#of course it's by an elvis in vegas | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moon-rivr · 4 months

Text

what happens in vegas

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader

contents: unplanned marriage, smut, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected p in v, nipple play, miguel reassuring reader, biting

author’s note: i know i said i was gonna do requests but i got this idea and i felt like i rly needed to execute it 😭

word count: 4.7K

"Let's get married!"

You and Miguel had taken a trip to Las Vegas after he got a job promotion at Alchemax, wanting to commemorate the occasion. While the two of you weren't too necessarily invested in gambling, you both figured that losing your money in Las Vegas would make you guys learn the rules of the game fairly quickly. Miguel was able to retain the information with much more ease, making a profit of a hundred bucks at the end of the night.

After a couple rounds of blackjack had passed by, you turned to look at Miguel with a small pout on your face. "Can we go to the bar?" You asked him, still reeling from your previous loss. He turned to look at you, pressing a small kiss on the corner of your lips as a way to get rid of the pout. "I thought you were so excited to try out blackjack," He whispered, getting up from the stool regardless. "Yeah but I thought it'd be easier to learn," you responded, following after him to the bar. He compensated for the fifty bucks that you'd lost tonight, telling you that you were doing good for your first time each time that you fumed to yourself.

He motioned for the bartender to come over with one movement of his finger, heart-eyes practically replacing her pupils as she approached the two of you. You wrapped your arm around Miguel’s instinctively, holding him close to you as you shot the bartender a small smile. Miguel didn't say anything about the small act, simply ordering the two of you shots of tequila. "Tan bonita que te ves cuando estas toda celosa," he teased you, his hand coming down to your thigh as he gently squeezed the flesh. (you look so pretty when you’re all jealous) "But you have nothing to be jealous about. You're the only one I want," he added, his minty breath ghosting on your skin as he leaned into whisper in your ear.

You clenched your thighs together and thanked the bartender for your shot, gulping it down in one take. "Alright, let's try to keep ourselves under control this time. Last time we drank together, we ended up on a yacht to Miami," you spoke up after he gulped down his shot, his lips curling into an amused smirk. "It was a nice yacht to be fair. Very accessible places if you don't recall," he responded, motioning for the bartender to come refill the cups. Luckily for the both of you, the bar wasn't too full so you were able to get quick service. "Let's just get three drinks. Safe number I'd say," you said after a couple seconds, extending your hand out towards Miguel. "Might as well make it five, y'know? End on a nice clean number."

The two of you did not in fact stop at five shots, both of you laughing as you asked the bartender for more and more shots throughout the course of the night. After taking a few too many shots, you decided you wanted to do something reckless and stupid as a way to end the night which is how you came to essentially asking him to marry you. "You sure you wanna get married in Vegas, nena? Wanna get you a pretty dress like you deserve," he told you, slightly slurring on his words as the two of you waited for a cab outside. "I don't want a big wedding, I just wanna be with you," you told him, your words coming out slurred as well. He tapped on his chin, seemingly pretending to be lost thought before shrugging. "Let's get married in Vegas!"

The two of you ended up at a small drive-in wedding chapel near the hotel room, the taxi driver struggling to navigate with the directions that you were giving him. "What's the whole legality of this place? Is the Elvis lookalike at the front even qualified for this?" Miguel mused, always the smartass even when he was under the influence. "It's really easy to get ordained so I'm sure it's all legal," you responded, grabbing hold of his hand and leading him inside the chapel. The inside looked more like a commercial for another casino, bright neon signs of poker chips hanging on the walls. "It's just going to be you two?" You heard behind you, a woman standing at the front desk asking.

"Yeah, it's just us two. We wanna get married!" You told her, clasping your hands together as you turn to look at her. "Why else would you be at a chapel then?" The woman muttered to herself, grabbing a document from one of her folders before placing it on the desk facing you. "I'm gonna need the two of you to sign this. It's essentially your form of a marriage certificate, the two of you could share your own vows and whatnot. It is a legally binding agreement so make sure the two of you consider this carefully before the two of you sign," she spoke to the both of you, leaving the room so you two could come to a concrete decision. Despite the fact that you would probably end up regretting doing it this way when you were sober, you didn't have any objections at the moment.

"I don't feel like backing out, do you?" You asked Miguel, grabbing a pen from the side and scribbling your name on the line to the best of your ability. "I don't feel like backing out either," he replied, grabbing a pen of his own and doing the same thing as you. While the two of you looked at the paper, the signatures that the two of you made seemed to be prettiest in the moment. In reality, the two of you had completely slanted the words of your name and signed two inches below the line but luckily enough, the lady didn't exactly feel like arguing too much. She led Miguel out of the room, explaining to him on the way that she was taking him somewhere where he could rent a tux for the night.

The lady came back when the two of you had changed into your proper attire, carrying a small box of plastic rings. "Since I'm guessing the two of you don't have rings, feel free to pick one out," she told you, your attention immediately drawn to the one with a plastic diamond in the middle. Even though you knew that it wouldn't sparkle the same way a real one did, your eagerness to get married in the moment overpowered anything else. Miguel picked out a simple silver band, the material stretching out a little as he tried it on. He extended his arm out to you, your hand wrapping around it as he led you two where the Elvis lookalike priest was waiting.

The other couples that were there served as the perfect spectators, staying quiet as the two of you tumbled and laughed your way to the front of the church. "Alright alright, tonight we're here for the union of these two lovely people," the priest started off, his voice sounding forced as he tried to get the same Elvis twang. The ceremony went on without a hitch, despite the fact that your wedding vows had been improvised on the spot. Everyone there stayed quiet as the two of you simply stated how much you swore to love each other, how much you two honored this marriage. "By the power vested in me by lasvegasfreemarriagelicense.com, I now pronounce you two husband and wife!" The priest announced, your arms wrapping around Miguel’s neck once he approached you.

He pushed the veil away from your face, a couple of tears glossing his eyes threatening to break through his rough exterior before he leaned in. He pressed his lips against yours, dipping you down to give the other people in there a show. Scattered claps came out as a result, the two of you too eager in the newfound union to really pay any mind to anyone except each other. Miguel completely forgot that the outfits you two had on were simply for rent, leading you to the hotel down the street. You'd walked in with every intention to celebrate your wedding night with him, but as soon as you got onto his lap, you ended up falling asleep with the warmth that his body provided.

Your body felt like you'd just been ran over by an 18 wheeler, your head pounding as you opened your eyes to adjust to the light that was pouring in through the curtains. You wiped away at your eyes, the events from last night coming out in brief appearances, but the more that you tried to think about it, the more that your head ended up hurting. You turned over to see Miguel dressed up in a black tux, the material wrinkled from all the tossing and turning he'd been doing the previous night. You recalled getting married but you had dismissed it as one of your dreams. You shook him awake, his lips smacking against one another as he sat up.

"Is there any reason why you're waking me up this early? Especially after a night out," he grumbled, rubbing his eyes while his hair stuck out from every direction. "Did we get married last night or was that all just a part of my twisted dream?" You asked him, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned to look at you. "Well, you're in a wedding dress so I'm gonna have to say it's the first one," he responded, leaning back on the bed as he turned away from the sunlight. "Oh, this is a disaster!" you exclaimed, looking over at Miguel to expect him having the same sentiment that you did. He looked eerily calm about the situation, like he was actually content about the events that had taken place.

"Why is it a disaster? I mean, it's not the most ideal way to get married but I think that's taking it too far," he told you, your eyes widening slightly as you got up from the bed. "No, no! We need to get a divorce now," you exclaimed, watching as he stood up from the bed to stand in front of you. He placed his hands on your shoulders as he looked down at you, letting out a small sigh. "Why is it that you want a divorce?" He asked you, his tone sounding gentle as a way to calm you down. It wasn't supposed to go this way, you were usually the one that had to calm him down. "Well, I don't know. What if you get tired of me and you end up not liking me? Or what if you end up resenting me because of this marriage? Or like, you could still want to be with someone better."

Miguel kept his gaze on yours, his thumb coming down to your chin as he forced you to look up at him. "Ay mujer, we could be on our death bed and you'd still be convinced i could find someone else. I don't know how many times I need to tell you but I'll tell you as many times as you need to hear it, I don't want anyone else other than you," he told you, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest with how fast it was racing. "Look, I'll go get us some breakfast and we'll talk it over then. Go take a shower and let yourself calm down for a second before we jump to things like getting a divorce," he added, waiting for you to nod before leaving the room.

You got out of the shower to see a plate with chicken soup on it, your favorite flavor of Gatorade by the side of it. "How about we do this? I'll give you a three month period, just to test out the marriage. If you don't like it, then we get divorced. If you do end up liking the idea of us being married, then we can renew our vows and have a proper ceremony. How does that sound?" He asked you, taking a sip from his own soup. "That sounds manageable. Okay, we can do that," you responded, taking small sips of the soup so you wouldn't hurt your stomach too badly. After the two of you were finished eating, you settled down onto his lap and pressed your lips against his neck. "We didn't get to celebrate our wedding night the way we deserved, Mr. O’Hara," you told him, your voice sounding like pure sin to his ears. "We should change that, Mrs. O’Hara."

He led you to the top of the bed, laying you down slowly as his body hovered on top of yours. He took a moment to take you in, how the light coming from the curtains accentuated your every feature. He leaned in, pressing a small kiss to your forehead and moving on to your cheeks. "You’re so breathtaking Mrs. O’Hara," he whispered, his mouth coming to yours as he kissed you with such an intensity you'd never faced before. For someone that had a lot of doubts about the marriage at first, you didn't mind the sound of being called Mrs. O’Hara. in fact, hearing him say it with such pride had you clenching your thighs together.

Your tongue danced with his in what seemed to a synchronized tango, the two of you treating each other with as much love and affection that your bodies could exude at the moment. His hands toyed with the hem of your towel, his fingers drawing small circles on your thigh. You brought your hands up to his face when you two pulled away from the kiss, pressing your lips against the tip of his nose. "There's no need for you to give me that three month period. I overreacted, I want to be your wife," you told him, coming to the realization that you’d just been spiraling. His lips connected themselves to your mouth once more, a smile on his face as he did.

He undid your towel after you gave him a curt nod, tossing it off to the side. he pressed his lips to the side of your neck, leaving wet open-mouthed kisses on the surface. You moved your neck to give him more access, offering what you could of your body so he could take. his hand moved downward, cupping your breast in his grasp. His fingers rolled around the nipples, pinching and tugging them the way that would have them hardening underneath his grasp. He bit down on your neck, his tongue running over the affected skin to soothe the sting a bit. His mouth moved down to your other breast, engulfing it and treating it the same as the other one.

You brought your hand down to his hair, grasping at the strands as his teeth gently tugged on your nipples. The buds started to erect with every swipe and lick that he took at them, his eyes locking on yours with every movement that he took. Your mouth slightly parted, your breathing starting to grow a little heavier as he stimulated your nipples. He pulled away, leaving a small kiss on the top of your breasts before pressing his lips against your stomach. He trailed kisses all the way down to your cunt, stopping where he knew that you needed him most. His lips moved to your inner thighs, pressing kisses against the delicate flesh. He bit into your right thigh, his fangs leaving their indenture when he pulled away from you.

His mouth eventually did make itself to your cunt, his tongue swiping across your folds to collect the slick that had accumulated. You closed your thighs around his head instinctively, watching as he looked up at you while licking a stripe up your pussy. "Always did taste so good for me, could spend hours buried in this pussy," he spoke up, his tongue going inside your hole after he finished with what he had to say. Your hands made their way to his hair, your fingers gently stroking his hair as he started to push his tongue in and out of you. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when your slick coated his tongue, often taking more pleasure in this than you. "Oh fuck, right there," you moaned out, your voice sounding needy as you felt his tongue hit that one spot inside of you.

You felt the bed moving with every lick that he took, your eyes drifting downwards to see that Miguel was thrusting his hips into the mattress with every lick and swipe that he took. He'd told you before that he could get off on just tasting you, on seeing the way that you reacted to him but you'd never quite understood the extent of his words until now. He pulled away, licking at the slick coating his lips and chin before moving his mouth down to your clit. His fingers took place of his mouth, two of them already filling you up to the brim as he stretched out to his liking. His fingers curled as his tongue circled around your clit, your hips practically grinding against his face to get the friction that you needed.

"That's right baby, use me however you want to. I’m yours to use however you want to," he told you, the vibrations from his voice providing your clit with extra stimulation. You began writhing underneath his grasp, tugging at the bedsheets and at his hair as you felt yourself approaching your orgasm. You weren't sure where to tug at, how to express your need and desire to cum, but you didn't have to. Miguel could read your body almost better than you could at times, his movements remaining the same as he worked you through your orgasm. "That's good, you're doing so good for me mama. Just come when you're ready," he told you, the last vibration on your clit had you gripping his hair while your release coated his tongue.

You looked down to see him licking the slick with a blissed out look on his face, the release shining as the sunlight hit his face. You got up from the bed, pushing him to the edge as you got on your knees. You were eager to please him after seeing how much he seemed to be affected by just eating out, his cock straining against the thin material of his boxers when you tugged his pants down. You traced the outline of his cock, hearing Miguel take a sharp intake of breath. Your palm gently pressed against his cock, watching as he began to unravel for you. "Please stop teasing me, mi amor. Need to feel your mouth wrapped around me."

You took off his boxers, your lips pressing against his thighs the same way that he'd done to yours. You gently bit down, your teeth leaving their print on the same thigh that he'd left his in. Your lips gently ghosted at the tip of his cock, stopping yourself for only a couple seconds just to see the sheer desperation cross over his features. His brows were furrowed as he looked down at you, his pupils blown as he waited for you to started. You pressed a small kiss on the tip, giving it a small kitten lick. At the small motion, his cock already began to twitch underneath your grasp. Your tongue began to trace the veins of his cock, his hand coming to the back of your neck as his mouth slightly parted.

You'd seen Miguel in a number of positions and situations, but you always thought he looked the prettiest when he was like this. All needy and desperate for your touch. Your hands gripped his thighs as you took the tip of his cock in your mouth, your tongue swirling around it. "Oh shock," you heard from the man above you, a sense of pride at how much you affected him coursing through your veins. You took more of his cock in your mouth, trying not to trigger your gag reflex so early on. You began to push your head up and down as your cheeks hollowed, more of his cock being able to fit in your mouth. Small groans and moans came out from miguel, the sounds filling up the room along with your slurping.

You spat onto his cock, the messiness only becoming more appealing to Miguel as your hand wrapped around the base of his cock. He watched the fake diamond of the ring reflect the sunlight with every stroke you took, getting distracted when your hands came down to his balls. His eyes rolled to the back of his head at the sensation of your tongue and hands working in tandem to provide him with every sensation he desired. You pushed his cock deeper into your throat, ignoring the tears threatening to come out before pulling away with a 'pop.' Your hands tugged at his balls, massaging them in your grasp as you stuffed your mouth full of his dick.

You felt his cock twitch in your mouth a couple seconds later, a telltale sign that he was approaching his orgasm. "Shock, I'm so close. Keep going, mama. Make me cum," he groaned, his head moving back while you kept stimulating him. You continued with the same intensity from earlier, his cock shooting ropes of cum into your mouth. You pulled away from his cock once every drop of cum had landed on your mouth, swallowing the substance. He extended his hand out to you, helping you up from the floor before dipping his head down to meet yours in a kiss. You could still taste your previous release in his mouth, the combined taste of both of you making your head fuzzy.

He led you to the bed once more, setting you down on your back as his cock ran through your folds. "I'm gonna keep showing you how much I love you. Every day. Until you get it stuck in that little head of yours that there is nobody else other than you for me," he told you, pushing his cock into you in a swift motion. The response you were planning to give him died in your throat, getting replaced by a small gasp when you felt your walls engulf his cock to the best of their ability. Your walls fluttered around his cock while your cunt got used to the intrusion, no matter how many times the two of you had sex, it was always a bit of a stretch at the beginning. He held your hand while he waited for the sting between your legs to subside, kissing your temple.

"You always take me so well, you know that? Don't know why you think I want someone else when you take me so well," he whispered, kissing your cheek before retracting his cock when you gave him the okay. He pushed his cock in once more, the length and thickness of his cock filling you up to the brim. Miguel kept his eyes locked on your face, to gauge for any reactions of discomfort or pain before pulling away again. He started off slow, his thrusts slow and deep as he got you to ease up around him. "That's it, that's my girl. Pussy's practically gripping my cock," he told you, his voice coming out slightly breathless as he pushed his cock inside of you once more.

Once he saw that you were more receptive to the movements that he was making, he started moving his hips faster inside of you, his heavy balls slapped against the back of your thighs with every thrust that he took. His hands came underneath your legs before he placed them onto his shoulders. The new angle felt like his cock was drilling into your cunt, the tip of his cock reaching your cervix every time that he moved. Your hands came down to his arms, slightly clawing at them as your mouth parted. The entire hotel room screamed sex as moans escaped from the two of you and as your fluids mixed together in the bedsheets. Even with the lewdness of the scene, the entire action between the two of you was nothing less than a display of love.

You'd had sex with Miguel where it was a rush to take each other's clothes off, teeth nipping at each other as your mouths collided together, but this was everything that those times weren't. This time was slow and sensual, his main focus being to prove to you the amount of love that he shared for you. You felt it with every thrust that he took inside of you, his touch and love imprinting into your skin with every second that passed. You gripped his arms as a form of keeping yourself grounded, your back slightly arching from the bed as he started to speed up the intensity of the thrusts. He brought his head down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss. While you loved to have sex with him, it was the little fleeting moments of intimacy that had you giggling when you recalled the events at a later time.

Your walls clenched around his cock like a vice, engulfing him even deeper with every push of his hips. Even with the sweat that was starting to drip down from Miguel’s forehead, you couldn't help but think about how breathtaking he looked. He looked so heavenly as he focused on your pleasure, the sun kissing his tan skin in the perfect way. "Keep going, I'm almost there," you moaned as you felt his thumb touch your clit, the sudden touch making sparks run down your body. Your legs began to tremble as you got closer to your orgasm, the coil building up inside you threatening to snap with every thrust that he took. "That's it, you're doing so good," Miguel whispered, talking you through your impending orgasm.

Your release coated his cock completely as you came, the slick giving him easier access into your cunt as he chased his own orgasm. Your back slumped back against the bed as you started to come down from the high, watching the determined look on Miguel’s face as he worked through his own orgasm. He let out a groan as his head lolled forward, ropes of cum shooting inside of you. With his cock still of you, he leaned in and pressed a kiss on your forehead. "You always do such a good job, y'know? Truly an outstanding performance," he mused, pulling his cock out gently so as to not hurt you during the process. "Wasn't aware I was getting graded," you mumbled, looking over at him as he grabbed some towels from a dresser nearby.

He ended up taking you to the jacuzzi room downstairs, letting the jets cool down the coils that'd built up in your legs. He held you in between his legs, his arms wrapped around your waist while his head dipped down to your neck. He gently pressed some kisses there, his hands gently scratching on your back as the warm water filled you with a feeling of relaxation. "I'm sorry for overreacting about the wedding, I know that the circumstances aren't exactly ideal but I wouldn't change anything about being your wife," you spoke up after a while, his mouth moving to your shoulder. "I know Mrs. O’Hara. Trust me, I know," he whispered, his voice laced with pure affection.

Despite the fact that you told Miguel that you wouldn't be needing the three month trial period, he still asked you at the end of it if you wanted to get divorced. After hearing you say no, the two of you began to arrange a small ceremony solely for your family and friends to renew your vows. While the situation wasn't something ideal at first, it provided you both with the type of comedy material that had everyone laughing when you told the story at parties. You loved to see the way that Mayday clapped her little hands as you told her the story at a Christmas party once like she understood, Miguel’s hands all over you when the two of you got home that night. "How would you feel about starting a family in Vegas?"

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starkwlkr · 4 months

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my love | cillian murphy

The media and fans went crazy when photos of Cillian and Y/n were posted online. Everyone wanted to know more about them, every single detail. Y/n knew what the next interviews would be like.

“Cillian this, Cillian that. How did you meet? How did he ask you out? Are you getting married soon?”

Thank god she had some time off before she was hit with a bunch of questions regarding her relationship. She decided to spend that time with her family and Cillian. Her family immediately welcomed Cillian, which she was super glad about. Her mother was happy to see her daughter happy with someone.

After spending a week with her family, Cillian took her to Ireland to meet his family. Y/n was nervous, but once she met his mother, her nerves had disappeared. Of course every family visit was filled with embarrassing childhood stories and baby pictures. Cillian’s mom even promised Y/n she would send some to her without Cillian knowing.

When the couple got back to Y/n’s home in New York, the first thing they did was sleep. They loved meeting each other’s families, but the jet lag was starting to get to them. That night, Cillian fell asleep with only one thought on his mind.

He needed to find the perfect ring for her.

“Have I told you how much I love your food?” Cillian pressed a kiss to Y/n’s lips. It was a new day and Cillian knew that when Y/n made breakfast, he would spend the rest of his day happy.

“Only every day, but I love it when you remind me.” Y/n smiled as she placed several plates on the table with different foods then gave Cillian his own plate so he could pick out what he wanted to eat.

“Any plans for today?” He asked, sitting down next to her.

“Well I have an interview with vogue at three and a meeting with Holly. That’s pretty much my day, what about you?” Y/n questioned. She grabbed a piece of toast and started to eat it.

“Nothing too big, just asking the love of my life if she would accompany me to a movie premiere this weekend. I’m hoping she says yes.” He casually said which caused Y/n to choke on her toast.

“This weekend?”

“Unless you’re too busy. . ”

Y/n playfully rolled her eyes. “I’m never busy for you. Oh god. . I have to get a dress and do my hair and makeup! What am I going to wear? Shit, I have nothing.”

“Relax, darling. I have it covered. I asked Holly to get you a dress and take care of everything you need while we were in Ireland. I don’t want you to stress about anything.” Cillian told her.

Y/n didn’t know it was possible, but she fell more in love with Cillian. How could a person be so perfect? She was definitely the luckiest woman in the world.

“I really love you so much.” Y/n spoke.

“And I really love you too,” Cillian replied. “I’m going to tell you something crazy. I really want to marry you.”

Y/n scooted her chair closer to his. She smiled brightly and leaned in as if she was going to tell him a secret. “It doesn’t sound crazy because I want to marry you too.”

Then Cillian kissed her lightly. “You know what’s an even crazier idea?”

“I’m listening.” She cupped his cheek with her hand.

“How mad our families and friends, especially managers, would be if we went to Vegas and got married by some guy dressed as Elvis. Crazy, right?”

“So crazy…”

TAGLIST

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#cillian murphy series #cillian murphy #cillian murphy one shot #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy x reader #barbenheimer series

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gentlyweeps-world · 5 months

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Viva Las Vegas

summary: After a particularly nasty crash during the Las Vegas GP for the rookie Red Bull racer Y/n L/n, her boyfriend Logan Sargeant, is a mess, wanting to know what happened

pairing: Logan Sargeant x fem! driver

warnings: bad crash, medical attention

LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

It was already known that the 2023 Las Vegas GP was controversial, with the drain cover and refund, late times and over the top events, people had had enough.

“I feel so stupid wearing this..”, You mumble out, having to wear a race suit inspired by Elvis Presley for the Grand Prix.

“I dunno, I think it’s fun”, Max Verstappen says, a smile on his face as he admires the suit.

“I thought you said this Grand Prix was horrible”, you said narrowing your eyes at Max, “and that it was all show?”, you add on.

“Yeah well the suits are fun!”, he says, that smile still on his face.

“You just don’t want your boyfriend to see you in it that’s why..”, Max says teasingly, you let out an annoyed huff, rolling your eyes.

You were mostly annoyed because he was right, it was also a bit humiliating. You’re the female rookie driver who took Checos place after he retired in 2022, of course you’d want to be well respected.

You had proven your worth over the 2023 season, often placing P3 with Max on the podium, and of course you’d have your bad races, you are a rookie after all.

But your boyfriend had it much, much worse. Your boyfriend being Logan Sargeant. People thought it was an odd pair, since you were doing so well, but that made you more upset, knowing Logan has so much potential but wasn’t given enough time.

On the bright side he was showing his worth, improving over the season, but with no news on his contract.

“I was right, I knew it!”, Max says with a laugh, breaking you out of your trance, “Yeah..yeah whatever”, you mumble out, rolling your eyes at Max. Over time you and Max grew quite fond of each other, very similar to a sibling relationship.

“You two ready to win?”, You hear Christian ask, Max and you finally showing up in the garage, you both nod your heads at his question, focused on bringing back the win to Red Bull, which wouldn’t be hard with Max.

“Just one more lap to go! With how things are going now we’ll have both Red Bulls on the podium with Charles Leclerc splitting the two on the podium!”, you hear the announcer say.

“Just one more lap Y/n, push”, your engineer says, high hopes that you’ll push through for the P3.

Rounding the eighth corner you feel your break lag out for a moment, “Breaks lagging, doesn’t seem like a huge issue right now”, you say over radio to your engineer.

“Just keep it up for now”, you hear the reply, shaking it off you continue, going down the straight at nine, you’re ready to break for the slight curve at ten until your break, well, doesn’t break.

“Breaks gone! Can’t stop the car, shit!”, you shout over radio, nerves overtaking you as you let go of the steering wheel, your RB19 flying straight into the walls.

Your body thrashes about as your car hits the wall, and somehow, flips over. The force and momentum being too much it slams against the barrier, keeping you stuck in the car.

“Y/n are you alright?”, your engineer asks out, but is instead met with silence.

“It looks like a bad crash from the Red Bull of Y/n L/n!”, the announcer says, “There will be a red flag”

Darkness and silence is all that you’re met with, your body not being able to move.

“Was that Y/n?? Is she okay? Please tell me she’s okay!?”, Logan your boyfriend asks to his engineer as he gets back to the pit lane.

“I’m not sure”, his engineer replies.

As soon as Logan’s Williams is parked in the garage he is up and out of his seat, headset on as he watches the TV screen, anxiously waiting to see if you’re okay.

“Please baby..please be okay”, Logan mutters to himself, still watching as the medical car and staff rush to your aid.

“Y/n?? Are you okay? Please answer”, you can hear Christian ask out, you let out a soft groan.

“It’s all dark and- and I can’t move much, but I’m okay..” you softly reply over the radio, feeling the RB19 being moved and lifted.

Logan lets out a sigh, feeling a hand clap his back, he turns to see James Vowles.

James gives him a knowing look and nod, silently agreeing to let Logan go visit you once you’re sent to medical.

You feel yourself being lifted out of the RB19, both of your arms slung over medical staff as the walk you over towards the ambulance and drive you off to medical.

Once at medical, after you were checked and told you had a concussion, you were met with an anxious and worrisome Logan.

His arms are quick to wrap around you, his head burrowed into your neck as he takes in your scent, relief washing over him now that he has you in his arms.

“I was so worried baby..I thought I lost you..”, he mumbles into your neck, hands clutching at you.

“I wouldn’t leave you Log..you know that..”, you whisper out to him, trying to calm him down.

“It was scary Y/n, not knowing if you were okay or not…just seeing that Red Bull there..”, he says, pulling away from you just enough so he could look into your eyes.

Looking into his blue/green eyes you noticed how stressed he looked, and how bloodshot they were.

Giving him a reassuring smile, you lean up and press a kiss to his lips, pulling his body closer into yours you take in a deep breath.

“The important thing is, I’m here with you now”, you say, placing your head on his chest.

“Shame I couldn’t have been on the podium though…”, you mumble out, disappointment washing over you now.

“Yeah would’ve been nice to celebrate again like we did in Monaco..”, Logan says with a small chuckle, his eyes crinkling when he smiles.

You lightly slap his chest, letting out a small gasp, “Don’t say that!”

radio: Honestly felt this was rushed but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless. Didn’t have a clue what I was doing for half of it 😭💙 (send in any requests!!)

tag: @treehouse-mouse

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beetleoops · 3 months

Text

You keep getting married to Beetlejuice

This fucker loves to party (and he loves you), so you are having weddings constantly

You officially get married in private, with only Lydia, the Deetzs and the Maitlands there. You take it easy so he can adjust to being alive, but Delia still throws a pretty fun party- if a little...odd. Still, it's enough for Beetlejuice to learn his alcohol tolerance isn't NEARLY as high now that he has a heartbeat.

"Babes!! I cannot fuckin wait to get married to you all over again." He's half asleep, laying his entire weight on you, reeking of booze, smiling like a dope. "Uh-huh. Me too, Beej." You pat his back.

(Also, turns out now that he sleeps for real, he snores. you think its cute.)

Once he's human (and more or less used to it), you have a more traditional wedding with your friends and family all there, and throw an all night reception and after party at a bar - beej loves the energy and is cheering on your grandparents to throw ass on the dance floor all night

"Fuck it up Agnes! Hell yeah!" (This is probably not your grandma's name. Actually, is that even your grandma?)

This goes over not great, but better than expected; everyone has a good time. You do too, of course. You are drunk and wearing white and laughing so loud, and when you aren't dancing, Beetlejuice can barely keep his hands off you. Hell, when you ARE dancing Beetlejuice can't keep his hands off you.

you go to Las Vegas for the honeymoon and get married again - Beej insists on the most tacky wedding possible and you agree.

You get married by an Elvis impersonater in a sticky little chapel on the strip. You wear a suit, and he wears a tight, short wedding dress with a veil and pumps.

"third time's the charm?" You ask, when Elvis finally says to kiss the groom. " Oh no, babes. We're hitting the drive through wedding chapel next."

"Deal!" And you dip him before kissing him square in the mouth.

You keep getting married to Beetlejuice, because you both want to make fucking SURE it sticks.

#WOW I GOT KINDA SAPPY AT THE END?!??#Anyway hello long time no seeeee #also this absolutely leads to a bender where you keep hitting vegas wedding chapels #you are married approximately sixteen times before you catch your flight home #beetlejuice x reader #musical beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice

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luvrrszn · 8 months

Text

pov

MIGUEL O'HARA x FEM READER

summary miguel o'hara is in love with you. so hopelessly in love with you. (spoiler alert: you are, too.)

warnings fluff, pure tooth-rotting fluff, just a bunch of blurbs put together, NOT proofread

a/n feeling peaceful 2day love u all xx (p.s. wrote this listening to "pov" by ariana)

masterlist

mornings with miguel o'hara can only be described using one word: peace.

you'd never think that "peace" would be a word associated with miguel o'hara, but once you've experienced what you have, you wouldn't see it any other way.

miguel is protective of his mornings with you. being such a busy man, mornings with you are sacred.

"can we sleep in a little longer?" you mumble against his chest, almost every morning. his answer is always the same: "of course, my dear."

how could he ever say no to you?

—

you set your phone down on the kitchen island as you go to grab a glass of water. miguel's gaze leaves his laptop as he glances at your phone screen.

your phone was left unlocked, an instagram post of your high school classmate with a gigantic diamond ring displayed on it. miguel asks you, "mi corazón, does it bother you? we have been together for 8 years, and no ring."

"hmm, not really, miggy. does it bother you?" you reply, setting your glass down as you approach miguel.

"no, but if you did, it would be understandable."

you walk closer to him and he wraps an arm around your waist. you settle down on his lap and stroke his hair, saying, "i don't need a ring to prove that i love you. ring or no ring, we both know that i am yours, forever."

—

you wake up to the sound of giggling and a thud of something falling to the floor. you drag yourself out of bed and down the stairs. your daughter is giggling as she runs around the living room, being chased by miguel who's holding a...bottle of pink glitter?

a chair at the dining table has toppled over, the culprit behind the "thud" you heard earlier. the dining table has a piece of A3 drawing paper on it, covered in pink glitter glue, light pink sequins and dark pink and purple fairy dust. you've never seen so much pink in your life.

"the glitter monster is coming for you!" you hear miguel call out. you turn around just in time to see miguel pick up your daughter and carry her over his shoulder. she giggles, "papá, put me down!"

you look at the line of photo frames on top of the fireplace, a mere representation of the time that has passed since you first met miguel o'hara

there's a photo of you and miguel in a dark, crowded bar. the night you two met.

there's also photo of you and miguel in front of the eiffel tower. the night of your 5th anniversary.

there's a photo of you and miguel in a chapel in vegas, both of you grinning, his arm slung over your shoulder. the night the two of you were married by an elvis impersonator.

there's also a photo of you in the hospital, miguel grinning next to you, and the most perfect baby girl bundled in your arms. the night your baby girl entered the world.

last but not least, there's a photo of you and miguel slightly hunched forward, with your daughter in between the two of you, holding a huge bouquet and grinning. the day of her very first dance recital.

by the end of the day, your little angel's pink artwork takes its place above the fireplace, joining the array of photo frames.

#📓—juniwrites #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o'hara fluff #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spiderman atsv #atsv #across the spider-verse #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader

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wanderingelvis · 10 months

Note

controversial elvis opinion: i honestly prefer elvis when he gained more weight to like baby elvis. i feel like hearing like 75!elvis comforting and holding you and calling you “yittle ‘un”. ahhhhh!!! the dream

i just wanna be his controversially young girlfriend who he dresses up like a doll!

the DREAM <3 I made Elvis have some darker, more controlling vibes here, I hope y'all like it!

🧚 Masterlist 🧚

Pairing: Controlling BDE!Elvis x Young Girlfriend!Reader

Elvis is your whole life

No one has a hold over you quite like he does

You trust him absolutely, why wouldn't you? You don't know any better

And that's exactly why Elvis adores you

You're just a gullible young thing and even you'd admit that you can be a little dumb sometimes

But that's okay - because Elvis is there to think for you

You just need to sit by his side and look pretty

And you do a real good job of that, Elvis often reminds you

Honestly? Elvis has the final say in every aspect of your life

You look to him whenever anyone asks you anything, desperately seeking his guidance

From which of your pretty lil' skirts you're gonna wear or how much allowance money you can spend at the International Hotel, Elvis has the deciding say

Some might call it controlling but you like it, to you, it shows that Elvis cares about you and you haven't always had that before

So you just follow him around like a little lost puppy, with wide eyes and a lot of love in your heart for the big, old rock star that you call Daddy

Elvis also loves what a sensitive little thing you are

Even when you get a paper cut and tears will start forming

And you become a sniffling mess that is being pulled into his lap

Elvis will hold you, his big, strong arm tightly wrapping around your tummy to hold you in place as he coos at you

"S'okay, yittle 'un, Daddy's gotcha, ain't that right, brave girl?"

And you'll softly nod as he thumbs away your little tears from your rosy pink cheeks, letting out a small hiccup every now and then, making you bob up and down adorably in Elvis' lap

And that happens approximately three times a day

But you can't help being a crybaby, it's just in your nature

And Elvis doesn't mind, he loves being the one to comfort and hold you

He knows you get easily overwhelmed and overstimulated

In fact, he encourages it when it's just you two in his suite in the International Hotel, overlooking Vegas

He loves pushing you, his lil' doll, to your limits

And of course, he knows your limits better than you do

He always knows what's best for you

"S'too much, too big-"

You mewl through little cries of overstimulation and lust

"I know you can do it, baby, I know you can take it." Elvis will grunt, trying not to finish as soon as he sees your teary eyes roll back in pleasure when he fills up your tight walls

"Good girl, baby, doin' so good f'me."

He'll praise, as you let yourself go

All over him

And Elvis just know in those moments that he has something extra special in his life now that he has you

So of course, Elvis loves to show you off whenever he gets the chance

He'll make sure his pretty little dolly is always by his side

It's like you're on display for everyone to see, the King's prized possession

"Honey, give everyone a lil' twirl why don't ya? Show everyone how pretty my yittle 'un looks in yer new dress hm?"

Elvis will say midway through a rehearsal, through the microphone whilst he's stood on stage

Obviously, you'll do whatever you're told, and you give everyone a spin, looking up to the stage and keeping your eyes only on Elvis

And everyone will compliment you, making you blush and giggle

In those moments, Elvis will fall in love with you all over again

They make the controversial headlines all worth it

You're all his and he ain't ever lettin' you go

taglist: @prompted-wordsmith @vintagegirl2005 @imaginationlast @presleyenterprise @librafilms @ccab @wolywolymoley @rina3476 @billhaderstan420 @waiting4brucewayne2adoptme @elvispresleywife @ellie-24 @hollbunn @sassanoe @elvisflowerchild @18lkpeters @eliseinmemphis @fallinlovewithurlove @presleyhearted @elvisbf @slimerspengler @octobers-snow @meetmeatyourworst @reddie-freddie @domaniquessidehoe @mygreenlights @kxnnxy @that-hotdog @lana-4life @littleloveysworld @dandelionxbby @lollabear @s0phlabrunette @mumu-hellokitty @elvispresleyxoxo @sergeantelvis @mooodyblue @ashtag2887 @jaqueline19997 @kyliesgwagon @monster-is-awesome @livelovedilfs @neptuneismysister @woniipii @louisejoy86 @lokislittlepup @uselessbutinteresting

#elvis #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #elvis presley #elvis smut #elvis fluff #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis presley x reader

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soupbabe · 4 months

Text

Marrying La Squadra Headcanons

Anon asked: What would married life with la squadrons look like?❤️

Hihi!! Thank you for requesting, I had a lot of fun with these 😅😅 though I'll admit I lingered on the wedding back stories a bit too much lol

Formaggio

- Formaggio never in his life thought he'd be married, he always dreamed of living a bachelor lifestyle

- But y'know...sometimes couples get drunk on special anniversary trips and impulsively get married at a cheap, tourist trap chapel in Vegas

- Formaggio would've loved the stereotypical Elvis impersonator officiamt

- The morning after would've been a bit hectic on his end, but Formaggio is a man who can commit

- He's been thinking about taking the proper steps to marry you anyways, as long as you were fine with the night prior there's no harm done!

- The marriage is a secret for a while, to the team it's as if nothing changed. Your new husband was just as clingy and doting as ever

- I think if weddings are an important part of your culture and something you'd really want to do-over, I think Formaggio isn't opposed to something more formal and traditional

- Though I think he'll always prefer to tell people the story of the shotgun wedding in Vegas, definitely makes him feel cooler

Illuso

- I think Illuso is similar to Formaggio, he never thought to be "tied down" to anyone, but meeting you absolutely changed his mind

- One word to describe Illuso: Bridezilla. He wanted everything to be perfect for the wedding, he might've been the most strict during this era

- I'm sure you had to talk Illuso out of having the wedding in the mirror world because he could control everything. Though after the wedding, he started to come down to his normal self

- The clingiest and softest you've ever seen him was during the honeymoon

- Illuso wouldn't stop calling you his husband/wife/spouse, he wouldn't stop referring to himself with your last name

- Being married you was something he didn't know he needed

- Illuso wears his ring like a badge of honor, he enjoys seeing the silver band that decorates your finger that tells everyone that you belong to him

- Every time he wakes up and you both have to leave for work, he makes sure to kiss your ring before he says goodbye

Prosciutto

- To no one's surprise, Prosciutto easily adjusted to the idea of marriage and the married life

- He can be tender and affectionate, of course he wasn't scared of spending the rest of his life with you.

- Prosciutto would prefer something small, only wanting close family to attend

- Absolutely he would be open to having separate or fusion weddings if you come from a different background. He'd have a lot of enjoyment sharing your traditions with you

- There's so much more confidence within the relationship, Prosciutto smiles when you brag about your husband. A smirk graces his lips when he can hold you by the waist and introduce you as his spouse

- It's very natural for Prosciutto to fall into a house husband role, he loves unwinding in the kitchen and cooking dinners for you

- Even in the honeymoon, he'd scoff at restaurant food and insist he could provide you with something better

- He's an ideal husband if you want to get pampered and recreate the classy romance you see in the movies.

Pesci

- Getting married to you was the scariest and the happiest moment of his life

- Pesci stumbled through the novel that was his vows, when he was able to kiss you he couldn't help himself and pulled you in with anxious excitement

- Even when he proposed, Prosciutto slapped his face and told him to man up before he pulled out the ring

- Like his brother, he prefers something smaller. He wants the moment to be intimate, private

- He cried so much ever since you two married

- Half the honeymoon was spent hugging him and reassuring him that yes, you two really are married, and yes, you really do love him that much

- Marriage or not, he's still just as shy and flustered since you met him. Doesn't matter how tough he tries to act

Melone

- Melone never really thought about marriage before, but it's a welcomed surprise

- I just know that when he got to kiss you during the ceremony, it made everyone instantly uncomfortable/j. He does not care about what others think, he just likes to show you how much he loves

- He absolutely uses the title of husband to his advantage, especially for silly things like pda.

- The honeymoon phase never actually ended for him

- As you two are further in the marriage, the more Melone starts to think about kids

- No secret he's good with them, Babyface has given him more than enough practice

- But having an actual, human baby? Oh it has him all giddy and anxious

- For the first time, you actually see him take a situation seriously. Whether you're giving birth or having a baby through alternative means, he doesn't want to have kids unless you know you're ready too

Ghiaccio

- I don't think marriage ever crossed Ghiaccio's mind growing up. Meeting and falling in love with you opened up so many doors

- It definitely scared him, if you weren't on the other end of the aisle waiting for him, he would've become a runaway groom

- Ghiaccio would so go off and rant about how nothing much has changed ever since you two got married. To him it's just "some name change and extra paper work"

- He'd say that he doesn't feel any different, but that's so far from the truth

- Tease him by calling him your husband, call him by your last name, and watch how his face turns pink and he tries to hide a smile

- It takes the longest for Ghiaccio to settle into married life. I'm not sure it fully registered to him how long you and him have been together

- He never thought he would be loved the way you love him. No matter how hard he pushed people away, you stayed and warmed his heart <33

- That being said never joke about divorce it'd freak him out. He'd cry.

Risotto Nero

- The married life with Risotto is special, as it brings out a completely different side of the capo

- May be an unpopular opinion, but Risotto is right up there with Illuso when it comes to being a Bridezilla

- All he cares about is adhering to your plans. He'll go above and beyond for research to make sure you won't get scammed

- Like yeah. He may have threatened the florist behind your back, but like. What was he supposed to do? The florist was the one trying to pass off rhododendrons as hydrangeas.

- But once the wedding is over, he's exhausted and looking forward to the honeymoon

- Solidifying the marriage made Risotto fully let down his walls around you. He smiles more, he's more physically affectionate, he lets you know that he belongs to you too.

- While you two try to keep chores and tasks equal, swapping out who does what, it's hard to deny that Risotto loves it when it's your job to cook

- He thinks it's adorable when you tie an apron around your waist, roll up your sleeves and get to work.

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precious-little-scoundrel · 6 months

Text

Let’s Fall Out of Love

Divorce Part 1

Fully co-authored with @elvisabutler 💋

Thanks: are due to so many friends on here who helped craft this timeline and concept and helped me hone the motivations into something I trust our readers will find evocative and sympathetic. Y’all know who you are, thanks for being my buddies

Warnings: 18+ for thematic and sexual material. Strong language and bitter accusations between spouses, mentions of drugs, divorce proceedings, lying to spouses (for their eventual good???) mentions of past infidelity, Colonel Parker being the worst, poor Elvis being in a bad place with his health and mentally -and dub con smut. It is in no way non con but the context, the lack of voiced or implied consent and the aggression make it dubious. It is fairly clear both parties are engaging in hysterical bonding, still the scene is dubious as is the language used by the man regarding a wife having no say in it. So please heed that.

Note: it was the attempt of the writers to craft a rather cinematic experience with this fic, one aim was to skip times and have plenty of fade to black moments. Please note the time stamps above each scene to keep track of progression. Anything that is not clarified in this chapter will either be clarified in the next part or else in others. You’re of course welcome to ask questions.

|| 10th, APRIL 1977 ||

Divorce. Lil Tink is divorcin' him. Lil Laney is gonna be his ex-wife.

The thought rattles around in his aching brain as he chases her up Graceland’s stairway, past the portraits of their children and the plaques celebrating their successes and haunting likenesses of younger selves. Both of them home for a brief stint after Vegas Showrooms and California Courtrooms.

Home -it won’t be his home much longer, she’s gonna see to that.

Divorce.

It had taken up half his year already but he was so sure, so damn sure all she needed was to make a fuss and threaten like she does and then it would cool down, smooth over. He was ready to humor all sorts of shit and then she went and pushed for more. More money, more assets, took out a damn lien. His Tink who happily chucked half of custody at him without a fight has now drug this little show on for months, all for a couple more bucks.

She’s takin' everythin' he's worked so hard for, takin’ it all, going back for more even, just to make sure she can still be taken care of in the conditions and standards he had raised her to.

Spoiled lil middle class girl grown into a spoiled, hardened rich woman.

“Till death do you part”, he hurled the promises at her over the phone, as soon as that court order had landed in his hands -but if ya ask Elaine, he's been dead more times than she can count. Maybe he's dead to her in everythin' but body. Ain't that the other joke, he feels half dead even in body.

"Elaine Presley! Turn 'round when I'm talkin' t'ya! Ya know I hate it when people do that” As if she’s required to listen to him or required to pay attention after two decades of focusing so much of her attention and time and energy on a man who has forgotten all of that. On a man who’s forgotten that he’s married to her. That’s forgotten he has children with her, a life he promised her, and not to his manager who's twisted so much of what was between them into this. Whatever this is.

"Why?" She spits still climbing stairs she's climbed a thousand times before. Faintly she hears Marie playing in her room and a surprising amount of silence from Jack's and her heart twists. They don't need to hear this. None of her children do but her youngest- oh her youngest deserve to think their father is still something resembling a good man.

"Why?" As if Elvis is some sort of parrot, he repeats the question back at her. His confusion colors his face, warring for control with his anger and frustration as he follows her through the padded master doors. "Why? The hell kinda question is that?”

“I told you come by and grab those things you said you needed so badly.” she hauls open one of his drawers and the thing squeals on its track from her violent tug. “So do that. If you wanted to chat then we coulda chatted somewhere else. Or, you know -a year ago? Ten?”

“I’m just askin’ why.“ He embraces her own wording and tries to get nearer her, hem her in against the dresser like he’s done countless times before in this very room with dazzling success.

Elaine slips away between them like water and he’s left bracing himself on the smooth wooden top.

“I’m not actively trying to be a shrew.” she murmurs as she turns away and goes to the other side of the room, opening the wardrobe, “No matter what you believe. I told you that you’ll be welcome in this house no matter what, so that’s why.’I’m not allowing you to come around -you just can, it’s your mama’s house still, for all I’m concerned.”

“No, no I mean- why’re you throwin’ this away?” He emphasizes it with his hands, a pleading gesture that sweeps the whole room and its host of sacred memories. He’s used this before but that was back when he figured it was all one big tantrum. Signing custody papers has rather shaken that hope, delusion, comfort.

Tink purses her lips and he notices her face has gone so white this summer, rarely in the sun and addicted to wearing black like some melodramatic Prima Donna. She does look stunning in the papers all decked out in veils and heels, he’ll give her that. He doesn’t know when she turned from being the heart of the operation to the glamor of it all -and he the opposite.

“What’s my favorite color these days?” she asks him instead.

He stares at the sable color he’s seen her wearing for months now and sighs in exasperation, “Shit I dunno -black?” he swings, knowing it’s a miss the second he says it.

“I can’t do this anymore.” she informs him, like color has broken up a twenty year long marriage and he grinds his teeth so hard he thinks he cracks a filling. The pain adds to his headache that matches the pounding in his chest and the roaring in his ears builds to such a degree he’s honestly terrified for them both.

“Stop this.” he warns her, quite sure she knows the red hot fit she’s stoking with her callousness and hurt that she won’t help him out of it like she used to, that she’ll let him go into a blind rage and then blame him for it, no doubt. “I know when you’re lyin’, woman, and I ain’t ever seen a more lilly livered liar than you right now.” he snarls and tries a last appeal that comes out as a barb anyways, “You wouldn’t be goin’ on so rash if your daddy were still alive,” he jabs a finger at her, “guess I can be grateful he ain’t, so he’s not breakin’ down my door for explanations ‘bout a offense you won’t admit to me!“

Elaine absorbs this blow with a wavering face before the nonchalance cloaks her features once more and Elvis would resort to smacking it off her if he were a different sorta man. “Black is practical, that’s why I wear it. It’s not my favorite though.” she simpers, clutching at the shoe she’s picked up from the floor, something for her hands to worry, to hide her own anguish at having to keep him in the dark. To lie repeatedly to him as he breaks apart, she didn’t know it would cut him up so much.

It’s a mess, this web of connections that used to prop them up, used to be a community. Now it’s a den of tattle tales and if one of them suspects she’s anything but angry at Elvis, that this this divorce and seizing of assets isn’t a scorned wife gone nuts, but rather a calculated endeavor to get at his manager once and for all -well Charlie will spill to Vernon and Vernon will spill to Elvis and Elvis will have all the fuel he needs to plead her right back into complacent heartbreak in his arms -before he goes on tour again and murders himself from the workload.

“I’m on orange kick, actually.” her voice is hoarse.

“Then I’ll buy ya some fuckin’ orange curtains and you’ll stop divorcin’ me.” he jabs a tinged finger at her and he looks like he might fall over, his face is so flushed and sweaty, from pills and passion. Elaine readies to catch him, break his fall if he tips. At least here there’s carpet, unlike the hotel hallway that busted his head last year.

“I’m rather in the mood to buy my own from now on.” she lies and sweeps past him to get to the closet.

She never gets past him. His hand darts out and engulfs her dainty wrist, tugging her back and in a spin like he practiced in his movies so many times, a romantic, gallant, possessive gesture that lands her smack against his broad chest, locked in with an arm around her shoulders.

"Buy your own, hm? Gonna sell my mama's house to do that? Gonna sell ya children's home to do that?"

“Elvis, you get your damn hands off me.” she bites back, throwing her weight on his forearm that might as well be made of steel, so little room does she gain from her effort.

"Never minded my hands on ya before. Even 'fore I married ya, it was fine for me to touch ya. To inspect that lil house of yours to make sure it could have all those lil babies ya wanted. Gave 'em to ya didn't I? Gave ya every last one and two've ‘em are even still with ya till they leave." Never mind that Jack's been bouncing between here and California in an effort to do what he's wanted to do since Elvis would play sharks in the bed with him. "But now you're wantin' my hands off. Goin' on 'bout gettin' new curtains yourself."

His words are punctuated with spit and a hissing anger Elvis doesn't normally indulge in. The bitter anger she used on the road with champagne making her head float in a sea of lies and wants and needs and a twisted sort of love till she had to call it. She can feel her jaw tensing up at his calloused fingers finding their way under her chin, tapping at first to try and have her look up at him before clenching around it and tilting it upward instead.

"Who is it, Laney? Who's the person who's gonna take care of ya? Gonna help ya buy those curtains? Get Marie those cameras? Help Jack and Rosie pay for those commie schools of theirs?" With each passing word Elvis’s voice drops lower and lower in octave until he's reaching levels Elaine's never heard. Against her will, her body shivers in his arms. A sneer crosses his lips- a twisted version of his raised lip that everyone knows and loves. That raised lip she's kissed before with laughter and jokes on how "if you keep doing that your face'll stay that way, Naughty." It shouldn't be there like this and yet it is. "That why ya dragged me to our lil Ella Bella's weddin'? Figured the Martins could spoil our daughter rotten away from you and your new caretaker? Your new piggybank? Don't get shy on me now, Laney! Who's the lucky sonuvabitch who gets to have my wife?"

Elaine's learned how to be composed in every situation with Elvis. She'll shoot at the Colonel over love handles and movies that killed her Elvis's spirit. She'll titter at army wives mocking her house and implying she couldn't keep up with being Mrs. Presley and growing a second set of twins in two years. She'll handle losing little Joesphine with a body that betrayed them all and with a smile on her face because Mrs Kennedy had just lost hers and then John died and the US can't handle their Irish Catholic and their Southern Baptist Camelots falling to pieces all at once. But this, this is too much. This is her soon to be ex husband mocking her. Like she'd have had time to find someone else who would take care of her, like taking care of Elvis and their children allowed her to seek any other comfort than in the aging movie star her husband sought to emulate once upon a time before realizing he's just a man too. The aging movie star she considers one of her nearest and dearest friends and who'd- who would be her caretaker if she let him.

Knowing her luck it'd end up worse than this.

No, this is Elvis throwing out an insult to her character, the one he'd have defended till his dying breath except for when she turns on him like Red and Sonny did. Their book's gonna be coming out sooner rather than later and- she's made it obvious he can't trust a soul any more.

It won't do either one of them any good to react. It's not going to help her escape from his grip that's a vice around her. It won't help him see what she's doing and how she’s doing it for him. But she is only human just as he's only human and her lipstick covered mouth opens in defense of her own honor.

"What makes you think you deserve to know?" He can't see through everything to see why shes doing this, so why should he get an answer. "You won't have to worry, we'll all be taken care of. And you can be rebranded! A seasoned entertainer who's free as a bird to do whoever and whatever he wants. Or oooh -maybe the colonel will pick you out a new wife. Pretty little fool to take my place, without trappings like children -or brains."

“I chose my wife.” it sounds like a beg, anger and hurt battling for the upper hand in Elvis’ heart, his hand squeezes her chin stronger, watching her lips pucker just that little bit. Such a soft mouth has no right being so stern and derisive as it’s been these past months, once upon a time he knew how to make it gasp and smile with a word, a kiss, a mere glance. “I chose you, and you promised. It ain’t me breakin’ that promise, ain’t me sayin’ I can’t do this no more -I-I-I’ve spent my goddamn career givin’ you all this, I gave up w-women for you, I gave up movies for you, when you come to me with what’s wrong I do my damndest to fix it. Now you won’t tell me nothin’ but orange curtains, and if I thought those’d fix us I’d be out the damn door right now, headed to find you the best in the country. I would, Laney, you know I would. I’ve given-“ he stops to gasp in a ragged breath, unsure of what part of himself he hasn’t poured into his Tink, entrusted to her once caring little hands, vulnerability poured like so much oil into her heart for safe keeping, his flaws and secrets tucked safely in the little nooks and crannies of her generous mind. “I’ve given-“

-So Damn Much.

“I’ve given you my life.” His Laney stares back at him entirely unmoved, her eyes hard and sharp with their ebony liner, the squish of her lips beneath his fingers barely dismantling her disdain for him, “And seven children from my body. I never said you weren’t a good man,Elvis, or that you're not generous, but we both know we don’t want to go toe to toe in measuring costs for twenty years in heaven. And I’m saying, -I can’t do it anymore.”

“Anymore?” it’s bothered him all these months, that word and he wonders what she thinks she’ll have after this, like they’re not so intertwined and connected that, like twins, they will forever feel what the other feels, want what the other wants, a string tied between them from countless, immeasurable amounts of time spent merged as one, “I ain’t ever not gonna be in you, woman, once mine -always mine. What’s there for ya after this, huh? Seven children -twenty years! -Goddamn I’m in you!” he shakes her at that and sees a spark of something he knows light up her eyes.

Elvis slides a hand from her shoulders, down over her sternum and feels her heaving intake of breath at the missed feeling of his hands on her, down past the tie at her waist, down to the planes of her firm belly, just a little swell and some soft skin that speaks of the souls they once made with their love. He presses his hand, large and warm and cupped to that precious sanctuary, kneading it, lifting it, weighing it just that little bit in his palm.

The little house is empty.

Elvis outright laughs at his mistake then, a booming, jarring laugh at having forgotten just who he’s got in his arms. He can feel Elaine’s violent shuddering along the entire length of him at the strange sound in their gloomy bedroom. Or maybe it’s from the dig of his fingertips at her womb, like he’ll claw inside it from the outside if he’s barred from plundering her the natural way.

Sweet Miss Phipps, Elvis thinks, with her hungry mind and starved body, so damn eager to be possessed, to be made good use of, to be pumped full and burdened with child again and again. He shoulda kept her swollen this past decade, prioritized her hunger over the tours and then, maybe then, she’d not have gotten notions like this.

“God gave me a remarkable woman.” he murmurs to himself in realization, his hands loosening their grip on her jaw to run the backs of his fingers against against the soft swells of her cheeks and Elaine’s heart speeds up in recognition of the shift in his demeanor, that thrumming resolution taking over his body behind her and helplessly her own responds to it.

As if she's another person, someone she would counsel to resist, to stay strong, Elaine feels her face turn towards the caress of his ringed fingers, towards the admiring touch that’s been her joy to wake to a million times, a touch that’s brought her purpose and comfort for twenty years. Her mouth falls open with a surrendering quiver and she makes no move to avert her mouth when his fingers sweep over her face and across her lips in a revenant mapping of his wife’s well known features. Her tongue darts out to taste even a sliver of his salt, she tastes metal instead as his ring glides by. It’s a heady feeling for anyone to realize Elvis Presley intends to fuck them, it’s entirely heightened by a familiar knowledge of his capabilities and a divinely witnessed right to his person.

It’s no villain staring down at Elaine, pressing himself to her -the distance has been necessary all these months to keep her anger and fear prominent, to remind her of the need for such dire action as divorce, the slightest, kindest of touches from him would dismantle that resolve, that garish image in her imagination. Now she’s close to the finish line, so close he’s fully panicking and she can feel the lightness of soon being free of her deceit. He’s no villain, he’s just a good man who has hurt her, who hurts himself more often and worse than how she’s hurting him. And soon they’ll be able to save each other. Just not today.

His hand slips to her throat and he kneads it, contemplating the give and delicacy of her pale flesh, and her responses, the languid subjugation of her body to his touches, just like he’d taught her in this very bed across from them.

She sees when his eyes flick up from her throat to their marriage bed and it’s like a million hummingbirds erupt in her belly in disbelief, in panic, in a frantic sort of hopeful missing.

“Elvis-“ she doesn’t know if she’s trying to warn him, trying to remind him of the wrongness of what he’s thinking, or if it’s a beg for him to ignore her sensibilities, to take her and make her that new little wifey with the carefree face and the mindless little head.

His face is dark and flushed like he gets when he’s aroused, his features seeming to get richer with the heightened intensity of his feelings and she can feel the sweat break out behind her through his silk shirt, slicking up her own back through the gauze of her dress. Elvis’ eyes drop back to her face, remaining there with a million intentions painted therein but not a single flicker of wavering shows.

Elaine had no reason to be as startled as she was when she felt his hands drop to her waist and spin her around, picking her up beneath the ribs with his astounding strength and tossing her like he would rag doll on his karate mats. She landed with a silly bounce amongst the bedding. It could have been romantic if he had any blue left to his irises as he looked down at her, sauntering to the foot of the bed himself and surveying her where she lay.

“Wife.” he greeted before taking hold of a footsie in each hand and spreading them apart for him to step between her legs.

"Elvis." A whisper as if saying his name any louder would unleash something they might both come to regret. As if it'd cause the dam she's locked her emotions in this entire ordeal will finally break. If she calls him husband it's over. He knows her inside and out, every crevice and dip in her body and soul has been mapped by him. The lie will come apart with a simple utterance of his title that he still has in this moment. The title he still has for three more weeks.

"Elaine." Her name comes out in a shaky breath that she can tell he's attempting to control, to rein in. Those blue eyes she's fallen in love with more and more as years had gone by are an inky void, pupils covering every inch they can and not just because of some pill he had to take or because she had watched him die right in front of her. Both their tongues dart out to wet lips and catch errant drops of sweat before she hears the *clink* of his belt.

That noise isn't new to her, the jangle and clanging of the metal a familiar sound. In the quiet of the room, in the quiet of the house? Of their home? It steals a breath from her lungs as sure as his body pressing down on her would have. The belt sounds like one of the heaviest ones he owns and a shiver unbidden rolls through her body as the cacophony of that gaudy belt gets louder and louder in her ears. Each breath takes effort, forcing air between the two of them that threatens to stifle any calming thought or action. A final puff of air- of his breath- warm and humid runs across her hair, forcing a loose strand of it to move.

Elaine doesn't. Elaine doesn't move an inch even as his belt finally comes off in a subdued flourish and a minor curse. Her eyes focus on the gaudy little harem lamp above them even as Elvis drops the belt ever so gently next to her body. It still clangs against the rings of his hand and its own golden links.

Sweaty and warm, his bejeweled hand moves to cup her cheek. "Mrs. Presley." he breathes her title into her lax mouth like it’s Holy Spirit anointed before slotting his mouth against hers with firm conviction in the rightness of his claim to her.

"Elvis."

It's not fair that all this force, all this passion, all this wanting that has -if she’s being honest- waned for her at times over the years is coming out of him only now, now when he thinks he’s lost her. Now that he’s more fool than he’s ever been. They’ve been alone too often in their marriage, if not separated by miles and oceans, separated by intent and interpretations of it.

“Still mine, for a few more months you’re still mine. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. You jus’ take it, jus’ take me, Laney”

And if she weren’t blinded herself by a heartache the proportions of which were only matched by losing a child, she might think every grip and clash of their bodies tells her he wants her every bit as bad as she wants him.

Still.

Mindless and hazy she waits for him to notice how every give and shudder of her own frame declares her want for him. He thinks he’s forcing the matter -but all he’s doing is giving her some false hope to curl around and cry over when the fissure finally splits apart.

I wanted you. But I thought I was alone in it, she thinks she hears them both saying it with every lewd squelch and pant.

It’s cruel confirmation of how entwined they’ve become, how much knowledge of the other they’ve collected over the years that he can make her writhe even under these circumstances, have her shattering beneath him effortlessly like older, kinder, gentler times. It’s made worse when she can feel him slow, stopping partway in that familiar way when he’s edging himself, intending to make her go round the loop once more, the familiarity of it makes her want sob, not from any hurt of the present, but at the notion this may be the last time she feels it -they both want this to last. And that unity is a mocking thing, all context considered.

He’s sweaty and she’s trembling, there’s so much warmth coming off his angry frame that she feels like curling inside the furnace and letting him make her forget anything beyond this physical connection that was never in doubt, the sheets are cold and dry and foreign against her back by comparison and she thinks of sleeping alone amongst them for the rest of her life. Elvis seems to sense this weakness of hers, one he wished he supported sooner, taken advantage of back when she looked so indestructible but was privately fraying at the seams, trying to hold the whole fairytale together. He shoulda done this sooner.

Old dog, new tricks, maybe, but Elvis has always been clever, opportunistic even, and he keeps his thrusts shallow and tantalizing as his wife gasps back to life beneath him and he keeps her close, his hands wound into her hair, hairy forearms beneath her shoulders, her ankle caught somewhere near his ear and his sweaty nose dripping onto her cheek.

“C’mon now Tink, you’ve thrown your fit,” he reasons to her in a coo that is underscored by the cajoling gait of his hips rocking into her, it has her clenching around those first few inches of him again, “ya made your point. Don’t -don’t do this to us baby. You c’mon back now. Ain’t anythin’ out there that’d satisfy you like us. Ain’t nobody else needs ya more dan hims does, satnin, don’t leave hims, baby.”

A good fuck, that’s all she needed, he’s sure of it. Or a couple of ‘em. He shoulda started dishing them out in Palm Springs but he’d been so angry when she filed and she’d been so cold. A couple of good fucks, that’ll solve it.

And to be heard. Which -she’s gotten that, all of America’s been hearing how he can’t keep his own wife.

Whatever bit of sentimentality he’s feeling right now, the sort that makes him wanna spill over how pretty she looks, vanishes in the angry tumult of his recalled humiliation. It fires him up instead and he snorts in his breath above her like an angry bull, perfectly capable of making her pay, making her see some sense, too. The longer she doesn’t reply the more this feeling surmounts the gentler ones and if Elvis were being honest, he knows denial had given way to rage and now bargaining and he’s full on panicking, trying to keep a woman who he shouldn’t have to chase.

She’s his wife.

“Elaine?” even to his own ears he sounds frantic and rough.

She is crying beneath him now, he thinks, that’s not all sweat making her face shine and her lips are taut like when she’s trying to hold it in and he wonders why the hell she’s the one crying. He feels like crying, he’s being left without an explanation or a pot to piss in. And all that while he’s still perfectly capable of proving he’s the best she’ll ever get. It’s like she’s agreeing with him when her hips start to move on their own accord, disagreeing with his teasing thrusts and instead she impales herself up on him, rough and sloppy to the rhythm of her fits of crying.

“I loved you.” Elaine sobs into his neck and he could wring hers for the confusion of it, for the way he just doesn’t get her after a lifetime of trying and how only this, this communion, this passion, this fucking is the only thing they make great sense at. Back when it had a purpose, back when it was to bring joy, to make a baby or five, and even now -to tie her to him somehow.

He folds her body viciously and plants his foot on the bed, thrusting so hard into her with all that wild abandon he knows she’d been jealous of him expending on his audience and not his family. “You greedy lil bitch, you love me,” he growls, “-what a revelation.”

‘Just an ounce of all that passion would go a long way, Elvis’ -he can hear the echo of her stupid little voice even now.

Passion? You want passion, Tink? He doesn’t think he’s ever been so passionately furious when he’s climaxed before ever in his life. For once it’s quite obvious he’s not ‘made love’, war maybe, but not love -and ain’t that another joke, he’d meant to make her love him again.

Elaine tears at his back with her fingernails and hears him snarling at her that he won’t stop, can’t stop, why can’t she stop this nonsense? She grips him harder, she seizes herself as he starts to slow, claws at his back with each vicious pump -seems they’ll both be shifting in their seats next time in the courtroom.

“Elaine?” he sounds so broken, like he does those times when they bring him back from heaven’s gates, it’s mumbled into her neck again like always but this time there’s no drugs to blame, not directly, not if she’s honest. She’s the one killing him. This little plan of hers to save him, just might finish him.

She prays God will be kind, prays he’ll keep her man alive long enough for her to finish this ugly business and restore his freedom, prays that maybe the hot slosh of spend coating her womb won’t be a waste. That she’ll have something of him left, just once more, please just one more. Something left of the man she married. Something to remind her of why they married and of what it was like to be happily married. Maybe just once more she wants to carry his entire world inside her.

“No, Elvis. I-I’m sorry, no.”

When he pulls away, it's not just sweat coating his lashes and his face. This plan of hers might just finish them both.

_______________________________

Every day in that courtroom is another layer of pride and image stripped away from Elvis and her and their perfect Southern Camelot. Every day is another headline for the papers with pictures of Elvis making a fool of himself in a way that can’t be smoothed over by anyone. Every day has cameras being shoved in Elaine’s face as she leaves with another hickey on her neck, bruising and blossoming in a way that looks grotesque when she sees it on the news later that night. The black outfits don’t help the contrast.

Every other day is being thrust against a bathroom stall’s wall with heels digging into Elvis’s back.

“E-Elaine-" He’ll stutter out, the feel of her clenching around his cock making it hard to focus or maybe it was the bite of her nails through his dress shirt. "You stop this. Been grovelin' 'n I deserve to have my wife listen."

"Ex. Wife." Elaine will huff out, words slurring into a quiet mewl as his cock brushes that one spot.

"Wife." An argument and a fact that he'll hammer home until the very last second he can. She never corrects him after the first time, too worried the knowledge would crush him to the point of everything finally giving out.

Jesse has taken to looking askance at her, worried and haunted little looks with fluttery hands at shoulder level that remind her of Elvis before he married her. If she had Elvis’ grit she’d ask her son if he had something to say and tell him to say it.

As it is she just pats his elegant hands, a man’s hands, she realizes, and thanks him profusely for his support, for being there at court with her day after day, missing practice and missing dates, letting a youthful spring and summer slip on by. They’ve been at this for close to a year.

“It’s nothin mama.” Jesse insists, almost offended at the idea he’d be anywhere but by her side.

________________________________

|| 5th, JUNE 1977 ||

When Ann makes her call, Elaine’s heart fills with all the old butterflies and girlish excitement of a past decade. They’ve kept in touch, of course they have, but between the touring, the marriages, and the unspoken acknowledgment of life falling apart from one and coming together for another, there’s less common ground to chat about compared to the days when Elaine used to share her husband and two little vixens named Thumper and Tink got to pick him apart in gleeful adoration like girls with their crush.

“Can I come by?” Thumper asks her, soft and kind but without the playful undercurrent that precipitated all her other visits.

“Well of course you can, you know you can.“ Elaine puzzles, finger worrying the wire in a nervous tick that has nothing to do with anticipation, dread pools in her belly instead.

There’s no children to greet Ann when she comes to the door, Marie at school and Jack away at his apprenticeship in California, Jesse has taken to spending his days in the studio when he’s not needed elsewhere, Daisy on the road and Rosalee in College, Ella married and attempting to assimilate with her in-laws. It feels like a ghost house compared to what Ann recalls. Maybe it’s just the passage of time but something terribly wrong and lonely strikes her at the lifelessness of the grand house, like it’s become haunted without a single death.

Unless it’s the death of the Presley’s as a whole. That would do it.

Elaine stands at the top of the stairs like old times, but there’s no gambit of children to wait for and so she speeds down the stairs at a breezy gait, smiling soft and subdued even as she refuses to be coy with her hug. She wraps Thumper up in a deep embrace and Ann squeezes her back, saying a million things at once by their clutching hold, murmuring little half sentences of condolences and “missed you’s”.

“What’d you come for?” Elaine asks her at the dining table after having supplied ice water and coasters for her guest. Ann turned down the saltines Elaine devoured with peculiar relish.

Always a straight shooter, Elaine. It makes Ann sigh and smooth out her skirt, clearing her voice to repay her candor with like. “I came to see what on earth was going on. To see if you were ok. And, I guess I came to see if it’s really happening. Nobody really thinks it’s happening. Or -I don’t know.”

“It’s happening.” Elaine replies with grim resignation.

“I don’t understand because Elvis says you’re the one divorcing and I always thought if one-“ Ann stops herself to scoff, “-I actually never thought either of you would ever divorce. You’re sincere?”

“It’s happening.” Elaine repeats, shielding her saltine chewing with a manicured hand. The action also flashes her still worn wedding band.

“So it’s not a threat?” Ann marvels, “When Roger insisted it was true, I thought it must be some drastic measure, something to get Elvis’ attention. His cooperation, you know, something to just-“

“-I’ve tried many drastic measures to gain that.” Elaine responds, “ all of them failed. I’d never ‘threaten’ something as horrible as this.“

“But…you’d do something…this horrible.” Ann murmurs, scared to play devil's advocate but utterly confused.

“You don’t know what I’ve been dealing with and, what you saw in the early days of residency, even the stuff on the film sets, it’s like aspirins compared to what he’s on now.”

“So it’s the drugs?” she whispers, heartsick, “You can’t handle being…around them? Around him?” she asks, then adds after careful consideration, “I have noticed you seem, seem still very tactile with him. I see the-“ she waves her finger at Elaine’s collarbones, “-I see the marks. Are you scared of him?”

It is unthinkable of Elvis. It really is, and Ann knows her face must show disbelief even when presented with her friend's mottled skin, and she hates herself for doubting a woman’s account, but if Elaine were to say she’s scared, Ann isn’t sure she’d be able to buy that. Not of Elvis. Even under the influence.

“Gosh no.” Elaine scoffs, a beat too late. “I just can’t do it anymore. All of it. Just the typical little things that build up in a marriage, I suppose.”

She tries to grin and Thumper thinks it’s the weakest acting she’s ever seen. Elaine more convincingly played a virgin in their home movies when deepthroating cucumbers for Elvis’ enjoyment.

“How’s Roger? Elaine asks, through with defending herself and Ann feels lost, adrift and unable to get near like she once did.

“Roger is fine.” Ann replies, “He sends his best. How is Ella?”

“Tell him I’m sorry they brought your name up, last week.” Elaine sighs, no apology offered to Thumper. They both know she’d be offended at an apology for being associated with them. “Ella is decidedly pregnant, that’s what she is.”

“Is she?” Thumper coos, followed by an alarmed quavering of hope and concern on her face. “Elaine, that’s-“ it is wonderful despite the circumstances but Elaine’s brittle posture suggests a to-do about it might sink her. “Congratulations, Grandma Tink.” Thumper settles for, daring to reach across the table top, seizing Elaine’s hand and squeezing its saltine dusted elegance.

“Thank you.” she whispers hoarsely, “She calls me everyday. Reminds me of you and me back when … her man he -he sounds sweet. Of course he’ll be gone awhile and so I’m all she has got to talk to about throwing up each morning and watching things swell.” None of this is how they expected or intended, Elvis and Elaine should both be hovering about and annoying their first grandchild before they’re even out in the world. Instead Ella’s perched down in Texas, no doubt terribly homesick, and Elaine’s talking about grandbabies like it’s another addition to the carport. “Tell Roger we’re sorry they brought your name up. Please tell him.”

“We don’t care.” Thumper insists and Elaine hopes that’s an accurate representation of Roger’s feelings. “He only asked-“ Ann stares out the front windows and down the drive towards the gates, summer colors brilliantly lush outside the house, she’s seen this view so many times it hurts, “-he asked that I make sure that…any…videos, and such, were disposed of.” she winces as she gets it out, once her manager, always her manager that man. “I wasn’t sure which of you to ask about them.”

Elaine stares at her intensely as if trying to read her soul. “I’ve most of them upstairs. Ruined by pregame juice mainly but the labels are sentimental so I’ve kept them.” Ann wonders if they’re ruined at all, and if they are she wonders if it’s by orange juice or by something far more lewd. Elvis never had great aim, “I’m sure Elvis has the ones we sent him under lock and key. Either way, you know neither of us would endanger you. You know that, Thumper.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Ann breathes, resting her chin in her hand, mournful at having insinuated otherwise.

“So you can tell Roger they’re not a worry.” Elaine prods with the shadow of an old smirk, “And you never know, in future it might not be so hard to track Naughty and I down at once.”

“Oh?” Ann squints at her in confusion.

“Mhmm.” Elaine just hums and shrugs her shoulders, the purple little mark on her clavicle shadowing with the movement. “Are you saying the night, Thumper?”

Ann leaves that evening more bewildered than when she arrived. “You were right, Roger,” she tells her husband as she settles beside him late that night, “she didn’t tell me a thing. Not really.”

___________________________

|| 9th, JUNE 1977 ||

“They’re gonna stop pressin’ ‘bout Thumper,” the murmur of his voice registering before the hand on her arm does as they both find themselves heading to the bathroom. It’s a flimsy sort of an excuse and one she’s beginning to think the papers and the news cameras see through.

“That’s good.” Her voice is a little too airy but today’s been a back and forth of yelling and excuses and all Elaine’s thinking about is how one of Daisy’s bandmates called her up from a payphone telling her that they almost couldn’t wake her for the show. The show she shouldn’t be doing but the show that Elaine let her do because she’s been playing being an adult for so long that who was she to argue against it?

“Told her we’d make sure it was- nothing came out. Roger was worried about it. For her image and for his, maybe.”

After all, it’s one thing to just be married to Ann-Margret, another thing entirely to be married to Thumper who’d rolled in the hay literally and figuratively with the Presleys at their lowest point. He’s never minded her continued friendship with them but that was before whispers of infidelity turned into whispers of sexual romps that were taped and stored or pictures that were taken and used as masturbatory material. He's never minded until Joe E, bless his soul, implied he might've seen copper locks in a video from Circle K that Elvis had shown a few of the members of the Mafia. Not that the court or anyone could find such a video.

The lock to the bathroom clicks behind Elvis and he turns around, raising an eyebrow. “Now hold on a minute, she- Thumper thought we’d- I’d never-”

“She didn’t. Roger was concerned. She knows us well enough, Elvis.” Still reassuring him as if they’re not going through what is turning out to be the messiest divorce the world has ever seen and likely will ever see. “I told her as much and she felt bad about asking.”

About the tapes and the photos, not so much about their divorce, Elaine reasons. As much as she wants to fault one of her oldest friends -it’s understandable. That was the purpose of the divorce. To come out of left field and appear to all concerned as if the faithful wife has finally grown unable to force herself to put up with Elvis Presley any more. The Colonel wouldn’t question that and had wanted it for years, if anyone were to ask him. Ann- their lil Thumper wouldn’t have been able to keep her plan a secret, her loyalty to Elvis and Elaine would have put her in a spot that Elaine didn’t dare want to shove her into. No, it was better for her to question the same as everyone else. Maybe if this went well they could all have a laugh about it in Hawaii. Or at the very least, Ann could forgive her.

“Don’t know why she didn’t jus’ ask me, ‘m the one who-'' Elvis's voice trails off when it hits him. Why would she ask the person who likely doesn’t hold most of them. Who’s fixin’ to lose everything in a divorce he desperately doesn’t want. “Least she knows now."

Elaine should agree with him, she should agree with him that at least Ann knows now, but she only knows part of the story. She only knows that the man she fell in love with on a movie set and his wife she maybe sometimes loves as more than a friend won’t damage her the way they’re damaging each other. How even Elaine had to joke that maybe it would be easy to run into them together in the future. Even during these hellish days in court they can’t escape each other’s orbits.

Pretending to not love and care for Elvis is an impossible task when what she’s doing is because her love and her care for a man who is sometimes brutish and stupid and selfish is so overwhelming it threatens to choke her.

At her silence, Elvis allows himself to crowd into her space, hands grasping at her hips ever so gently. "How's Rosalee?"

They're both too tired to fight in this bathroom, their energy having been spent outside of it for everything else. Asking about his favorite daughter, the one who's lived and breathed for her daddy for years feels safe.

"Not- she's not very good, Elvis. It's been- she hasn't really been the same." Since what happened. If things were different maybe she'd be taking the time to relax at home and maybe Daisy wouldn't have run off from guilt and - no. Elaine can't dwell on that even as her eyes start to water.

"It's hard on them." His tone isn't accusing, instead managing to just state a fact. This whole divorce has been hard on all of them. Even if Elaine's the one instigating everything he sees how unhealthy she looks. Feels how her body seems to be breaking down in ways that aren't as flashy as his body but the signs are there.

God knows he's not always been the most pious of men in action, that somehow all his good intentions and gospel songs haven’t managed to pull him back as he skidded down the road to hell, yet he’s got such a hankering to hide in the cleft of the rock once again. Acknowledge he’s a man, a failing man, a wayward husband, a prodigal son.

He finds himself reaching for Laney’s hand, palm up in a way she recognizes without a word. She clasps it without hesitation, in a time worn manner they’ve used before marriages, births, trips, shows, bedsides of sick and dying friends and here in this tiled little haven of the courthouse where they’re allowed to be as vulnerable and broken as their Heavenly Father knows them to be.

They bow their heads and Elvis finds himself begging his Almighty not for a return of fortunes but merely a cessation of tragedies. Elvis’ hand twitches, a pinky disentangling from Tink’s clasp and tickling her belly, like a presentment, like a benediction of nothing more than a heartbroken hunch on his part.

_____________________________

|| 29th, JULY 1977 ||

Elvis regrets answering the door to his penthouse the moment it swings open to reveal Johnny Cash with that sort of frantic and half crazed look in his eyes that Elvis thought he'd given up at the beginning of the decade. Wasn't that a hoot, the two of them swore up and down they had gotten clean for their women, the loves of their lives- the ones that God blessed them with to live out their present and future everlasting lives with- only to fall back into those old habits. What a cosmic joke.

"You're a fool, Presley." Short and to the point in a way that only Johnny can manage. Elvis exhales, wondering what exactly he's done to God to earn one of his oldest friends calling him a goddamn fool at the closest thing he's got to a home nowadays. His lil Schnucki comes to visit him, and Jesse's called once or twice but ever since that- ever since he realized how serious his Laney was about leaving him- Graceland ain't his home anymore.

"Ain't gonna say anythin'? No fight left in you?" The door to the penthouse is kicked in and if Elvis was any other person, or Johnny was any other person Elvis might've jumped. As it is, all he manages is a shrug as he pinches his nose. His head's achin' and his eyes hurt and all he wants to do is sleep. Take something to make every whisper floating in his head die down. An older brother telling him how he's ruined his life isn't remotely something he's got the patience for. Not after today's courtroom.

"Whatcha want me to say, John? Ya know everythin', so whatcha want me t'say, hm? Laney's leavin' me, takin' what she wants and leavin' me poorer than I met her."

Not monetarily, no, Elvis figures he could handle that better than the reality of his Laney, his Tink, the bjggest part of his soul other than his mama leaving him. Elaine's leaving him a man with barely any soul left in him to fight and go on. And he swears- lord he swears he felt something different about her recently. Something swelling that shouldn't.

"What I want'ya to say is that I'm gonna go back to my hotel and me and June are gonna tell each'otha that this whole thing's jus' you all been stubborn as a pair o'mules. Cause if it ain't, I gotta be real concerned June's gonna up and do the same thing on me." Johnny's always been someone who doesn't let Elvis get away with half the things everyone else does. Maybe it's because of how they started things together or how Johnny knows that half the reason he's got June is because of Elvis. Or maybe it was some misplaced need to be a brother to Elvis- to fill in a spot he figures his twin would've.

"June ain't gonna-" Elvis starts before Johnny uses the two inches he's got on Elvis to his advantage, staring the other man down as he cuts him off.

"Lane wouldn't've. Shouldn't've. Yet she is. This ain't- this ain't 'bout whatever damn excuse she's got. Can't be. There's somethin' you ain't tellin' everyone."

More and more Elvis has to laugh at his life and how everyone seems to think he's got some power over his Laney. That this whole divorce and the way he's embarrassing the both of them day after day is just another show. A snow job as the colonel would put it. This would be so much easier if that was the case. It isn't the case though, it isn't the case and Elvis feels his laughter escape him like the boom of a cannon.

"If there's anythin'- The whole damn country thinks I'm an idiot who can't keep his wife and here- I don't need you to be thinkin' 'm an idiot who don't know some grand plan his wife's cooked up. Ain't no plan. Ain't nothin' I ain't already groveled about and cried about in those hallowed halls. Laney jus' don't want me any more."

A silence settles between the two men at that revelation with Elvis breathing sounding so labored that even through the haze of his own drugs Johnny levels a look at his friend. It’s only after he’s sure that the other man won’t pass out and die on him that he actually speaks.

"You- You ain't me. She ain't Vivian. She- Elvis there ain't no way she's- that ain't it. You're both- you two can't keep your hands off each other even divorcin'. She- she still wants ya.”

“She wants my cock, John. Wants my money. Wants my house. My mama’s house. Know I said it was hers the moment we got hitched but- it wasn’t ever supposed to be hers. It’s- It’s ours.” Elvis isn’t one to break down, not in front of certain people and Johnny might be one of his friends that are near and dear to him but he doesn’t want to lose it in front of him. Doesn’t want to cry and blubber like he has been in the courtroom, pleading and begging for Elaine to just see sense. “We don’t- She don’t love me any more. T-That’s all there is to it. No grand con-spear-ah-see. Jus’ my wife wantin’ to be my ex-wife. Don’t know if I blame her. I ain’t-”

“You been a better husband than I was. Better husband than a lotta men. If- if 'Lane wanted to leave ya? She'd have done it back in the 60s. When you were carryin' on wit' what's her name- Swedish girl- fire hair. But she went 'n made friends wit' her. That woman's supposed to be yours till Kingdom Come 'n beyond. This doesn't make a single lick of sense and ya know it!"

One would think that nothing could echo in this penthouse and yet somehow Johnny's booming yell, filled with bass that Elvis is sure have made men greater than him bend and cower, echoes and reverberates in his ears. A stark reminder that Elaine and him seem to affect everyone around them for better or worse. Elvis's heart pumps a little harder as he tries to wrap his aching head around everything for what feels like the millionth time.

"I-I know it don't. This- you know these things don't take this long, John. I've-I been draggin' this out. Stickin' my damn heels in the mud. Anythin' to get her to come back, to see what- anythin' to not lose her. And she's jus'- ain't none of it workin'. Daisy up'n'ran off, Rosalee jus' wants me to be near her mama or her mama near me. Jesse's lookin'-"

"That what it is? Her doing it for the kids?” Johnny’s question has him tilting his head, not entirely unlike the millions of dogs Elvis’s children have had over the years. He ought to be offended Johnny cut him off so easily and without a care in the world and yet Johnny’s one of the few people he’d let do that. “She’s doin’ this for your kids.”

For once, Elvis has to look at Johnny and guess at what he means whether it’s because the man is too stunned to put it into words or because he doesn’t want to even entertain the idea, Elvis doesn’t know. He can hear his heartbeat going a bit too and a bit too hard in his ears as he answers.

“Ya mean- have i been failin’ them too? Have a been as bad of a father to ‘em as ‘ve been a bad husband?” The laugh that leaves Elvis sounds more like a sob than anything else. Johnny purses his lips even as he listens. "Ya mean how I found out I'm havin' a grandbaby through Laney? Or how Daisy's worse than you’n’I together on whatever she's takin'? Or how my boys acted like superheroes for their sister? How my lil Schnucki had- how I had to find that out from the Harrisons and my boys? ‘N I wasn’t there to blow those fools’ heads clean off their necks?”

Johnny realizes right then he’s made a mistake coming here. Or maybe just made a mistake pressing this point like it’s honestly any of his damn business. “You haven’t-”

Elvis cuts him off with a wave of his hand as he steps away, trying to feel less like a caged animal. “That’s right, I haven’t. I haven’t, John. Haven’t been there, haven’t given ‘em what they need. I had one job. Take care of all of ‘em and love ‘em. Failed so- I don’t blame her, John. I- I love her. Ya know I do. You know this sorta love but I can’t, I can’t make her love me again. S-she ain’t gonna love me again. Not the way she has.” His breath comes in short pants as his hand shakes and his leg jitters like he’s a man twenty years and nearly ten children younger. “I tried fixin’ this. The kids- the kids tried fixin’ this. But they can’t- can’t get through to her, these days! They’re all beggin’ and cryin’ and torn up and the Tink I know wouldn’t’ve lasted a week after causin’ such hurt to our babies. Well this new edition of her’s done made it close to a year.”

Johnny opens his mouth to speak only for Elvis to hold up a finger and force himself to take a deep breath, like Laney told him to those times after she thumped his heart back to life for him. Laney’d get what she wants if he died but he’s got a grandbaby he’s gotta see. Wants to try and see. “A year. Been nearly a year and it ain’t workin’. Nothin’- been tryin’ to remind her’ve what we had. What I give t’her. It-” Elvis starts to trail off, the fight that Johnny had put inside him slowly deflating till all he’s left with is the shell of a man who’s bone tired. Bone tired and losing everything no matter what fight he puts up. His shoulders slump.

Watching someone who’s as larger than life as Elvis Presley seemingly fold in on himself feels wrong in Johnny’s mind, but it gives him the answer he needs. It gives him the answer he’s looking for when it comes to just what’s going on with this whole divorce and what’s going on with Elaine and Elvis. His legs cross over to where Elvis is in only a few steps and without missing a beat, his arm wraps around Elvis’s shoulder. Elvis might not be his brother in blood but they’ve gone through enough that- that he wouldn’t leave him out in the cold without a hint of comfort.

“You gotta make peace wit’ it, then. Gotta- The Lord ain’t gonna want to see the two of ya fightin’ till ya keel over and die. Gotta give- If what she wants is to not be your wife any more, ya gotta give it to her. Just to make peace.” His voice isn’t much louder than a low rumble and yet Elvis can hear him clear as day.

“She won’t be my Laney any more. Won’t be my Tink.” A response as if he's a child being denied his favorite toy. Johnny doesn't stop himself from huffing out a laugh.

"But she'll still be Elaine, your children's mama. It ain't like you won't ever see her, EP." But that’s not the problem, that’s never been the problem and from the way Johnny’s looking at him, he knows that. “But ya gotta- it’s not doin’ either of ya a bit o’good to be draggin’ it on and on. Not after everythin’. Been livin’ ‘part for so long-” Johnny trails off, hand moving to rub at his eyes as he shakes his head. “Nothin’ you’ve done’s fixed it. Might not be meant to be fixed in those ways.”

“I-I- I don’t have anythin’ to fall on, John. I leave her it’s jus’ me and-” The medicine I got coursin’ through me, is what he should say. “I don’t know how to not be her husband.”

A silence settles over the two of them, punctuated only by Elvis’s heavy breaths and Johnny’s sharp and quick ones until Johnny settles himself against the wall, crossing his arms and raising his leg to press against it.

“Never said ya had to stop actin’ like you were.”

__________________________________

|| 6th, AUGUST 1977 ||

It’s a supreme irony that after a year of wishing for a cessation of that old stubbornness, that bitter pride of his, when such submission comes in the form of a mute and sullen husband opposite in the courtroom, Elaine feels her heart hammer in her chest, bewildered and terrified as he concedes one settlement after another in quick session.

Jesse gasps beside her at the change, even looks ready to beg her to reconsider her greediness as 90% gets handed over without a hint of the raging qualms her opposition has been voicing for five months.

Only Colonel Parker appears scared as shit, angrily grabbing at Elvis’ limp arm and trying to interrupt his directions with the lawyers. Each new verdict gets waved through by a lazy flick of a bejeweled hand and Elaine thinks the repetition of the gavel granting her all she wants could make for a decent backbeat in the studio.

After an agreement to give up 90% of his catalog, Elaine and Jesse both share a look, heartbroken and relieved that he’s really, truly, finally given up.

It’s obvious to all that it’s a bodily wearing out, Elvis looks awful and no amount of jewelry or eyeliner or Snow Job paraphernalia can hide the fact Elaine’s husband is a sick man. Even the papers who’ve found him easy pickings for ridicule and blame suddenly find some heart for his obvious suffering, even if the compassion is wedged between headlines about his expanding waistline and her latest money grab.

“What’s with you?” she demands and this time it’s her hand around his wrist, the unsteady clop of his boots following her heels after the click of the bathroom latch. When she drops his wrist his gold studded hand lands heavily by his thigh, he makes no move to crowd her, to grip her hair and kiss her like old times. “What was all that about?” she finds herself angry instead of relieved, mimics his lazy hand waves and scoffs in his face. She knew and planned on this day coming, but it doesn’t make it less unsettling as she takes in the victory of her spirit over his. He’s her man after all, her daddy and her provider, tough and proud and one of a kind and she’s beat him at the game of wills. She can feel her eyes pooling and angrily runs a hand under her nose as he stares at her with a blank, droopy expression.

“M’tryin’ to make peace.” Elvis shrugs, it was Johnny’s advice. Whatever it took, even if it meant giving in, he’s the man of their house and he’s here to make peace. Maybe if they end on a kind note he’ll be thought of, invited into the inner circle even even, by the time Ella pops out their grandbaby. “Never cared about the fuckin’ catalogue Tink, was only ever about buyin’ time to convince you to stay.”

The colonel’s panic at this latest settlement, one that finished the final prying open of his carefully constructed facade, one that’s exposed him to years of investigations, jail time maybe -though few outside of Elaine, Mr. Corleone and the FBI know that yet- is like sipping a mojito after a long day baking in the sun for Elaine.

Two decades of her saying he wasn’t right and Vernon telling her to go mind the carpet bill, change a diaper, redo a curl.

It should be refreshing, it should be a tonic to the way she feels shaky most mornings and ravenous in the evenings. Instead she finds herself trembling and laying an icy hand to Elvis’ burning forehead, registering the unnatural heat even in this chilled bathroom. It’s not just the stupid velvet coat, one blue eye is far more dilated than the other now she’s pulled his glasses down. He flinches from it, whether from the brightness of the bare bulbs or her touch, she isn’t sure.

“What’ve they got you on?” she sounds like a frog, throat all constricted and voice thin. She cares, she still cares so much and it could’ve been just yesterday she folded her handsome young groom into that bathtub in Germany and held him through the shakes. She wishes she could ask him ‘why do you always waste my love?’ But somehow, even after all her cruelty, that feels a little mean. “Baby, talk to me, what’s -“

Elvis grabs her hand, gently this time and he folds it with her other in both of his, a tan, sparkly little cage, she wonders how long it’ll take him before he pulls his wedding band off. Will he discard it before they make it out of the courthouse today? “Don’t you fret yourself, lil mama, those days are over.” he rumbles as he squeezes her hands and she wonders if he means days of fretting or drugs, they coincide often enough, “You jus’ take care of y’self, ok?” he sucks in a trembling breath and his glasses pinch between her fingers in his squeeze, “Without me there to nag ya bout it I-I -you take care of y’self.”

“Oh Elvis-'' she whimpers, moving closer, wanting to beg for some forgiveness, all clever plans and well timed revelations beginning to fray as she watches him rally his old magnanimity despite his grief.

_____________________________

|| 28th, SEPTEMBER 1977 || >>

He’s not alone in this concern, Elaine doesn’t know if she has Jesse or Daisy to blame for the way Marlon shows up in Memphis like that Yankee son of a bitch belongs that land bound. There’s never been a reason to see Brando except on one coast or another and it’s jarring for Elaine, seeing him take up space that’s so uniquely Elvis’ property, even if it’s under her name.

To see him in her home. Her true home.

She’s no good at hiding her nerves or the exhausted paranoia of wondering how Elvis will react when he hears of this visit. Marlon reads her like a book and leans against her kitchen counter, acting like Mary isn’t throwing them a million side eyes over the biscuit batter, and asks after her well being.

“Pretty terrible, thanks. And you?” she shrugs, wringing out a dish towel over and over. She doesn’t know when she became so fidgety, nowadays it seems she’s always betraying her nerves with restless hands and she never had that trouble before. Always a baby to hold if she needed the excuse, she guesses.

Her last baby is nine years old. And so she wrings out her dish towels and stares back at an old lover with the weary openness of a woman who doesn’t really care anymore. Elvis has been her one goal, and saving him is killing her as effectively as it is him. Those last days she wasn’t sure he was going to keep making it into the courtroom, shifting in his chair not from her nails furrows but from the repeated shots in his rump. The ones that have killed him a few times over.

Jesse made a visit to him in Vegas. Elaine doesn’t know what he said but her boy has barely spoken since. She asked her son how his father was, quite aware she doesn’t know the particulars from his fevered attentions in the handicapped bathroom of the Santa Monica courthouse. Her man would crawl out of his grave for the chance to make love one last time, it’s not a good gauge. Jesse said he keeps the curtains closed constantly. That he’s not letting anyone up. Charlie barely let Jesse up. His eyes are bad, so bad the curtains stay closed, otherwise Jesse couldn’t tell, couldn’t get a good look at him. He didn’t stay for the concert. Cissy says his voice has held up this time, at least.

“Pretty terrible.” She tells Marlon, because he’s always been more friend than lover, and that’s why he’s in Memphis when it’s a fool's errand anyway.

For all Marlon will speak his mind about this that and the other on things he cares about- yet God does he *care* about Elaine and so he bites his tongue at the first thought that pops into his head. *You've been pretty terrible for years and now you decided to care and do something about it*.

Instead: "You look terrible."

Which is a gross oversimplification of his feelings, but Elaine doesn't watch as his eyes slide over her pale and wan cheeks that look thinner than he's ever seen them. She doesn't watch how his eyes drift downward to breasts that are pressing against the dress she's wearing.

They remind him of when she was pregnant with Marie. They remind him of her breasts when she cried out beneath him against her tiki bar. If he closes his eyes he can picture them bouncing in front of his face, begging for him to bury his face in them. The boy- her oldest boy was right. Marlon doesn't even need to look at her stomach and yet some sick twisted masochistic tendency compels him to as if that'll change things.

It's small. Smaller than he figures any of her bumps have been and yet it's there. Mocking and growing at its own pace.

Proof that Elaine Phipps wants to remain Elaine Presley till one of them dies and maybe even beyond. Marlon can't help the way he exhales through his nose, unable to look away even as Elaine talks,

"Marlon, are you even listening?"

No. But he needs to.

"Mind wandered off, you know how I get, Elaine." He straightens up and tries to stay alert, “So, all this really fixed things for ya, eh?” he quips sardonically and she smiles, rolls her eyes, fully aware he’s not mocking her, he’s mocking the hopelessness of it ever working.

“Yeah. It’s all coming up roses.” she snarks.

“I uh-“ he stipples his fingers on the counter and weighs his next move, “-I heard that Colonel Parker’s recently landed in some seriously hot water. Something about the audits during the divorce and how certain things don’t match up. Got it from the papers, you know how long they stretch a few vague facts. I had to read two whole pages to get ‘fraud’ and ‘debts’ out of them. Anyways, I thought you’d find that nice -hot water, all that.”

“So hot it’ll boil his coat of lies right off with any luck.” Elaine seethes and her sudden passion takes Marlon by surprise. Stirs an old appreciation for just how much verve is always bubbling beneath her doll-like exterior. His fingers itch to let out the excess in a gush around his fingers. “Illegal alien.” She expounds, warming to her argument in the way of someone long overdue a listen, “Would you believe it? All those endless homebound tours -runing Elvis into the ground on the same circuit simply because that greedy fool couldn’t tag along. Couldn’t step outside the country. Always wondered why he never crashed our time in Germany, knew he would if could. Fake, heartless, toad.”

“Fuck him.” Marlon agrees vehemently and Elaine looks up with the same appreciative eyes of a decade past when she got no arguments from him, unlike all the menfolk surrounding her most days. Marlon abides by a simple rule: if it pisses Elaine Presley off, he needs no further research to say it ain’t shit.

“Yes, well, I’ll leave that to the Justice Department, I’ve done my bit.” Elaine sighs, her little victory crow short lived and even with his bias for the unattached Miss Phipps, Marlon can see how hollow her achievements are without Elvis to pat her pretty head for them. “It’s been weeks and I- I’m afraid he’s angry Marlon.” they’re not talking of the Colonel now, Marlon can tell by her love-sick face, “I knew he would be, with the divorce and probably with framing Parker but -he was so kind that day. So kind I thought he might’ve forgiven or just, I don’t know but now, now he won’t even answer my calls. Marie hasn’t gotten through either and -it’s not like him, Marlon, it’s not.”

“You got something pressing to tell him?” Brando asks and doesn’t even bother to hide the way his eyes flick back over her ripening form, pondering if her boy hadn’t been silly after all, going on about her not noticing. If he were a woman, a pretty woman like Elaine still is, Marlon would be weighing those growing tits each day with pride and mesmerization -but then again, Elaine’s had more on her mind than appreciating her own assets like a horny old star who never learned to aim for his own league.

“No I only wanted to-” she bites her lip as if unsure or else what she wants is unspeakably optimistic for a woman who just threw it all away. “I missed his voice.”

_______________________________

<<< || 16th, AUGUST 1977 ||

The knock at the door startled them both. Elvis pulled his back from it and faced it like he was gonna defend his wife from the mob he suspected was outside. Old habits die hard.

“Y’all?” Jesse yelled through the thick wood, “There’s half the city crowdin’ outside, there’s not gonna be a path to squeeze through soon.”

“Yeah alright son, thank you.” Elvis cleared his throat as he dropped her hands, straightening his posture fully. “You ready?” he asked dully, eager to get the worst moment of his life over.

“I gue- I- yes.” she stumbled over her meaning and smoothed out her black jacket.

"Daddy?" Jesse's voice was heard over the wood once more and both Elaine and Elvis took matching deep breaths, sweat droplets falling on Elvis’s eyes with a wince.

It's not pity that had Elaine putting the glasses back on Elvis’s eyes, her fingertips brushing against his temples in a simple gesture she's done a million times before. No, it's her last hurrah as his wife, her last action as his wife. They may have signed the papers within the past hour and legally she may be Elaine Phipps once more but until they walk out of this bathroom and this courthouse she was Elaine Presley, wife of Elvis Presley. A low hum reverbated against her chest before she pulled away, a soft smile across her lips.

"There there, Mopey, all better," she whispered in the sort of tone she only uses for the children when bandaging a hurt. "Let's- let's go face the music."

“Got me more nervous than any curtain I’ve been behind,” he joked even as it falls flat and his breath comes quicker and quicker. This was the beginning of their new life as separate entities. As an ex-husband and an ex-wife.

The door wasn’t that heavy when he shut it earlier and yet it felt as if someone had remade it out of concrete as Elvis tried to push it open once the lock clicked open. He could already see the flashing bulbs from the cameras and the press of the mass of people outside waiting for them. They were no stranger to crowds but this one was one none of them wanted to face. A look was exchanged between the three of them as their shoes clicked against the floor of the courthouse, a silent acknowledgement to try and get to their waiting cars as soon as possible.

"Jess! Mama!" Elvis and Elaine looked up through the mob of people as they pushed and pulled at each other trying to catch a glimpse of the former couple with their oldest son. They found themselves half blinded by flashes of cameras and the sun's own light, trying to find the source of the bellowed words. "We're over heyer!"

Jack then. Jack who was growing more and more into Elvis’s twin if not in bulk but in charm and whose shout sounds something like Sargent Presley’s in the army. Elaine looked at Elvis, biting her lip as she did.

"Soundin’ more like me everyday." Elvis commented as if he was commenting on the weather. It had never been hard to talk to Elaine. Yet in this moment, Elvis found himself at a loss for words. And from the way Elaine was looking at him, the feeling was mutual. Matching pink tongues darted out to wet dry lips and Elvis opened his mouth, his arm outstretched as if he was going to grab at Elaine's only for his oldest son to pop up between them, taking Elaine's arm without a second thought.

"I've got you mama. I gotcha, let's go."

The look he leveled at Elvis made every single moment in this courtroom for the past five months seem like child's play. To have his oldest son look at him like he did with any suitor that tried to come Elaine’s way, hurt. But that was his life now wasn't it? That's Elvis Presley’s life without Elaine Phipps. That's Elaine Phipps's life without Elvis Presley, protected only by her sons and her daughters from a man she once called husband. The man she once loved with every fiber of her being or so Elvis thought. Make peace with it, Johnny said. Make peace with her, Johnny said. Elvis didn't think that it would feel like this.

“I know you do, Jesse. Let me say goodbye to your father.” Elaine said as softly as she could in order to avoid the prying ears of every journalist between here and her car. “Jack and your siblings aren’t going anywhere. Not in this crowd. Even if Jack’d run them over to protect me.”

A smile unbidden crossed Elvis’s lips at the joke between their eldest and Elaine. She wasn’t wrong, but that was his boys and their love for their mother in a nutshell, wasn’t it? Capable of murder to protect her the same as him. She- she would be alright even if- even if what he suspected to be true was.

“Jack drove us here, all of us.” She explained as her eyes flitted across his form one last time to check for imperfections and for signs he might be needing anything. “I’ll make sure Ella calls you about-”

“It’s fine, Elaine. Made my bed, gotta lie in it now.” His eyes scanned across the crowd, even as he winced from the light of the sun and the flashes even through his sunglasses, finally settling on his car with Colonel Parker in the passenger seat, waiting for Elvis with a look of pure displeasure and mild panic on his face. “Gotta get him and I outta here ‘fore I give him a heart attack.”

Elaine’s face hardened at the words, and Elvis, in a fit of nostalgic responsibility for her happiness, moved to place a soft kiss against her cheek, squeezing at her hands as he did.

“S’been the joy of my life knowin’ you, Miss Phipps.”

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shieldofiron · 25 days

Text

Dare Me

Frat Boy Stevie is life! Also on AO3!

Steve's mouth tasted like bad decisions and garbage. He groaned, rolling his head further into his pillow like an animal burrowing into the ground.

The hand around his waist answered by pulling him a closer, which sparked something in his brain. His body felt a little sore in some interesting places.

Of course his first thought was about Billy. It wasn't that uncommon for him to wake up like this after a night out at some gay bar, trying to lose his pointless crush on the dance floor.

But this was different. His sheets didn't smell right. His hair didn't smell right, not like his hairspray.

The night came back in bits and pieces, in between waves of nausea.

It had been Jason's idea, and Tommy was just sober enough to drive them through the night to the lights of Vegas, chanting their frat's chant whenever he started to get tired. Steve'd been stuffed in the backseat next to Billy, trying to ignore the searing heat of his thigh, the way he looked at Steve over his cell phone, blue bedroom eyes lit by the glow of his dating apps. The way he called Steve Bambi, all low and lilting. Smoother than tequila.

Drinking came easy, and besides, it was Vegas. Of course they got smashed, fighting their hangovers with more and more. Though the thought of taking even one sniff of alcohol now made him want to hurl.

Last night they'd been at some... show or something? An Elvis impersonator, he remembered that, and a woman in a showgirl outfit. He remembered crawling into the fountain at the Four Seasons and almost losing his Tau Sigma hat for... something.

The man next to him groaned, pulling Steve even closer and burying his face in the back of Steve's neck.

A name, he really needed to remember a name, but all that was coming forward was Billy... Billy in the fountain, laughing with his pant legs rolled up. Billy in the backseat of an uber, in the dark. Billy talking to Elvis, all blue bedroom eyes. Billy...

Oh no.

Steve shot up, swallowing against the urge to throw up.

Billy groaned, his hair sticking up in a frizzy halo around his head.

"Billy get up!" He shook at Billy's bronze shoulder.

"Five more minutes, baby, I'll make you breakfast."

Steve huffed, opening his mouth to reply before he bolted out of bed to throw his guts up.

He caught a glimpse of a cheap gold looking ring on his finger as he knelt down on the tile and let it rip, almost jumping when he felt a hand softly rub his shoulder blades.

"Billy," He groaned miserably, head hung in the toilet bowl, "We got married."

"What?"

Steve shoved back from the toilet, practically falling into Billy's arms, "I think we got married last night."

"Holy fuck, dude," Billy's brow furrowed, and then his eyes widened and he stared at Steve. Blue bedroom eyes. The whole nine yards.

"Do you remember anything?"

Billy's eyes slid to the ground, "Uh..."

Steve rubbed his hands over his face, "Oh my god, Billy. Fuck."

"Let's go back to bed. I'll order room service."

"Why are you not freaking out more?" Steve covered his eyes, "Billy I'm so fucking sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Bambi?"

"I just... I must have... dared you do do this or something. I'm so fucking sorry." He jerked away from Billy, scrambling against the tub.

Billy frowned, "And what makes you think I didn't do this... on my own."

"What do you mean?"

Billy just stared down at him, licking his lip, "Bambi..."

Steve shook his head, just a little, not understanding.

"Why would you have dared me?" Billy asked, cocking his head to the side.

"I mean, obviously... it's a j-joke or something."

"A joke?"

"No I mean...." Steve ran his hands through his hair.

"You like me, Bambi?" Billy smiled, and Steve's stomach dropped to the cold, nasty tile floor.

"I... I just mean..."

"Because I like you. Obviously."

Steve shifted, bumping into the bathtub.

"Don't fuck with me." Steve said softly.

Billy crawled closer. His eyes darted over Steve's face, blue gone electric in the shitty bathroom lighting.

"I'm not fuckin' with you."

Steve backed as far as he could against the tub, "You're not mad."

Billy shook his head, taking Steve's jaw in his hand, "I could never be mad at my husband."

Steve shivered, "Don't kiss me I just threw up."

Billy smiled, and his eyes lit up like the lights of Vegas, "Dare me?"

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #shieldofiron #billy x steve #steve x billy #my writing #vegas wedding baby!#Harringrove

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vintageshanny · 3 months

Text

Waiting for Love - Part Four

Relax and Enjoy the Ride

Content: Late July 1970, marriage problems, infidelity, smut, some angst, fluff, 18+

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!

Catch up here: Waiting for Love series

Elvis heard a soft rapping at the door to his hotel suite and his heart sped up at the irrational thought that maybe Vivien had decided to just quit her job and stay with him. He swung open the door, but to his shock it was Priscilla, holding a small bag in one hand and Lisa Marie’s arm with the other. Lisa was trying to squirm away. “Daddy!” she yelled out when she looked up at him.

“Yisa!” he responded with delight. “C’mere and give Daddy a big ol hug!” He scooped her up and covered her little face with kisses, blowing raspberries on her chubby cheeks.

“Daddy have cake?” Lisa asked with a big grin.

“Of course Daddy has some cake for ya. Ya want chocolate?” Elvis beamed as he led her over to the dining area.

“Elvis, she really doesn’t need that right now,” Priscilla started to say, but Elvis waved her off.

“Let me give my princess some cake.”

“Yeah, mommy, princess need cake,” Lisa smiled at her hero and sweet-provider. Priscilla rolled her eyes.

“Are you alone here?” she asked Elvis casually, glancing around for any evidence to the contrary.

“Of course. I mean, the guys are here, but they’re out pickin’ up dinner. Or lunch. Or whatever meal we’re supposed ta be eatin’ right now,” Elvis said, glancing at the clock. 6pm. “Why? Were you expectin’ someone else?” he asked, starting to grow suspicious and irritated. “Is that why ya showed up unannounced two weeks early?”

Priscilla looked away guiltily. “No,” she murmured. “I just thought it would be nice for Lisa to see you for a few days. And for me, too,” she quickly added. “Then we’ll go back to LA.”

“But you’re comin’ for opening night, right?” Elvis asked, his face looking eager like a puppy dog.

“Yeah, yes, of course,” Priscilla answered, wondering how long they were going to keep up this charade of a happy couple for opening night. Elvis was wondering the same thing. Wondering why he felt he needed her there. Wondering if he’d care to see her at all if Lisa wasn’t with her. Wondering why he felt more irritation than happiness when his own damn wife showed up at his door. He felt trapped in a web of promises, expectations, and pressures that he could not begin to articulate. And now the added complication of Vivien. Of love.

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

“So what happened next?” Roxanne grilled as she and Vivien relaxed on her sofa Friday night. They’d both had busy weeks at work, and it was the first chance they’d had to catch up since Vivien’s whirlwind trip to Las Vegas the weekend before. She sipped her red wine and stared intently as Vivien fidgeted with her bottle of Pepsi.

“Well, he rehearsed for a while, and it was amazing to see. Like my own private concert,” Vivien said, smiling at the memory of that rich soulful voice filling the rehearsal space. “And then later,” she continued, staring down at her red fingernails tapping nervously on the bottle, “we, uh, went up to his room.”

“Oooh, now this is what I wanna hear!” Roxanne leaned in close so she wouldn’t miss a thing. “Was it like a party or just the two of you? Did you see him naked? Did you do the deed?”

“Hold on, hold on, I’ll get to all that. First we just talked for a while. He was asking me what I thought of his rehearsal and then we talked about his movies. Rox, he’s sooo sweet and funny.”

“Yeah, yeah, sweet, funny, charming, now get to the good stuff,” Roxanne teased. “Did you tell him how much we love his tight pants in the movies?”

Vivien blushed as she reached for the bowl of popcorn sitting on the couch between them. “I might have mentioned something about that.”

“You did?” Roxanne squealed. “What did he say?”

“Um, he turned really red actually. It was very cute. Of course, I was blushing too. And that led to me, uh, doing some other things,” Vivien said evasively.

“Other things? C’mon, Vivien, tell me what happened!” Roxanne threw a piece of popcorn at her.

“I’m sorry, I just feel embarrassed saying it all out loud,” Vivien groaned, burying her head in her arms, using the bottle of Pepsi to cool down her burning hot face.

“Oh, Viv, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I always tell you everything, and I’ve been waiting for the day when you’d have something juicy to share. Don’t hold out on me now!”

“Okay, okay,” Vivien breathed out nervously. “This is what happened. He let me take his pants off, and then I…” Vivien made a motion like she was licking a lollipop.

“Oh Viv I’m so proud of you!” Roxanne crowed. “Did you like it? Did he like it? How big was it?” The interrogation continued.

“Oh, I really loved it. The way he moaned when I licked him…I’ll remember that sound for the rest of my life,” Vivien giggled. “I think he liked it, but I don’t know if I was very good at it. I didn’t do it too long before he wanted to do some other things.”

“What things?” Roxanne demanded. “Did you go all the way?”

“No, I wasn’t sure if I was ready, and he said he wanted to take things slowly anyway.”

“Aww, that is a very sweet line,” Roxanne said. “So what did you do instead?”

“Well, he took my dress off so I was just in my underwear, and then he got on top of me and just kind of, you know,” Vivien made a rolling motion with her hips and laughed. “It felt really good, though, especially since his tongue was just all over me. And he must have loved it too because he…finished on me,” Vivien’s voice dropped to a whisper at the end.

“Wait, what? Elvis finished just from humping you through your underwear?” Roxanne sounded shocked.

“Yeah, then he used his fingers to make sure I finished too. He said he had to take care of me.” Vivien beamed at the thought of how considerate he was. She knew from Roxanne that not many guys were like that. “After that he got some towels to clean us off. It’s funny because he seemed almost shy to be naked in front of me after it was over. He was sort of trying to hide behind the towel when he saw me looking at him still.”

“Well yeah, Viv, I don’t think men like to be stared at when their thing is soft,” Roxanne laughed. “When it’s just hanging there like a cute little mushroom.”

Vivien’s brow furrowed at the description. “It didn’t really look like a mushroom. More like a, um, like a caterpillar in a cocoon. A nice thick cocoon,” she added dreamily.

“Are you telling me Elvis is not circumcised?” Roxanne asked with a quizzical expression, as if she couldn’t believe her ears.

“Um, I don’t know, I guess not,” Vivien shrugged. Since she hadn’t known what to expect, the thought really hadn’t crossed her mind.

Roxanne wrinkled her nose in mild disgust. “That’s weird, I wonder why not.” Vivien rolled her eyes. Roxanne’s judgments over superficial things were a bit much at times.

“Who cares? I thought it was perfect.” Vivien tried to keep her annoyance under the surface, but it was clearly rising.

‘

“I’m sorry, Viv, I wasn’t meaning to insult him. I know how protective you get when you love someone.” Roxanne reached over and squeezed her hand. Vivien turned to look at her, and her eyes suddenly welled up with tears. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Vivien shook her head as the tears started rolling down her cheeks.

“I do love him, Rox. I’m scared of how much I feel for him already.” Vivien let Roxanne pull her into a hug as she continued. “I haven’t even told you the worst part yet. I thought he was feeling the same way about me, and then when I left the hotel, I’m almost positive I saw Priscilla arriving.” She sniffled into Roxanne’s shoulder. “It just hit me so hard, y’know? Like I’m falling in love while he has this whole other life with this person.”

Roxanne rubbed her back soothingly. “It’s okay, Viv. You don’t know what she was doing there; it could have been just to bring their daughter by. He told you not to worry about it, right? I’m sure he needs to sort some things out, but I think the only thing you can do at this point is to follow your heart.”

“I’m trying, but it’s so hard. He hasn’t even called me this week.” Vivien let the tears continue to fall while Roxanne rocked her like a baby.

Two hours later, Vivien was walking up the stairs to her apartment, feeling a little better after watching some television with Roxanne. As she reached the landing, Mrs. Quimp popped her head out from next door. “Y’know dearie,” she started in that pleasant yet judgmental way, “If you’re going to have people calling all hours of the night, you might want to invest in one of those machines that answers your phone for you. I’ve been hearin’ it ring for near on an hour now.”

Vivien glanced down at her watch and saw it was 9pm. Hardly “all hours of the night,” she thought as she rolled her eyes. “I’ll be sure to look into that,” she said sweetly as she slipped into her apartment before Mrs. Quimp could offer more helpful advice. She tossed her purse on the counter and grabbed the pale blue phone receiver. “Hello?”

“Baby, w-w-where the hell ya been?” Elvis spluttered out. “I-I-I was ‘bout ta send out a search party for ya.”

“Elvis? I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were calling,” Vivien responded, totally caught off guard by his slight hostility.

Elvis let out a little sigh. “It’s okay honey, I-I was just’ gettin’ worried about ya.” He cleared his throat a little bit. “So, w-w-where were ya? On a hot date?” He said it casually, but his sweet stutter belied his nerves, and Vivien was surprised, and honestly a little flattered, to detect a hint of jealousy in his tone.

“No, of course not, silly,” she laughed. “I was with Roxanne. The only man I want a hot date with is halfway across the country.” Vivien could picture the crooked simile she knew was spreading across his handsome face.

“Is that right? Who ya seein’ in New York, baby?” Elvis let out a loud laugh at his own joke.

“Very funny,” Vivien giggled. “You know it’s you. And I want to see more of you.”

“I think ya seen ‘bout all there is ta see, honey,” Elvis teased.

Vivien blushed at that. “Well, I want to see it all again then. It looked so good the first time.”

“Not disappointed then?” Elvis’ tone was still light and joking, but Vivien thought she detected the tiniest bit of insecurity in his voice. The weird look of disgust on Roxanne’s face flashed through her mind, and she wondered if Elvis had ever seen that look on a woman’s face in his most vulnerable moments. The idea that someone so amazing could also be nervous and insecure somehow both soothed her and broke her heart. She felt determined to make him see the beauty that she saw.

“Disappointed? Oh, no, you looked absolutely perfect. I could stare at you all day,” Vivien murmured, her face growing hot at the thought of it.

“You’re a sweet little weirdo, y’know that?” Elvis laughed, glad she couldn’t see the way she made him blush with her compliments.

“Well, it takes one to know one, doesn’t it?” Vivien teased.

“It sure do, baby. Now when ya gonna come back and see me so we can stare at each other?”

“Oh, um, Joe told me I couldn’t be there once the camera crews arrived,” Vivien explained.

The tension immediately returned to Elvis’ voice. “Baby, don’ ya worry ‘bout him. We already had a conversation, and if he wants ta keep his job, he’ll mind his own goddamn business.” He sighed and continued, “I ain’t mad at ya honey, jus’ don’ worry ‘bout any of that, okay? Remember to jus’ stay in the moment with me. I need ya with me. Everything feels better with you, Vivien. Everything,” he repeated.

Vivien’s heart melted a little bit. “Okay, of course I’ll come. I just didn’t want to be in the way.”

“Honey, ya ain’t in the way if I want ya here, okay? I’ll make the arrangements for next weekend. I can’t wait ta see ya again.”

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

Elvis kicked off his boots, peeled off his socks, draped his heavy belt over the chair, and flopped onto the giant bed in his suite. He set his glasses on the nightstand and patted the spot next to him. “C’mere honey, take off your sandals and lay by me. I gotta unwind before dinner.” Vivien obeyed and settled in next to him, leaning her head on the sleeve of his cherry blossom shirt. “You got some cute yittle sooties, honey,” Elvis announced as he nudged one of VIvien’s feet with his own.

“What, my feet?” she asked, trying to figure out what sooties were. She was slowly but surely adding all of Elvis’ special little words to her vocabulary.

“Yeah, I like how your toenails and fingernails match,” he said as he stared at them with a little grin. “You should try pink next time. That would look real nice on ya, baby.”

“Maybe I will,” Vivien smiled. “Your feet are pretty cute, too.”

Elvis laughed. “Oh, ya like how two of my toes are partly connected?”

Vivien kneeled up on the bed to get a better look.

“Aww, look at those cute little toesies!” she cooed, grabbing one of his feet and nibbling at his toes like he was a little boy. Elvis laughed and squirmed, trying to pull his foot away. “Oh, is someone ticklish?” Vivien teased, running her fingertips over the bottom of his foot.

“B-b-baby, st-stop it,” Elvis pleaded, his laughter now completely uncontrolled.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Vivien asked playfully as she moved the tickling up under his pant leg, around his ankle.

“L-lemme show ya,” Elvis gasped out, and he leaned up and pounced on her, rolling them both over so he was laying on top of her. He immediately lunged in for a deep, passionate kiss. Vivien relished the way his marshmallow-soft lips smashed into hers, his tongue prodding its way into her mouth. He pulled back slightly and stared into her eyes. “Ya feel Little Elvis?” Vivien nodded, feeling his arousal growing harder, pressing into her. “You, uh, gonna kiss me there again, honey?” Elvis asked, his face turning a deep crimson.

Vivien nodded again, reaching up to stroke his flushed cheek. “Elvis, I think I’d do anything to make you happy,” she whispered. The way he smiled at that made her feel like he was looking into her very soul.

“You’re such a giving person, Vivien. So am I. There’s somethin’ I’ve really been wantin’ to do for ya.” Elvis shifted gently off of her and reached his hand slowly under her dress, pulling her panties down and removing them completely.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Vivien asked anxiously as Elvis lifted the hem of her dress and started inching down between her legs.

Elvis looked up with that adorable, lopsided, heart-melting grin. “You’re so sweet ta me Vivien, that I jus’ know ya gotta taste sweet too.” Vivien remembered what she had forgotten to ask Roxanne about, but it was too late now. She could feel her body trembling as Elvis pushed her legs further apart. “Shh, ‘s okay honey,” he rubbed her thigh soothingly with his thumb. “You jus’ relax and enjoy the ride.” She grabbed his hair as the waves of pleasure began to overtake her, Elvis’ tongue dancing across every inch of her body.

Tag List: @whositmcwhatsit @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love @pebbles403 @deniseinmn @everythingelvispresley @little-laamb @annapresley8 @leapresley @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @atleastpleasetelephone @gatheraheart @richardslady121 @helen06dreamer

#Elvis #Elvis fan fic #Elvis fan fiction #Elvis x oc #Elvis smut #waiting for love #i love this man

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youaintnothinbuta · 14 days

Note

Hello!!! I saw you wanted some sort of army Elvis prompt so I thought I'd send one through!!! Love your stuff by the way. Daddy!Elvis 🥺🥺🥺🥺 he's so cute!!

Ok...how about...Elvis is doing like a party (can be army Elvis or Vegas Elvis or anyone of his phases up to you!) and he and the reader have been together a while, but while they're catering...this one guy and old friend of Elvis's gets a bit TOO touchy feely with her, and takes advantage of her going around catering to people by asking for continuous drinks and stuff until he's drunk. When she tells Elvis he laughs it off the first time. But then when the drunk man gets angry with the reader for refusing to serve him any more drinks he gets a little 'too' angry for Daisy and does something (you can make up what) and then she tells Elvis when she pulls him aside in tears. And then he becomes super 'protective' Elvis....please? 🥺🥺

Hope this is ok!

❤️

“She’s being a real brat.” — Elvis Presley x reader

Omg thank you for replying n for the inspo ily!!! I hope this is okay 💗 I purposely didn’t mention a time so read it as any Elvis era you like

Summary: see request^^^

Pairing: Elvis or Austin!Elvis x reader

Word count: 970

Warnings: fluff!! There is some unwelcome attention and arguing but Elvis looks after you <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Don’t forget, baby, we gotta bring all those chairs outside for everyone before people start arriving,” you reminded Elvis, as the two of you prepared for the party he was hosting.

“Oh, right, thank you honey.” He kissed the side of your head, heading outside to deal with that, while you unpacked the crackers and cheeses and alcohol, his chef preparing the actual food, of course.

That evening, once everyone started arriving, you and your husband made yourselves busy, making sure to greet everyone. As the evening wore on, you found yourself bustling around, making sure everyone’s drinks were topped up and their plates were full. Amidst the lively chatter and music, you were approached by an old friend of Elvis’, a guy you vaguely remembered from previous gatherings.

“There she is! What a stunner Elvis has got himself,” he complimented you as he took another full glass of champagne from your hand, though it didn’t really feel like a compliment.

With a polite smile, you acknowledged him. “Thank you. Yes, it has been a while.”

Initially, his conversation remained innocuous, but as the night progressed, his demeanor shifted. His touches lingered longer than was appropriate, his compliments veering into the realm of discomfort. You thought it was quite interesting too how he only became this way the moment your husband was out of sight.

“Why’s your mister letting you walk around like this? I can’t take my eyes off you,” he remarked, his gaze lingering a little too intently as he brushed his hand over your lower back.

“Thank you,” you replied, a nervous edge creeping into your voice. “I should attend to the drinks.”

Stepping away, you discreetly sought out Elvis, who was engaged in conversation with other guests.

“Elvis, could I speak with you for a moment?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you, concern furrowing his brow. “Of course, what’s the matter?”

Hesitantly, you confided in him about the man’s unwelcome advances, hoping for some form of intervention.

“That guy, he’s been getting too familiar with me. I can’t even place a name to his face, I don’t even know him.” you pleaded quietly.

“Don’t stress, honey. He’s just being friendly,” he reassured, though his words did little to assuage your discomfort.

As the evening wore on, you went from feeling uneasy to borderline violated. The man, now visibly intoxicated, began demanding more drinks, despite his already inebriated state.

“Hey, sweetheart, another round over here!” he slurred, his voice growing increasingly belligerent.

“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve had enough,” you replied, trying to maintain composure despite the rising tension.

“Pardon?” He asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

You knew he was trying to give you an opportunity to change your words, but you didn’t, repeating yourself. “You’ve had enough to drink.”

“Listen, little girl,” he plunked his empty glass down on a table, his words slurring.

He gave you a gross smile, curled his finger towards you in a come hither motion. As not to cause a scene in front of other guests, you listened to him, even if it was against your better judgment, and leaned in to him.

He positioned his face far too close to yours, startling you with a yell, “you don’t tell me when I’ve had enough. I’ll have as much as I damn well please!”

Your heart raced, and a sense of dread crept over you as his demeanor grew increasingly aggressive. Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to find safety in the presence of Elvis. How dare someone speak to you like that? Especially in your own home. You feel uncomfortable and unsafe, and you most certainly didn’t want him in your home anymore.

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You were able to pretty quickly and easily pick Elvis out from the large amounts of people, tugging on his shirt to pull him aside.

“Baby, what happened?” Elvis asked, immediately clocking your glossy eyes. You began to recount what he had said to you.

“Elvis, he won’t leave me alone. He’s getting aggressive,” you implored, desperation colouring your words. Elvis’ expression hardened as he listened, his concern giving way to resolve.

Elvis approached the guy, who smile at him.

“Just the man I was looking for! Will you tell your girl to get me a drink, she’s being a real brat.”

“Listen to me, ain’t no one gonna talk to me like that, especially not about my wife,” Elvis asserted, his voice cutting through the noise of the party, “you need to leave.”

The man’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of defiance as he squared his shoulders, clearly intent on challenging Elvis’s authority. “Come on, buddy, don’t be like that,” he slurred, his words punctuated by the stench of alcohol on his breath.

Elvis’s jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin as he glared at the man. “I said leave,” he growled, his tone brooking no argument.

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, tension high, then, with a defiant snort, the man turned on his heel, stumbling towards the door with unsteady steps. As soon as he was out of sight, Elvis turned back to you, his eyes softening with concern. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice gentle as he reached out to cup your cheek.

“I am now.” You nodded.

“I’m sorry, I should have listened to you. Why don’t you hang around me for a while.”

“It’s okay,” you placed your hand over his that was on your cheek. He placed a kiss on your lips, before pulling you into him, dancing with you. You laughed at his spontaneity, as he spun you around, mouthing the words I love you. You replied the same way, as others around you cheered and danced, the party quickly picking back up.

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elvisalltheway101 · 12 days

Text

it’s only words; 60s elvis x reader

Summary: rude customers have been on the daily, annoying, and elvis finally shows up to see them in action.

author’s note: written from an idea by @jhoneybees, my doll 😊 and I hope you enjoy this! Of course, all’s eyes, please enjoy!

••••••••••

words. Words were the last thing you wanted to hear in this mood, time and shift. Especially by some fat fellows that drag their jaws to the table. If you could roll your eyes and just smack them with your tray, you would.

“What’s with the frown, cuppy? Ain’tcha happy to see us?” One nasty, slobbery man speaks from the three at the stuffy, sweaty table. You scoff and walk over with the tray at palm, holding back all urges to just shout back. Cuppy, is the random name that popped outta their yappers and they stuck with it.

You sigh heavily, and slide their expected smoothies to their table and huff. You glance around the men and ignore a gag. “Anything else needed?” You spoke in a confident but irritated voice. They shake and jobber their shiny chins and smirk, “nah, not for now cuppy.”

Only walking away, you hug the tray to your chest and rub your temple. Calming yourself down, and glancing up at the black, laminated clock above the restaurant’s entrance. 10:43 pm. Just under an hour, 17 more minutes and probably 35 more seconds til off time. But who’s counting?

You’re used to the whistles and smiles tossed at your way, but you know who your heart belongs to. And that’s how it’s gonna stay. “Nice ass, cuppy. Might call ya a juggie now.” One deep voice called from behind at the table shouts and they all burst in laughter, shoving at eachother with snickers and hiccups.

You groan and roll your eyes, they might even get stuck like that with the amount of times you’ve been doing it in this minute. But your cheeks burn in harassment and just feeling so irritated.

16 minutes fly past, and you’re beyond glad. Serving the last table was like drawing a Breathe of nice real air, but it’s when an annoying kid slams a drink over the table that you have to be sent over to clean it immediately. “Fucking hell.” You mutter as the spoilt family walk out of the restaurant doors, and you bend down to wipe up the mess with the rag in your palm.

Just at that moment, elvis walks in awaiting and expectant of a hug from his lover doll. He frowns as he glances around and enters the creaky, shiny doors but smiles softly as your work hard to do your job. He decides to not disturb or surprise you just yet, wandering away by the jobbery men.

As you continue to wipe up the sticky juice, he sighs dreamily but it’s rudely interrupted when one of the sweaty guys nudge him with a smirking smile, “ay, she’s got a nice ass, don’t she?” He raises a brow in confusion, and looks his way. “Mm, a nice shake with it too.” One of the other men chirps and snickers, but you’ve already heard and had enough.

Before Elvis can even express emotion or smart mouth any of them shitheads, you jump to your feet and stomp up their table, throwing the dirty rags of dust and other messes you’ve picked up with it, right into their faces. “Perverts!” You shout but then you immediately stop once your eyes shoot accidentally connected to Elvis’ blue confused ones.

••••

Before you know it, he carries you out and tries to pat your shoulders in attempt to cool off steam. “Now why- can, what’s goin on?” He stutters out and glances over your eyes, and you huff. Frustrated but still a little grateful he caught you in his arms. You pout and sniffle lightly, not realizing that you’ve gotten so upset that your doll eyes swell with glossy tears. “It’s just that, that, those guys a-are so nosy and annoying, and inappropriate. It’s giving me a headache!” You whine and gasp out, as he thrusts you into his welcoming arms.

“Shhh, shhh, s’okay baby.” He soothes you gently, craddling you in his arms along the cold, chilly air on the sidewalk. “S’only words, baby doll. It’s only words. And besides, I’ve been told ya that you can quit this pig bed. Y’know I don’t like my baby working and sweating over stuff she ain’t deserving of.”

he pours and pulls you at arms length to scan your eyes with reassurance, and you smile gently and nod slowly. “M’kay. Y-you’re right it’s only words.” He smiles and nods with his chin out, “mhm, and I’ll get them sonovabitches once your pretty eyes fall sleep. Mkay?”

He smiles a playful, but promising smile with a light in his eyes. You giggle and nod vigorously, and Elvis smiles as he wipes away your upset tears and snot.

“It’s only words.”

••••••••

tag list: @jhoneybees @your-nanas-love @pomtherine

#Spotify #elvis presley #70s elvis #big daddy elvis #elvis aaron presley #elvis fluff #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley imagine #elvispresley #elvis x reader fluff

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from-memphis-with-love · 1 month

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Songbird - Ch. 1 - The Handsome Stranger

Summary: The year is 1969. The place is the International Hotel. Valerie Pedretti, an aspiring singer, has a chance encounter with one Elvis Presley in an elevator that will change her life forever. Notes: To me, 1967-1971 EP is kind of peak Elvis, and so I wanted to write a fic with him smack dab in that time period. In the 1969-1970 period, especially, Elvis was probably the most handsome and alluring man in the galaxy. Lots of anachronisms and historical inaccuracies in this one, but just roll with it because it's fun! I based Valerie, in a sense, off of a mixture of Kathy Westmoreland, Joyce Bova, and Linda Thompson. Kathy met the real Elvis for the first time in an elevator, and that really inspired this work. Priscilla exists in this universe but she and Elvis get a divorce far earlier than in real life. Theirs, in some ways like real life, is a marriage of convenience and an "arrangement." Lisa Marie does not exist in this universe.

Las Vegas, Nevada, 1969

Vegas was shimmering mirage of bad decisions just waiting to snare me—a sucker-punch I never saw coming. The lights, the noise, the impossible promise of it all crashed over me in kaleidoscopic waves as my cab cruised down the strip towards the International Hotel. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching slack-jawed as sequined showgirls and vacationers blurred by in streaks of neon and rhinestone.

The cabbie swerved to the curb with a jolt, snapping me out of my daze. "International Hotel," he barked, his voice an ice bath to my face. I shoved a crumbled wad of bills into his hand and stumbled out and into a swarm of hairspray and cigar smoke congregating under the hotel's blazing marquee. Blinking in confusion, I took in the frenzied scene unfolding—beefy security shoving their way through the sea of pompadours, vendors hawking glossy headshots, teddy bears and "I 🖤 ELVIS" pins. The realization hit me like a freight train. This wasn't just any weekend at the International. It was the kickoff of Elvis Presley's residency. Ground zero for absolute Elvis mania.

The irritation set in, simmering beneath my skin. "Shit," I muttered, suddenly feeling foolish for forgetting. Of all the rotten luck. Out of all the times to visit Las Vegas, I had unwittingly chosen the kickoff of Elvis's shows—an event drawing crowds I had no desire to mingle with.

I wove through the throng, lugging my cumbersome suitcases behind me. Inside the lobby was even more chaotic—a swirling kaleidoscope of big-haired fans and cigarette smoke lingering over shag carpet. Elvis was everywhere, his angelic face beaming down from posters, gold records, life-sized cardboard cutouts. A veritable religious shrine. Groaning internally, I caught my bedraggled reflection in a mirrored column. Of course I would show up to the Presley Promised Land looking like something the cat dragged in. Normally I'd at least try to pull myself together for check-in, maybe swipe on some lipstick or fluff my chocolate curls into place. After all, I didn't want to look terrible in front of people dressed to the nines. But after the day I'd had, I couldn't muster the effort.

My flight from Chicago had been delayed six excruciating hours due to "mechanical issues," which apparently was airline-speak for "sit tight while we screw you over." By the time we finally took off, I'd already stress-eaten two sleeves of Oreos and read the in-flight magazine three mind-numbing times. To top it off, I'd spilled coffee all over my only nice blouse right before landing. Clearly, some divine power had it out for me today.

Feeling sweaty and vaguely nauseous, I trudged to the front desk. The angular blonde behind the counter, Brenda, barely glanced up from her well-thumbed issue of Variety as I approached.

"Welcome to the International Hotel. Checking in?" She smacked her gum, eyes never leaving her magazine.

"Yes, uh, reservation should be under Deena Lovelace."

That finally got her attention. Her penciled brows shot up as she inspected me, taking in the coffee stains and rumpled slacks. "Wait, you're Deena? The Deena who told me she booked for the Sinatra audition tomorrow?" The doubt was palpable.

I gritted my teeth into a tight smile. "No, actually. I'm her friend Valerie. Deena got sick at the last minute, some kind of exotic flu, so I'm filling in for her."

Suspicion clouded Brenda's face, but after a long beat she shrugged. "Huh. Well, takes all kinds, I guess." She signaled to a bellhop in a red monkey suit and thrust a key into my hand. "Room 2806, elevators are that way. If you need anything, ask for Hector."

Hector the bellhop scurried over and hoisted up my bags with surprising ease for such a slight guy. I made a weak attempt to protest, but he just grinned and ushered me through the cacophonous lobby to the first hallway. The doors slid open and I thanked him, pressing a few crumpled bills into his white-gloved hand.

“I can take it from here, Hector.”

As I walked along, I looked at my reflection in the mirrored wall and exhaled slowly. My nerves buzzed like an exposed wire as I thought about tomorrow's audition. Landing a spot in the Sinatra chorus line seemed about as likely as shooting the moon at this point. I barely knew the song Deena had been rehearsing for weeks, my go-go boots had a broken heel, and my voice was ragged from practicing the whole weekend.

But damn it, this was the first real shot I'd had in ages to claw my way out of the chambermaid grind and actually make something of myself. To prove Ma right for always saying I had stardust in my veins, even when it landed me more trouble than applause growing up. I had to at least try. For all those thankless nights warbling in dim lounges, waiting for my big break. For Deena, who I knew would kill for this chance.

I'd barely begun my little pep talk when someone brushed by me, sloshing their vodka tonic onto my sleeve and snapping me back to the present moment. I weaved through the crowd towards another inner hallway, clearing my throat.

I turned on my heel and started hoofing it towards my room. The hotel's layout was an absolute dizzying mess of twists and turns in every direction. My thudding, ungainly footsteps were muffled by the shag carpet and the dulled roar of fans congregating throughout the hotel.

As I trudged on, the ambiance shifted gradually. The hum of voices faded away, replaced by an overwhelming silence that signaled I was getting farther away from the bustling core. Exhaustion tugged at my bones while I navigated the maze of hallways. My room was somewhere in this labyrinth, but my bed felt worlds away at this point.

My steps sank into the plush carpet as I drifted into a quieter, dimly-lit corridor that seemed less traveled. Finally, I found myself alone in front of a bank of elevator doors. I stabbed the call button and waited impatiently, my arms aching from the weight of my overstuffed suitcases. God, why did I pack so much useless junk?

"Must be close now," I muttered out loud, my voice barely audible.

With barely a thought, I slipped out of my heels and bent my toes backwards and forwards, allowing my sore feet to relish the heavenly softness underfoot. It was soft, springy, and absolute relief for my aching soles. Automatically, I began humming a familiar, nameless tune under my breath - just a few sweet, absentminded notes I always turned to for comfort when I needed it. The thought of finally washing this endless day off my face and jumping into a crisp hotel bed was the only thing on my mind as the gilded doors opened with a tinny ding.

The cab was empty. Relieved to finally have a moment to myself, I dragged my heavy bags inside and slumped against the mirrored wall. As the doors started to slide closed, a large, ring-adorned hand suddenly shot out, halting them.

I straightened up with a jolt, my exhaustion replaced by a flash of irritation. Great, just what I needed, another overzealous Elvis fan trying to cram into my personal space bubble.

But as the interloper stepped into the elevator, my breath caught in my throat. Standing before me, in all his smoldering, technicolor glory, was the man himself. Elvis fucking Presley. The aura he gave off was undeniable, that much was sure. And I recognized his face immediately, the same one splashed all over the posters and knick knacks in the lobby. There he was, outshining the garishly glitzy elevator cab like a supernova eclipsing neon. And next to him, a well-built redheaded man, his hand resting at something shiny on his hip. Bodyguard, most likely. Quickly, I shoved my feet back into my heels, silently cursing myself for having taken them off in the first place.

I blinked hard, convinced I must be hallucinating from sheer fatigue. But no, he was unquestionably real, from the polished black shoes to the perfectly coiffed onyx hair that shone like quicksilver in the light. His lean, powerful frame was draped in an immaculately tailored black suit, a shock of pink peeking out from the silk scarf knotted at his throat. But it was the penetrating, electric blue gaze behind tinted shades that truly unraveled me.

I'd never considered myself much of an Elvis fan. Sure, I could appreciate a catchy tune like "Don't Be Cruel" or "Teddy Bear," but I'd always been immune to the mass hysteria he incited in his besotted admirers. Yet here, in such close proximity to his cosmic charisma and undeniable sex appeal, I finally understood. This man was a force of nature.

The redhead caught my awestruck stare and chuckled knowingly. "I see you've met my friend Jon Burrows here," he said with a wink.

But this was no "Jon Burrows." I knew who it was, plain as day. And his affect on me was immediate. Was I dreaming? My pulse started racing. Should I say something? And just how the hell did this happen? I opened my mouth, then closed it, swallowing hard. Play it cool, Valerie.

Any lingering self-consciousness about my frazzled appearance just evaporated in the sheer force of his presence. Though judging by the unmistakably mischievous curl of his lip, my travel-battered state didn't seem to faze him one bit. His perceptive eyes met mine, always accustomed to the spotlight but now studying me with curiosity. He took in my slumped posture and visible fatigue without a hint of judgment.

"You've had yourself a long day, haven't you, honey?" That voice, richer than a Mississippi smokehouse, sliced right through me.

I could only nod dumbly, a lump forming in my throat. "I—uh, yeah. No. I mean... yes, you could say that," I stammered like an idiot. Get it together!

His smile was pure bewitchment. "Well, you'll be tucked in in no time, I reckon. I hear the beds are mighty comfortable here."

I looked up at the ceiling in silence, tracing the swirling pattern with my mind's eye and trying to give off a vibe of cool indifference. But my stomach was actually rolling.

To my surprise, he kept talking. "Pardon my manners. My name's Elvis, and this is my pal Red. Who might you be?"

My throat locked tighter than a cowboy's bullwhip. "Valer—?"

"Valerie." He drew the name out, savoring each note and curve as if testing its ring. Each single syllable seemed to undergo some mystical transformation, alchemized to pure liquid amber from his lips. "A pretty name for a pretty little songbird." A ringed hand discreetly adjusted the bejeweled cups shielding his gaze, maybe hoping to make out my sides better.

Elvis was still steadily playing the blue suede shoes off me, from his elegant bent stance to the teasing half-smirk barely shadowing those indolently hungover features—the whole routine daring me to go chasing his bait. But I was far too busy trying not to spontaneously combust. I screwed my eyes tightly shut for a half-moment, desperately grasping to regain some sense of composure with an oxygen-deprived brain.

How did he know...?

Dumb question, Sherlock. The very notion conjured images of me, sweat-glazed and punchy-tired, mindlessly vocalizing sweet lullabies straight from my Off-Off-Broadway chambermaid days while I waited for the elevator. Of course he would've overhead that.

I cinched my mouth into what I hoped was a blasé half-smile, refusing to come completely uncorked by his pet name. I replayed the embarrassing moment in my head, wishing I could dissolve into the elevator shaft. Every breath I pulled in seemed to crackle with electricity. First I randomly share an elevator with The Elvis Presley, and now he'd overheard my nervous vocalizing and was complimenting me on it?

"Baby." A rich, salt-cured chuckle melted off his tongue, resining deep in my nerve center. "I got ears like a well-tuned radar dish. You in town for a show?"

I shook my head slowly. "Technically yes, but no. Just an audition," I replied, my heart thundering in my ears. I hoped he couldn't hear it pounding.

"Who for, if you don't mind me asking?" he inquired with that laser gaze.

I sucked in a steadying breath. Might as well take the bait since I'd already been barb-hooked but good. "I'm here for an audition, actually. Tomorrow. For Sinatra. I'm a singer. I mean, not like you, but hopefully one day..." I paused, unsure of how much backstory was worth burdening Elvis with. "Just got a last minute sub-in for a friend who's under the weather."

Something flickered across Elvis' handsome features before the mask of idle curiosity slid back into place. "Is that right?" His gaze raked over me again, slower this time, more deliberate. "And what will you be singing for Ol' Blue Eyes?"

Shit. Why was he asking me so many questions? My palms started to sweat as I racked my brain for a suitable answer. It wasn't like I could admit that I barely knew the material, that I was flying by the seat of my pants on a far-fetched favor for a friend. So I settled for a half-truth instead.

"Oh, you know. Just a little medley of standards. 'To Keep My Love Alive,' 'I Can Cook, Too,' that kind of thing."

Elvis nodded slowly, a shadow of a smirk still playing on his lips. "A classic set list. I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead, honey."

I started to stammer out a thanks, but Elvis was already moving past me towards the door as the elevator finally shuddered to a stop. He paused, throwing a glance back over his shoulder. There was a new intensity in his eyes when they met mine, a dark promise that made my toes curl involuntarily in my heels.

"I'll be rooting for you, songbird. Break a leg."

And with that, he was gone, leaving me weak-kneed and dizzy in a cloud of his smoky-spicy cologne. I sagged against the wall, trying to collect myself. What in the ever-loving hell had just happened? Had I honestly just been shamelessly eye-fucked by Elvis Presley in an elevator?

More importantly, why had I liked it so much?

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the treacherous thoughts as I finally stumbled out into the harshly lit hallway. It was late, I was tired, and I had an audition to rest up for. The last thing I needed was to dwell on smoldering looks from a celebrity Casanova that I had no business panting over in the first place.

But even as I went through the motions of unlocking my room and sinking face-first into the marshmallowy duvet, I couldn't stop my mind from wandering back to the electric encounter in the elevator. The way Elvis had stared at me, equal parts scorching and inscrutable, as if he was trying to crack some tantalizing code. There was no way I could have imagined that. The effortless command he'd exuded, the sheer magnetism rolling off of him in waves. How ridiculously, unexpectedly good he still looked, hips swiveling in slow-motion in my mind's eye...

I punched a pillow in frustration, annoyed with my traitorous libido. This was so far beyond the scope of anything I'd anticipated when I'd agreed to sub in for Deena's audition. But one thing was certain—my time in Vegas was shaping up to be a hell of a lot more interesting than I'd bargained for. And something told me that a chance run-in on a hotel elevator was only the beginning.

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