: From the Gamble to the Carriage

Lord Austin Butler rose, his height casting a long shadow over the dimly lit room, the light catching the icy determination in his eyes. "You owe me nothing," he said with measured calmness, though there was an undercurrent of danger in his voice that made even Rat’s hardened associates shift uncomfortably in their seats. "However, you owe Miss Everly here the courtesy of not treating her as chattel."

Violet's heart skipped a beat at his words. The notorious Lord Butler, known equally for his ruthless dealings and his unexpected bouts of benevolence, was intervening on her behalf? She dared not let hope flicker too brightly, for fear it would be snuffed out just as quickly.

Rat's gaze flickered between Violet and Lord Butler, assessing the situation with a serpent's calculating eyes. "And why would you care about this girl, my lord?" Rat asked, his tone dripping with disdain. "What is she to you?"

Austin’s lips curled into a slight smile that did not reach his cold blue eyes. "Let's just say I dislike debts being settled through such... unsavory means," he replied smoothly. "Release her from your clutches or find yourself with an enemy you do not want."

Rat hesitated, weighing his options. He knew better than to cross the Butler family, and the debt he was owed, as large as it was, paled in comparison to the weight of their ire. Reluctantly, he let go of Violet's wrist. "Fine," Rat spat out.

"But don't think this is the end of it, Butler. I'll remember this."

Violet felt her wrist freed from Rat's greasy grip, her skin burning where his fingers had clung. She rubbed at the red marks silently, not daring to meet anyone's eyes. The ominous echo of Rat’s threat hung heavy in the air, a dark cloud promising a storm yet to come.

Austin didn't respond to Rat's parting shot; instead, he turned his attention to Violet. Violet's throat tightened. What could Lord Butler possibly want with someone like her? Was this another form of debt, one more personal and potentially perilous? Yet, what choice did she have but to accept his offer? The alternative—remaining under Rat's watchful and undoubtedly vengeful eye—was far worse. As the ruckus of the club resumed, a cacophony of raucous laughter and clinking glasses attempting to mask the tension that had just unfolded, Lord Butler's hand extended towards Violet.

"Come," he said, his voice a low command that brooked no argument. "Let us leave this place."

Violet hesitated, her mind racing with the possible consequences of trusting this enigmatic man. Yet as she glanced back at her father, who was now engrossed in a heated dice game, oblivious to her plight, she knew she had little choice. Swallowing hard, she placed her trembling hand in his. Lord Butler led her through the throng of bodies, his presence parting the crowd like a ship cleaving through dark waters. They stepped out into the cool night air, and Violet drew a deep breath, feeling as if she could breathe for the first time in hours. As they walked down the dimly lit cobblestone street, the cold night wrapping around them like an unwelcome cloak, Violet's mind swirled with a mixture of relief and trepidation. Lord Butler's steps were sure and silent, a stark contrast to the chaotic drumming of her own heart.

"Why did you help me?" she finally mustered the courage to ask, her voice barely above a whisper. She could not rid herself of the notion that every kindness must have its price, especially from someone of Lord Butler’s known reputation.

Austin paused, turning to face her under the faint glow of a street lamp. His features softened somewhat in the dim light, yet his eyes remained inscrutable. "You looked like you needed a way out.”

His reply, simple as it was, carried a weight that hung between them in the cool night air. Violet's eyes searched his, looking for any hint of deceit or malice, but found none that she could discern. She was not naive enough to think this marked the end of her troubles, but for a fleeting moment under the flickering streetlamp, she allowed herself to feel a semblance of safety.

"Where are we going?" Violet asked after a moment, her voice steadier than she felt.

"To my estate," Austin stated, his tone suggesting that further questions might not be welcome. "It’s safer there—for now."

The word 'safe' echoed in her mind like a promise too precious to trust. But what choice did she have? Going back was not an option; moving forward with this enigmatic lord was the only path left open to her. As they continued to walk, Austin's silence enveloped them as effectively as the fog that began to roll in from the river. The fog seemed to cloak their movements, a spectral shroud that masked the uncertainty of their destination. Violet's thoughts churned as violently as the river beside which they walked, each step taking her further away from a life of misery yet potentially closer to a new kind of danger. Lord Butler's stride was purposeful, his posture erect with an authority that commanded respect—even fear—but his silence was a puzzle she could not solve.

The fog seemed to cloak their movements, a spectral shroud that masked the uncertainty of their destination. Violet's thoughts churned as violently as the river beside which they walked, each step taking her further away from a life of misery yet potentially closer to a new kind of danger. Lord Butler's stride was purposeful, his posture erect with an authority that commanded respect—even fear—but his silence was a puzzle she could not solve. Every so often, he glanced over his shoulder, as if to ensure she was still there or to check that they were not being followed. The tightness of his jaw and the occasional narrowing of his eyes spoke of concerns he did not voice, adding another layer to his already enigmatic persona.

Violet's mind raced with questions about this man who had appeared so unexpectedly in her life. What drove him to intervene on her behalf? Was it merely distaste for the unsavory dealings of men like Rat, or was there something deeper, more personal at stake for him? His world was one of power and privilege, so far removed from her own experiences that she found it hard to believe their paths were meant to cross in any meaningful way. Yet here she was, following him into the unknown, driven by a desperation that made her cling to the fragile hope he offered.

As they approached a carriage waiting at the end of the street, its doors opened as if by magic, revealing a plush interior lit by soft lanterns. Violet paused, her heart pounding anew—not from fear this time, but from the sheer otherworldliness of the scene before her. Austin, noticing her hesitation, offered his hand once again, his expression unreadable.

"Trust me," he murmured, the words barely audible above the distant rumble of the city nightlife. The invitation was simple, yet it carried the weight of an unspoken promise—a promise that Violet found herself inexplically wanting to believe, despite every reason she had to doubt. Tentatively, Violet placed her hand in his once more, stepping into the carriage while trying to suppress the fluttering in her chest. The soft cushions enveloped her as she settled into a seat opposite Austin. The door shut with a definitive thud, sealing them together in this moving sanctuary from the outside world.

As the carriage lurched forward, Austin leaned back against the upholstery, his gaze fixed out of the window, lost in thoughts he did not share. Violet watched him covertly, studying his profile—the sharp jawline, the furrow between his brows that spoke of concentration or concern. He seemed both part of this opulent world and yet isolated from it. Her curiosity deepened, entwining with the threads of apprehension that wove through her mind. What lay at the end of this unexpected journey? What awaited her at Lord Butler’s estate? These questions spun in her mind like a whirlwind, leaving her dizzy with uncertainty.

The carriage wheels rhythmically hit against the cobblestones, a steady and hypnotic sound that seemed to echo the pulsing of her own heart. As they traveled further away from the life she knew, the streetlights became scarcer, plunging the carriage into periods of shadow interspersed with bursts of light.

Breaking the silence, Austin finally turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "You must have many questions," he said, his voice calm and somehow reassuring despite the situation.

Violet nodded, her throat tight with nervousness. "Yes, sir. I assume you bought me for your own…personal uses.”

Austin raised a brow trying to keep a smirk off his lips. “Personal uses?”

Violet narrowed her eyes. She didn’t enjoy him acting sly. She was not stupid. “Personal pleasure, my lord. That is what my father sold me to Rat for.”

He could no longer hold back his chuckle which made Violet even more angry. “You are rather blunt, Miss Everly.” Austin moved his gaze directly to hers. There was a teasing nature in his eyes that made Violet lean away from him slowly. “My intentions are my own. But I can assure you, they are not what you think.”

The assurance did little to quell the tempest inside her. Violet's eyes flitted away from his, focusing on the darkened landscape rolling past the carriage windows. Each word he spoke seemed layered with meaning she couldn't quite decipher. She was painfully aware of the close quarters, the way his presence seemed to fill up every inch of the space.

"If not for your pleasure, then what?" Violet's voice was steady now, edged with a quiet defiance. She needed to understand the web she was being drawn into, regardless of how tangled it appeared.

Austin paused, regarding her with a look that mixed amusement with a hint of admiration. "You're full of fire, aren't you?" he remarked, his tone lighter than the heavy atmosphere that filled the carriage.

Austin's smile faded as he considered her words, and for a moment, the playful spark in his eyes gave way to something more somber. "Fair enough," he conceded. "I am not in the business of buying souls, Miss Everly. Nor am I interested in such mundane transactions as those suggested." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "I needed to remove you from a dangerous situation."

Violet remained silent, her mind racing as she processed his words. The carriage rolled onwards, the sound of the horses’ hooves a steady beat against the cobblestone, mirroring the tumultuous rhythm of her thoughts.

"Why me?" she found herself asking again. The question had been burning inside her since the moment he'd intervened between her and her father.

Austin's gaze softened. "Sometimes," he started, pausing as if choosing his words carefully, "we find ourselves in positions to make changes in others' lives. And sometimes, we are compelled to act upon it."

"But why? What is in it for you?" Violet couldn’t help but press further. Her life had taught her that nothing was done without some gain sought.

Austin looked out of the window for a long moment before turning back to face her. His expression was unreadable. "Let’s just say I am settling a debt of my own," he confessed softly. His cryptic admission hung in the air, dense as the fog that crept silently around the carriage wheels. Violet felt the weight of his words, each one laden with hidden meanings she could not yet decipher. She sat back against the plush seat, her mind awhirl with possibilities and fears.

"What kind of debt can be settled by involving a stranger?" Violet asked, her voice low, almost swallowed by the creaking of the carriage and the distant calls of night creatures.

Austin's face remained impassive for a long moment as he pondered her question. Finally, he turned to her, his blue eyes piercing in their intensity. "The kind that weighs heavily on a man's conscience," he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Sometimes our pasts are riddled with decisions we wish we could undo. Helping you might be a step towards redemption for me."

Violet absorbed his words, turning them over in her mind like stones pulled from a riverbed, smooth and opaque. Redemption. The concept was foreign to her — a luxury far beyond her reach. In Violet's world, survival was the only moral code, and every day was a battle against despair. Yet looking into Austin's eyes, she saw a flicker of something relatable — a shared understanding of pain and regret. Perhaps, in his own tangled web of guilt and redemption, there was a thread she could hold onto, a thread that could lead them both towards something resembling salvation.

The carriage rolled on, enveloping them in the cocoon of its silent progress through the night. Violet found herself drawn into the rhythm of their journey, the steady beat of hooves syncing with her own tumultuous thoughts. Austin was an enigma—a man cloaked in privilege yet burdened by unseen chains. Could she trust him? Trust was a luxury scarcely afforded in her world, and yet, as the miles unfurled behind them like a ribbon in the wind, she sensed an inexplicable bond forming—an invisible thread pulled tight by circumstances.

"Lord Butler," Violet ventured cautiously, her voice a tentative whisper against the thrum of movement. "If redemption is what you seek, what role am I to play in it? Am I merely a pawn in your path to absolution?"

Austin turned his head slowly, fixing her with a look that melded wariness with an odd sense of respect. "Not a pawn," he said softly, correcting her with a firm tone. "Consider yourself more…an unexpected ally."

Violet processed this label, rolling it around her mind like a puzzle piece searching for its perfect fit. Ally—not captive nor servant, but a co-conspirator in a game the rules of which were still unclear to her. The shift in perspective was both empowering and daunting.

A small smile played at the corners of Austin's lips—an expression that transformed his usually stern features into something unexpectedly tender. "I promise all will be made clear in time," he assured her. "For now, rest and gather your strength.”

Violet nodded, though the concept of rest felt as elusive as the changing shadows outside the carriage window. She was too wound up with a mix of caution and curiosity. Every fiber of her being vibrated with the need to decipher Austin Butler, to understand his angles and anticipate his moves. As the carriage dipped into another shadow, Violet glanced back towards Austin. He was looking out the window, the profile of his face caught intermittently in the flickers of light that breached their isolation. There was a ruggedness to him that she hadn't noticed before—a weary battle scar here, a tightness around his eyes there—marks of a man acquainted with troubles she could only guess at. She found herself wondering about the demons that haunted him, about what grievous past actions could drive a man of his stature to seek redemption through the aid of someone as inconsequential as herself. It seemed implausible and yet, here they were, wrapped in layers of dark secrets and moonlit confessions.

The carriage creaked on, and Violet felt her eyelids grow heavy against her will. The rhythm of their travel lulled her into a reluctant drowsiness. Before she succumbed completely to sleep, she made herself a promise—not to let her guard down, not even in the comfort of this luxurious carriage or the intriguing company of Lord Butler. No matter how gentle his tone or how sincere his words might seem, Violet knew that survival meant never fully exposing her vulnerabilities.

As sleep claimed her, her mind spun with a collage of fears and fragmented dreams. She dreamt of dark corridors and whispered promises, of escaping shadows that morphed into comforting arms, and always, always, there was Austin—his piercing blue eyes offering both salvation and sorrow.

Stay tuned for part 4!! Click HERE to view!

Taglist: @buckysteveloki-me

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crash-and-cure · 1 year

Text

Been a Thorn in the Side of Man (Yandere!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: In her twenty years of the business, Jimena’s seen just about the worst Hollywood has to offer. However all of that failed to prepare her for the likes of Elvis Presley.

A/N: Yikes on bikes, this took alot longer than I was expecting. I would like to personally thank @stylespresleyhearted for keeping me motivated to write and allowing me to bounce ideas off her and on top of all of that making the beautiful mood board above. I was just able to release this on my birthday so there's that lol. Based off of this request.

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior. Dubious Consent in regards to coersion being involved. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f.recieving), doggy style and mating press, and not to mention huge breeding kink on his part. BIG TRIGGER Warning for some suicidal ideation on his part. Loss of family members. Drug overdose. Mentions of Pregnancy. Self-loathing. Probably more that I am blanking on. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Word Count: I’m gonna be honest, stopped counting after 30K (don’t judge me)

Then

There’s an odd sense of calm once one officially accepts that they’re alone in the world. It’s easier in a way to accept that no one will ever truly look out for her, than it is to have to face the earth-shattering disappointment that is having believed for a moment that someone would.

These are the thoughts going through her head as Jimi slowly folded her daily copy of the Excelsior.

Most women would be violently mad after having read what she just did, but it was almost a relief to finally have an answer to why he has really been so absent in her life these last few months. It’s not like it should be surprising to her really, this town having shown her for years what it thinks about women like her: Seductive, temptress, exotic, temperamental, alluring… disposable.

It’s a story told time and time again in Los Angeles. Orson Welles and Dolores Huerta, Gary Cooper and Lupe Velez, and now Elvis Presely and Jimena Perez can be added to those ranks of doomed romances.

I’d rather kiss three black women than a single Mexican woman, those are the words that ring within Jimenas head as she sits at her little breakfast table, though for what it’s worth it is nothing less than a deliberate action. As masochistic as it sounds she truly believes it’s for the better should she ever get to thinking this situation is in any way fixable.

But even still as she stares unblinkingly at the plain wall of her just recently occupied home, she is a little confused as to why her vision gets cloudy. It takes her a moment to comprehend that she’s crying, something that she so rarely does these days anymore.

And to think this is all over some musician.

She’ll never forget the first time she met him in person, all the standard camera and makeup testing that comes from early production. She’s far from the most experienced makeup assistant at Paramount, but in their words she’s the only makeup girl they trust to “behave” around him. Having grown up in the business, Jimena’s all but lost her ability to be starstruck by anybody really, so they’re not too far off in this notion.

As they were explaining the whole purpose of this to the relatively green actor, she looked at him with a critical eye, examining his features, comparing it to other actors she had already worked on in the past, and trying to recall how best to highlight them on screen.

He catches her looking at him and he shoots her a wicked smile, but where other girls would’ve gotten embarrassed at being caught staring she only redoubles her efforts now that she’s got a better look at his face, arguably staring even harder at him. In a funny turn of events he’s the one that looks away bashfully as though she were the one that caught him looking.

While her official production title is as the resident makeup artist, she’s personally worked almost every job there is to have on a set save for actually sitting in the big chair and directing. Lights, costuming, talent wrangling, she’s seen and done just about all of it. She had been working behind the scenes since she was 14, where with a little bit of makeup trickery, she was not only able to convince everybody that she was an adult, but that she was the new hire. This would eventually give way to getting actually hired, as they simply trusted the fact given she was already on the lot.

And somewhere between watching Dorothy Gale throw up in her own purse and seeing Rhett Butler remove his own teeth, did the whole concept of Hollywood movie magic well and truly die in her mind.

Drugs, drinks, boys, girls, and every other vice to be had, Jimena’s seen even the most clean cut of stars fall into at least one category or another. So when she got the news she was gonna be on a project with him of all people, she had thought she had well and truly prepared for anything this man could throw her way.

But when she actually gets a good up-close look at him, she starts to get that sinking feeling in her stomach. Not for anything he did or how he looked, but the way he acted. She heard his stuttering words and felt his soft cheeks in her hands, and there was only one thought in her head throughout the whole process.

Pobrecito they’re gonna eat you alive.

All her years in this business, she’s got a pretty good grasp when people are being genuine or not. And he’s perhaps the most genuine person she had ever encountered. Wide-eyed bumpkin from down south was hardly new, but there was just something about Elvis Presley that made it a tinge more tragic than it would be normally.

She barely spoke that first meeting, the higher ups weren’t that interested in her words these days, nor did he really try to initiate anymore conversation with the way his mouth was gaping at her. Hardly a new experience, but admittedly a little less unwelcome coming from him.

So it took her by surprise the first day of shooting when he said “I didn’t get the pleasure of catchin’ your name last time,” he said with a grin as she set down her make-up kit.

She’s quick to recover with a “Because I didn’t give it.”

He gives a short huff at that before insisting once again since after all, she’s gonna be around him for the next ten or so weeks.

“You can call me Jimi,” she says, barely sparing him a glance in favor of looking over the notes of what today’s scene will call for.

“That really your name sweetheart?” which is not unfair to ask. It wasn’t her first choice, but it is the one that distanced her the most from her old stage name.

“White people can’t pronounce it,” she justified as she tied her hair up with her favorite red bandana. “So I don’t bother with it here.” It’s sort of the truth, and that’s usually enough to get even the more obnoxiously “nice” ones off her back.

“Well I’m willing to give it a shot,” he says amiably, apparently up for the challenge that she presents.

She takes his chin in her hands and with a soft smile on her lips, and while he’s blushing up a storm she looks down at him and says a simple “No.”

He’s taken aback both by her words and the sudden spray of water from the bottle in her hand. She could’ve given a cursory warning to him but she has to remind herself that this entire situation works best when actors are indifferent towards her.

It’s for the best, she tells herself. The less you say about yourself, the better, she wants nothing more than to keep her Mena and Nena days far in the past.

Though it soon became clear that it wasn’t meant to be.

“Y’know…” he starts off as he’s looking at her in the mirror. “Ya kinda look like that one girl, uhh what’s her name.” He says snapping his fingers trying to force him to remember even though you know for a fact who he’s talking about. “Elena Somethin’.”

“Elena Leon?” she sighs, knowing already where this is going.

“That’s the one,” he would say, snapping his fingers in recognition. “Though, ‘tween the two of ya’, I think you’re the prettier one.”

“Hmm…” she answers, pursing her lips and practically shutting down as he quickly changes the subject to how excited he is to be working on another movie set. She didn’t engage much after that outside of the occasional hum of acknowledgement, until he eventually gave-up and would forlornly read his script.

That wouldn’t stop him the next day from telling her about how his dumbass cousin made him late this morning and all the antics they get up to back in Memphis.

Or the next when he asked if Pink’s was actually any good or if it’s all just hype.

So on and so forth for the next few days as he would try to get her to talk to him again.

She had been determined to just treat him like any other actor she had worked with, and just do her job, but then she saw him getting really cozy with a certain girl on set. Now on-set flings are par for the course on any production, and literally anyone else she wouldn’t have batted an eye, but she knows for a fact that that one is known to be dangerous. Well she’s not so dangerous, but her husband is.

“Stay away from her,” she would whisper to him one day as she applied some eyeshadow trying to imitate a black eye.

“So you do speak,” he says, cracking an eye open, a triumphant smile on his face as though he’s won some great victory over her.

“Yes, so listen to me,” she counters, her eyes boring into his to show him how serious she is.

“Why do you care so much darlin’?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow, a small smile on his lips, still apparently not taking her seriously.

“My job is to keep you pretty for the cameras,” she states, in as matter of fact as she can manage. “You’re going to make that a lot harder if you don’t listen to me, and her husband beats the shit out of you.”

“She’s married?” he asked, astonished that he could miss such a thing. “M-my manager said she could get me some good roles, that her Daddy is some big-time producer” he argues back.

“Yes,” Jimena clarifies. “Her husband, who she calls daddy, can get you one very high paying role, and that’s only if you let him watch. If your manager didn’t know this, he’s a dumbass.”

“Let him watch what?” he asks, confused. Her pursed lips, refusal to meet his eyes, and following silence speaks volumes, as his own cobalt eyes go comically wide as to what she was implying. “Her husband?” he says, and she gives him a small affirmative nod. “And he watches?” A raise of her brows as her eyes slide away from him just reaffirms this unorthodox situation. “So… Wait a second… does he or does he not like it when she’s with other men?”

“Both,” she states, adding the finishing touches to her work. “He likes to watch and after that he beats the shit out of the boy in question.” And even though she’s pretty secure in the fact that no one is listening in, she still gets close to him to whisper this last part into his ear. “It’s apparently the only way he can get it up anymore.”

The fact that she sees his ears go bright red from just that little tidbit of information just really goes to show how green he still is in regards to how things work in this town.

“How d’ya know all this?” he asks, more than a little disturbed now.

Not to brag but she regards herself as a wealth of information on the comings and goings of the Hollywood elite. Close enough to the action to overhear everything but low enough in the pecking order that most assume she’s incapable of doing anything about it.

But this is basic information that even the lowliest of extras were privy to, so you can’t fathom how a man with a near meteoric rise to stardom wouldn’t know this.

“Are you kidding?” she would in turn ask him. “Everybody knows.”

“Wait if everybody knows then why doesn’t anyone put a stop to it?” he asks, trying to find logic in a city not exactly known for it.

“Because the only thing more powerful than secrets in this town is money, and he’s got a lot to keep everyone quiet.”

Besides it’s only a matter of time before something gives in that tragedy waiting to happen. From all the whisperings Jimena’s been hearing, the girl in question has been keeping some rendezvous’ secret from her husband and more or less bragging that there’s no prenup in place. While he in turn has turned his eyes to some pretty little barely legal extra, he’s also very Catholic, doesn’t believe in divorce, and has rumored connections to the mob.

Not even a week later did she hear whisperings that the very same producer had quickly sold all his stock in Paramount and decided to retire to the French Riviera with his wife seemingly overnight though there are conflicting reports as to whether or not she was seen at the airport. Coincidentally no one has seen hide nor hair from the last lowly actor she was seen running around with.

Usually she kept her mouth shut about the dirtier details of an incident of this magnitude, but she couldn't help herself when she let him know the full extent as to the bullet he had dodged.

“That's why you don’t get involved with fixers wives,” she says simply as she grabs the spray bottle for his hair, a little more secure in the knowledge that he isn’t so green anymore.

“Fixers?” he asks, and she laughs initially thinking he’s pretending to not know as is the custom when somebody on the outside asks about them. But then she sees he’s not laughing along with her, and his confusion is genuine.

“You are not kidding are you?” she asks incredulously, truly hoping that this man is not so naive.

“Can’t say that I am,” he replies.

Now she has two options, mind her own business and let this boy sink or swim on his own, or enlighten him to the dark underbelly of what it takes to make it in this town. Jimena had spent the last few years keeping her ear to the ground and gathering as much information as she could to one day be able to leverage it to help one person specifically… but that person hasn’t wanted much to do with her lately.

Still she finds herself leaning more into the staying in her lane option, that is until his wide ocean blue eyes turn towards her, and she feels like a monster for the thought.

“Well everybody around here has a job, and it’s to make movies that make money. Your job is to make the studio look good on and off screen so people spend money to see these movies,” she says as she runs a comb through his hair. “And when you fuck that up, it’s the fixers job to cover it up.”

“When?” he repeated, clearly a little offended.

“Yes, when,” she clarified. “Get caught with a boy, get caught holding something you’re not supposed to, get a mistress pregnant, get a ‘social’ disease, or hell, even find yourself with a dead body on your hands, you just gotta call the right producer and they make it all disappear.” She knows she’s being pretty blunt with the subject but she has been in the business pretty much right out of the womb, so she’s seen some of the worst shit this town has to offer.

Over the next few weeks she does her best to let him in on the need to know knowledge that is necessary to survive not just in Paramount, but in Hollywood as a whole.

“If you work with John, he’ll call you a communist for stirring your coffee the wrong way so I would avoid him. Canter’s is actually the place you want to go to for great food, Pink’s is just okay. Gable’s breath smells like death, but he will bury you if you ever mention it. Umm…” she says trying to recall any other helpful advice, though stops when she sees his overwhelmed expression. “Am I going too fast?”

He quickly schools his expression, back into one a more affable look, “Nothin’ you gotta worry ‘bout darlin’”

She is not buying it though.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, unwilling to believe his dismissal. He clammed up even more and looked straight into the mirror until she sat herself right in front of him, crossed your arms, raised an eyebrow, and gave him a look telling him she wasn't about to drop this.

It’s a bit of a standoff until he eventually lets out a long breath and looks out the window to the awaiting set outside of his trailer, “I don’t know Jimi…” he sighs. “Guess I’m just feelin’ some type a way doin’ all this.”

“Why?” she asks, not really thinking.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for acting.”

She simply gives a sympathetic shrug of her shoulders, and simply states, “You could be better.”

He blinks, apparently caught off guard by her bluntness. “You just get right to the point, don'tcha darlin’,” he says with a smile.

“Hey if you want someone to kiss your ass, you would’ve been better off asking literally anyone else.”

He gives a snort but the tight smile tells her she’s hit the nail on the head. “Alright then sweetheart, what’dya think I’m doin’ wrong?” he asks genuinely.

Part of her wants to give a very pithy “everything,” but the other part of her is a little thrown for the fact that he is not only listening but actively asking for her advice on the matter. Granted she’s far from an expert considering she hasn’t done it in years, but she’s worked with some of the “greats’ to be confident enough in her ability to know good acting from bad. Besides she’s already going out of her way to let him in on the secrets of this town, so what’s an acting lesson or two.

“Well for one thing, it’s called acting,” she emphasizes, “Not Wording.”

“I-I don’t follow.”

“Look… anybody can simply say the lines, but it’s an actor that can bring a character to life. You gotta be able to get comfortable with the fact that you’re not only being heard, but you’re being seen.”

“Sweetheart everybody sees me.”

“Yeah and you’re in charge of how you want to be seen,” she says. “Do you know why I wear the same red bandana everyday?”

“I was thinkin’ cuz you were tryin’ ta hide a bald spot,” he answers, which earns him a swift punch to the nipple.

“I wear it because my options are to be known as the mexican girl or as the bandana girl,”

“So right now they’re seeing you Elvis, not Deke,” she sighs. “Say what you want about Brando and his annoying refusal to learn his goddamn lines, but he makes you believe every word that comes out of his mouth, because he believes what he’s saying at that moment…Speaking of Brando,” she pivots hard before she gets too passionate about the topic of acting and gives herself away. “Never get into a pissing contest with him. That’s how Anthony Quinn lost out on being a leading man… and I do mean a pissing contest in the most literal sense.”

“I’ll take ya word for it Jimi, but you sure do know alot ‘bout bein’ an actor,” he says giving her a once over that she can’t quite read. “You eva try bein’ one before?”

“You could say that,” she remarks, silently praying he doesn’t ask why she does have these skills. He’d already noticed over the past few weeks how she would be roped into fixing problems that were well beyond the paygrade of the average make-up girl like jumpstarting golf cars or fixing light fixtures. His attention is a bit infuriating, considering she feels she does her best work unnoticed. “When you've been in the business as long as I have, you learn a thing or two.”

“So how long you been in the business?”

Without missing a beat. “50 years.”

He gives a double take at that, and she’s pretty sure he’s trying to discern whether she’s lying or not. She’s not helping whatsoever with her usual neutral demeanor, until for the first time in years she does crack a bit of a smile at him, as she snipes with a, “I’m a very good make-up girl.”

He laughs at that “So you’ll tell me you’re real age but not your real name darlin’?

“Never.”

He gives an amused snort at that but the nice moment is interrupted when one of the PA’s pulls her away so she can help restart Gleason’s heart after his partner apparently got a little too enthusiastic about choking him mid-orgasm.

After that the relationship between the two seemed to ease up a bit. He no longer felt the need to posture in front of her and they developed something of a -dare she say it- friendship with one another. For her, it’s a pretty novel experience to actually be heard on set for once, and the closer they got she got the sense that he may understand that feeling more than he would like to let on.

“Any news?” he would ask, knowing full well that she always has the best stories on set. She doesn’t really talk to any of the other actors on set, and they in turn don’t really notice her, so they are a lot freer with their words when they speak with one another in front of her.

“So… you didn’t hear it from me,” you say as you begin to wet his hair. “But apparently a certain Superman is on his way out and was seen with a younger girl in New York, and Toni is not taking it well.”

“And Toni’s husband?”

“Taking it worse,” she says simply as she readies the eyeliner. “This was always going to happen, but I don’t think it’s the end of it.” she promises, which would be proven right a few years down the line when George “mysteriously” ended up with a bullet in his head.

“You’re the reason I don't even bother with them papers no more,” he remarks.

“They’re not all trash,” you defend. “There’s almost always a little bit of truth in them.”

“Speakin’ a rumors,” he continues. “I think I finally figured out why you look like Elena Leon so much?” he says, oh-so casually trying to maintain his innocence.

She stops combing through his hair, knowing that the jig was up.

“Who told you?” she asks, trying to mentally prepare herself for the same three things everyone said when they did find out. It’s always an awkward subject to bring up especially as it brings up some painful memories of long hours and relationships that have yet to recover.

“Y’know me and my mama used to watch your movies,” he says with an annoyingly charming smile.

“I’m glad,” she says in the most neutral tone.

“Lord I never could’ve expected to meet you here, workin’ behind the scenes. You ever think about actin’ again?”

“Oh my sister is the actress now,” she said affably. Something well-rehearsed and practically scorched into her brain since Jimena started working on sets when she was fifteen was to always talk up Elena to anybody who would listen.

“Well thas a cryin’ shame sweetheart,” he says with a rakish grin on his face. “You were always my favorite.”

That’s new, she thought. Usually they ask her to do the old catchphrase. That or men tend to get weird around the idea of women who look almost exactly the same.

But the idea of being the favorite is… different. Like every other relationship, she has a complicated one with the idea of being seen. But the idea of Elvis being the one to look at her is somewhere between exciting and terrifying, and it has her heart beating just a little bit faster.

“Why didn’tcha go back?” he continues. She kind of understands where his curiosity comes from, as someone who so desperately wanted to break into the Hollywood scene it would probably be hard to comprehend someone who knew it and rejected it.

The Leon Twins were the biggest little things since Shirley Temple. With their indistinguishable looks and charming, if slightly demeaning, premise of one sister only able to speak Spanish with the other, only English, MGM was able to pump out over thirty various movies and shorts starring the adorable little Mena and Nena and their hijinx.

How is she supposed to explain how her mother made the unilateral decision that her sister was the “good” one and thus the one she decided would have the solo career after Jimena had the gall to go into puberty first and become slightly more distinguishable than her younger sister. Or how she hasn't talked to her sister in months despite the fact they both still live with their mother, and neither of them have acknowledged this. Or how the reason she took this job in the first place was to better lookout for said sister who isn’t talking to her.

How she sees fame as a beast of madness and obsession that will consume her given half a chance as it did with her mother and now her sister. But movies are all she’s ever known and the idea of leaving seems scarier than it is to stay.

How the thought of having so many eyes on her once again makes her practically want to claw her skin off and she’d rather die than ever willingly step back into that arena.

She doesn't say any of that, instead she simply says, “Got tired of it,” as she puts the finishing touches on his hair. “I had my time in front of the camera,” and hated every second of it, she thought. “And I think I’m better suited behind it,” and you give a dramatic turn of his chair so that he could face the mirror. “As you can see.”

“Yeah,” he says, taking the hand you placed on his shoulder and looking back up at you. “I don’t know what’d I do without ya sweetheart.”

Seeing his cobalt blue eyes bore into her own, Jimena feels her face heat up, though mercifully it’s hidden under her darker complexion. If Elvis notices her change, he doesn't acknowledge it, and mercifully that is when one of the PA’s calls him to the sound stage.

Once he’s out she sprays her own face with a bottle to get herself under control.

In spite of her typically neutral regard for actors there’s just simply something about Elvis Presley that just made her want to throw that all away.

She had sworn to herself to never get involved with actors, she had seen this song and dance play out many a times before. It comes in different flavors, but the final scene is always the same at the end of the day: the famous white man never chooses the latin girl to be his wife. Arm-candy? Definitely. Date? Yes. Long-time Girlfriend? Sure. Fiance with a wedding date never set? Maybe. Mistress? Obviously. But never the wife.

Besides, it was the tail-end of shooting and it’s unlikely she was ever gonna work with him again so she decided to just stamp these feelings down and hope they went away. She was afterall an actress once, she can act like he doesn’t have an affect on her now.

Though this was blown out of the water on the last day of shooting and he would not only pull her next to him for the cast wrap-up picture, but he would also slip an invitation to the wrap-party in her purse. She had gone home hoping to take a nap and forget about Elvis Presley, only for the next curveball of her day to occur.

“Should we match for the party?” Elena would ask, holding up said invitation.

“...did… did you look through my purse to find that?”

“We better start getting ready,” her sister would say, completely bypassing the question. “After all it’s not everyday that Hollywood gets a Leon Twins reunion.”

“...yeah, I-I don’t think going would be…”

“Meeeennnnnaaaa…” she whines, completely abusing the fact that she is the only one allowed to use that name and not catch a fist to the face. “We need to go together, because why else would they just invite a makeup girl to a wrap party?”

Why else indeed? She thinks and she actively has to scrub the way he looked at her out of her mind lest she get any other ideas.

“Besides,” she says, giving Jimena a light shove on the shoulder. “You still owe me for never introducing me to James Dean.”

“I barely knew him,” she argues back, which is the truth. He only vaguely knew her as “Snake girl” when she was working as a PA for one of his movies. The closest she ever got to him was after she managed to save him, Rock, and Liz from a snake that had trapped them in his trailer and their subsequent thank-you’s being signed photos of each of them that they had their assistants bring to her. There’s a certain irony in the fact that of the few movies to depict the plight of Mexican-Americans in the US, they had no problem giving her, one of the few Mexican crew members, the most dangerous task because everybody else was too valuable to lose.

Looking at her sister, her reflection in many ways, she feels her resolve begin to waiver a bit. Nena was her first job in a sense, as being the older sister it was Jimena’s responsibility to look out for her first and foremost. She took it so seriously that she’s still doing it to this day.

They have always been so intrinsically entwined as an act. Their tiny hand prints immortalized in front of Grauman’s and the child-sized oscar with both of their names somewhere around here prove that much. But Elena now struggles to find that same level of fame as before, and secretly Jimena doubts that this will ever be possible.

She couldn’t understand it but Jimena could see the reason as clear as day.

There’s an unspoken rule about being a latin or black actress in Hollywood when you’re not the star of the show: Never outshine the white leading ladies, because it has to be believable that the white leading man chooses the leading lady.

Joan Crawford was bad enough with actresses who had the gall to be simply younger than her, but she was especially vicious toward the ones who had skin tone darker than ivory. Jimena remembers one harrowing set where this one little Cuban extra had made the awful mistake of approaching Joan and saying how she wanted to be as big a star as her one day.

They never did find her ear, and Jimena had made it a point to stop wearing hoop earrings on set altogether. The whole incident was swept under the rug after “someone” accused the poor girl of being a communist, and they did who knows what with her. But that just confirmed her and other girls like her are unlikely to be protected on set no matter how valuable you make yourself.

Jimena told her sister this story, warning her to dull herself down a bit during auditions, if only to get her foot in the door and get more consistent work as secondary characters. And it was working for a time, but she wasn’t seeing the kind of work she wanted and she largely blamed Jimena for it because of her warnings to play it safe.

In fact the source of their recent falling out was when Jimena had tried to convince her to try out cinema in Italy or Mexico or literally anywhere else in the world and use that as a branching off point to get an in in Hollywood. She flat out refused saying how she “doesn’t want to die in obscurity like you.” They didn’t talk for a solid month after that and since then it was only the barest of communication between them.

“Imagine if I was seen with Elvis Presley,” she said now, with stars in her eyes. “The roles would come pouring in after that.”

For all that it left a sour taste in her mouth, Jimena could understand the logic of wanting to latch on to someone who's already getting up there in terms of fame. Fuck the studios themselves sometimes set up these types of arrangements, all for the sake of promoting up and comers.

And the fact he invited her in the first place, probably means he had something else on his mind for the evening. Besides he’s apparently been a fan of theirs for a long time, it probably wouldn’t matter too much to him to which sister he was handed at the end of the day.

So really everybody wins with this arrangement; Elena gets a bump to her star power, Elvis gets to fuck one of the Leon twins, Jimena gets to stay in her lane. And it’s with a heavy heart that she agrees to go.

The evening was apparently so special that their mother decided to make one of her rare appearances before sunset.

Once after finding out that not only was she one of the famous Leon Twins, but that her mother was THE Gloria Leon-Sanchez from the silent film days, he of course asked what it was like to grow up with a famous mother.

“You ever seen Sunset Boulevard?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve met my mother.”

Harsh as it may sound, that was the most generous interpretation of her mother that she could afford these days. What with her practically living in nightgowns and sheer robes, to her constant bemoaning of actresses that apparently stole her career trajectory the likes of which included practically everyone from Rita Hayworth to even her own daughters, the comparison wasn’t too far off.

Though her mother had largely checked out once the twins had turned eighteen. Elena alone hadn’t been able to reach the same level of fame that the two of them once managed together as the “Firecracker twins.”

It was a simple gimmick really but had just enough gas to make over 30 movies and short movies about. Adorable twin girls who get up to mischief due to their near indistinguishable looks, Mena the spanish-speaking, spitfire twin that always had a skip in her step to dance with her little, english-speaking, soft-spoken and shyer twin, Nena, who could occasionally be emboldened enough to sing.

The two of them were a lightning rod for box office draw, having been likened to Shirley Temple levels of fame, but due to their background that hardly granted them Shirley Temple levels of treatment or pay for that matter.

Her and her sister weren’t seen as people, they were moving props that could sing and dance, and on occasion say their famous “Ayy, No Bueno!” catchphrase. Props that didn’t need to rest, props that didn’t need to eat, props that the less scrupulous producers would occasionally try to lure into an empty room with them.

Not to pat their mother too hard on the back, but she at the very least helped them avoid the most obvious pitfalls that come from childhood stardom, but made them arguably worse. Like refusing to let the doctor give them “vitamin shots” but would ask if they could just IV Line coffee to their veins. Or never letting either of them out of her sight on sets, but couldn’t really be bothered with them outside of it leaving them with nannies so she could go “audition” for them. Or how she never left either of them alone with any of the men, but did teach them how to mix drinks at the age of nine so they could charm them with their “maturity.” So on and so forth. All of these bad, but after encountering other mothers who wanted to make their kids stars regardless of the cost, it really put things into perspective as to the type of person she could’ve been.

What happened to her as a kid may have been more palatable to Jimena, if it were a case of that being the only way to keep them afloat. But it wasn’t and the older she gets, the better she understands as to what was stolen from her in their childhood. Their “father” Victor, had the decency to slip into a coma after marrying the formerly famous silent film-actress, and 10 Months later out popped Jimena and her sister, so as to properly claim her cut of his fortune.

No, it was never about the money for her mother. It was always the fame that she was seeking, even if she had to begrudgingly share it with her daughters.

Back in those days the Coogan act was more of a suggestion in the studios, especially when they had her mothers implicit permission for whatever they wanted. The long hours, the uncomfortable costumes and the mean men were all things she had done your very best in the last few years to forget about.

One thing she undoubtedly won’t forget was her mother’s favorite threat when she was a kid and acting up. “¿Quieres que consiga los fijadores?” Gloria would say with a sickly sweet smile on her face, knowing full well no one but her daughter understood her words. Where other Mexican kids were scared of El Cucuy, she was scared of Los Fijadores or the fixers who would take away bad little girls that didn’t listen to the directors, so that their mothers could go back to acting and not have to care for those ungrateful little girls. That would always shut her up for the day, and she would listen until the next time she got fed up and the cycle would repeat all over again. Little did she realize at the time that her mother didn’t have much in the way of influence in the business, not anymore at least, but she took full advantage over the influence she had over her daughters.

Ironically enough it was rare that Jimena would ever get to that point, but because her sister was the “good one” she would never dare to kick up a fuss, so most of the time the older sister would do it for her. She took her role as a big sister very seriously back then and didn’t mind being the difficult one who held up production if it meant that her little sister got a break.

It was always the two of them against the world. It’s why she even stayed in the business. She couldn’t imagine where she’d be if it was just her alone, as for all the shit her mother put her through, she could at least take comfort knowing that she wasn’t alone. Even when they were angry at each other, even when they wouldn’t speak to each other for weeks, even when she felt like she just wanted to choke her, she could take comfort knowing that they would always be there for one another.

For the occasion, her sister would choose a bold red dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Marilyn or Jayne. It felt a little too much for just a simple wrap party, but it was clear her intent was to draw as much attention as possible.

By the time Jimena made her way downstairs it was clear that it was already working, with the way their mother was cooing over her.

“So you’re going with Elena to the party,” her mother would remark as Jimena stepped down the stairs.

“Actually she’s going with me.”

“And you’re going to wear that?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” she says in the way only a mother intent on cutting down her daughters self-esteem could.

Jimena would self-consciously look down at her own understated blue dress, “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s just…” she would say, fingering the fabric on her shoulder. “This is Elena’s big night, and we need to do everything in our power to help her stand out.”

A distraction goes unsaid, something she used to be called for wearing any slightly flattering clothing onset. Even when she did start dressing down, she could hardly say it helped anything but this is an argument she’s heard a lot over the years, and she’s too tired to fight it tonight. “Of course mama,” Jimena would say dejectedly before going back to her room to change into something a little less flattering. A simple black dress, something that is both complementary to Elena’s red dress, but will also hopefully help her fade into the background so that all focus will be given to her sister.

“Ayy thank you Mija,” she would say, planting a kiss on her eldest’s cheek before they left. “You’ve always been so good at looking out for your sister.”

Jimena had long since accepted that between the two of them, she would always be the second choice. It happened with their mother, it happened with the studios, it happened with every single boy she had been interested in, hell she had even chosen her sister before herself most times. Why would Elvis be different?

That night when he did end up picking her, Jimena could hardly be blamed for indulging in the sensation of the first time in her life someone had chosen her over her sister.

It was the worst mistake of her life that she would struggle to forgive herself for. Elvis would distract her almost the entire night, and as a result an awful man had sunken his claws into Elena when she hadn’t been looking. Those last few months of her sister's life would be fraught with anger, drugs, and heartache from one Tim Parsons.

He had been claiming to be related to one of the studio big-wigs and could get her some higher profile auditions. What scared Jimi is that she could not find a goddamn thing about him in all of her little networks. Anywhere else this would mean that he’s a perfectly normal person with nothing so scandalous as to be worth talking about. In this town it meant that someone was just very good at hiding whatever the hell is wrong with them.

Yet all the evidence that he was bad news came in the form of all the drastic changes she was seeing in her sister. Since puberty, Elena had always been slimmer than her (their mother made sure of that) as a result, she wasn’t quite as gifted in the chest and hips as Jimena. But it was impossible not to notice the fact that she dropped a few dress sizes in a matter of weeks. When Elena begged her sister to take in a few dresses for her, Jimena could practically see her ribcage. Not to mention the fact that she was unusually full of energy even late into the night when she would pace around the house only to make a call to him and then after a quick handoff from his car she would be dead asleep, until he would let himself in and the cycle would begin all over again.

Jimena knows what these all mean. She’s seen the signs in hundreds of actors before, and she’s never bothered to intervene before. Now it feels like a karmic punishment for her previous inaction, as she can only watch helplessly as her sister goes down the same road.

It all came to a head the day she finally heard the first thing about this man, and it was truly terrifying: that not only was he not a doctor, but that that wasn’t even his name. He had been forced to change it once his claim to fame in this town became how he was denied an apprenticeship under Dr. Feelgood because his concoctions were in the doctors words “unhinged.” The man who regularly shoots up his patients that have a blend of human placenta and ground up horse bones called another man’s “vitamin” mixture insane.

She dropped everything the moment she heard that and begged Elena to stop seeing this man. But it was in one ear out the other, and it seems it was hard for her to believe Jimena when for a time she was actually getting her foot in the door for major roles she actually wanted all because of him. However these also came with a price as evidenced by the late nights and vacant looks in Elena’s eyes after coming back from these auditions. The more she did this the more she felt her sister slipping away.

Her mother is no help whatsoever seeing only the results of this shift, and not the consequences.

“Mija,” she would say to her in one of her rare moments of lucidness. “This is what it really takes. I tried to protect you both from it when you were younger, but she understands now what has to be done to make it in this town.”

Jimena has to bite her tongue, when all she wants to do is scream at her mother and yell at her to look in a mirror and ask if that was the image of someone who made it.

It all came to a head when Elena would beg Jimena to help her “entertain” a casting producer who not only had a thing for latinas, but twins as well. She was practically on her knees pleading for her sister's help with this, promising her twin that this would be the break in her career that she needed. Jimena tried to reason with her that there is no role worth what they’re asking for her, especially since even sleeping with them wasn’t a guarantee for her roles.

Up until this point she’s tried to be gentle about this, but it becomes clear as day that that is no help.

“You watch!” She yelled. “He’s gonna suck you dry and spit you back out when there’s nothing left!”

“At least he’s getting me work! You’ve always done nothing but drag me down!” she sobs, angry tears streaming down her face. “The one time I ask you to do something for me-”

“The one time? Who’s the one that did all the stunts you were too afraid of? Who’s the one who dropped out of school so you wouldn’t be alone on sets? Who’s been talking you up to every producer she’s ever worked with?”

“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Her little sister would snapback.

That has Jimena clamp her mouth shut, not wanting to own up to what she did that set her sister on this course. But that’s all the confirmation Elena needed before she turned her back on her.

It was the ugliest fight they had ever had, and it resolved nothing, as they just stormed into their respective rooms. Those days were less Little Women and more Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Jimi knew that if one didn’t get out soon there would be blood. So when she was offered a project that would be shooting mostly on location in New Orleans she practically jumped at the opportunity, hardly even registering the fact that Elvis was gonna be there as well.

It was only landing in Louisiana and seeing room assignments did she remember why exactly she hated On-location shoots, when “mysteriously” the other seven white women she was sharing a room with all unanimously decided that of all of them, Jimena would be the one that had to take the floor.

But remembering who exactly was starring in this production, she decided to take a chance and made her way to his room. Though upon arriving at his door, she does hesitate for a moment remembering what her sister said and probably what he will expect if they do share a room. But then just thinking of her sister infuriates her and she finds herself finally knocking on his door.

Being in New Orleans, all her problems back home would seem so far away, and she could focus on herself for a change. In an odd way it felt like he was the only one who understood her in those days. Of all the people on set, he is the only one who knows how to put on a brave face when it feels like everything you have is slipping through your fingers.

Him also knowing who exactly she was came with the unexpected consequence of him constantly trying to finagle stories out of her. Really talking to him about her childhood did help put into perspective how wild her formative years were as not everybody can say they got in a fist fight with Wendy Darling or that Shirley Temple taught them how to roll a cigarette.

He seemed to just understand what she needed in a way no one has ever. It was usually simple arguably unremarkable things really, like anticipating when she was hungry or tired, even before she would admit it to herself, or when she almost lost a finger or when he stepped so this would be the first time she wouldn’t be the one to have to chase rabid animals out after a small alligator somehow got onto the set. He took care of her in a way that nobody had ever done before.

She wouldn’t define what they had as a full scale relationship, but whatever they had, it was nice just to have something private and out of the public eye. Only later would she realize he had his own reasons to keep everything as discreet as possible.

They were together almost every night in New Orleans, as it was easy to fall into each other like that. They were both at an uncomfortable crossroad in their life and it felt like he understood her in a way nobody else had.

She thought she understood him as well, but it was only when she read the article did she realize she never knew him at all.

They were a week away from wrapping up production, when Jimena got the devastating news. In a newspaper somebody else had been reading on set that day of all things.

That was the way she learned that her sister was dead.

She remembers saying to no one in particular that she was gonna call it a day and simply wandered off set, into the unfamiliar city. She walked for hours just trying to wrap her head around the news.

It felt like the worst sort of betrayal to learn that her sister had been dead for days, and not only had no one contacted her, but that she didn’t automatically feel it. Aren’t other twins supposed to just know when the other is hurt? So why didn’t she? Elena came into this world with Jimena, why did she leave without her?

As a kid her mother told her that she was not a pretty crier, so she’s done everything in her power to never cry, especially in front of other people. So walking around and being surrounded by strangers at the very least did prevent her from devolving into a blubbering mess. But as the day goes on she knows there is no outrunning the inevitable, and that as tempting as it may be to simply walk until she couldn't anymore, she would have to go home soon.

She would eventually make her way back to the hotel room only to be met with Elvis worriedly pacing around his room. He would throw his arms around her the moment he saw her and start with the condolences, and even the tears.

She didn’t really want any of that; she just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. But she lets him pull her close and she breaks for the first time in years in front of somebody else. True to her mothers words, it is not a pretty picture.

Full body wracking sobs, snot pouring out of her nose, her screaming and cursing until her voice goes hoarse, the works. Even still he holds her all the same. For all that she’s glad he was there she can’t help but feel so humiliated, but that’s simply one of the many emotions that run through her head along with guilt and anger and regret and just about every other awful feeling under the sun.

But who else could she turn to that would know even a fraction of what she’s going through right now. Not just to lose a sister, but to lose a part of yourself.

In a sick way she kind of blamed him. Maybe if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in him these last few weeks she would’ve known earlier, or maybe she wouldn’t have even taken this job, or hell, if she hadn’t even gone to that party, Elena wouldn’t have even met that man in the first place.

“The same bitch who ruined my life when she fucked Elvis Presley!” Plays over and over again in her head. But it’s easier to be mad at him because he’s actually here to take that anger.

Though she begins to feel no small amount of guilt for this when she wakes up the next morning to find that he’s cleared everything with the producers, and arranged for her trip back home all on his dime.

He personally escorts her to the private train room he rented for her and leaves her with a kiss and a promise to see her in a few days. But by this point she’s numb to everything and she simply wants to close her eyes forever.

She barely registered coming home and only that was due to the fact that it’s now on her to arrange everything for the funeral, as it becomes apparent that her mother in her grief is off on another world. The biggest clue being when her mother greets her at the front door with a hug and a kiss, and calls her Elena.

“Mena’s still not back yet,” her mother would say with her arms still wrapped around her in the threshold of their home. “So it’s just gonna be us today.”

“Ama…” Jimena whispers, unwilling to believe what she’s hearing.

“Let's get you to the kitchen,” she tugs at her now lone daughter's arm. “You look like a skeleton these days. They’re not going to hire you if you don’t have a little meat on your bones.” She’s quickly whisked away to the kitchen where she finds a veritable feast, and her mothers hired cook nowhere in sight. Her mother can’t cook, a fact known to both sisters, but between the two of them, Elena never had the heart to tell her.

“You should listen to your sister more Nena,” she says brushing some hair out of her face after putting down a full plate of food in front of her. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this and I think she’s right on the money with the idea of trying to make it somewhere else and then coming back.”

“Ama… please listen to me,” she pleads softly with the older woman, wanting to be gentle with her.

“You should really consider Italy,” she would say, not even acknowledging her daughter had said something. “Or France if you want to get a slightly better chance at

It’s then she realizes that her mother is simply parroting back to her what she had been saying to her sister. All the rage and grief that’s been building up inside her bubbles over by that point. Now is when her mother decides to back her up, when it’s far too late to do anything about it?

“She’s gone!” she shouts. “She’s not here anymore, I’m Jimena!”

Her mother doesn’t look shocked, more resolved as she places her head in her hands. “Quiero estar con Elena,” she whispers through her tears.

It occurred to Jimena that this was the first time she had heard her mother speak Spanish in years. Alot of her mother these days is very… performative.

She’s seen it throughout the years how much her mother puts on a show, even simply for her daughters. It’s most apparent when she talks, as rather than using her natural voice, the one that made it impossible for her to break into the “talkies” as she still insists on calling them, she’s instead adopted the mid-atlantic, but the result sounds like if Katherine Hepburn was mocking someone with a Spanish accent.

But hearing her now, Jimena realizes that this is the most honest her mother has been with her in years. The truth doesn’t make it sting any less. Her mother is gone, she just needs to resolve this one last piece of business to go in peace.

Just like she played mother to her own sister for years, she could pretend to be the daughter that her mother needed at that moment. And so she unflinchingly took a bite out of ceviche that only tasted like raw non-marinated shrimp and talked about whether or not to go the Josephine Baker route and start off as a showgirl.

The rest of the day is spent trying to ease her mothers guilt, only to pile it onto Jimena. Her mother would not so subtly explain why Jimena has been right this whole time and why ELena should listen to her. She suspects this is some fucked up way for her mother to tell her it’s not her fault, but all Jimena can hear is how if she had pushed harder her sister would still be here.

At one point her mother would “subtly” hint that she called in a favor with an old friend to take “Tim” down to Mexico so that he can retire. Jimena can’t even find joy in the fact that he’s gone now, because what does that leave her with, if she can’t be the one to kill the man who killed a part of her?

“One more thing Mija,” Gloria says as she runs her nails through Jimena’s hair while they were both laying down in her sister's bed. “Thank your sister for me.”

Jimena hesitates before she asks, that distinct sense of trouble churning her stomach, “For what?”

“For being the mother I could never be for you,” she says, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Mena’s the one I never had to worry about.” And with those final words, her mother settles in behind her and goes to sleep.

The coroner would later say that the fact that she was able to sleep and not be disturbed by whatever took her, she at the very least went without pain.

This is fundamentally untrue as she left all her pain to Jimena.

This event had taken the story from simply sad to a tragedy. A young, beautiful starlet dying of an accidental overdose, is one thing, but add in her bereaved former silent film star mother to the mix, and that’s front-page news worthy. And before Jimena knew it, her loss was now the hottest ticket in town, because all of the cameras were not gonna dare miss such an event, and no star was gonna dare miss the cameras.

It felt that every relatively famous person who vaguely knew either her mother or sister came out of the woodwork to tell some sort of story about them at the funeral. Jimena doesn't really have much to say other than there were definitely some who pulled off the bereaved friend act better than others.

When it finally comes time for her eulogy, she was not as prepared as she thought. In an odd way it would have been better to look out in a sea of strangers, because looking out and seeing a hoard of famous faces who don’t know a single goddamn thing about her, all blank as there is not a single camera trained on them at the moment is far worse than anything imaginable.

She ends up bolting to a backroom before she could make a fool of herself and scream at them all for being here when they’re not. She gives a futile effort to calm herself down by looking at all the gifts from well-wishers.

It was almost funny as it seemed everyone's publicist went to the same gift basket guy as there were maybe a dozen of the same arrangements, and she briefly wondered if they were bought in bulk by the studio and sent in different stars names. But one name in particular gave her pause, and she ripped the card off of the basket, unwilling to believe her own eyes that he could be so callous.

Sorry for your loss

It was hard to comprehend at that moment, and she stupidly turned the little card back and forth unwilling to believe that the man who claimed to care so much for her would only send her an assortment of fruits and cheeses and not even five words.

It’s all too much at that point, her dress is too tight, she’s all alone, her head is spinning, she’s all alone, her tits hurt for some reason, she’s all alone, she wants to throw up, she’s all alone, she’s all alone, she’s all alone…

Jimena’s next conscious thought is realizing she’s in a hospital bed, but not in a hospital. The sound stage she’s on does a good enough job of looking like an actual hospital, save for the fact that an entire wall is missing and what looks to be a couple dozen cameras trained on her prone form. She can’t move anything save for blinking but that simply seems to make her situation worse as the cameras proceed to multiply each and every time.

What does eventually make her accept that this is in fact a dream is when her rotting and decaying mother and sister enter stage left and proceed to rip off the thin hospital blankets. Before she can make any move to protest, she’s quieted with a wave of pain in her lower belly as they both take one of her legs in hand and proceed to spread them wide open for the cameras, each flash searing into her skin like a brand.

She can feel the way her mother and sister dig their fingers into her limbs to keep her in place and helpless as wave after wave of agony seems to flow throughout her entire body. She’s begging for them to let her go, she’s begging the cameras to stop, most of all she’s begging for someone who's not there.

She came to, maybe a day later, this time in an actual hospital with a mild concussion, a baby in her belly, and a broken heart, though they can only officially diagnose the first two.

She had options for this situation. Every woman, famous or not, in the business knew she had options, it was practically part of orientation that they got a list of ten approved doctors by the studio for this very sickness. It was almost treated as a rite of passage for the backstage girls to have to eventually visit a doctor, it’s simply that common.

Jimena’s never had any reason to utilize this option, having 1. Avoided anybody relatively important to necessitate this, and 2. She had always been careful when it came to something like this. And yet somehow Elvis proved to be an exception to these rules. She had admittedly gotten sloppy after the first time he spilled inside her in New Orleans, as after that first time she figured that if anything came from this she could always just visit one of the studio doctors when she got back to LA.

But sitting in a hospital bed, that once hypothetical scenario now a reality, it no longer feels as simple as it once did. She’s near catatonic in her indecisiveness until one of the nurses idly asks if she would be open to visitors should anybody arrive.

And just like that, the prospect of going through with any other option other than keeping the baby made her sick. Because if she did go through with it… then she would well and truly have no one.

It had always been her and Elena against their mother, against the studio, against the world even, but now… she’s gone and it feels like she took a part of Jimena with her.

Jimena’s good at a lot of things, not great, simply good. Jack of all trades they would call her, able to make quick fixes to a golf cart in a pinch, mix the perfect hangover cure, fix a few busted stitches on a dress or person alike, and practically anything else the studio demanded of her.

Maybe in another life her wide-ranging skill set would have made her the greatest actress of her generation, able to play whatever role thrown at her. But in this life it just made her feel hollow. As though she herself is empty and without a part to play save for caring for her sister.

Perhaps it’s true and that’s why she latched onto Elvis for a time, desperately needing to care for someone if only to outrun those fears of inadequacy. But there’s no outrunning anything when half of her is gone.

As for Elvis, she doesn’t exactly know what to do about him just yet. She knew that telling anyone but him first would result in it getting back to the studio and at best she would be “lightly” pressured to go see a doctor, at worst anybody who asks will be told she decided to “retire” in Mexico. So her best bet was to wait it out and hope he contacts her.

Then one fateful morning as she was contemplating how best to ask the studio for bereavement leave, did she get a copy of Excelsior and she read about an exclusive interview Federico de León got with the father of her child.

I would rather kiss three black women than one Mexican.

She thinks she stares at that sentence for a good ten minutes trying to convince herself that she’s somehow misinterpreting this. But the inner smartass has to creep in and force her to face her new reality.

Well… he did more than kiss, she thought spitefully looking down at her belly, now far more prominent than it had been at the funeral months ago. She burns with humiliation and shame as those words run over and over in her head.

She knows personally that there is almost always a grain of truth to stories like these, having had the scoop on many of them months before they got to print. And the fact of the matter is that it’s hard to believe the studio would allow for these to stand if they weren’t true with the movie coming out soon.

As far as she knows, the studio has no idea about the affair between her and Elvis, and she’s going to keep it that way.

What burns her the most is how wrong she was about him, not just as a person but as an actor. That she could’ve ever believed all his sweet words about this grand connection they had and how they were destined to be together. He’s perhaps the best actor she’s ever encountered if he got her of all people to believe all of that shit.

It’s better this way, she tries to tell herself. In a way it is, as this was always an inevitability because regardless of whether he said it or not, there is no world where they ended up together. That’s not how this town works.

Her job makes her the first one to see actors on a given day, and she’s been forced to think on her feet as to how best to make them not only look but be presentable in front of the camera.

She’s had to quickly sober up hundreds of actors and she’s had to figure out just the right amount of drink for each of them that will make them functional but not incoherent. Had to cover up twice as many bruises on actresses' faces so no one will speculate what goes on behind closed doors of their producers husbands. She’s even been the one to diagnose more than a few “social” diseases on set and steer them to the right doctors, so as to prevent a veritable epidemic on set. As haughty as it may sound, productions would fall apart without her.

Low-level she may be, she’s a fixer in this town. She’s not a problem that needs to be fixed.

And she decides neither will her baby.

She’s not gonna beg like a fucking dog to be acknowledged by him, nor will she allow for her child to be forced into the spotlight. It destroyed her sister, it ruined her mother, and it almost claimed her once more.

Elvis may have taken her pride but he won’t have her and he sure as hell will never have her baby.

Now

Elvis will never be used to California weather with its ability to both be hot and dry in the tail end of winter. But he hopes it’ll do him some good of defrosting his bones from the near-year round cold of Germany. Once upon a time he never thought he would enjoy it as much as he does right now.

But he’s found a lot to love and miss about California since he’s been gone so long.

Not to brag but he’s been with his fair share of women, between actual girlfriends, publicity girlfriends and all the girls he knew at best for only a few hours. None of them can claim to have instilled in him this sense of longing the way she did.

Nor can any of them claim to have caused as much heartache as she did.

Bittersweet as they may be, those days filming King Creole he missed the most. It was those days that kept him sane in the lead up to boot camp, and even then some. Though of all the things Hollywood had to offer him, there is only one thing he coveted these last few years.

“You see her over there Billy,” he said to his cousin one day on set as he took a breather from the lights while she fixed up Carolyn’s makeup. “That’s the girl that’s gonna be my wife.” No words have ever felt more right to him.

It was all the more heartbreaking and humiliating when he had sent Billy to find her and figure out why none of the letters he’d been giving to the Colonel to give to her had been answered while he was in boot camp. Billy would return to Texas unable to meet his eyes as he sheepishly handed him a single note in her handwriting.

Three black women huh?

That sinking feeling that settled in his stomach as he remembered those words are something he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He recognized those words, how could he not? Afterall those are supposedly the ones he said that got him and his movies banned from an entire goddamn country he ain’t ever been to.

It would be one thing for her to be mad at him for something he did do, but it felt like the worst sort of injustice that Jimi may never want to see him again for words that he never said from a man he never met for some unforgivable slight he never committed.

Worst of all was how he was surrounded by his entourage who gathered around and were now owlishly looking at him, expecting a certain reaction from him, and simply waiting for him so they could properly react.

It’s near paralyzing in that moment that he recognizes that his closest friends aren’t expecting him to react, they’re expecting Elvis Presley to react.

“Her loss,” he remembers saying, feeling every single eye on him in that moment, trying to literally shrug off that scratchy feeling in his throat. He’s supposed to be the biggest heartthrob of America, unfazed when a girl said no because there are no less than a hundred girls that would say yes.

They all follow suit, and quickly take to promising him a night out and reassuring him that he’ll practically be drowning in pussy before midnight. Though with one look he does put an end to that little episode when their support for him turned into disparaging her.

He knows that there is no use in even trying to reason with her over letters. Because what can he really say to her in writing if she’s not gonna even bother reading?

If she already has it in his head that he’s the type of man to say something like that, then no amount of letters will make her believe otherwise.

He would spend the next year trying unsuccessfully to fall out of love with her. Indulged -perhaps too much- in all that bachelorhood had to offer. All the girls he could pull, all the pills he could handle, but none of it could even match a fraction of the euphoric feeling of being complete when Jimena was around.

She loves him. Or at least she used to. She never said it but he certainly felt loved in a way he’s not used to anymore. It’s not the fanatical worship from his fans, nor the sycophantic adoration of his buddies. Her love is something purer, less selfish, something he doesn’t think he’s experienced outside of his mama since the fame started rolling in.

He needs her in his life. Because nobody is going to look out for him or try to protect him the same way she would.

He’s had nothing but time to figure out ways to get her to at the very least hear him out. From there he could start rebuilding the foundation of the relationship and work his way back to her good graces.

His first obstacle to this plan comes in the form of finding out she is no longer doing makeup anymore, and is now in fact part of the wardrobe department. This is a wrench in his plans considering he attributes her fall for him due to the fact that she practically saw him everyday while shooting. But he tries to look at the bright side of this, knowing that it at least guarantees that Brando and Newman haven’t been getting the same treatment from her.

The next obstacle to seeing her again is her initial refusal to be a part of the new production, as now with her new title as Costume designer she’s in a better position to pick and choose what she works on. But enough pressure on the director to push for her specifically does eventually have her signing on to the project.

The final wrench in his plans came the day he had been anticipating for almost two years.

He’s thought about her non-stop for the past two years, so he almost immediately notices the changes in her appearance. No less beautiful (arguably even more so with her bigger tits and rounder hips, and better fitting clothes), she’s different nonetheless, yet none of that prevents him from wanting to gather her in his arms and promise to never let go.

But a single look from her his way, stops him in his tracks. And suddenly he’s brought back to the first time he ever met her, mistaking her for his would be co-star, and wondering how he’s gonna get through this shoot when he feels like he’s two inches tall under this gorgeous creature's gaze.

He was prepared for her hatred, he wasn’t prepared for her complete and utter indifference. She had that glazed over look in her eyes, like he wasn’t even there. It reminds him of one of the few times that he dared to question why she does that whenever he asked what it was like to grow up in Hollywood.

In a rare instance of vulnerability, she would solemnly whisper “It makes it easier to pretend it happened to someone else.” Only minutes after that would she claim to urgently need to go back to her assigned room for the night, the only time she ever did so during production. Next day she would pretend as though nothing happened, and he would follow suit all too willing to indulge her so she wouldn't run off again.

He knows he’s hurt her beyond measure, but to be put in the same categories of things she would rather pretend never happened is gut-wrenching.

If she hated him, he could’ve worked with that, because at the very least she still felt something when she looked at him. But as the whole session went on it became clear she at the very least wanted him to believe she felt nothing for him.

He would’ve taken any sort of reaction by that point: an “accidental” pin prick from the needle, a passive-aggressive tightening of the measuring tape around his neck, hell he would’ve settled for so much as a hateful glare his way. But nothing, stone cold professional she is, she simply takes his measurements only to then give her only acknowledgment that he was even there by giving him a simple “all done.” She then moves on to his co-star with all the eagerness of someone about to brush their teeth, just so painfully indifferent to everything in this room.

Regret is a constant companion these days, always whispering in his ear about his shortcomings, but now it feels like it’s practically screaming in his ear what a failure he is to let a woman like this slip through his fingers.

He’s practically kicking his younger and dumber self for being so cowardly as to miss the chance to tell her how he felt. Not a day has passed since they parted had he not thought about every touch he didn’t follow with I love you, every embrace he didn’t whisper how much she meant to him, every kiss he didn’t beg for her to always stay by his side.

He had been gearing up to try to broach the subject of something more happening, ideally ending up with a courthouse wedding before he had to be sworn in, though he was willing to accept whatever form of a relationship she would offer him so long as she would still be in his life.

But then just a week before wrap-up, when everything was as close to perfect as it could be, that is of course when things went to shit.

Elena Perez, of the famous little firecracker twins, found dead, age 21

It hit him like a punch to the gut when he first saw that. Even though he had never met her, it was devastating all the same, knowing how affected Jimi was gonna be.

The closest he ever did come to meeting her was when Jimi had brought her to the wrap party for Loving You.

He was still pretty new to the art of schmoozing, so his night was almost entirely devoted to an ever present smirk that had begun to hurt his cheeks and laughing a little more than necessary at every joke the studio heads made. He was tired but he knew he would find no rest anywhere. But his tune quickly changed when he saw a familiar figure within the crowd.

He felt his heart go all a flutter when he saw her from behind but then when she turned around there was just something about her that didn’t sit right with him. It was like looking at a funhouse mirror of Jimi, her posture almost ridiculously upright to further push her ample breasts out, her smile a little too tight, but most of all her eyes were a little too hungry, a little too eager to please. The features were nearly entirely the same but he was so used to the casual nature of his makeup girl, it felt so unnatural to see this.

In another life he may have been all over her by this point, taken her home, maybe if he was feeling generous, been seen out in public with her a few times before ultimately moving on. There were beautiful and eager to please women everywhere he looked, there wasn’t really anything special about Elena Leon.

But having met Jimi first, he can’t really fathom having much to do with her.

He spent the better part of two hours ducking and weaving her approach, practically sending out his boys as human shields, to keep her away, because he doesn’t exactly trust himself not to give in to her advances, if only for the consolation prize of getting to be with someone who looked liked the one he actually wanted.

He eventually made his way upstairs after a while no longer wanting to be surrounded by people, as there was only one person he wanted to be with at the moment, and she had apparently decided not to come.

It becomes apparent that he’s been rewarded for his self- restraint when he finds a backside he would know anywhere on the third floor balcony. Swathed in a pretty if non-descript black dress, bottle of champagne in hand, she was looking down on the party like an ever-judging guardian angel.

“Y’know I don’t think they wanted anyone up here,” he would say casually.

He could see the way she practically lit up as she saw him, a soft smile on her gorgeous face and her eyes warm, probably the first person of the night that was genuinely glad to see him. It’s a novel experience for people to see him and not the star, and it’s something he never thought he would miss.

“Well you better get outta here before they see you,” she snarked back.

He laughs for the first time since he got there, and it feels so easy to just settle right next to her and look down on everyone else. He finds himself relaxing for the first time since he’s gotten there.

“So what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ up here all by your lonesome?”

Around a tight smile she says, “There’s already a pretty girl like me down at the party.” He can’t help that he flinches slightly as he thinks about her sister. “I see you met Elena,” she sighs, before plastering a tight-lipped sardonic grin on her face. “So what’d ya think?”

Elvis has the good sense to know a trap when he sees one with women, so rather than using words he just lets out a long breath.

She gives a short mirthful huff. “Yeah that’s fair,” she taps the neck of the bottle trying to undoubtedly figure out a way to change the subject. “If you say some corny ass shit like ‘I think I’m seein’ double’,” she says in a piss poor impression of his own voice. “I will push you off this balcony.”

“You sound like ya done it before sweetheart” he smirks, swiping the bottle from her hand, before taking a swig.

“How else do you think I avoided becoming Charlie Chaplin’s 5th wife?” The simple statement catches him off guard that champagne threatens to come back up his nose.

“... ya serious?” He closes his eyes in relief when she snorts.

“No,” she chuckles, with a hand wave. “I pushed him off because of something else.” Her eyes slide away from him and zero in on one of the partygoers below, before he could dare ask for any further elaboration. “Oh hey… Brody’s here and… uh-oh so is Frank.”

He follows her eyeline to find that she’s wearily looking at ol’ blue eyes himself who has decided to make an appearance. “Ya’ got a story ‘bout Frank?”

“I got a story about everyone here.” With a slight smirk, she would hold two fingers up and ask, “Wanna know how I got these scars?”

She regales him with not just that story but others of what she’s been asked to do on set. Some were funny like having to fish a toupee out of an oscar winner's mouth to more harrowing ones of being asked to check the pulse of particularly heavy drinking stars. Anybody else, he doubts he would have humored such tales, but it’s when he started hearing other people tell even wilder stories of her that ranged from snake-wrangling to resetting famous stars' bones after some sexual misadventure, did he learn early on never to doubt her stories.

“So you come to these things often?” he asks after her giggles had settled down.

“Never,” you answer. “But Elena convinced me we had to come to this one especially,” a bit more solemnly as she looked down at the familiar figure down below at the party. “You know when we were little, we used to climb up onto the roof and watch the parties from up there to tell funny stories and avoid the adults, saying how we were never gonna be like them.” There’s warmth in her voice, but sadness in her eyes as she gazed down at her mirror image at the party below.

Being a twin is not something Elvis liked to dwell on. His Mama had always talked about Jesse watching over him since he was little, but rarely if ever did he really contemplate what it meant to have a brother who wasn’t there with him.

It feels as though he was supposed to have someone that was meant to always be with him and look out for him, but now they’re not here and now he’s doomed to a life of loneliness. This thought is only further reinforced by the way you look at your sister, and something almost akin to jealousy shoots through his being, that she can have you and not value you.

Not like he could, a voice whispers in his head.

“What’s it like being a twin?” he would ask before he could lose his nerve. Though he does immediately clamp up at not just the suddenness of the question but the ease he was able to ask it. He’s tried to broach the subject of Jesse a few times throughout his life only to chicken out at the last minute in fear of upsetting someone, namely his mama.

Though the regret is instant as he watches her mood drop immediately and face him with a disgusted expression, that he can’t quite understand until she says with no amount of venom missing, “No I’m not gonna ask her if she’d be interested in a threesome,” she says, far too quick to have him not believe that this isn’t the first time she’s heard this.

He feels his face immediately go up in flames as to how grossly his words have been misinterpreted. “N-no I-I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly trying to salvage the situation and gets a hold of her before she can fully turn around.

“Mmhmm,” she hums dismissively, looking down at the hand that holds her wrist and looking down on him as though he’s the scum of the Earth.

“Darlin’ I-I swear it ain’t nothin’ like that, I just… I…” he stutters out wondering if there’s anyway he can truly explain his interest in her status as a twin without coming off as creepy, but one look at the full moon shining behind you is all the signal he needs to be honest. “Ain’t too many people know this,” he starts, taking a steadying breath trying to find that courage of two men he’s supposed to have. “But I-I had a brother, and…” he swallows hard at this one, always a sensitive subject in the Presley household. “And he-he didn’t make it…”

She looks at him with a critical eye, undoubtedly searching for any sign of falsehoods on his face, only for the hard look to melt when she realizes he spoke nothing but the truth.

“Oh, umm…” she says. “I-I’m sorry to hear that,” her voice dripping with guilt at the assumption.

“It’s fine,” he reassured you. “He was gone ‘fore I even got here.”

It’s hard to talk about Jesse with anyone, because what more can anyone say about him other than he should be here but he isn’t. He has no memories to reflect sadly on, just wishful thinking about who Jesse could’ve been or even who he would’ve been if had him in his life.

“I really don’t know how to describe it,” she says, putting down the bottle she had in her hand. “Because she’s always just… been there, and I’ve always been the one to look out for her.”

“You’re the older one?” he asks with a bit of a laugh.

“Yeah,” she affirmed. “I’ve been doing it my whole life. Stayed up and held her hand when she was too scared to sleep. Did all the stunts she was too afraid to do and broke a couple bones. Threw tantrums when we were filming so she could get a break that she was too nervous to ask for. Dropped out of school so I could get a job on set, so she wasn’t alone. Hell, the only reason I’m here at this stupid party is because she thought she could get in touch with someone who could help her career.” Each admission is met with a more resentful tone, only for her to then try to chase away the taste the words are leaving in your mouth, by taking back the bottle.

“O-oh,” is all he really has to say to that.

“She’s awful,” she admits, but a sardonic smile begins to creep up on her face. “I love her so much.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she asserts. “There’s no one else in the whole world I would’ve done those things for. I guess that’s what it’s like to be a twin, take care of the person who's been here since you were born. It’s like… having to take care of any other part of your body, but this one is just constantly away from you and you can do nothing but worry.”

Elvis is stunned into silence for a moment as he looks at her, because she is able to finally put into words that anxiousness that has been eating at him his whole life. Even with all the love and reassurance he felt as a kid, there’s always just been that missing part of him that no one has ever been able to understand.

But there’s one part that eats at him still.

“And does she take care of you?” he asks, more curious than anything at this point.

That question catches her off-guard as she rips her eyes away from him and furiously looks down at the party, before she smiles and looks back at him to ask “Wanna hear who Clark Gable had a secret child with?”

Another time he would’ve been very interested in the topic, but seeing her obvious panic as she tried to avoid the very subject keeps him focus. “Don’t do that,” he pleads softly, brushing a few errant curls out of her face. “Don’t shut me out.”

She leans into his hand a little bit and he feels her jaw clench as she tries to get a handle on herself. “I must sound like a crazy person to you,” she says. Granted anyone else, he might’ve thought that, but this is Jimi, the girl who is never bothered by anything. He was witness to how she nonchalantly filed her nails before putting out a camera fire. Watched as she hardly broke her stride when some yahoo tried to scare her with a halloween mask. Hell he’s seen her put out a match with just her fingertips, and only to stare him down to get back onto set.

She’s seen the worst this town has to offer, and yet it’s her seemingly one-sided relationship with her sister that has her on the verge of collapse.

Not if Elvis had any say about that.

He takes it as a good sign when the normally touch-averse Jimi doesn’t immediately pull away from the hand on her shoulder, so he decides to take a chance and fully envelope her in his arms. She stiffens somewhat but otherwise accepts it, and he feels his heartbreak over the unspoken truth that she looks out for Elena, but no one looks out for her.

“I think it sounds like…” he says, taking her chin in his hands, “ya care a lot darlin’, and it don’t sound like she appreciates it as much as she should.”

The ever present indifferent shell she had built over the years cracks with that simple statement of understanding. She has such beautiful doe eyes hidden behind a hard stare, and for only having known her for a few weeks Elvis can appreciate even the chance to see behind the mask.

But he wants to know more. He wants to know all of her.

It feels almost magnetic, the sudden pull he felt towards her in that moment. Nothing could stop him as he leaned down to kiss her full lips. Everything else in the world seems to fall by the wayside, the party, the people, even the city itself no longer existed to him as he held her in his arms.

Their first time with her was nothing short of magic. It felt like the first breath of air after being held underwater for so long.

They just seemed to fit together so well, a fact that couldn’t be denied even as their first time was a quick and dirty session on a balcony under the light of the moon. Like they had been so desperate for each other years even before they met, and now it all culminates to this.

They don’t even really remove their clothes, he just unbuckled his pants on the deck chair while she sat astride him, moving her skirt up her waist and move her panties to the side. Her moans as she slowly impaled herself on his length sound like music to his ears and he can’t help the low groans as he tries to prevent himself from closing his eyes too much wanting to burn the image of her taking his cock while the full moon gives her a truly angelic look behind her.

He wants so badly to hold her but even now she denies him that as she puts a hand over his chest and rides him like she’s trying to tame a bucking stallion. He’s just as enthusiastic for this as he grips her thighs in his hands and

The whole encounter is over and done within a matter of minutes after that, but he’s just glad that she came to and now he didn’t have to feel the shame of finishing before her. She collapses on top of him trying to hold herself upright while he holds her close to his chest as he gives a few lazy thrusts to ride out the rest of his orgasm. He’s never felt more connected to anybody than her in this moment and he wants to truly seal this perfect night when he raises her chin to try to capture her lips.

But she pulls away slightly at the motion, “... I… I should go…” she whispers, and he’s not too sure if she’s saying that more to him or herself.

“...I-if that’s wh-whatcha want baby…” he says, not having the heart to deny her anything, no matter how much every single other part of him is screaming at him to make her stay. The inner conflict practically paralyzes him where he layed and he could only watch as she quickly fixed herself up. It’s mesmerizing to watch, as with only a few quick adjustments, Jimi looks good as new, save for the kiss-swollen lips and the slight uneasiness in her stance, it’s as though nothing had ever happened.

That hurts in a way he can’t explain with words. The idea that the relationship they’ve built in the last few weeks will amount to a one time thing that they go their separate ways from.

But what can he do to stop her if she doesn’t want to be here anymore?

So with all the boldness he’s learned to fake over the last few years, he grabs a hold of her wrist, and tries to give some type of meaning to this whole thing. “Wait darlin’.” He makes a conscious effort not to grip too tight lest he scare her off, but just enough to let her know he’s serious. “What’s your real name?”

Bathed in light of the full moon right behind her, a soft smile on her face as she looks at him though not without that twinge of sadness in her eyes. “Jimena Gabriella Perez.” she said as though it were a good bye.

And with the way she walks away without even a glance back, it’s clear that it was.

He sits there for he doesn’t even know how long just in his head and staring up at the moon. He knows realistically he should be making his way back downstairs, but all desire to mingle with other people seemed to dissipate as he stared up at the full moon. Besides there’s only one person he really wanted to be with at the moment and she apparently could hardly wait to get outta there.

He stared up at the night sky for the longest time trying to gather his thoughts about the situation, trying to figure out why it felt like every nerve in his body was screaming at him not to let her leave. It was all kinds of backwards yet somehow still fitting that he learned her name only after sleeping together.

But try as he might, he can't justify keeping her here when she clearly wants to go.

It felt as though he had known her for years rather than months. In a way it was sort of the truth due to having seen her movies as a kid, but never in his worst nightmares could he imagine the near debilitating feeling that rests in his chest at the prospect of never seeing her again. So he closes his eyes and tries to make peace with the fact he’ll never see Jimena Perez again.

Jimena Perez… JP… Elena Perez… EP…

His eyes shot open at that realization, and as he hurried to make himself somewhat presentable, he berated himself for missing something like that. He has never believed in coincidences and this was far too specific to be anything other than some sort of sign.

But to his chagrin, it’s as though she had dropped off the face of the Earth.

The next day, all anybody could talk about was the scene that the Leon girl made of herself standing on tables and practically flashing the studio head with an impromptu can-can dance, until her sister pulled her off and quickly escorted her out.

It would be another year before he would see her in person again, and that was only because he specifically requested to have her on-set for what he thought would potentially be his last movie. But even then he’s able to find a modicum of peace with that, if only that he will have her in the end, and this whole ride has been worth something.

He doesn’t know what’s more terrifying, the idea that he’ll never be able to communicate how he feels about her or the prospect that he will and she’ll reject him all the same. He even at one point resorted to trying to write them down in order to sort them out.

But each time he tried to put pen to paper it felt like his mind went blank, because how can he explain that it feels like she’s the piece that’s been missing his whole life. That the only time he’s felt whole were the few weeks they spent together. That it can be no coincidence that their names and family names match so perfectly, and it’s gotta be a sign that something else is at play here.

But he realizes that he’s gotta put in the legwork to make fate happen too.

Requesting to have her be In New Orleans, and he planned on working his way to slowly form a friendship into something more permanent. Of course she did throw a wrench into that plan almost immediately the first night when she showed up at his hotel room and declared the couch for herself because she refuses to stay where she was assigned. He wouldn’t have her anyother way.

It’s easy to fall into each other once more, as though it hadn’t been almost a year since they last saw one another. He hopes that maybe this time around he would be able to show her even a fraction of what he feels. In an ideal world they would already be on their way to a courthouse to make it all official so that no one would bat an eye when he brought her to Germany, but even he realizes what a tall order that would be. He’s not one to plan ahead, but he figures it’s gonna be a longer process than he anticipated with her, but Jimi’s worth every moment.

But just like that it all seemed to fall apart.

As sad as it makes him to wake up without her, he’s used to it by this point, but what does worry him is why she wasn’t in his trailer when he arrived on set. It ate at him that seemingly no one cared beyond the grumblings from the other makeup girls who were now having to work more because she’s missing in action. He knows he’s gonna get an earful for this alone from her considering how much she wants to keep their involvement a secret, he does blatantly ask about her by name.

It becomes clear what exactly happened when he notices a discarded newspaper on the director's chair. He immediately calls for a halt to the production so he could go out and look for her, fearing the worst. But due to the already tight schedule practically everyone refuses to do so, even after hearing why exactly she was gone.

At that point he just walks off set and swiftly dispatches every one of his boys to go search the city. He even gets in on it and drives around for a few hours all in an effort to find her, but he returns to his suite so he can pray and pace and worry and hope she comes back before sunset.

When she does get back, the faraway look in her eyes tells him she hasn’t been crying, but the way she’s all clenched up like she’s actively fighting herself from doing so in front of him. He’s having none of it and he brings her into his arms.

It’s only then that she seems to collapse in her grief, and he holds her still knowing that there’s nothing else he could do right now. He’s never seen her like this and immediately he recognizes that he will only ever know a fraction of what she’s going through in that moment.

Elena was a real person whom she’s known all her life, Jimi had confided in him how she’s put her through the absolute wringer with their mama favoring her and her inability to recognize what her sister has been doing for her sake. Jesse has always just been gone, and Elvis could imagine him in whatever way he liked as an older brother. Jimi knew her through all of the ugliest bits of their lives and loved her all the same, even as she slowly spiraled downwards.

“Jimi…” he whispers at a loss for words. He knows that nothing he says could possibly fix this situation and it makes him feel all new sorts of helplessness to the situation.

“Why didn’t I feel it when it happened?” she asked out loud though he gets the sense she isn’t asking looking for an answer from him.

He could hold her tighter so that she wouldn’t feel so alone right now. The rest of the night, and well into the next day, is a blur as he as he waivers between trying to comfort her and arranging for her return to California. He wants to go with her but despite the already tight schedule for filming and the looming date of his induction he’s hoping to be able to at least see her one last time before boot camp.

He remembers finding her red bandana as she was packing everything up, and contemplating telling her. But he selfishly wants a small piece to hold onto until the next time he sees her so he slyly slips it under his pillow, and he promises to himself he would give it back once he saw her again.

But of course the lord himself seemed to laugh in his face as his stunt apparently cost a few extra days of filming and between everything else going on in the lead up to his induction, he couldn’t be there for her. The Colonel had a few of his own men physically hold him to prevent him from getting on the next train to LA after he heard about her mama passing, the only thing swaying him was the Colonel’s promise that it would only be one more day of shooting. One day turned into three and before he knew it he was whisked back home to wait out until his induction, with the only acknowledgement from the Colonel being that he made sure to send condolences to the surviving Leon daughter.

He can only imagine what she went through losing her sister and mother so close together, difficult relationship and all. He would lose his mama only a few months later, and it felt as though every breath threatened to be his last one. Knowing she went through all of this alone, it’s little wonder why all of the letters and invitations he sent at Fort Hood went unanswered.

Sitting in his mothers closet, not wanting to have his grief turned into a photo-op for the press. He now understands why Jimi left the business in the first place. It was as though he was trapped in a fish bowl, drowning and everybody was fighting to be the one to witness his last breath. It makes him feel all the worse for letting her go through that alone.

His biggest regret is that she had to go through all of this alone. He had tried his hardest to try to head back West to see her only to be thwarted each and every time. No amount of Love was gonna thwart Uncle Sam from getting his dues. And before he knew it he was on a ship headed to Europe.

He almost had to relegate himself to the fact that the relationship is unsalvageable after all of it. Truly after experiencing loss himself, he can’t imagine any scenario where she could forgive him, as he could hardly forgive himself.

But for the sake of making tomorrow seem even the minimum amount of bearable he forces himself to dream that things can be fixed and they would eventually be happier than ever.

Because if they don’t… then what’s the point?

After all they had gone through separately he knew in his heart that there would never be anyone who could understand him like she could. A twin without a twin, and a child without a mother, a lonely soul surrounded by others, and most of all a person in desperate need of love beyond simple admiration.

There had always been an ever-present hollow feeling in his life, something he never even recognized until she was no longer present to relieve him from that emptiness. She understands him more than anyone ever will, and the idea of letting her go without a fight is something he simply can’t do.

The almighty himself has tied them together unlike anything he’s ever seen before and to choose another path would be blasphemous at this point.

All his thoughts on who Jesse would’ve been have been answered when he pointed Elvis in her direction. He has to believe that he wouldn’t do him dirty by bringing him to his soulmate only for fate to snatch her away all the same. He has to believe that things will get better, otherwise what’s the point of continuing on?

But he has to grin and bear the hell that will be trying to live without her in Germany. But if his time in Hollywood taught him anything, it’s how to pretend to be someone he’s not.

It’s easy to pretend to be the good Sergeant Preseley in Germany, charm the pants off a couple girls, do whatever he’s assigned to do by the higher-ups, take whatever the doctors give him so that he can do both, abstain from playing music, act like it’s not killing him, etc,. Behind the scenes he becomes needier than ever, truly fearing being alone now of all times, because he doubts he could keep this up without an audience presence.

Everybody has seemed to become the audience regardless of how close they previously were to him, it’s hard to think of them as anything else considering that he’s playing a part for them all so they could believe that he’s fine.

This all adds to his longing for Jimi, knowing that she saw through him easily and he never had to worry about being anything less than himself around her.

But playing his role helps ease the ache that stems from every thought that she brings to his heart, as then it can be somebody else experiencing that devastation. So he bides his time and plays his part in Germany. Trying to fill that sinking feeling he got in his chest every time he thought about Jimi with more partying, more drugs, more women, just more everything. Even with all that, that sinkhole in his chest seemingly grew bigger and bigger every morning he woke up and she wasn't with him.

His heart has been broken since the day he was born, and it has been a mad scramble for the pieces for everyone ever since. His brother took a piece with him when he left, as did his mama, and everybody else who had a piece had been doing jackshit to appreciate it.

He had only one piece of it left really, and he had spent his entire life trying to find someone who he could trust to take care of it. And like a goddamn miracle his brother was able to answer for him, and pointed him in her direction. And finally he found the person he could give that final piece of his heart to.

But she hurt him in a way that no one has ever been able to do so. She didn’t take advantage of his heart, or reject it, or even betray it. Worse yet, she couldn’t recognize what he was giving her. The life Jimi had been living had turned her cynical to his intentions for her. And every fear she may have ever had about him had been proven true with just that one little article.

He can’t even blame her for being angry, as he doubts he would’ve been able to keep a lid on something like this in her shoes. But he can’t dwell on it, he can only move forward and try his best to fix this.

It had truly felt like the world was conspiring against him in that year, as he had to watch as everything he loved slipped through his fingers, all for what. All for a dream that he wasn’t even sure was worth it anymore, nor something he could actually be a part of.

Being enlisted and overseas already, there was always the lingering threat that if anything happens with the Reds, he’s already here to fight the good fight and all that. Be the good soldier, who would gladly lay down his life for his country.

Really he just wants to lay down.

Sometimes forever.

In the worst days he was so sure he was gonna die there, whether by an enemy hand or by his own, he couldn’t decide. Really the only thing that kept him going was the slim chance that she would be willing to hear him out if he ever came back stateside. Those nights he would hold onto that small piece of her trying to convince himself of the illusion that she’s waiting for him, and dying here would only mean he would lose any chance of seeing her again.

At one point it stopped smelling like her and he resorted to ordering a bottle of her perfume just to preserve the illusion that she was still waiting for him. He probably doused the cloth with a quarter of the bottle, and inhaled half of that all to maintain the illusion of her still willing to come back to him eventually. He’s sure if that hadn’t worked in easing his nerves he would’ve downed everything in his medicine cabinet and called it a night.

He’s put everything he is into this hope that he could possibly get a second chance, full well knowing he’s undeserving of one.

So he’s not about to let her go so easily.

Jimi’s actually not that hard to find on the lot, especially now that she has a door with her name on it. She’s certainly made her way up, having turned her previous doodles in the margins of production notes and discarded scripts into a new position complete with a title and an office.

He knocks at the door with her name on it, and waits a moment, what sounds like the dumbo soundtrack quickly being drowned out by the heart-pounding in his ears. She doesn’t keep him waiting long, as she opens up the door only to immediately close it just enough so that only her head is sticking out. “Fittings are next week,” she says neutrally before she then proceeds to try to close the door in his face. He is too fast though as he shoves his foot in the crack and pushes it open.

“Jimi, please,” he pushes the door further, but stops once he sees the panicked look on her face. He holds his hands up in surrender but makes no move to remove the foot.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in annoyance, before she opens her mouth again. “If I promise to talk, will you leave me alone after this?”

So sure of himself he nods, truly believing that he just needs to explain and then they can go back to the way they used to be.

She puts a hand on his chest to motion him to step away from the door before she herself comes out. She does so in the oddest way possible, by sliding herself between the door and the frame, as though she was trying to prevent him from seeing inside her office. She looks back inside and tells who he presumes to be the others she shares the office with that she’s gonna get lunch, and to hold everything down.

“So you want to talk? Talk then,” she states, breaking that line of thought as she leans against the bulletin board.

He figures she would have such a no nonsense reaction like this, and takes a steadying breath in order to deliver what

“Jimi… I know why you’re mad,” he starts off slowly. “Believe me I would be hoppin’ mad if i read that…”

“I forgive you,” she cuts in. “We done here?”

“Wh-what?”

“Are we done here?” She repeats slower this time to really emphasize her words.

“N-no Jimi,” he begs. “The things the papers said are just lies. I ain’t ever said that”

She gives a short mirthful laugh when she hears that, “Elvis if I had a fucking dime everytime I heard that line,” she rolls her eyes. “But it’s fine. I don’t care anymore. I’m not in the business of telling the papers anything, so you don’t gotta worry about everyone figuring out you’re a hypocrite.”

“But… I’m not…”

She pats his cheek and gives a thin smile as she pushes herself off the wall, and gives a dry, “Of course you’re not.”

“Jimi listen to me,” he begs, briefly wondering why Jesse had to pick the most stubborn woman alive for him. “I never said any of that.”

“Mhmm,” she hums, the thin line of her mouth and the way she’s checking her nails for dirt, telling him she has no faith in his words.

“Jimi,” he pleads with her, taking her hand and placing it on his chest. “You gotta believe that I would never say somethin’ like that. I love you so goddamn much and I especially ain’t never wanted to hurt you.”

She may not be able to rely on her knowledge of him, but he knows her well enough to know that she recognizes good acting from bad acting. Watching as her eyes soften from their previous hard stare, he knows that she understands that this is far from an act. This is by far the most honest he’s been with anyone since his mama passed, and the doubt in her own assumptions of him shows all over her face.

He thinks he’s finally getting through to her, until she glances behind him and he watches as her dark eyes harden once more. “You don’t love me, and it doesn’t matter what I believe Elvis,” she snatches her hand out of his, and walks back towards her office before slamming the door.

He stands there for he doesn’t even know how long, trying to justify why he should even keep breathing at this point, his catatonic state only helping to prevent him from doing something stupid in the face of the worst rejection he’s ever had. This isn’t a girl laughing in his face over being asked to the school dance or a stuffy actress looking down her nose at his hillbilly ways, this is a part of his soul refusing to come back to him.

This can’t be the end, a voice in his head whispers. He tries to repeat these words in his head if only to make the hope he has a little more real. He knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as him returning, and she would automatically throw herself into his arms. He already knew it was going to be an uphill battle for her love once again, but the flat-out rejections and refusal of his declaration just made everything so real in that moment.

When Jimi cares, she does so with all her being, and he knows at some point she cared enough about him to befriend him, and there’s no way that all disappeared in the last two years. To some extent she still cares about Elvis, and that’s why he refuses to give up on her so easily.

But she’s not one to be swayed so easily.

Gifts and letters and songs for her, are all met with the same stony indifference that has marked her status as near untouchable. Her schedule is next to unpredictable as it seems that everytime he does try to send someone over for her she’s conveniently out of the office.

Each rejection further drove him closer and closer towards that edge he’d been resisting since he landed in Germany. He would toss and turn at night, not wanting to be alone but at the same time wanting no one but Jimi with him. It’s even worse than it was before considering the fact that she’s so close that he could almost touch her, but she’s like smoke, he can see her there but never truly grab a hold of her.

Something that only intensifies once shooting actually begins and he knows just how close she is day in and day out on the lot. It’s nothing short of torture to have all that he needs in life so close, yet just out of reach.

Off camera and out of the studio he’s barely keeping it together, the years of pretending to be okay in front of people only barely enough to sustain the image he’s made for himself as well as doing the job he was tasked with. Everybody wants a piece of him now that he’s back, and he doesn’t know if he has any left to give anymore.

It all came to a head one day when he walks into the wardrobe building and sees one of the girls holding a small toddler girl. It strikes him how similar the little girl looked to Jimi back in her firecracker days, even down to the ribbon tying her hair back. He muses for half a second that that’s what their daughter would look like, and then it hits him like a ton of bricks that may never come to pass.

He’s trying to make her not hate his guts, and with how little success he’s been having, he’ll be lucky if she even looks at him again before he’s Dodgers age. He’s closer to never having her love him again than he is to someday.

He had come with the intention of showing her the bandana he had been holding onto all of these years, to show how devoted he’s been to her. Now holding it in his hands and remembering that initial promise to give it back to her, he realizes what a fool he’s been. He’s been selfishly holding onto something that’s not there anymore, because he was too much of a coward to actually do what he needed to get what he wanted.

He didn’t want to believe it was too late for them, but seeing that little girl, he realized how much time he’s lost. Where he’s spent the last two years nurturing his love for her, she's been feeding her hatred for him. If he’s gonna be in love with her for the rest of his life, she’ll hate him for the rest of hers.

She’s made it clear that she wants nothing to do with him anymore, and he can’t blame her for it. He should’ve been there for her, damn the consequences, but he wasn’t and now he has to live with what he did.

Though once he gives it back, jury's out on how much longer he will live.

Resolved in his need to do right by her, he solemnly walks to the costume department with about the same enthusiasm as he would the gallows. Perhaps there is no coming back from this, and perhaps he wouldn’t deserve one either way. He was a coward who let what he wanted walk away time and time again, not having enough will to hold on to her.

And he doesn’t have the strength to try to hold on any longer.

Finally as he’s just about to turn the corner to where he knows her office is, only to stop in his tracks, and realize that once he gives it back… it’s all over. He’s strangely okay with that once he reconciles he won’t be feeling that way for much longer.

Turning the corner he sees a familiar figure looking at a bulletin board, and standing right beside her was a significantly smaller figure.

It takes him a moment to realize what he’s looking at, but the second he does it feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs.

He’s tempted to look down at his own feet to reassure himself he's still on solid ground, and that the floor hadn’t been taken out from under him, but truly no force on Earth could make him look away from the little one at her feet.

The boy is standing barely taller than her knee, wearing light green overalls with what looks to be a little yellow duck on the front pocket. His honey hair - a few shades darker than Elvis’ own natural locks- is slicked back on the sides allowing for some bronze curls to hang over his forehead but it’s really his face that comes like a punch to the gut to Elvis.

Vain as it may sound, Elvis knows his own face, even when it’s softened with baby fat and slightly darkened from the California sun, and that’s all he sees when he looks down at the brown-eyed little boy that’s clutching onto a woman’s skirt and idly sucking his thumb.

It’s as he’s wondering what happened to his eye color when the eyes in question finally take notice of him, and the little boy rapidly tugs at the pencil skirt he’d had a tight grip on. In his head he’s still trying to justify any other way someone could have a little clone of himself that isn’t the most obvious answer, until he watches Jimi crouch down in her heels as she gently strokes the little boy's plump cheek.

“¿Que paso Papi?” she asks, adoration in her voice as she brings him close to her face, before planting a kiss on his cheek.

The boy, too shy or too young, to answer only points a chubby little finger his way, his dark eyes wide in wonder. As her eyes follow, Elvis sees her jaw clench and most of her previous warmth seemed to sap out of her at the very sight of him. It truly feels like the first time she’s actually looked at him in a long time without her eyes immediately sweeping over him dismissively, so he can’t help but welcome it.

In one fluid motion, she competently scoops up the small boy up in her arms and begins to make her way towards him, her heels clacking ominously as though she were an oncoming vengeful mother goddess set to rain down fire upon him.

Elvis is usually quicker on his feet but it feels as though they had been replaced by cement as he’s frozen in place with no sign of escape. But he doesn’t think he really wants that anymore as it now gives him a better look at the boy.

“Can I help you?” she asks, painfully neutral, as though she’s simply asking what he wants for lunch and not in fact holding a mini version of himself in her arms.

“Wh-” he starts but has to swallow before he can get too choked up. “What the hell is this?”

“It looks like,” she answers and he perks up at that both eager and fearful of what she has to say. “My old bandana,” she states, much to his confusion, until he follows her dark eyes to the fabric still within his grasp.

Her flippancy just enrages him, “You know damn well what I mean!” pointing a finger in the direction of the small boy in her arms. Guilt quickly eats at his belly as the boy turns from him and buries his face in her neck out of fear, as she continues to look at him with the disdain in her eyes only growing.

“Oh…” she says dryly as though she only now remembers the boy in her arms, even though she had been consistently rubbing soothing circles on his tiny back since he got scared. “This is my son.” A simple no-nonsense answer, but he doesn’t miss the way she neglects to mention a name. “You can go ahead and throw it away, I don’t need it anymore.”

He wants to say something about that. He wants to be mad at her for being so goddamn stubborn about this as though his whole world isn’t being rocked right now. But he can’t muster any of that as he just finds himself just wanting to look at the boy in her arms some more. The little one looks back and forth between the two of them, but he does seem to settle after gauging that his mama is not in the least bit shaken by the man before them, and adopts her bored looking expression, though the boy does keep a wary eye on him even as his mother turns them both away from him.

“Wait,” he says as he quickly grabs her elbow. Her hackles rise at just that little bit of contact, like a rattlesnake coiled up and ready to strike, but he won’t be stopped from knowing the truth. “Is… is he-”

“No,” she cuts him off, before looking over his shoulder and closing her eyes- seemingly in annoyance- only to then plaster a wide phony smile on her face as she looks at him. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” saccharine sweet, as though she had been in a completely different conversation before ripping her arm out of his grasp and walking past him. “I’ll be sure to add those notes into the costume.” Without even a goodbye she rushes past him.

He turns around to see the second most gut-wrenching thing of the day as a woman approaches Jimi and hands over to her another child,and he realizes it’s that same little girl from earlier. The love of his life expertly balances the additional toddler on her other hip as she plants a swift kiss to her cheek before exchanging a few words with the woman in front of her and walks back down the hall, not even bothering to look back at him.

That woman quickly approaches and stands in front of him, obviously trying to run interference between the two of them. Trying to keep the two of them apart like everybody else has seemingly made their mission.

He honestly hears nothing of it as he starts to tail Jimi down the hall, his entire focus is on the little girl, heart-breakingly sweet with her little cherubic face, her dark curls held at bay with the red ribbon, as she opens and closes her tiny hand at him as though to once again say good-bye. Meanwhile the little boy, whose face is still firmly in his mama’s collar, risks a quick peek back at him before quickly burying himself back in place as the echo of yherour heels on the linoleum floors lessens as she gets further and further away.

He’s able to catch her before she can get out of the building, quickly blocking her from the exiting door. She still has that infuriating cool expression on her face, looking at him as though he were a mere inconvenience on her way out the door.

“Jimi…” he pleads, taking her shoulders in his hands forcing her to look at him. “Jimi, look me in the eye, and tell me they ain’t mine.”

She gives him such a cold stare that he can feel a shiver travel down his spine, the dread of her words tying his stomach in knots, as he anticipates her answer. Somehow she’s able to make it all the crueler, even as her (his?) son starts to suckle on the collar of her blouse, while her (their?) daughter has managed to dislodge a chunk of her thick dark locks from her braid and begin to play with it.

“Why would I want them to be yours?”

A punch to the gut, a kick to his face, a knife to his heart, those are all the things he would have preferred she had done over saying that. For a second, even she seems taken aback by the cruelty of her own words, until that hard look returns to her eyes as the little boy begins to pat her cheek for attention.

She looks down at him with a soft smile on her face before giving them both a kiss to the forehead and sidestepping him in order to get out the door, not even bothering to acknowledge him.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in that spot but by the time Joe (or was it Charlie?) finds him and he’s practically stiff as a board, and just about as responsive. Nobody fights him on it when he just declares that he has to call it for the day, so it’s not too long before he’s kicking off his shoes and crawling underneath the covers still fully clothed. His mind raced, doing its best to put together what the hell he had seen today. Trying to comprehend how much of himself he had left behind with her.

When he started making waves he had to have the most awkward talk of his life with the Colonel to always wrap it or at least become proficient in never finishing inside of a woman, because the last thing he needed was a baby. And he was for it completely, nowhere ready to settle down yet, and with everything looking so vibrant and new to him, he saw no end in sight.

He can think of one night in particular back in New Orleans, after almost twenty hours on set, Jimi had excused herself from any of the usual get-togethers and headed straight to his room. After she had declared that her room situation is unmanageable she had set up shop initially on his hotel room couch, though lately they hadn’t even been bothering with that pretext. So it wasn’t too shocking to find her in his bed, spread out on her front like a starfish in nothing but a simple slip.

What was shocking was the wave of contentment that washes over him seeing her there, just the utter feeling of rightness that the image brings. The powdery blue slip gorgeous on her dark skin tone, and he has to hold back a groan when he sees how high it’s ridden in her sleep giving him a tantalizing view of the back of her thighs, just effortlessly sensual, even in her sleep. He can’t imagine anything better to come home to. What he found even more tempting was her defenseless pert nose, and remembering the way it would scrunch up when she smiled. He knows he’s either going to get that reaction or swift punch to the chest for what he does next.

She still manages to keep him on his toes when she simply does both after he peppers her face in kisses. He reels a bit from the blow, playing up the injury just a little as he sees her shoulders bounce a little in poorly held in laughter.

“They gotchu workin’ to the bone sweetheart,” he remarks, as he rubs the spot between her shoulder blades that has her giving a euphoric groan. He is genuinely offended that the studio would make her have to work like a dog, all for a single line in the credits.

“This whole production would fall apart without me,” she sighs, while he lets out a laugh in agreement.

“You ever think about quittin’?” He asks a bit off the cuff, but he can’t help it seeing the woman he loves running herself ragged for people who sure as hell don’t care for her.

“Maybe,” she answers through her drowsy state, turning to face him directly. “I don’t think I would leave, but maybe if I get married I would probably do something with less hours, like costumes.”

He felt his heart speed up a little when she mentioned the word “married” but not in the way it used to do when other girls brought up the idea. No, rather than having that sour feeling in his belly, he’s practically giddy over the prospect with her. “So I guess ya just waitin’ for the right actor to sweep you off ya feet darlin’?” he brings her close, smiling into her hair and absentmindedly stoking the hand she lays on his chest.

But this happiness is ripped away by a simple snort from her, only to then be further crushed into dust as she has a full-on laughing fit at the mere prospect.

“No,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes, trying to get a hold of her laughter, unknowing of how soul-crushing her words are. “I’d never marry an actor.”

It feels like every ounce of hope for the future saps out of him at that moment.

“O-oh wh-why’s that?” fighting to keep his face from showing the devastation he feels inside. A knife in his heart would have been preferable at that point, because then she would have at least acknowledged he had one to break.

She gives a mere shrug, of her shoulders, “I don’t really know how to explain it other than it wouldn't work.”

If he were a braver man, he would have had the balls to ask her “If that’s true… then what’s all this been about?” But he's a goddamn coward and this question dies on the tip of his tongue, far too afraid of what she may answer.

As these nights usually talking leads to kissing and while she is willing she offers first to use her mouth, and while he doesn’t hold back the groan when he hears this, he knows that that won’t be enough for him even if he can’t pinpoint why.

“Okay,” she yawns, as she lifts her hips up, presenting her ass in the air while she wraps her arms around a pillow and sleepily buries her face in it. “But you gotta do all the work.”

She’s done this before, tried to feign indifference toward the act, and tried to play it off that she didn’t absolutely enjoy it each and every time. This is a game that Elvis has yet to lose.

He knows her well enough to know how to get her going even when she insists she’s not in the mood. How a light touch up her spine as her perk her ass up, while a nibble to her ear has her making the most adorable little noises. And still it feels like he learns something new about her everyday, with today’s new lesson that she loses all of her carefully crafted composure when he sits on his knees and raises her thighs over his shoulders.

She lets out a surprised gasp as she barely catches herself on her hands, only for it to turn into a low moan when he takes a long lick up her slit. Nothing tastes sweeter on his tongue than the evidence that she wasn’t as disinterested as she claims, and with her so nicely open for him now he plunges his tongue as deep as he could go.

Any semblance of composure is gone the moment he had almost entirely upside down, her arms shaking with the effort to try to keep herself up.

“You like that sweetheart?” he whispers, only slightly muffled by her flesh.

“Yes,” she moans enthusiastically as he feels her small hand palm at his still clothed length, and he gives a little chaste kiss of appreciation on her clit that has her gasping for air. While any other night he would’ve gladly indulged her need to taste him, he did promise to do all of the work. So as he delves his tongue as deep as it could go he knows she’s good and ready as he feels her slick drip down to his wrist as he rubs that button of hers.

She lets out a devastating sob as she comes, and before she’s had a chance to recover barely had time to recover before he’s flipping her over and pressing her knees to her chest as he thrusts inside all in one motion. Her back arches and her mouth opens and closes repeatedly, gasping for air as though she could feel him all the way in her throat.

Entering her is always such an indescribable feeling, somewhere between euphoric and comforting. And there have even been days when the only thing on his mind on set was how best to get her alone so that he could get her like this once again. As he crams his cock at a steady rhythm, he imagines it’s the same way everyone else who goes to work on a regular job pictures being home at the end of the day.

If he was a little rougher that night, it was only so that she could feel a fraction of his anguish that she caused. He both envies and resents her ability to be able to picture a life without him, when no future of his would be complete without her.

He had spilled in her before that point, but it had always been an accident as something about her made him slower on the draw than he was with anybody else. But in that moment before he knew he was gonna cum, seeing her thrash and arch her back and push even further into him, time seemed to slow for a second and there was a moment where he saw quick as lightning just the image of her heavy and glowing with a baby.

His baby.

He can’t remember a time he came so hard, and with the way she collapsed back in the pillow he knew she was just as affected by it too. The way she’s quaking with every breath before peaking out at him through the curtain of her hair is something he doubts he’ll ever forget as places light kisses on her shoulders to add some tenderness to the rough act.

With great reluctance and curiosity getting the better of him he pulls out his softened member, and he’s treated to the most erotic thing he’s ever seen in his life as he watches his seed slowly drip out of her folds. If he wasn’t absolutely sure that that last one had taken everything out of him he would be ready to go again from the sight of this alone.

Something in the back of his head whispers to find something to plug her up to really make sure it takes this time. But before he can act on this he sees her get her bearings on her, and she reaches between her legs. She gives a soft curse as she sees his spend on her fingers, before making a move to roll out of bed towards the bathroom. But he was quick to snatch her back and tell her to just lay with him until he fell asleep. She would only give an annoyed little huff, and give sleepy demands for beignets for breakfast in return for this favor.

He slept easier that night with his hand on her belly, believing that he would be able to find a way to keep her with him.

This would be far from the last time he would spill in her during production, but it would be the last time he could call it an accident. If he’s being honest with himself he thinks he fully intended to get her pregnant in some sort of convoluted plot to get her to settle down with him. That once she had a baby in her, she would have no choice but to marry him and leave it all behind. No more ungrateful sister or disparaging mother, Jimi could finally focus all of her attention on a family that would take care of her back.

But then everything happened all at once, and suddenly she was beyond his reach, and soon she took with her all of his hopes of having a life worth living.

Since his career had taken off, more than a few women had already accused him of fathering their babies. Of the few of them that weren’t talking outta their ass, he had seen a few of the kids, and while there were some that may have had a few features similar to him, none had come close to the little clone boy he had seen of himself in Jimi’s arms.

Others woulda chalked it up to just him getting older and wanting to settle down and any baby with a passing resemblance woulda done this to him. But there was something even beyond longing, it was that sense of rightness that has been missing from his life for a long time, something he wouldn’t’ve gotten with just any baby.

On the day they were shooting with the babies he tried to test this theory. But even holding a few of the kids, not a single one of them was able to stir anything close to that fatherly warmth that just looking or even thinking about the two little ones she held that day.

It’s not like he felt nothing holding these babies, like he wished them any harm, but he more or less cared about them the same way he would care about a random puppy: fun to play with in the moment, but didn’t really mean he cared enough for the hard or messy parts of taking care of it.

As he’s holding probably the biggest one of the lot, he realized this one is still smaller than either of his babies. Someone off-handedly asked how old this one was, he feels his throat close up at the answer.

A Year, he thinks to himself as he hands the slobbering infant back to its mother. How much did I miss? Can they walk? Can they talk?

Even as their mamas were packing them up to leave for the day, all of them would wave goodbye to him, but none of it compared to the heart-wrenching feeling remembering those two little ones she held in her arms.

In his heart he knew they were his, he didn't care what she had to say about it.

Two people, both from a set of twins, get together and create the two most beautiful and perfect babies he’s ever seen, and she thinks that means nothing? That she can just step away from him and deny him his rights as a father?

What did he miss all this time away? The boy was standing on his own, so did he already take his first shaky steps? The little girl was babbling nonsense to him, has she been able to actually make words?

Lord, he doesn't even know their names. He has so many questions and next to no answers.

But even for all the anguish it’s causing him, he can feel it in his chest how their existence has reinvigorated him beyond what he thought he was capable of anymore. He had been on the cusp of hopelessness, fully believing that without he wouldn’t be long for this world without Jimi.

But seeing them was like seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, now knowing that Jimi couldn’t get rid of a piece of him, proves it’s not too late for them.

So he went about getting answers the same way she taught him to: ask the crew. To his luck everybody seemed to know something or another about what Jimi had been up to the last few years. Through the various tidbits here and there he was slowly able to piece together a story.

How some asshole had taken advantage of her grief after losing her entire family with promises to take care of her in her time of need, and how he didn’t even wait till the ink was dry on the marriage certificate before scurrying his ass back to Mexico leaving her with less than half of her inheritance and a couple of babies in her belly. She came back to Paramount as a costume designer a couple months back after calling in a few favors with some of the higher-ups, and has been flagrantly breaking the rules by bringing the babies on to set.

Jimi wasn’t lying when she said that make-up girls hear everything there is to know in this town. Unfortunately he finds out the hard way that that goes for all of them, even those that now work in the costume department.

“I hear you’ve been asking about me,” a familiar voice would coldly say as she wrapped the cape around his neck.

He doesn’t have to look up to know who it is, but he does look around to make sure the other make-up girl was gone. This at the very least confirms that she’s keeping her cards as close to her chest as possible, and trying to prevent anybody from figuring it out.

“I had a right to know Jimi,” he answers, not looking directly at her face but through the mirror. A trick he learned when he first met her when he wanted to get her genuine reaction on something, he could only do so when she thought she wasn’t being looked at directly. It still proves to be true when he sees her jaw clench the slightest bit at his comment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says apathetically but immediately contradicts herself when she gives a firm yank to his hair so that he’s looking right up at her.

He gives a small grunt, though he does smile a bit at finally being able to get a reaction out of her. “Well now, last time I saw you like this-”

“Elvis,” she cuts off sharply before she grits out, “Leave. It. Alone.”

Now it’s his turn to react as his jaw clenches in frustration at the audacity. “Why should I?”

“Elvis…” she says slowly like he’s a child. “What do you think is going to happen if you are the father?”

He opens his mouth to argue with her, only to come up short. He hadn’t really thought farther ahead other than being able to have them all in his life. But what would that mean for them? How would people react to him not only having kids now, but having them this whole time and only now stepping up?

“That’s what I thought,” she says, placing down the comb. “Don’t worry,” she pats his cheek, maybe a little harder than necessary, “Nobody’s gonna believe they’re yours after what you said.”

He explodes hearing this, “How many times do I gotta tell ya?! I didn’t say that shit!” He stands to his full height to tower over her.

“It doesn’t matter Elvis!” she says, raising her voice for the first time since he’s known her, not in the least bit intimidated by him. “Do you really think they’re gonna just accept that you had two kids out of wedlock, and especially with a Mexican woman? Especially now that they’re trying to sell you off as this wholesome family act, do you think the studio is gonna stand for that shit.” Her eyes begin to go a bit glassy as she says the next part. “Your career might be in danger, but my literal life is at stake if they even think I could be a threat to the comeback they’re trying so hard to make happen for you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut at this point like she’s trying to will the tears back into her eyes, and her chest seems just a step away from being considered heaving, making it clear to Elvis she is trying so hard to keep the image she’s crafted for herself intact. Elvis can appreciate how yet again he’s the only one able to look past the curtain and see her for who she is.

Finally after taking a deep breath her bloodshot eyes open and she gives a somber, “Do you know how my last movie ended?” Her voice severe and distant, her hands placed on the hinges of the trailer door.

He’s a little stumped by the heel-turn of this conversation, but he plays along if only to convince himself he still has a chance to convince her otherwise. “You got your folks back together didn’tcha?

“No,” she says bitterly. “That last movie ended with the worst box office turnout of the year, because it was banned in most southern states -including yours- because the white man ended up with the mexican mother,” there the sardonic smirk on her face tells him she finds little humor in what she’s saying. “The studios forced us to tell that story and blamed us when nobody wanted to see it…”

“Jimi,” he starts placing a hand on her shoulder before she rips it away. “Baby, it’s a different time now,” though even he realizes how hollow those words are.

“Let me finish!” she shouts, tears trailing down her face as she looks back at him. “This isn’t a movie,” she declares. “There is no happy ending for anybody if you keep digging. Not for you, not for me, and especially not for my babies.”

Our babies, is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back.

“I’m not gonna have my babies a part of that life Elvis,” she glares at him. “They don’t need you. I don’t need you.” She turns her head and he can see the tears that threaten to fall in the corners of her eyes. “So just… leave it.”

And with seemingly the final word, she walks out of his trailer and he falls back heavy into his chair, utterly exhausted by the encounter. His chest feels tight, the shallow breathes he’s able to take doing little to remedy the feeling, his hands shaking out of fury and grief for the life that’s been stolen from him. On top of all of that his vision starts to blur with the tears clouding them, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing the movement in the mirror.

He quickly gathers himself as best he could and turns to face whoever just entered his trailer, but he finds himself alone. That is until he looks at the mirror again.

He knows he must look a mess right now, but the mirror doesn’t reflect that whatsoever with the stony features he sees looking back at him. Elvis knows his face, and he knows when he’s not looking at his face. But Elvis knows who this is even before he opens his mouth with the only words he’ll speak to him.

“Go getcha girl,” Jesse whispers.

And just like that he’s gone, and Elvis looks at his own reflection once again. With that little bit of brotherly guidance, Elvis comes to one startling realization: She’s right.

She’s right, this isn’t a movie.

So that means he doesn't gotta be nice about getting her back.

He’s spent the last nearly two years planning how he was going to apologize to her over something he didn’t even do. Where is the justice in that? It’s as though she’s only capable of seeing him in the worst possible light.

If she want’s a villain so goddamn bad then he’ll give her one.

What a cruel power did God give to women. To take a piece of man, to mold and create something so wonderful and joyful, only to be able to deny him that if she felt so inclined. Usually the duplicitous ones will take from one man and claim it to be from another, all for gain, but Jimi is far more sadistic with this power, to hold two little mirrors in her arms and deny him his very own image.

It’s enough to drive a lesser man insane.

No.

She’s not gonna deny him this.

Jesse may have gotten him started on this path, but he can no longer just rely on fate to bring them together. He will take matters into his own hands, and they will be together.

He remembers the first time he had seen one of her films as a kid. It was his 8th birthday and he had begged his Mama to let him go to the movies to see literally anything that day, and it so happened to be that one where the two sisters unintentionally thwarted some robbers in their house.

He remembers laughing as Nena was sent into one room only for Mena to rip down the hallways as soon as the door was closed much to the confusion of the would-be criminals. He remembers the fear he felt when Mena seemingly fell out a window with the next shot being one of them lying on their stomach on the ground only for the next scene to reveal they had pulled the old switcheroo. He remembers the end when their parents finally came home and were glad that them burglars didn’t get their most precious treasures- their daughters.

Most of all he remembers glancing over at the empty seat next to him and wondering if these were the sort of antics him and Jesse were meant to get up to. His mama never kept his brother a secret from him, always telling him how he’d have the strength of two, but he always knew on some level she would have preferred two regularly strong boys rather than just one really strong one.

That feeling he got when looking at the vacant seat next to him is the same feeling he gets everytime he looks at his Hillcrest home now. The realization as to how fundamentally empty a home is without a family to fill it.

Fate denied him his brother before he even entered the world. Death had snatched his mother out from under him. And that horrible Stanley woman was working double time to take his daddy away from him too. He’s not about to let Jimi keep him away from any more of his family, just because she wants to be stubborn.

Now, knowing of their existence he knows he needs them in his life. He needs her in his life.

The PI didn’t disappoint, when you got enough money and notoriety in this town, they tend not to. He hardly batted an eye when Elvis had mentioned that there were kids out there that were potentially his, though he did give a funny look when Elvis told him he actually wanted him to dig up proof that he was the father, which is apparently rather novel in this town.

Though what the PI brings back is painful in its own way. He mostly focused on what could be dug up through paper records both legally and illegally obtained: house deeds, birth certificates, medical records, wills etc.

That’s how he finally learns the names of his children.

Alejandro and Mireya.

Big names for babies that are so little, he thinks to himself. Only to realize that they will one day grow into them, and he’s wasting time not being with them.

By all accounts, Jimi’s doing just fine: house is paid off, bills get paid on time, food is plenty, and she’s apparently in the market for a nanny. But a deeper look revealed that she’s pissing through her savings right now and with the way things are going she’ll be out of money in maybe another ten years, something she must have realized if she came back to work at all. Elvis finds himself exasperated that her stubbornness will cause her and the little ones to sink before she ever thinks to ask for help.

But it's the few and far between snapshots of the little family that threaten to do Elvis in. He has to fight the urge to frame them as they are all so wonderfully domestic. Strolls through the park, trips to ice cream shop, stops at the grocery store, and everything else that would paint the perfect family portrait of a young, beautiful mother and her two adorable babies.

Everything except for a father.

Though some of the most painful ones to look at were the ones from her day at the beach with them. He can almost pretend that he is the one behind the camera, that he took these pictures of her and the little ones on a family outing and not in fact a shameless voyeur of the life that should by all rights be his. In one of them, they were facing the camera as they looked out to the vast ocean before them, Jimi crouched down by the shore line as she held their little hands so they could properly get their feet wet. She wears a wrap around her one piece bathing suit in a facsimile of modesty and he already knows she turned a few heads that day. Little Alejandro is wearing a swim ring and practically wrapped around Jimi’s leg while Mireya’s wearing little floaties and pulling on her mama’s hand to try to go deeper.

So wholesome and idyllic, he can practically picture the entire day in his head.

How he would come up behind her and swing them back and forth on the shore line as though he were about to toss them in while they squealed in delight.

How he would play with them in the sand until she insisted on them taking a nap under the umbrella while their parents could have a breather to have lunch.

How she would lay beside them and from his position he could shamelessly leer at their mothers figure.

How the day would knock them out on the car ride home and they would both quietly bring the little ones in the house and place them in their cribs and how she would wrap herself around his arm as they both gazed down at the two little miracles before them.

How he would bend her over right outside the hallway and fuck her raw so that they would never have a day at the beach without babies.

If that wasn't what Norman Rockwell pictured for the ideal family life, he doesn’t know what is.

Those last few weeks of shooting, he could hardly function knowing they were all out there, the few who knew what he was going through were unsure how to approach him. Some learned quickly that he wasn’t about to be questioned on this, others had to learn the hard way.

After the last day of shooting, Elvis would only idly register the fact that he had been sitting on a lounge chair staring vacantly at the pool. He hadn’t meant to, he just remembers after breakfast wondering how he’ll probably teach them how to swim there, and then all of a sudden the sun had already set for the day.

His buddies had apparently gotten so worried, they had ended up calling in reinforcements.

“Now my boy,” a familiar voice would say behind him. “I hear we been losin’ focus lately.”

As though on reflex Elvis feels his jaw clench in distaste. In a way the colonel was the best and worst choice to be the one to come talk to him. The worst because after learning what he knows, he wants little to do with the man anymore and the best because he needs someone to take out all this anger on before he can see the mother of his children again.

So Elvis really has to put all of his acting abilities to work at this moment, as he plasters on a phony grin and grits the teeth he’s liable to start gnashing at any moment. “I reckon I been more focused now than I been in a long time, Colonel.”

Bypassing what he just said, the man sits down on the lounge chair right next to him. “That’s not what I been hearin’ ‘from your buddies.” Elvis can see he has the clown head cane, which he adds to the list of things he’s finding infuriating about the man.

“And what they been sayin’?”

“How an old flame reared her head recently and has been getting in your head with some foolish notions of slowing down now of all times,” he says. “My boy, I warned you ‘bout women like this before. They can’t appreciate the hard work we been doin’ to make this life here, and simply will take from men ike us.”

As sour of a taste as that statement leaves in his mouth, that at the very least confirms that Parker doesn’t know dogshit about the sitation. He’s reminded of that time how she complained she never has time to take a cigarette break or something will catch on fire. Something that was proven true only moments after she put one in her mouth and then ten men were screaming fire. She would casually stroll up to it, extinguisher in hand, and use the inferno from the stagelight to light her cigarette before putting it out.

“You don’t gotta worry no more, my boy,” he starts patting around his jacket, only to pull out two cigars and a set of matches. This and the story gives him an idea as to how to prove his own convictions.

“Why’s that Colonel?” Suspecting what he’s getting at, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I had a word with the young lady you were so fond of back in New Orleans,” he started, every word of his making Elvis want to scratch his own skin off. “And rest assured we came to an agreement after a few words from yours truly,” he says as though that will somehow placate him. “She wants nothing more than for us to leave her and her little ones alone, and of course we can accommodate that,” he lights up a celebratory cigar and hands his client one as well as though they were in some anti stork club.

He once made the mistake of calling the Colonel something of a father figure to him, and he’s never been more disgusted with himself than right now. But he stays silent as he lets the “Colonel” before him dig his own grave.

“Trust me son, I get the urge to want to settle down,” he reassures him. “But you’re young and it ain’t like you don’t got all the options in the world. Next time ‘round you can have some babies with a proper American girl”

The Colonel doesn’t know it yet, but this statement truly solidifies his fate.

He doesn’t get it. None of these assholes get it. How can they? They ain’t ever lost someone like he did, like she did. They can’t see the value of family because they think that he can just make more of them with someone else? As though forces of a higher power hadn’t gone out of their way to bring them together.

Elvis can do nothing more than kiss his teeth at the older man’s ignorance, as he slowly but deliberately grabs the cigar from his mouth and looks him dead in the eye as he slowly stamps out the cigar on the unvarnished wooden side table.

Jimi was right. Words are nothing at the end of the day and it’ll be actions that will show them all how fucking serious he is about this.

“Those are my babies, and she’s my girl. And I ain’t gonna hear nothin’ more ‘bout it.” Elvis gets the pleasure of watching the Colonel gape like a fish only to then go red in the face as he goes back and forth between him and the small flames that are now beginning to dance on the table. He cuts him off before he can get another word in edgewise. “‘Sides I think marryin’ her would do wonders for my reputation down south.”

The portly man is surprised by his clients words and tries to quickly recover from the shock. “Son, I-I don’t think there’s notin’ down there we need to worry ‘bout,” he scolds as though Elvis were a child, trying desperately to reign him in.

“I used to think the same thing, ‘till I hired that PI to look into Jimi…” Elvis starts as he cuts the cigar, not even bothering to acknowledge the man’s concerns, “... and a few other things.”

“...what other things?”

“Funny you mention that Colonel. I had him look into where the hell those quotes came from. Y’know the ones that got me banned from Mexico. And boy did he have a story to tell,” his words are comically gleeful as he brings the cigar to his mouth. “One with high up there politicians, birthday parties, and blank checks. A story… my manager apparently knew all too well, but ain’t ever bothered to tell me.”

The only thing that could be heard in the moment was the light crackling from the flames between the two of them, and from it’s light Elvis can see the way that the sweat seems to pour off of the man in front of him. They both know that it has nothing to do with the fire.

“So-son, this is… it’s-it’s more complicated than you think,” Parker stutters, trying to desperately wrench back control of the situation. But Elvis already knows that the next chance he gets, he’s gonna cut ties with him… but Parker certainly doesn’t. And so for the time being he still has a role to play in this production.

“Now there’s two ways to take this,” Elvis says leaning back on the wicker chair as the flames begin to get higher and higher, attracting the attention of his boys outside, and they rush to try to do something about it. One single hand gesture from him has them all frozen in place, awaiting his command.

Good, these motherfuckers needed to be reminded who exactly is in charge here, even if he had to burn this whole place to the ground.

“One, a simple mistake that my manager made and will now do anythin’ to fix if he wants even a chance at his contract bein’ renewed pretty soon… or two…” he brings the still unlit cigar to the now three foot flames on the table beside him, the closest thing he’s done to acknowledge them. He even briefly blows out the flame on his cigar, really trying to draw it out, enjoying the way it makes the older man squirm in his seat. It’s only right considering how much grief he caused trying to hide his secret so long. But if Jimi had taught him anything about Hollywood, is that shit like this don’t stay buried forever. “My manager for some reason can’t leave the country and didn’t want me leavin’ it neither.”

It's an interesting experience to watch a man go from red in the face to completely white in horror. He opens and closes his mouth in disbelief more than a few times as though god himself will put the words in his mouth to smooth over this misstep. Any doubts Elvis had about the PI’s story melted away with each little tick the man before him made.

Jimi had taught him what makes for a good and bad actor, and boy oh boy did Parker make for a shitty one: the shifty beady eyes, the nervous tapping on his cane, the constant swallowing and clearing of his throat.

“So Colonel,” he states with a smoky breath, and no amount of venom missing from his voice for the man that- albeit unintentionally- cost him so much time with his family. “What’s it gonna be?”

The flames are by now as tall as a full grown man, and the fire has now fully engulfed the low table that was once there. All the boys are nervously shifting and shuffling about, wanting to put it out before it can get out of hand, but the hand that Elvis holds toward them keeps them in place, not a single one of them willing to go against him.

The message is clear to everyone though: give him what he wants or he will burn them all, and not just metaphorically.

“I-I,” the old man stutters looking down at his feet undoubtedly looking for help even from Hades himself, only to see as an ember finds a new home on his lone client’s pant leg.

Elvis does not acknowledge this.

Parker looks back up at him, only now comprehending who the hell he is dealing with.

“I’ll see what I can do my boy,” he finally answers breathlessly.

“Now that’s what I like to hear, Parker,” he gives an amiable clap to his shoulder before gesturing to the rest to take care of the inferno before them. They’re all in a dead sprint to deal with the fire and Elvis gives his foot a cursory dip in the pool to extinguish the flames creeping up his ankle, before walking away without another word to any of them.

With the Colonel and everyone else willing to do anything to get back in his good graces, things seem to run a lot smoother now.

Finding a lawyer willing to handle paternity suits is easy enough in this town, finding one that is willing to fight to establish his status as their father however… practically every lawyer that was consulted said it was near impossible for them to do so without the mother’s consent. Without even knowing who exactly they were meant to be representing they said the whole thing would be a wash if at the end of the day the mother remains obstinate against it, and regardless of any blood tests, no judge would believe that a woman would willingly say no to the support a man like Elvis could offer if it wasn’t the absolute truth that he wasn’t the father.

Needless to say that Elvis could only rely on the legal route so much. Though he did learn a few interesting things as to what would happen to children if the mother is deemed unfit.

And from there, he begins to cook up a truly awful and perhaps downright evil plan but he knows that the prize is worth the risk.

It’s gonna rely on all of his skills as an actor, and she’s been in the business too long to not know an act when she sees one. But he has one major advantage over Jimi in this department: She already expects the worst from him, so him doing this wouldn’t be a stretch in her eyes.

Even threatening to dig a little deeper into whether or not they were his, made her pull back even more, she’s not gonna make this easy for him, and part of him doubts he would want it to be so. He knows he’s not without options, and that women would practically tear down the door to be the one to give him babies.

But how can he just let her go?

Jesse couldn’t be here with him, that’s why he sent her his way. Elvis needed someone who would look out for him no matter what. And with Elena gone, Jimi needed someone to look out for. The two of them fit together like puzzle pieces really.

So he has to be smart about this. Nothing gradual because she will bolt the second she even gets a hint as to what he’s planning. So he takes a step back and allows the PI to learn all he can about her new schedule and what she’s got in the works.

She’s still working for Paramount, though only barely, as she now apparently only comes in once a week to talk with directors and drop off designs. Though it’s clear this is not for much longer as she’s apparently been tapped by some production company down in Mexico to come work for their wardrobe department.

It becomes apparent that he needs to work quickly if he wants to pull off his plan, when his request to have her work on his next movie is denied for the simple fact that she is apparently only sticking around Paramount long enough to finish off a few other productions. He’s honestly a little glad for this change, it just means he can put his plan to action a little earlier and they can be together sooner.

So it’s not even a week after the end of production does he find himself standing in front of her small, new house in East LA.

Elvis knows his influence on women, and despite what the papers say, he’s tried to use this for good. So when he walks up to Jimi’s door and knock, he does admittedly ham it up with the hand to lean on the door frame and the slightly unkempt hair falling over his forehead, a look he knows would make any woman weak in the knees. Especially a 13 year old babysitter.

The girl (Letty, he’s pretty sure the PI said), seems to be confused more than anything else, uncomprehending as to who stands before her. She’s far from the first or last to have this reaction but it shows that Jimi is playing her cards far too close to her chest that she wouldn’t know why he’s here.

“This here’s Jimena’s place?” He asks though he already knows the answer from the PI that’s getting paid hourly.

“Ye-yes,” she stutters, reaching a hand out only to quickly snatch it back as she confirmed he was really here.

“Perfect,” he grins, and he sees her look down bashfully. “I’m here to pick up the babies.”

This confuses the poor girl even more. “She… didn’t mention that.” Elvis has to hold himself back from telling her she couldn’t keep a father away from his children, but honeys and flies and all that.

“It’s a bit of a surprise for her.” He answers.

She’s still apparently unsure of herself, as she gives a weak point back inside the house as she says,“I-I think I sh-should ma-maybe call her.”

“How much you gettin’ paid by her?” he asks affably, though a little annoyed at the girl continuing to keep him from his babies.

“Five dollars a day and an autographed picture of Marlon Brando,” she answers, though she looks back down at her feet, as though embarrassed to be talking about another star she preferred in front of him. He doesn’t take it to heart, remembering Jimi complaining how she had more autographs than she knew what to do with.

“How ‘bout this,” he pulls out his wallet. “I’ll give you 50 and get you a personal meeting with Marlon, if you get the lil’ ones ready to come with me for the day and don’t say nothin’ to no one ‘bout whatcha saw today.”

The teen gapes like a fish at the offer and though Elvis knows it’s good for his plan that she didn’t automatically refuse his proposition, it is nonetheless disheartening that this is the girl Jimi had entrusted his babies to.

“I-I-I,” she looks at her feet, as though they’ll have the answers for the dilemma. “I don’t think I can let them g-go with a stranger.” she puts a bit more of her weight onto the door fully intending to close it.

“That’s the best part kid,” he pressed a palm to the door. “I ain’t a stranger to her.” The girl has no idea what kind of danger she’s in, and Elvis attributes that almost solely to Jimi’s influence. What’s a few lies when he knows he would do far worse if she dares to keep him away from his children any longer.

“Don’t let them papers know this,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper, full well-knowing that’s exactly who she’s gonna go straight to the moment she gets the chance to do so. “Y’see their mama and I… well we been seein’ each other for awhile, and now stubborn women she is, she don’t wanna go no further ‘til I can prove I’m ‘father material’ so I came down here to prove her wrong.”

She furrows her brow in confusion until her eyes go wide. “Wait… go further? As in…”

He takes a page out of Jimi’s book and gives a pursed grin while his eyes slide away from her, not even trying to deny her assumptions. Seeing her hold a hand to her mouth to cover her dramatic gasp, Elvis would like to think Jimi would be proud as to see how far his acting abilities have come.

The girl is apparently all too eager to play cupid as she quickly invites him in with a big grin on her face and ushers him towards a sitting room. Despite how cool he’s playing it he’s a nervous wreck on the inside, feeling like he’s about to walk into a test he knew he didn’t study well enough for.

But that all disappears the moment he lays eyes on them.

They can already do so much, he thinks as he watches them play though they don’t notice him, Mireya holding a whole baby conversation with her stuffed animals in between trying to feed them dry cheerios while Alejandro is making little humming noises around the pacifier in his mouth as he crawls to drive his little fire truck around. Eventually the tiny boy drove the toy straight into Elvis’ foot.

The small boy looks up at the new figure, and with the way he looks at him, Elvis doubts he remembers him. So he tries not to take it too personally when the boy silently gets up and scrambles behind one of the couches, only to then peek over the corner, as though to make sure he’s still there.

“Ale, Mimi, come say hi,” the young teen says in a soft voice before she turns around and leaves him alone with them. Those names feel much more fitting of the small babies he’s pictured in his head, and even more fitting as he leans against the door frame of the little sitting room.

Mimi almost immediately begins to toddle over to him with a little stuffed doggy tucked underneath her arm. She looks at him and again there is not an ounce of recognition in her eyes as she merely approaches him wraps her arms around one of his shins before immediately going back to her toys.

So much for the instant connection he was hoping to have with them, but he tries not to get too discouraged with this as he approaches. He crouches down next to his daughter and picks up a stuffed monkey and uses it to tickle her neck a little, and that has her shrieking in delight.

This does seem to settle Ale somewhat as he slowly comes from behind the couch to watch the two of them. Though he plops down right between them with his engine in tow and gives a wary look toward Elvis as though he means to act as her protector. He didn’t know it was possible to have a skeptical look while sucking on a pacifier, but his son somehow manages to do just that.

Elvis notices something in the boy's front overall pocket and when he reaches a hand to investigate it, his son is quick to react with an overhead swat to the intruding hand. Elvis can’t help but laugh at how very Jimi that reaction is.

Before he knows it the bags are all packed and it’s time to go. Ale looks more confused than scared as Elvis picks him up with his wide brown eyes, while Mimi on the other hand is in awe of being so high up and she immediately starts trying to reach for things that he thinks would usually be out of reach when held by her mama.

In the last few days he’s had ample time to imagine what exactly it would feel like to hold them in his arms, but all of it pales in comparison to the phenomena of the experience. Elvis is a man that has dabbled in many pleasures over the years yet all of that pales in comparison to just the utter rightness of this moment.

It’s an indescribable, euphoric feeling that makes him never want to let go of either of them, even if one is seeming indifferent to him while the other tries to squirm out of his grasp.

He had been prepared to sneak out the back with them or pass them out the window to Jerry before sneaking to the car, hell he contemplated that he would even have to simply grab them and run. He never in a million years would’ve imagined it was as easy as scooping them both up in his arms and taking a brisk walk out the front door to the car while the babysitter hands over a baby bag to him.

The fact that it was so easy was just further proof that he needed to get them out of there. What if it had been some crazy man that came in today and not him that took them?

“E.P. What the fuck?” Jerry asks, more tired than confused.

“Let’s get goin’ already.”

The car ride gives him some time to truly appreciate how beautiful his babies are.

Mimi has Jimi’s thick dark hair and her pouty lips, and those coupled with the cornflower blue gaze that came from him, he can already hear the heart's (and the kneecaps, Elvis will personally see to it) breaking across the country. And where Ale seems almost his exact copy, he can see Jimena’s touches here and there with the way his hair curls or the slight upturn of his nose. Truly it would be a crime to deprive the world of more pretty children like these two.

Mimi in turn seems to also be fascinated by his face, and he takes a few playful nibbles that has her squealing in delight. Though she does lose a bit of interest in him as the car starts and she gets to see the world around her rush past her. She makes sure to point out every animal she sees whether it be a dog, a cat, or even a squirrel, and Elvis finds himself enjoying every moment of it as it feels like he’s looking at this whole city through a new lens.

“Mida, mida,” she squeals in her tiny voice as she points to a bird. “pajado!”

Ale on the other hand is just looking up at him owl-eyed, too in shock as to what’s going on around to look at anything but at his father. He clutches on to his little firetruck like a shield still unsure of this whole thing but Elvis takes it as a small victory that he isn’t balling his eyes out. Elvis resorts to trying to make faces at him to get him to crack even a little though it becomes apparent that what this kid lacks in looks from his mother, he more than makes up for by having her personality, as he barely twitches at any face. Granted it is hard to tell around the pacifier he refuses to part with.

Jerry remains blessedly quiet for the rest of the car trip though Elvis doesn’t miss the occasional stolen glance from his young friend. The man -boy, really- had initially been on the side of letting sleeping dogs lie, and now Elvis pushes down the petty urge to hold up his own son to his face and have him try to deny his own image.

Elvis’ living room could honestly give Santa's workshop a run for his money with the sheer amount of toys and playthings that occupy it now. All his boys had apparently been working overtime trying to make Elvis forget how skeptical they had been in his beliefs, and trying to worm their way back into his good graces.

His daughter practically dives headfirst into the large pile of stuffed animals to be had, meanwhile his son stands in the middle of a treasure trove of toys, his red engine hanging limply from his hand, practically overwhelmed by choice. He eventually does settle on a set of blocks that he takes to stacking up only to ram his truck into the makeshift tower. Elvis can’t help the chest swelling contentment he feels in that moment seeing his babies love their new home so much.

He hardly sees anybody else all day, and he’s glad for it. He didn’t want any of them sticking around too long, as this was his chance to bond with his babies properly, and he didn’t need any of them to distract them. Aside from the occasional maid coming in to bring snacks or to change a dirty diaper, he gets an entire uninterrupted afternoon with the two.

Mimi was so eager to play with him and show him all of her little toys, with her favorites being the little stuffed dog she hadn’t let go of, it’s neck floppy as she clutched it in her tiny baby hand.

Ale thinks he’s subtle as he eyeballs Elvis most of the afternoon. He is not. He all but gapes at him when he thinks he’s not looking, only to turn around and try his darndest to look very busy with his blocks or cars when Elvis looks over to him.

He tries to approach the toddler, only for the boy to rebuff him each and every time by shuffling to the opposite end of the room, and setting up shop there. Elvis has to remind himself to be patient, knowing that his son is handling being in a new strange place with a man he only barely knows better than most kids would so he has to let the boy approach him first.

He could tell just by the way he watched Mimi like a hawk, that he was the older of the two, the same way Jimi always said she was with her sister. His weary attitude towards him only began to thaw out when Mimi stumbled over a block, somewhat able to catch herself on her hands but that doesn’t prevent her from still hitting her little forehead on the carpeted floor. Immediately father and son are at her side to comfort the wailing girl, Elvis crouching down to pick her up and rubbing her back, trying to imitate the few times he’d seen mothers do this, while Ale not fully understanding what’s wrong with her, only to tries to climb his father to try to take the girl in his own little arms and rest his head on her back.

After a few more tears and she had been allowed to thoroughly ruin his shirt, Mimi was able to calm down and go back to playing as usual. Ale seems to only then realize that he had gotten close to his father, and nothing bad had happened, so blessedly he doesn’t seem entirely too opposed to his presence anymore.

The only major hiccup of the entire evening was when Ale had entrusted Elvis with his most treasured toy. Elvis almost burst into tears when his son had reached into the front pocket of his overalls to pull out a small matchbox car, one that appeared to have been red at one point but had since faded into a light pink.

This coupled with Mimi’s favorite stuffed toy being a stuffed beagle… Elvis is not one to just name anything as signs from God, but those two together had to mean something.

And it’s frustrating to say the least that Jimi refuses to see this.

The twins begin to wind down around the evening, with full bellies and comfy pajamas on it’s not too long before Mimi practically falls asleep where she was playing, her little bottom in the air as she drooled all over her little blue doggy that now acts as a pillow.

Ale is far more stubborn about the whole thing, refusing to sleep even as he jealously looks over to his sister before stubbornly rubbing at his dark eyes and continuing to play with his toy cars.

“Don’t go down so easy now do ya’ son?” Elvis says as though he’s actually commiserating over his miserable sleep with a friend and not his toddler son. “You get that from me,” The boy at the very least now tolerates him being so close, but Elvis isn’t going to try to push it by picking him up. Instead he would gently pick up his daughter and hold her in one arm, while offering the other to his son, a clear invitation to the boy.

In spite of all his mulishness, Ale does eventually give in and makes little grabby hands signaling he wants to be picked up, and Elvis does admittedly melt a little at the sight. He’s quick to accept the invitation and picks the little boy up and takes them upstairs.

The nursery room as of right now is pretty barebones, having had to rearrange many things in the house, so as to make it a home for his family. But he thinks his boys managed to at least get the essentials with a crib and a rocking chair, and he figures that they can build from there.

The experience of not just holding his children at the same time but of actually getting to do the fatherly thing of singing them to sleep is incomparable to anything he’s ever had the chance to experience. Something so new, yet at the same time feeling like his whole life was leading up to this point. Mimi’s already asleep and he knows better than to wake a sleeping baby, so he sets her down in the crib first before sitting down in the rocking chair with his son in tow. Elvis admittedly doesn’t have a wide knowledge of lullabies, and he briefly panics for a moment until remembering the one he’s performed maybe a dozen times in the last few months.

They call your daddy Big Boots

And Big Boots is his name

It takes a big man to wear big boots

That's your daddy's claim to fame

It feels only appropriate to sing this to his own son, and in a way he’s glad that he performed this before meeting either of them. He doubted he would’ve been able to keep it together singing this to any other child now, knowing they were out there. Much to his relief, Ale eases up a little on his chest, resting his chin on his arms to better look at his father, not so defensive anymore.

Gonna tell you a little secret

You won't believe it's true

Did you know your daddy, Big Boots

Once wore little boots like you

Ale for the first time today removes his pacifier from his mouth and presses his tiny hand to Elvis mouth, seemingly entranced by the music leaving it and unbelieving that this is coming from a man and not a radio.

But where he was barely keeping it together while singing, Elvis can’t help his reaction when Ale lets out a soft little “daaa…”

His throat seems to close up and he has to blink away a few tears, but that doesn’t lessen the grin on his face. “Th-that’s right son,” he breathes, through quivering lips, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m your daddy.”

Something about that statement seems to settle something in the boy, as he finally puts his head on his chest and his breathing seems to even out. It’s as though he had been the ever vigilant man of the house. But now knowing that his daddy was home, he can finally lay his head down and rest.

Eventually he has to put him down once he sees Mimi start to fuss in her sleep, waving an arm around and grasping for something, but she quickly relaxes once her brother is within her grasp.

Elvis sits to watch them for a time, they’re simply so hypnotic to observe. The way they breathe in tandem and seem to gravitate toward each other, in a world of their own right now. It makes him wistful for the brother he never got to know. But wherever his brother may be right now, he feels joy that he can carry out his will and finally have a whole family once more.

One look out at the sun setting and the clouds rolling outside his windows, he knows it won’t be too long before she arrives. He wants to be able to relax but he knows he won’t be able to until all of his family is under his roof. But he knows her well enough, to know she’ll be home soon.

Finally he sees an unfamiliar pair of headlights shine behind the gates, before coming to a screeching halt and a familiar silhouette stands in front of the lights, to give a futile shake at the front gate. He can imagine she’s yelling to be let in, even muffled through the patter of the rain starting to really come down and the thunder rolling in the distance, he can just barely make out her voice.

He sees Lamar unlock the gate for her, but the moment his guard is let down she takes off running towards the front, which is when Elvis takes this as his cue to start heading down to meet her.

She was in no way prepared for this weather if her near see-through white blouse was anything to go by. Her makeup is running slightly, streaking down her cheeks making it impossible to figure out if it was rain or tears running down her face. All fury and passion, just like he loves her.

She angrily stomps past him, still trying to ignore him only for him to block her with his full body.

“How many times?” she grits out. “How many times must I turn you away?”

“I don’t know darlin’,” he whispers in a just as low voice. “As many times as it takes ‘til you figure out I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Cut the crap Elvis!” she shouts. “Where are they!?”

He responds with a single finger to his smirking lips. “If you wake ‘em, you gotta put ‘em down again.”

This immediately has her try to run past him towards the bedrooms, but he catches her in one arm over her waist and he sits her on the dining room table, sure to plant his hands on her knees so she doesn’t get any ideas.

“That’s enough Elvis,” she tries to rip his hands away from her. The way she’s all clenched up, lets him know that she would scream at him if it were an option. “You’ve had your fun, now just let us go.”

He just further smirks. “Y’know after all the things I learned ‘bout the last two years for you, I kept askin’ myself one thang,” he says pushing himself off the table to stalk towards her. “‘Why the hell is she still here?’”

Her jaw clenches tight at this, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I had to do what I had to do to support My babies.”

“Considerin’ what my guy dug up,” he starts making his way towards the table that has had her whole life laid out upon it. “You coulda worked anywhere else and left Hollywood behind a long time ago.” The heavy clench of her jaw and the daggers in her eyes tell him he’s getting close to the bullseye. “No,” he says, holding her chin between his fingers. “You stayed cuz you was waitin’ for me to get back.”

This infuriates her and she gives him a good shove, but he’s no longer in the mood to indulge her little tantrum so he stays put.

“Is that what you wanna fucking hear Elvis, then fine! They’re yours!” she shouts, a bit of a tremble in her voice. “Are you happy now? Will it help you sleep better at night knowing they’re yours? ”

“I’ll sleep better knowin’ they’re under my roof.”

She freezes at this admission. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout the fact that you and the little ones are gonna be movin’ in with me.”

The silence that passes is near deafening and he gets the pleasure of seeing the reality of the situation set in in her face. She gives a short mirthless but undoubtedly forced laugh but there’s no denying the fear in her eyes.

Good.

After all, she was the one that wanted this when she wanted so badly to make him a villain in this. He’s not, he’s a father.

“All this time, I thought you were stupid,” she says, that sardonic, slightly scared, laugh still laced in her tone. “Turns out you’re just fucking crazy.” Anybody else he would’ve been offended, but he lets her barbs slide right off his back, because truly words are all that she has left anymore. He’ll let her have them. “In what world do you think this is gonna play out like you want it?”

He gives a soft smile and raises a hand to take her chin, only for her to quickly smack it away.

“The world the studio pays for.”

She gives a derisive snort, “And you think they’re gonna pay for you to ruin your image.”

He simply smirks at her, finding her ignorance cute. For all that she knows how to work the system, he understands how the system works. More importantly he understands that the system works for him. His only direct response is to slide her the papers his people drafted up for him.

“What the fuck are these?” she asks, her voice lower, trying to mask her genuine confusion.

“That there is the copy of the marriage license ‘you’” he uses air quotes, “signed six hours ago, and an officiant from the studio officially signed off on these.”

“I-I don’t understand,” she says, her voice smaller than he’s ever heard from her.

“Now Jimi let me tell you two stories, only one of ‘em’s gonna be in tomorrow’s paper,” he says, gently rubbing her cheek that she quickly slaps away. He retaliates just as swiftly with his hand splayed across her collarbone to lay her back on to the large dining table, just below the neck, not enough to choke her, but just enough to remind her who the fucking man of this house is. “One is how I went and got married to a single-mother of twins and I adopted them as my own.”

“I would neve-”

“Or…” he cuts in as he puts a little more pressure on her neck. “And this one is the one the studio prefers… I marry some random girl they pick out for me and we end up adopting two poor little orphans, ‘cause their mama decided to run off to Mexico in the middle of the night.”

Almost like he planned it, he can hear the thunder roll in the distance as the threat hangs in the air. In his heart he knows he would never go through with this, but Jimi doesn’t have to know.

All the anger drops from her face at that moment, in its place he sees something he’s never seen in her eyes: bold-faced fear. She showed her hand the other day when she told him why she wanted to keep the secret. He didn’t want to have to do this to her, but if it’s between having her fear him and staying with him vs not and her walking away, he will pick fear every single time.

He needs them in his life.

He needs her in his life.

“So you choose darlin’, which ones it gonna be,” he takes her chin between his fingers. She flinches slightly but knows she’s in no position to turn away from him now. “Either way… they’re comin’ with me.”

Elvis is not a gambling man, and he wouldn’t do this unless he knew what her answer was gonna be. She’s just as crazy for family as he is, she wouldn’t be able to handle not being able to have them. She’s probably the only one who is capable of understanding what he would do for those two as he has no doubt that she wouldn’t do the same in his shoes.

But between the two of them, only one of them had an entire studio willing to do whatever it takes to protect his image, no matter the expense.

And for all her worldliness and experience, she knows full well what happens when you get on the wrong side of the studios. She spent the better part of two years trying to prevent them from learning this, because making her disappear and having her babies get lost in the system would have been nothing to them.

He’s proud of her ability to successfully keep her and their babies alive in his absence, but he’s over her needlessly defiant nature to insist that they’ll never need him again.

He wouldn’t say he’s proud to see that defeated look in her eyes, but he does get the sense of relief knowing that he’s not going to lose anymore family today.

“Let me see them,” she whispers, barely audible over the rainfall just outside the window. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and he’s practically giddy that she didn’t try to stop him.

He finds them just where he left them, sleeping soundly knowing that their father is here to protect them, even from their mothers stubbornness. Ale is spread out like a starfish, one foot continually nudging his sister, while one hand is tightly balled up and a thumb in his mouth. Mimi on the other hand is squirming a bit, her little sock covered feet restlessly kicking at the blanket and her brow furrowed in her sleep. On pure instinct alone Elvis rubs a soothing hand on her belly until she’s calmed down enough and he quickly tucks her back in.

The look of surprise on her face wasn’t part of the plan but is welcome nonetheless. “Y’see how important a daddy is sweetheart?” he whispers into her ear.

He doesn’t exactly love the tears now freely falling out of her eyes, but he

“I’ll stay,” she whispers, through her tears. “I’m staying for them.” She asserts but the words feel so hollow now. Even still he rewards her acquiescence with a kiss, more for himself and having been so patient for her.

Even with her promises to stay now he knows that this is far from over. He knows that the next time she has them both in her arms is gonna be the next time she makes a break for it. He’s already let everybody know to never leave her alone with them, and he’s got some things in the works to make sure to make her face as recognizable as his own so she doesn’t get any ideas of trying to disappear. He’s even got a hail mary plan in his back pocket to deal with that doctor just in case he ever needs something big to keep her at his side.

But one thing he can absolutely do right now is work to get another baby in her so running won’t be so easy next time. A message she gets loud and clear the moment he works the zipper of her skirt down the mouth-watering curve of her ass.

“Elvis please,” she half-heartedly bats away his hands. “Not tonight…”

He’s been on a winning streak of getting exactly what he wants lately, and he’s not about to let her break that. He backs her against the wall of the hallway only to then nestle himself between her legs.

“C’mon baby,” he whispers in her ear, and he’s glad he can still get that same shuddering reaction from her, he remembers all too well. “It’s our weddin’ night and we gotta get to work makin’ it all official. ‘Sides you owe me more babies for keepin’ ‘em away so long.”

He can’t help but be reminded of that beach fantasy he had not too long ago and while he would love to make that into a reality, he figures that he at the very least owes her more than a dirty quickie in the hallway for their wedding night.

Besides, they'll have all the time for that in Hawaii.

So instead he opts for the classic groom move of lifting her up in his arms and carrying her into his -now their- bedroom. He doesn’t care none to be gentle with her clothes, she’ll be lucky if he cares to be gentle with her tonight after all the shit she’s put him through.

Ever the contrarian, she obstinately looks out the window and looks as though she wishes to be anywhere else right now as he peels the wet clothes off of her body. He’s been half-hard since she walked through his door, but little Elvis stands at full attention now that he can behold his wife fully. He finds the cosmetic differences that having his children has caused her body, with the near invisible stripes he feels on her belly and her temptingly darker nipples, but what he sees first and foremost in her body is his future.

That world-shattering knowledge that she will be where all of his seed is planted and he will never have to suffer being alone again. He has to push these thoughts aside lest he spill all over her belly like a green boy, and he has to remind himself that there’s no need to rush anymore now that he has her beneath him.

He has to temper himself before he gets ahead of himself so he spreads her legs to dive head first for her pussy.

He knows he has her when a simple kiss to her clit has her clenching her thighs over his ears. While it’s with reluctant acceptance does he acknowledge he wasn’t her first, he takes great pleasure knowing that he’ll be her last. It was frankly insane to believe that no one had ever done this to her before, as after he had gotten his first taste of her there was little else he wanted to do more than this.

He remembers joking with her that he now understood where her womanly sweetness went given the lack of it in her personality. It’s true nonetheless, arguably she tastes even better than he remembers. Though he imagines it’s the same way a man dying of thirst calling his first sip of water the sweetest taste, considering how much he’s pined for her.

Now that he’s been able to ensure she’s sufficiently wet enough he lets her hips fall back on to the bed, as he unbuckles himself, unwilling to waste another moment to undress himself, so that he can once more feel that connection he almost lost.

Finally being able to slip into her feels like finally coming home, there’s truly no other way to describe it. He didn’t even get this feeling when he walked through the threshold of Graceland.

“Elvis,” she sobs into his shoulder. For all the love she claims to have lost for him, her body has certainly not forgotten as he feels her thighs clench tightly around his hips, trying to keep him as close as possible.

He quickly grabs a hold of the back of her knees and he forces them all the way back practically to her ribs. Her pleasured and shocked cries ring out though the room as her new position gives him a new angle to work with. He’s a man on a mission to ensure that he leaves a mark so deep that she’ll never be able to leave again.

Forever, and just that thought alone has him frantically bucking into her over and over ripping her away from one orgasm to yet another as he chases his peak. One of the many he would have in that night alone, to try to make up for all the lost time.

Once it’s all said and done and he’s sufficiently satisfied that her sleepiness isn’t being feigned, he carries her back to the bed properly so that she can rest and be ready to be the perfect mother for their two (hopefully more) little ones tomorrow. He wraps an arm around her, knowing how slippery she can be, and he rests easy knowing she’ll be there come morning.

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