#missing satnin hours :(

[earthbaby-angelboy]

pinky promises | little!reader x 70s!cg!elvis (wc: 1,435) - A/N: I know, it's been forever, but I didn't want to leave you guys high and dry. so, enjoy a sweet fic about E and his baby who absolutely does not want to sleep. btw this is defo not proofread so sorry in advance! <3

It was 11:30 at night, and you knew damn well that you should've been sleeping some odd couple of hours ago. But lo and behold, your insomnia just wouldn't let you. The bigger problem wasn't necessarily that you couldn't sleep, it was that you had gotten into the habit of refusing to let yourself sleep.

Tonight was one of the nights where your brain just wouldn't stop going. All the lights in your room were on, there was a record spinning, and you were doodling random things on a spare piece of paper. You couldn't stop thinking of all the things going on in your personal life, with the main thought being that you weren't doing enough for the people around you. You were well aware that not sleeping wouldn't help the crappy emotions bubbling up, but at the same time, you felt like you didn't deserve to rest. As you laid on your bed and doodled mindless shapes, you couldn't help but wonder: "why does he keep me around?"

You'd lived with Elvis for a long while now, and it was a far cry from the life you came from. You grew up doing everything and then some. And now, you had people doing it all for you; there was always the maids running around the house, completing the housework and tasks that needed to be done. There was Mary, who was always cooking whatever you or E would request. And of course, there was the Mafia, who were always scrambling to complete whatever task their boss had requested of them. This left you with lots of free time. Most of it was spent with Elvis, galavanting on whatever adventure he had thought up, but quite a bit of it was spent in your own head. You felt guilty, like you were mooching off of the man you loved so dearly. Between those thoughts and the busyness of your life, you had pushed your regression to the back-burner of your brain; you already felt guilty that Elvis had to support yet another person in his life, nevermind a little with lots of emotionally demanding needs. No, you couldn't do that to him, but a small part of you knew it was (almost) inhumane to be doing this to yourself.

Your regression was something incredibly dear to you, and your boyfriend understood this fact very well. The last time you had genuinely regressed was months ago, and you denying yourself your biggest coping skill was killing you internally. Elvis had tried mentioning the subject once or twice, but was quickly shut down by you. You couldn't bear talking about it, knowing that it wouldn't get you any closer to being comforted. Tonight was one of those nights where your brain was screaming, pleading for you to help yourself and just give in. If not to regressing, then to sleep. But no, you were stubborn, you needed to stay awake.

Deciding that you were bored of doodling, you hopped off your bed. You stood up for a minute and swayed where you were standing, confident that you were okay to walk. Your vision began to blur and you could see stars, but you were determined to keep yourself up. Just as you went to take a step, your legs gave out from beneath you. You yelped the second your body hit the floor, more from shock than from pain. As soon as Elvis heard the thump from downstairs, he ran as quickly as he could from the table where all the guys were gathered, up to your bedroom. Halfway up the stairs, he had to take a pause and catch his breath. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, he shook the discomfort away and kept on going towards your room. Swinging the door open, his eyes darted around the room before landing on you, sprawled out on the floor, panting. As you locked eyes with him, he spoke, "nungen, what're you doin' on the floor?"

You looked around, as if trying to figure out where you were. "I…I don't really know. One minute I was fine, but just as I went to get up, my vision went all fuzzy. Now I'm here." You gestured around you with a dry laugh.

Elvis looked around your room; seeing the record spinning and realizing that your lights were on, he asked the obvious.

"You keepin' yourself up again?" Your eyes dropped to the floor, and a small sense of shame filled you as he caught you in the act.

"Elvis, I've told you. It's never enough."

He knew you'd been struggling recently, both with your sleeping patterns and your mental health. You had become increasingly more agitated with him, refusing to let anyone help you with even the most mundane tasks. You had pushed him away, both physically and emotionally. He had an inkling why, and although it hurt, he wasn't going to steer you into even more discomfort.

Disagreeing with your sentiment, he shook his head as he moved to help you stand. Putting his hands beneath your arms and lifting you up, you got a pang of comfort in your chest. For just a moment, you felt like his baby, the little girl you would always be to him. But as if it was planned, the feeling dissipated and was replaced with that same shame you had felt just moments ago. Once you got your footing, you craned your head up to look at your caregiver.

His hair was tousled, his eyes were soft, and his features held something that could only be described as an air of concern. As your eyes scanned his face, you hoped for something that would break the silence hanging heavy in the air. Elvis, who could read you like a book, pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. And softly, as if not to spook you, asked, "what's goin' on inside that yittle head of yours?"

And that was all it took for the floodgates of your brain to break as you fully regressed within a matter of seconds. Your eyes watered, and before you had the chance to respond to his question, your daddy was pulling you into his arms.

"Daddy," you cried into his chest. "Been needin' daddy, but couldn' ask," you sobbed.

With how you were feeling, this was about all that you could manage to say. But to Elvis, that was all it took for him to make sense of it. You had needed to regress, but didn't want to "burden" him, simple as that. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, and placed his chin on top of your head.

So this is what was getting you so worked up.

"Oh, my sweet girl," he whispered. He couldn't help but tear up as the realization hit him: you thought of yourself as a burden upon him. How could you, the little ray of sunshine that broke through all of the crass darkness in his life, be a burden? "My beautiful baby, how could lil' old you ever be a burden on daddy? You know that ain't true." His voice cracked slightly on the last sentence, making you cry harder.

As much as you believed Elvis' words, you couldn't help but feel a haunting sense of overwhelm; at the love you were receiving or the sudden release of emotions, you couldn't decipher, but it was an amalgamation of feelings that had been longing to escape your little heart.

"C'mon," he spoke, "look at me." He gently pulled away from the hug, and put his hand beneath your chin so as to direct your attention towards him. Seeing the look on your face broke his heart.

"Honey, you don't need to worry about doin' nothin' in this house. You're just a dolly, and dollies don't need to be worryin' about doin' chores or nothin' of the sort. You bein' your cute itty-bitty lil' self is all I need. Can you do that?" He finished off with a small smile. You sniffled, and nodded aimlessly as you went right back in for another hug.

"M' sorry daddy. Buntyn's feelin' real pitiful tonight," you mumbled into his chest. He stroked your hair as he adjusted his arms around you. "I know, yittle. C'mon. We're gon' have Mary fix you some angel milk, and then we'll get all cozy. How's that sound?" You peered up at him. "Satnin gon' cuddle wit' me?" You asked innocently. He gave a small laugh, and placed a kiss on your forehead.

"Satnin will always cuddle wit' his baby. I pinky promise."

[rjmartin11]

Hello! I wish you a wonderful day 🥰

I was wondering if you could write smt with 70s Elvis, where he meets his "new" Satnin and she is pretty younger than him (maybe in her 20s?).

Thank youuuu 💋

Thank you, nonny friend, for the request!

This is quite exciting. This is my first request ever, and I do want to make this sexy and spicy. I do hope I do this justice.

The way my mind is working, I could possibly make this into a series. Alas, my series days are over.

Kiss Me, Thrill Me

One Shot

Pairing: Elvis & OC!female

Warnings: A touch of fluff. Material is not suitable for under 18 years of age. View discretion is advised!

Summary: Elvis wants some loving after his breakup. After bumping into one another at a party, Elvis decides to get better acquainted with his new love interests, Dahlia Maloney.

・ʚ♡ɞ・・ʚ♡ɞ・🫦・ʚ♡ɞ・ʚ♡ɞ・

It's been two hours, and Dahlia still can't believe Elvis Presley not only bumped into her, but he spilled his drink on her. She was never ever a big Elvis fan. Of course, she heard his music, and Dahlia couldn't deny that a few of the songs were catchy. After this incident, she'd rather not see him ever again.

*Knock knock knock*

Dahlia gets up from where she's sitting and goes to the door.

"Who is it?" She asks, not expecting any company.

All her girlfriends were still downstairs in the casino, partying the night away.

"It's guest services, miss," the male's voice answered from the other side of the door.

She cracked the door open to see a bouquet of crimson rose to greet her.

"You... sure you have the right room?" Dahlia speaks slowly.

"Yes, Ms. Dahlia Maloney, right?"

"Yes, that's me."

Dahlia opens the door for the gentleman to bring her bouquet of roses in. Another gentleman follows behind him. This guy is dressed in all black with a pair of black boots to top it off. He walks in so abruptly that Dahlia doesn't have a chance to see his face, but that delicious cologne seems familiar.

The guest services guy places the bouquet of roses on Dahlia's long coffee table. The scent was lightly sweet and fresh as she breathed them in. It mixes with the gentleman's inviting aroma.

"Thank ya, Jimmy," the gentleman says, handing him a fifty dollar tip.

"Gees! Thanks, Mr. Presley!" Jimmy shouts.

"Please call me..."

"Elvis???" Dahlia says, shocked that Elvis Presley is currently in her suite.

"Hi, Doll," Elvis says.

Jimmy practically kicks out of the room, closing the door behind. On the outside of the door, he places the DO NOT DISTURB signs on the knob as Elvis requested.

"Please. Don't call doll. I'm not your doll. What are you doing here?" Dahlia asks.

Elvis looks over the brim of his sunglasses with his eyebrows raised. He takes them off to better look at Dahlia.

"I wanted to give these to ya," Elvis says, taking out a single rose from the bouquet and offering it to Dahlia. "And I wanted to talk about what happened earlier tonight."

Dahlia doesn't take the rose from him. Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest, not succumbing to Elvis' advances.

She doesn't know it, but Elvis loves stubborn, spicy women. Elvis is the master of the chase. Dahlia, not surrendering to his advances, makes him want her even more. He doesn't mind women that fold to him easily, but he admires a woman who seems uninterested. It just means Elvis can charm his way into her heart.

"Earlier? You mean when you poured your drink on me?" She asks.

"It was an accident. Truly, it was. Let me make it up to you," Elvis says, trying to give her the rose again.

Reluctantly, Dahlia takes the rose from Elvis in good faith that he'd leave. She steps forward and takes the flower from Elvis. He lightly touches her fingers. In the brief moment, Dahlia feels something electric in his touch. She pulls her hand away from Elvis and inhales sharply.

"I guess my fingers are cold," Elvis says.

"Are the flowers... your apology?" She asks. "You can't just tell me I'm sorry and be done with it?"

Elvis remains quiet, twiddling his thumb as he bites his lip.

"Oh, I understand. You're too proud to say those words," Dahlia realizes. "I'll be the bigger woman than. I forgive you. You may leave now."

"So you don't like the roses?" Elvis asks, sitting in a chair.

"They're fine, but if you're trying to ease your conscience for what happened earlier..." Dahlia pauses. "Wait. How did you know what room I was in? How do you know my name?"

"Oh, your friend Natalie told me," Elvis confessed. "She also told me that red roses are your favorite."

Dahlia shakes her head.

"Of course she did."

"Also, I wanted to confess something to you," Elvis says, jestering to the sofa by the flowers.

Dahlia doesn't want to sit down, but she feels this is the only way to get Elvis to leave sooner. What doesn't realize is that Elvis has no intention of leaving anytime soon.

"Earlier," Elvis starts off. "I...I... when I bumped into you, it wasn't an accident."

"What do you mean?"

Elvis pauses. "I meant to bump into you on purpose, but I didn't mean to spill my drink on you like I did."

Dahlia's eyes widen in amazement and pure shock. She can't believe her ears. Elvis really purposely bumped into her.

"Why? Why would you go out of your way to bump into me and humiliate me like that?"

"I saw you from across the room. I heard your laughter, and it was enough to find some way to meet you."

She looks down at her rose. "So, you couldn't just walk over and introduce yourself?"

Dahlia looks back up at Elvis. Elvis glances past her, ashamed that he wasn't more of a gentleman in the situation. He was just so damn nervous. He bites his bottom lip and looks back at her.

At the moment, Dahlia notices something in Elvis most may never see. He's shy. How could this man be shy? He has women practically throw themselves at him.

He gives off the allusion of a king in that perspective, but Dahlia sees a little boy in front of her. A little boy searching for a friend. The thought softens her heart and opens her mind.

"M-Maybe I should go," Elvis says, walking towards the door.

"Elvis!" Dahlia shouts, jumping in front of him.

Elvis stops short right in front of her, wide-eyed. Dahlia looks in his eyes and sees the true hue of his oceanic blues. She sees the sharpness of his Greek jawline and pout of his full lips. The pictures don't do him justice. Elvis Presley is absolutely gorgeous.

"Thank you. For... for the roses. No one's ever given me flowers before. They're amazing," Dahlia says.

Elvis nods his head and smiles.

"You're welcome, Doll," Elvis replies.

All of a sudden, the nickname isn't as bad as Dahlia originally believed. Elvis was just being friendly and trying to bond with her. She sees that now. The question is, how does she get him to stay and talk to her without being too forward? She gently tugs his arm and leads him to the sofa.

"I was... thinking you could tell me about that one song of yours."

Elvis squints his eyes as he slightly cocks his head to the side. "Which song, Doll?"

"That... one... about a trap," Dahlia shuddered over her words. "We're caught in a trap."

Elvis sits and ponders for a moment. Then it hits him that the song she speaks of.

"Yeah, that's Suspicious Minds," Elvis says. "What would you like to know?"

"For something so modern and upbeat, it's quite sad. Who were you singing it to? Who made you suspicious?" She asks.

Elvis stares off into the distance, thinking about the loves of his past. No, he didn't write the words, but to each song, he decided to sing a piece of its poetry resonated with him. Elvis never really broke up with any of his lovers. It was always him that was left behind for his wrongdoings.

"Honestly, Doll... I... I think I'm singing from a lover's point of view of trust. So... if an old friend I know comes by to say hello, will I still see suspension in your eyes? Has my past led you to believe that I'm not a good man?"

"Or will we continue to suspect one another," Dahlia says, leaning her head against her rested arm. "That's insightful."

"Is that your favorite song?" Elvis asks, resting his head against his propped up hand.

"It's a catchy song, but it's not my favorite," she admits.

"Which song is your favorite?"

"You'll leave if I tell you the truth."

"Tell me the truth," Elvis whispers.

Something about the way he speaks to her mixed with the color of his eyes and his unearthly beauty has her speak her mind.

"I'm... not..."

"What? You're not what?" Elvis asks gently.

Dahlia looks away from Elvis and confesses.

"I'm not a fan of yours."

"Hmm..." Is all Elvis breathes.

Dahlia looks back at him, curiosity feeling her brain. Elvis has moved a muscle. He is completely at ease and isn't in the slightest insulted.

"Well, Doll. There's a lot of people who aren't Elvis Presley fans. It's okay. I had a feeling you're more of an... Sinatra fan."

"No, Little Richard."

"I'm a fan of his, too. I got a glimpse of him once at Club Handy. He's definitely the King of Rock N Roll. Although, I really think Fats Domino is the true king of the genre."

"Really?" Dahlia says, hearing his words.

"Yeah. I'm just a fan who sang a song of one of my favorite artists, and people noticed."

At that moment, Dahlia sees that Elvis is humble. He's not a boastful man, and he gives credit where it's due. This, along with his attractiveness, makes her panties completely drenched.

Dahlia pushes that thought away from her mind. She's not going to sleep with Elvis Presley just because he got her flowers. She wants to be earned, not bought.

"If I were willing to become an Elvis fan, where should I start?"

"You would start in Tupelo, Mississippi."

"Tupelo?" Dahlia asks, confused by his statement.

"It's where we were born."

"We?"

"My twin brother, Jesse and I."

"There are two of you?"

"No..." Elvis looks down for the first time they started talking. "It's just me now. Jesse died at birth. It was just me and Mama and Daddy."

"I'm so sorry, Elvis." Dahlia says softly, gently taking his hand.

When she does this, electricity passes through her from his touch. It makes her heart flutter, and she feels time stops for them to live in the moment. She stares at his hand, and Elvis gently clasps her fingers. He raises her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss to her cool skin. If Dahlia wasn't wet before, she is now. He's a romantic man.

"I'm sorry too that he's not here. But he's with Mama. That brings me peace until we all can be together again," Elvis says. "But Tupelo was where I got my first guitar. It's where I snuck into the old juke joints with my friends and listen to all the great blues musicians. All before Memphis."

Elvis tells Dahlia about leaving Tupelo and arriving in Memphis. He tells her about high school and how in failed music class. Dahlia laughs at this statement because, according to the world, he's the King of Rock N Roll. He mentions how he loves gospel and sneaked into into Southern black churches to hear the choirs sing.

The more Elvis talks, the more Dahlia learns how kind he is. There's that boyish quality that made her want him to stay.

"So what song of yours would guarantee that I'm yours?" Dahlia asks, realizing that her words could indicate something completely different.

Elvis raises his left eyebrow and starts to laugh that contagious laugh of his. Dahlia covers her mouth in shock.

"I'm sorry, Elvis. I meant..."

"It's fine, Doll. I know what you meant," Elvis clarified, taking her hand once more.

"I think a lot of fans love I Can't Help Falling in Love with You," he states. "It's the last song I sing at each concert I do, and the audience loves it. Everytime."

"I can't help falling in love with you? Huh? There's a subliminal message here."

"Maybe it is," Elvis says, slowly leaning in closer to Dahlia.

She promised herself that she wouldn't kiss Elvis, but Dahlia meets him halfway. As their lips touch, Dahlia can feel the softness of Elvis' lips. The scent of his musk feels her nostrils, and she's filled with a sense of euphoria. Elvis glides his tongue over hers.

Captivated by Dahlia charm and kindness, Elvis allows himself to get lost in the moment. She's the one. His Satnin. He could tell by the way she laughed and smiled. The way she opened her heart to him was unlike any woman before her. Almost like his mama.

"Elvis?" Dahlia asks, pulling away from him.

"Yes, Doll?"

"What is this?"

Elvis smiles that hundred watt smile and says, "This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship."

"I think so too," Dahlia sighs, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Elvis leans his chin against her head. And to think, this all began with him spilling his drink on her. Dahlia feels like that was a million years ago.

Taglist: @missmaywemeetagain @beeandheroddobsessions @headfullofpresley @everythingpresley @epforeverohyes @vintagepresley @pianginferno @powerofelvis @ab4eva @foreverdolly @searchingforgravity @thatbanditqueen @daffieapple @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @epsgirl @richardslady121 @literally-just-elvis-fics @eptodaytommorwforever @vintageshanny @iloveelvis @dreamingofep @aliypop @your-nanas-house

[star-shard]

In His Bed

Premise: It's early morning after a party at Graceland. It's just Elvis and Y/N, and it's soft.

Genre: Fluff and mild Angst 

Word count: 1K

Note: ambiguous age difference, platonic relationship 

Morning and night are too similar in this time of year. When the only difference is number on the clock. It’s at least an hour until sunrise. But then in a bedroom like this, everything is a little darker anyway. The black and red walls, the black and red silk sheets. It’s both cosy and yet also similar to an enclosure. The only light in here is from the hum of three televisions positioned on the wall. It beats the sounds of crickets at least. 

Rubbing at your eye, you recall last night. There was a party. There were friends, other girls, but all of that seems to have happened to someone else. Maybe this is just how people feel after parties. The smell of chlorine is still on you, when you jumped in the pool the night before. You tried to recall the context as your leg stretches under the cover. Yes, there was a song playing during that impulsive moment. Something wild and hot. It’s only when you extend your leg that your toes accidentally brush against the man you’d fallen asleep against.

Elvis.

You pull your foot back upon the sound of his little groan, he’s still deep asleep. You wonder if it’s wrong to watch him but then, he watched you, didn’t he? Men had looked at you before, as they might say ‘you filled out nicely’. Why did men say things like that. But no, Elvis looked at you different. 

Black hair was in face, his expression loose and his lip just slightly jutted out, like he might be mumbling something. Besides that you noticed how he tugged on his cover, like he was trying to hide what he was saying even in his dreams. “E?” You heard it coming out of your mouth before you even thought it. Was it too early to nickname him? Then again, he called you honey and darling more than anyone else in your life.

And you’d only just met last night. 

“Satnin?” He mumbles, still well behind his cover. It’s not clear who he was talking to, if he was half asleep or half awake. And you wonder if you should go. The morning is another world from night. But just as you start to rustle even at the thought of it. his hand reaches out just a little in your direction. Just the slightest beckoning hand. 

But you don’t take that hand, not yet. You’re not Satnin, whoever that is. It’s when he grabs for nothing that he opens his eyes. “Hm,” Elvis rubs at his eyes. “Shoot, guess we missed the ending,” he references to the parade of static just in front of the two of you. Right, the movie. It was a classic, something he loved. But honestly you were a little too occupied with his commentary, the ending mattered a bit less to you.

“You must have been tired,” you note, as he straightened to sit up in the bed, his pajamas match the bed it’s like he may as well have always been here. “Never heard anyone talk like you,” you say, as he hasn’t made any gesture for you to leave, you help yourself to scoot in a little closer. It’s when you’re this close that you see he looks different from last night. Somehow after a night sleep… he looks even more tired. “Is Satnin one of your girls?” You ask.

Elvis looks away, takes quick rub at his eye when he notices you noticing. “Yeah,” He shakes off whatever is trying to get out of his throat. It’s a signal enough for you not to pry. Whatever he dreamed about, he’s keeping it close to his chest. 

You learned a lot about Elvis the night before. That he’s sweet, that he’s funny, that even with all those girls around he doesn’t act all disrespectful. You’d been to enough nights like this to know how a bad guy acts. And even as the two of you laid in his bed for hours, he only talked with you. And it was more than fine, you weren’t looking for any kind of different satisfaction. He just seemed lonely. And you supposed lonely men dreamed of women that were not around. For one reason or another.

“I’ve lost someone too, maybe not like you but… I know a little ‘bout how that might feel,” you say, not wanting him to feel embarrassed or like less of a man. You saw how men got teased, called ’sissy’. And you let his previously searching hand find yours. Right now, you didn’t mind a little hand holding. And in the black room, touch was warranted. “Just… a part of life, I guess.” 

At that, a trapped breath comes out from him. You would tell him more about loss, and you suppose he could do the same. It’s funny, for as much as he talked last night, for as much as you laughed, for as close as you got, you feel like he was holding something back. Some words that weren’t brave enough to come around people. You hope he has someone in his life to hear them. Someone with all that fame had to have a word for every dollar they made, right?

“You don’t worry about it now,” he says to you, “anytime I feel anything too strong, words just don’t cut it. That’s why they made music, know what I mean?” You nod, supposing that it’s true. At your most angry or sad or happy, it seems words just never really got it across. Maybe all that tossing and turning in his sleep was just a little music trying to get out of him. You hope it was.

“Well, you got a lot of music” You say, his records and performances were more than enough evidence, and that made him chuckle. It seemed to help, having someone close to him. And it was becoming clear that’s why you were invited up here. Why you fell asleep next to him. Being alone at night didn’t suit him. And you were finding now that it didn’t quite suit you. There was something genuine about just being close and defenseless. “I don’t got to be anywhere I could… stay longer.” 

Elvis smiles, “…I’d like that.” 

[fxntxsix]

15 September, 1967 (Elvis Presley/Austin! Elvis x Pregnant!Reader)

It is my duty to inform you that I actually hate this one and that's on me. Like in my head this whole situation is fucking adorable but that's being overpowered by my inability to put it into words so...I hate it. But it issss what it issss. Enjoy (or don't lmao I won't blame you).

P.S. - I personally imagine this with Austin! Elvis but you can imagine with the real Elvis Presley too

Feedback is appreciated but please be gentle lmao. Other than that let me know if I’ve made any grammatical errors or any of that. And my requests are always open!

Warnings: Pregnancy, labour, actual delivery of the child, pain for reader, swearing, low key death threat??, kinda fluffy ending (I think that's it but please let me know if I missed any!)

Words: 1510

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You were 35 and a half weeks pregnant and that meant that your little ‘bean’, as you had fondly started refering to the baby bump, was about to pop any day. As a result, you had been in a lot of discomfort for the last few days. Tonight, however, was particularly bad.

‘Bean’ had been relentlessly kicking your stomach for the last three hours and your abdomen and back were actually pulsating in pain. This is also why you had been pacing in front of the bed with your hands on your back, in an attempt to relieve the pain. It did not help.

You heard familiar footsteps coming up the stairs and into the bedroom, “Here baby, let me put this on your back and you should try to lie down.” Elvis had brought the hot pack that had become your best friend in the last nine months.

“E.P, is it ridiculous if I want to lie down on the floor for a while?” You had started breaking out into a sweat because of the pain.

“No baby, of course not, whatever makes you comfortable.”

He grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it onto the floor. Then, he gave you his hand so you could put all your weight on him while you kneeled down on the floor slowly. Once you were lying flat with just the pillow under your head, he slipped the hot pack under your body. You shut your eyes and let out a sigh of momentary relief.

He bent over to kiss your forehead, “Satnin, I’m just going to brush my teeth and I’ll be back in a minute.” He was already in his black silky nightsuit, ready for bed. While you wore some maternity pants and one of his shirts.

You could hear the water running in the bathroom because he had left the door to the en suite open, just in case you needed to call out to him. It hadn’t even been two minutes since he left when you felt a jab of excrutiating pain in your lower back. It was so bad that you lurched up into a sitting position. Suddenly, you felt it.

Warm liquid running down your thighs and you looked down with a level of panic you’ve never felt before. Instinctually you yelled, “E.P! Elvis!”

“Darling? What’s wrong?”

“I think my water just broke.”

“You what?!” 

You knew it was a rhetorical question because he was in front of you in a flash, already helping you up. This was it. It was finally happening and he couldn’t get the grin off his face. Then, he took in your expression of absolute fear and anxiety.

He cupped your face in both his hands, “Satnin, you gotta listen to me okay? We gon’ be just fine. There’s no need to panic. I’m going to be right next to you the entire time, you hear?”

You nodded because you believed him even though you felt like you were on the verge of tears. As quickly as possible, he helped you clean up and change into the loose long dress you had kept aside weeks ago for this. You saw him slipping on shoes but he was still in his night suit.

“Are you not going to change?”

“No baby, I know it’s going to be okay but I would just like to get to the hospital as soon as we can.” 

Yes, Elvis was excited beyond belief because he knew he was going to be a great daddy and you were going to be an even better momma, but, the tiniest speck of anxiousness seemed to creep in because he was a firm believer in having professionals around for this sort of thing and he sure as hell was not a delivery professional.

He carefully brought you down the stairs, picked up the hospital to-go bag and put you and the bag in one of his cars. He was sure he broke almost all traffic rules that night because he could see the pain getting worse. Although, the entire time he held your hand and tried his best to talk you through it.

By the time you were at the hospital’s entrance, you felt like you were going to burst. Your surpressed grunts were starting to turn into little yelps and the once dull ache started to feel like you were being stabbed by a searing hot iron rod.

Both of you pushed through the doors and Elvis loudly said, “Can we get some help here quickly?” He had alerted the nurses in the E.R. who rushed over with a clip boards and a wheelchair, which Elvis insisted on pushing while he answered the nurse’s questions.

About fifteen minutes later, you were situated on the appropriate bed, with your legs spread and a sheet covering them. Elvis was adorned in the mandatory scrubs and standing by your side, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you wanted.

“The contractions are getting closer together so I think she’ll be ready to push in another 10-20 minutes,” the doctor informed both of you.

By now you were drenched in sweat and your hair was stuck to your forehead and cheeks because of your constant thrashing around. The tears had also started welling up in your eyes. The pain was so bad that everything was starting to annoy you - the high temperature of your body, everything being so sticky, the uncomfortable position, the inability to have any control over the process or your body. 

You could feel a very aggressive melt-down coming. Unfortunately, Elvis made the mistake of cooing what he thought were comforting words to you, “Hey pretty girl, I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well, satnin.”

“ELVIS I SWEAR TO GOD! AAAHHH!!! I’m going to kill you!”

He cocked his head in confusion and looked at you like you had kicked a puppy. This only pissed you off more.

“How could you do this to me?! You have no fucking cLUE HOW MUCH THIS HURTS AAAH.”

The doctor, judging from your screams, decided to check the situation once more. So, she put her head under the sheet and came back up a second later to say, “Yep, I thought so. Alright sweetie, you’re going to have to push now.”

You pulled your upper body up, with Elvis’ hand on your back to support you, you pushed with everything you had in you, “AAAHHH!” The tears were now streaming down your face.

Elvis continued to provide his support, “Come on baby, push!”

“I am pushing!!! You wanna try, asshat?!!!”

Elvis was well aware that you didn’t mean anything you were currently saying and that it was just the intensity of the experience getting to you. On the contrary, he found your insults adorable and let out a little chuckle.

You continued pushing, except this time your hand shot up to his scrubs and you jerked him to you with such force that he let out a little “hmph” sound.

“You think this is funny Elvis??? I AM GOING TO STRANGLE YOU IN YOUR FUCKING SLEEP AND NO MORE SEX. AH. EVER. AAH. AGAIN. AAAHH!” Your last few words were cut off by screams and more pushes.

After another grueling hour and one last loud insult thrown at Elvis from you, you finally heard the sound you had been waiting to hear for nine months. It was the cry of a baby. 

---

Baby’s Name: Evangeline Jean Presley

Date of birth: 15 September, 1967

Time of birth: 4:08AM

Physicalities: 6 pounds, 3 ounces, 19 inches

There she was, in your arms and you both knew that you had never felt love like this.

You were shifted out of the operation theatre into a private room and Evie, short for Evangeline, had been taken to get cleaned up and wrapped in a baby pink blanket. 

Elvis had waited with you, sitting on the bed so that you had your head on his chest, recovering from the delivery. The nurse had come in and given her to you to hold and once again, you were sobbing but for a very different reason.

“Hi Evie, hi baby,” you managed to say through your sobs. “Oh Lord, Elvis, we did this. We made an angel.”

Now he was sniffling and he kissed the top of your head, “Darling, that was all you. You’ve made me the happiest man alive. I love you, both of you, my girls.”

A beat of silence passed before you spoke up again, "I’m sorry for everything I said during the delivery. I didn’t mean any of it. Just the pain and everyt-.”

“Hush satnin, I know.” You both smiled before he asked, “But I just need you to confirm on that ‘no more sex’ thing because that might be a deal-breaker.” 

You burst out laughing, “Goddamn E.P., keep it in your pants in front of Evie at least.” Then you both went into silence again, just staring at the wonderful miracle that had come into your life.

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