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strniohoeee · 1 month

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Hidden In The Shadows Pt. 4(Final Chapter)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Waking up dazed and confused, Y/N is taken by surprise when certain events seem to take place. Unsure of how to feel Y/N battles with the decisions of staying or leaving for good

Warnings⚠️: SADDDDD NGL😭, but like not really but also IDK??? I wasn’t sure how to end this installment, but I know I didn’t want to make it some fairytale type shit LMAOOO

Songs for imagine: Blue Moon- Elvis Presley, Bang Bang(My Baby Shot Me Down)- Nancy Sinatra

Tags: @lacysturniolo @gamermattsgf @nicksmainbitch @s7urnfilms @sturnssmuts @vickyzloserz @mayhem-72 @sturn3g1rl @mattsturniolowifey

Blue Moon

You knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for

Someone I really could care for

If my mother could see the position I was currently in she’d be so ashamed….disappointed even. She’s always taught me stranger danger and leave it to her daughter to sleep with the stranger and the danger….

I can’t remember much, but I can remember the emptiness….the cold darkness of my mind. My physical body slumps somewhere while my conscious fights to wake me up.

Who knows what’s going on in the real world right now. I could be tied to a pole and slow roasting like a pig, or maybe even locked in someone’s dungeon. Or what if this is all some crazy bad dream and I’m actually back home in my comfortable bed….

My thoughts were slowly coming to a halt as my eyes began to open slowly. Squinting at the sensitivity they were facing I groaned and cleared my throat. The throbbing in my head and the burning of my nose leads me to believe Matt used an awful lot of chloroform to knock me out. He’s lucky he didn’t kill because I’d haunt his ass.

Opening my eyes fully I realized I was tied to a chair in a basement? Oh actually my basement? Looking around I realized I was in the same place I was when Matt caught me.

I began to move against the ropes, pulling and yanking as I groaned in anger.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you” I heard from behind me, causing me to stop and jump

“Who’s there” I asked trying to look over my shoulders

“Why’d you have to be so nosy? Making everything so complicated” I heard him say

“You fucking psycho….Matt let me fucking go” I said pulling harder against the ropes

“You see I just can’t do that” he replied to me walking from behind me

“You fucking weirdo….oh god….oh my god I had sex with a fucking psycho… please just kill me that would be less embarrassing” I say shaking my head and tapping my feet on the ground

Coming from behind me Matt stands in front of me. Except he doesn’t look angry…. He looked concerned and scared. Which made me a bit scared and anxious

“What are you doing?” I yelled at him yanking myself around

“sit still” he said in a firm whisper

“Fuck off” I said in annoyance to him

Grabbing my face to have me look at him I attempted to yank away.

“GET OFF OF ME” I yelled at him trying to bite him

“STOP IT AND LOOK AT ME” he says with wide eyes

Letting go of me he steps back. Looking over his shoulder he turns back to me. Placing his pointer finger over his mouth he motions for me to stay quiet and then with the same finger points behind himself and then points to his ear.

“Listen here darling you’re going to do as I say” he says sternly and loudly

Digging in his back pocket he takes out a piece of paper, unraveling it he faces it to me so I can read.

They’ve been on you this whole time and they used me to get to you. At first I was going to do it, but I like you too much. They’ve been in your house multiple times and have found all the information you have on this town. I’m so sorry for who I am and what my family has done; but I don’t want to hurt you. They are having me watch you while they put all your stuff in your car. They’re planning to kill you and make it seem like it was an accident. However I won’t let that happen. I’m going to get you out of here and I have a plan! But they don’t fully trust me and are listening to me and watching my every move. So please just do as I say. I’m sorry.

After reading the note a tear slipped down my face and I looked up at Matt. His eyes softened and his lip trembled, swallowing thickly he nodded his head. Folding the paper back up he put it in his back pocket.

“You will listen to me and me only! Make any stupid moves and I will kill you myself” he says loudly with a sincere look

“Go to hell” I spat at him

Listening above he heard the two men walk away from the basement door. Ushering over to me quickly he got down and began to whisper

“Okay so here’s the plan. There is only one way out and only one chance to get this right so please do as I say. They’re loading up your car and they’re planning on having me drive you to a secluded area a little outside of this town. They want me to set your car on fire” he says shaking his head and looking down

“What?” I say shocked and beginning to panic

“My getaway car was planted in the area and they will be checking tonight to see that your car is completely burnt. However it won’t be there because you’ll be on your way back to Vegas. You’ll be out of their hair which will give you time to leave Vegas” he says grabbing my hand

“But what about you Matt? They’ll kill you….” I say as my voice shakes

“Exactly” he says nodding his head

“No….no you can’t do that! Come with me” I say to him looking at him in the eyes

“I can’t…they’ll catch up before we leave and we’ll both be dead instantly. Suzie and I tried it when we were 14. Thought we could leave and be young lovers together. They shot her dead in front of me… told me I’d be next if I ever stepped out of line again. You remind me so much of her I can’t see that happen again” he replied wiping tears from his eyes

“Matthew no…. I can’t leave you to die” I say sobbing

“Maybe it’s been my destiny all along” he says to me

“Maybe you can escape right before they come looking for my car. You’d get a good head start on them! Meet me in Vegas. We can run away together” I say nodding my head and licking my tear stained lips

He chuckled lightly and shook his head, opting not to answer as he stood up.

“I need you to walk outside with me when it’s time. Pretend to mouth me off, kick, scream holler! I’ll stuff you in the car and we’ll be on our way” He says to me

“Okay yeah yeah” I respond nodding my head

“But for now we wait” he states, backing up and leaning against the pole.

About thirty minutes passed before we heard anything. Barely mumbling a few words to each other. My throat had run dry from the anxiety. The fact that I could die if one thing goes wrong but mainly the fact that the last moments I’ll be sharing with Matt is him helping me escape my death that will then become his death….. my heart couldn’t take letting him die

He was destined for more. The way his eyes would light up anytime he asked me about what Vegas is like or what any other place I’ve ever visited was like. What stuck with me the most was the way his face would change when he’d realized the life he was living and what he’d have to go back to. The twinkle always disappearing. It made my heart heavy.

I wouldn’t let him die. It’s not happening and I don’t care what I have to do to prevent it. He’s had such a painful life and he’s going to honor it by dying….

My thoughts were interrupted by Matt, my eyes slowly shifting from the basement window over to his face.

“They called us up, I’m going to grab you by the back of your head and I need to just start lashing out immediately, got it?” He asked me

“Got it” I said to him

Quickly helping me out of the rope that held me to the chair he grabbed the back of my head as my arms were tied behind my back.

Gripping my hair harder I knew it was time to give it my all. Taking a shaky breath I began to yell

“LET GO OF ME, YOU AND THIS TOWN A BUNCH OF CRAZIES” I yelled as I thrashed against his grip

“Quit it” he yelled back as he pulled me up the stairs with him

“You think you can get rid of me huh? MY WHOLE FAMILY WILL COME HERE LOOKING FOR YOU” I said firmly

“LET GO LET GOOO” I kept yelling as I pulled against him, tears streaming down my face

He walked us towards the front door and that’s where Beaufort stopped us.

“Such a fiery little lady! I knew from the moment you called you’d be a problem. But one thing about me is I make my problems go away” he says sucking his tobacco and grinning at me

“You won’t get away with this you sick son of a bitch” I spat at him

“Watch me” he said smiling and opening the front door for me

“NOOO STOP NO PLEASEEE” I yelled as I kicked and thrashed against Matt. My legs swinging as I tried to “escape” his grip

“Should’ve stood in your home town. So sad you’ll be having a little accident” Beaufort says to me as he steps onto my porch

“I’ll kill you all just you watch” I yelled as Matt shoved me into the back seats as I continued to kick and hit things

Beaufort smiled an evil smile as he waved goodbye. Matt hopped in the front seat as we began to back out of my gravel driveway.

Driving down the road Matt looked in his rear view mirror before looking at me

“Okay we’re in the clear” he says to me

Sitting up I looked at him opening my mouth to talk but stopping once I saw him shaking his head no at me.

“You can’t get me to change my mind” he says

“Matt this is not okay. I basically just signed your death wish” I said to him

“And I told you maybe it’s what’s best for me” he replied shrugging his shoulder

“Okay and maybe it isn’t! Maybe it isn’t” I said sternly to him as I began to lose my patience

“Matt we’ve had such an amazing connection this past month, a connection I’ve never had with anyone else before and you can’t just leave me” I said pleading with him

“Don’t you get it? I can’t have them coming after you. I care for you lot sweetheart and if I had to live with another love of mine being hurt I couldn’t live with myself.” He replied gripping the steering wheel harder

I huffedd out a breath of annoyance and sat back in the seat, letting a few tears fall from my face. This is pure insanity! I couldn’t live with myself if Matt got hurt or even killed. I felt confused, one hand I’d be safe but on the other hand Matt would potentially be….. dead.

I hadn’t even realized how long I was in thought until the car came to a halt and I heard Matt put the car in park.

Hopping out of the car I followed suit

“Take the car and run like hell outta here darlin” he said handing the keys to me

“Please come with” I begged as I chewed my bottom lip

“I can’t little lady” he responded shaking his head and wiping his nose

“Ditch your getaway car and come with me burn your car and let’s go, we can run like hell out of here together” I said gripping onto his arms

“I can’t, I have to go back” he says looking me in my eyes

“Can you at least attempt to leave town? Maybe tonight before they come looking for my car, leave before them” I said basically begging

“I can try, but I can’t make any promises darlin” he states swallowing thickly

“Please Matt…. For me” I say wiping my eyes

“The best I can do is try, this is for you. Whether I make it out alive or not just know I want you to be safe and I will always be with you” he says to me pulling me in for a hug

“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done” he says to me as he pulls away

“I’m going to miss you” I say to him

“I’m still here” he says smiling at me

I shook my head and hugged him once again

“I better head on back” he says pulling away

Turning on his heels he walks over to his car as I follow behind. Hopping in his car he rolls down his window as I lean on it.

“Now darlin you have to promise me that you’ll listen and you’ll get out of here. Don’t try and save me” he says smiling as he bats tears from his eyes

“I promise” I responded in a whisper

“And you have to promise to never forget about me” I told him as I smiled

“I could never! I swear I’ll try and contact you if I can pretty girl” he says back as he nods his head

“Thank you Matt for getting me out of here” I say one last time

Looking into his eyes I lean over and plant my lips on his. The kiss was needy and sad. It was a goodbye kiss…. A goodbye that meant forever. There was no see you later with Matt….

We hugged and shared one last final kiss. Parting ways I got in my car and we both drove off. I was numb the whole way home. I mean how does one process all of this? My life felt so unreal?

There were many hours of crying, sitting in silence and contemplations of turning back around. I just felt so confused, I didn’t want to leave Matt and I also didn’t want to die…. I didn’t have many options

Arriving home was the most bittersweet moment. I couldn’t really tell anyone what I really went through. What that town and what those people are truly like

I spent many days in and out of therapy really trying to understand what happened to me and how to process it. What really ate at me was the fear of being found, the fear of dying and especially the fear of never seeing Matt again.

One year later

If I knew that that day I hugged and kissed Matt goodbye would be the last time I’d ever see him, I’d hold on tighter. When I finally realized Matt wasn’t coming back it hurt bad… I mean I’d hid away blaming myself for all of this.

Wondering well maybe I didn’t push hard enough because if I did he would’ve caved and came with me. Not knowing if he was dead or alive really ate at my soul. Many days went by where I wanted to call his landline, but that would be a one way ticket to my grave.

It was hard moving. After experiencing something so intense with someone and needing them by your side to never seeing them again will always sting the most.

I was angry because I felt he didn’t try hard enough. Because if he did then he’d be here right now. And then that was filled with sadness and worry. I wasn’t sure if he was okay and I had to live with the fact that I would never know.

It’s so crazy how you’ll be living your life one way and then it flips upside down so randomly.

As I finished typing my chapter on my computer I let out a sigh. Writing a book about what I went through and losing Matt was the only way I could seem to cope.

It was actually Professor Wayne who convinced me to write this. He was actually helping me a lot through all this and he truly saw how it changed me. But everytime he saw the excitement in my eyes once I finished a chapter he knew it was genuinely helping me mentally.

Pressing save I closed my laptop and looked out my window. The rain is pattering against the glass. Such a bittersweet feeling. A year ago today I was about to sleep with my weird neighbor and friend and now I’m here in my empty apartment staring out the glass and reminiscing.

It’s still an open wound that I’m working on daily to stitch close. No one prepares you for traumatic events, especially ones that chemically alter your brain. I watched the rain trickle down the warm glass as I blink slowly. Racking my brain for answers…. I mean hell I’m just looking for one simple answer

I just want to know is Matt truly dead, or is he just

Hidden in the shadows….

The End

Yallll I hope you enjoyed the finale cause I hated it🤭 this is why I don’t write series because I’m so shit at ending things. But anywho I hope you liked it and I can’t wait to write some more for yall 🥹🖤

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets imagines #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo imagines #matt sturniolo imagines #matthew sturniolo x reader #Spotify

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precious-little-scoundrel · 6 months

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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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writing-ca-ira · 1 year

Text

FIRST DANCE SONGS

DC various x Reader

Just some of my favs and what I think their first dances at their wedding would be like. What song they would choose, if they’d cry or not, etc.

Reader is gender neutral.

Contains: wedding dances, romantic relationship between character and reader, a shit ton of fluffy mushy thoughts, DC men are allowed to cry because yes.

Clark Kent — Easy choice; Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley. I can imagine this song being Jonathan and Martha Kent’s song when they got married. He has a 60% chance of crying; 70% if he catches a glimpse of Ma and Pa holding hands, softly singing the lyrics to each other. There’s also a game that wedding DJs will sometimes do to see which guests have been married the longest (if you aren’t familiar, they’ll call up all of the married guests to dance, and they’ll periodically say, “if you’ve been married for X amount of years, sit down.”), so I can imagine At Last by Etta James beginning to play after your first dance, and you and Clark would be smiling as you watch the last couple standing; Jonathan and Martha Kent.

Bruce Wayne — Just Breathe by Pearl Jam, and he’s 100% crying. That’s what happens when you make eye contact with a misty-eyed Alfred. He wouldn’t do any fancy spinning or dipping with you because he’s too busy holding you close (both to hide the fact that he’s crying and because he never wants to let go). Other songs that may start playing afterwards range from Check Yes, Juliet by We The Kings and Super Bass by Nicki Minaj (a surprise for the both of you). Also, a picture of your first dance may or may not end up on the cover of some tabloid magazine, despite any of your efforts to keep your wedding from the public’s eye.

Hal Jordan — No one was surprised to hear Stand By Me by Ben E. King start playing for your first dance. However, what they were surprised by was how watery Hal’s eyes were. He has a 50% chance of crying during your first dance, though he’d cover it up by laughing as he let you goofily twirl him around. The last minute or so would just be you two with your arms around each other, foreheads touching, eyes filled with love and adoration for each other… and then the beginning of Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey would cause you two to collapse into each other with fond laughter. Expect to see Hal absolutely shred the air guitar.

Dick Grayson — You’d probably have to get through a few ABBA songs before your first dance (because Dick is The Dancing Queen™), but it’s worth it when All of Me by John Legend starts up. I’d love to think that the two of you have slow-danced to this song under the stars as a date, so of course you two would agree on this song. Has a 75% chance of crying (despite crying earlier during the actual ceremony) because you’re just so stunning to him while you sway in each other’s arms. He’d probably want a more upbeat song to play afterwards, like La Da Dee by Cody Simpson or Sugar by Maroon 5, and he’ll absolutely dramatically sing the lyrics to you.

Jason Todd — A lot about your wedding may differ depending on if Jason is comfortable with an actual ceremony or not, but one thing that stays consistent is Falling Like the Stars by James Arthur as your first dance song. He’d probably have a 30% chance of crying in front of other people, but if your wedding something more private, that number easily spikes up to 80%. Be prepared to be held tight against him. Heck, he might not let you go even after the song ends. If you have a traditional wedding, he’d have an arm around you as the two of you sit down and watch everyone else dance to Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen.

Tim Drake — I can see First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes being your song. Tim’s not exactly a dancer, so it may be the two of you just swaying back and forth, but he’d gladly let a spin or two happen if it makes your face light up. The odds of him crying are pretty low at 25%, meaning the most you’ll probably see is the slightest shimmer in his eyes (but Cassie, Bart, Kon, and Dick are 100% in shambles as you two dance). He’ll stare at you with complete adoration, contempt with just being with you, along with a giant smile gracing his lips for the duration of your dance. Something punk-rock/emo like Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down by Fallout Boy has to be the follow-up song. I don’t make the rules.

Wally West — Because I imagine your first date being a Disney movie marathon, Can You Feel the Love Tonight by Elton John fits perfectly. He’d probably hum the melody while bringing your foreheads together, eyes sparkling if you hum along with him. Be prepared to be twirled or dipped unexpectedly (he loves catching you by surprise). I’d say there’s a 50% chance of him crying, since he might be able to hold it together until something preppier plays like Shut Up and Dance by WALK THE MOON (and yes, much like Dick, he’ll dramatically sing the lyrics to you). You two will do so many goofy dance moves together, I can guarantee it.

Victor Stone — “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” is an underrated movie date idea, which is why I declare your first dance song to be Moon River by Audrey Hepburn. Slow dancing with Vic is so soft; he’ll gently sway with you and hold you so delicately. Not a big crier, so you’re at a 40% chance of that, but it’ll easily jump up to 60% if you rest your head against his shoulder or chest. Afterwards, I can totally see something like Without You by David Guetta playing. The energy on the dance floor would go from 0 to 100 when the chorus hits, everyone jumping on the dance floor like it’s a concert, while you and Vic spin each other around with warm laughter.

Kara Danvers — A few Taylor Swift and Kelly Clarkson songs later, you’d find yourselves dancing to Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers. It’s a classic, and I can totally see you two having your first kiss at an ice cream parlor with this playing in the background. I’d say there’s a 45% chance of you seeing happy tears in Kara’s eyes. There’d be a big smile on her face as she let you spin her, your arms wrapping around each other. And of course Teenage Dream by Katy Perry plays afterwards. Clark will come up to you two with a teary congratulations, and you’ll start doing a goofy three-way dance, and that somehow evolves into a giant conga line with Clark in the lead.

Jaime Reyes — I have this feeling that Jaime gets really insecure about himself, so Corazón Sin Cara by Prince Royce is the natural choice. It’s a reminder that you’ll love him as he is, just as he’ll love you as you are. While there’s a 60% of him full-on crying, there’s a 100% chance of him getting teary-eyed at the lyric, “solo sé que yo te quiero así” (I only know that I love you like this). He’s big on hand holding — he loves to rub his thumb over the back of your hand — so he’ll have at least one of your hands in his through the entire dance. After Royce fades out, I can see either Kiss You by One Direction playing, or Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley (you both forgot about the conversation you had about how funny Rick Rolling your guests would be… effectively Rick Rolling yourselves).

Zatanna Zatara — Like I’m Gonna Loose You by Meghan Trainor has that swing sound that Zee loves to dance to. She’d get a little playful with dips and spins, but that’s only to cover up the fact that she’s at a 75% of crying; you can tell by her breathy chuckles as she rests her head against your shoulder. I think it would be really cute if she did a spell to make the air sparkle like fireflies around you two near the beginning of the song. And she’ll definitely whisper an I love you backwards to you, something I’m sure you’d be familiar with in your relationship. Also, Magic by B.o.B was suggested by you as a joke, but Zatanna was like, “that’s actually so good,” so that’s the song playing afterwards. Whoops.

#Clark Kent x reader #Bruce Wayne x reader #Hal Jordan x reader #Dick Grayson x reader #Jason Todd x reader #Tim Drake x reader #Wally West x reader #Victor Stone x reader #Kara Danvers x reader #Jaime Reyes x reader #Zatanna Zatara x reader

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marvelobsessed134 · 20 days

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Just got done spewing some facts under a video supporting Priscilla and her “movie” I thought I’d share them here:

So many people here are uneducated and will blindly believe everything Priscilla says because she’s a woman and it’s edgy to hate on Elvis.

1. Elvis was never actually wanting to date or marry Priscilla he was with an actress very much his age that was back home while he was in Germany. He just saw Prissy as someone to talk to. She has so many issues with her yandere type fan tendencies being obsessive over a man she wasn’t even with in the first place and who didn’t give her a second thought

2. She did NOT hopelessly wait around for Elvis after he left she continued to play several different guys and she did have a very normal high school experience she went to dances and football games

3. Prissy’s father blackmailed Elvis into marrying her. Elvis did NOT want to marry Priscilla

4. Yes, Elvis cheated but not until after Priscilla cheated first with her dance instructor. She’d also call him while she was doing the deed so he could hear

5. Priscilla said herself the chair scene is highly inaccurate. Elvis was angry on the phone with the Colonel and threw a chair to the wall as Priscilla was walking in the room and he immediately apologized and said he didn’t see her come in

6. She constantly changes her story and her book she said herself isn’t accurate because she said if she didn’t make it dramatic enough it wouldn’t sell

7. For those who might say “she’s a child, she can’t do no wrong she didn’t know what she was doing” at 14 I was well aware of shit and what I did. And I know she did too she wasn’t some innocent angel

8. She’s an awful mother to Lisa Marie. Actively dated and let a man around Lisa that had said he had inappropriate feelings for Lisa when she was a child

9. Got with a married man who had a PREGNANT wife. Yes it’s also the man’s fault but she knew damn well he was married and his wife was pregnant

10. She cannot stop talking bs about Elvis cause he’s the only reason she’s relevant. In contrast to one of (what I believe to be) Elvis’ true loves Ann Margaret who only says nice things about him but she also had a career before meeting him

All in all, yes Elvis had some flaws but people spread misinformation about him all the time just like they do with Michael Jackson. Priscilla is no saint, she’s a lying gold digger who only cared about money in the first place. Not to mention she was laughing at Elvis’s funeral so if she truly was “in love” then why would she do such an awful thing by laughing? She continues to use the Presley name even though Elvis told her not to after they divorced and constantly spew lies and drop his name over and over again. She’s told her story countless times, this movie was slander towards a man who cannot defend himself. Like I said Elvis wasn’t a saint either but you need to take off the rose colored glasses and see both sides of the story. Thank you.

#elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #priscilla presley #Elvis movie #Priscilla movie #lisa marie presley

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gloombeauty · 27 days

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After two years of putting it off, I finally watch Baz Luhrmann Elvis movie. It freaking destroyed me. Every time Tom Hanks came on the screen as Col. Parker, I wanted to throw something at him.

It's historic what a destructive little monster Col. Parker was, but all the cards were laid out loud and clear in this film.

What Col. Parker did to Elvis is the same that has been done to Sky Ferreira by Capitol Records. It's despicable.

The moral of the story? Don't sign a damn thing without a lawyer in the room with you.

Elvis was literally worked to death. No wonder he couldn't take a shit for months.

I still say Austin Butler looked nothing like Elvis Presley, however, he got his spirit and soul perfectly down pact. No wonder Lisa was so behind this movie. They finally showed her father some compassion, something that was never really done on film or TV series.

Austin should have won an Oscar for this film the same way Val Kilmer should have won an Oscar playing Jim Morrison.

I can't imagine what that Priscilla movie did to Elvis' memory, especially since Lisa Marie expressed her pure hatred for that film. I'm still contemplating on seeing that one. Lana not even adding a song to the soundtrack says a lot.

#baz luhrmann #elvis #austin butler #sky ferreira #lisa marie presley #jim morrison #val kilmer #elvis presley

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m1ssunderstanding · 3 months

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Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 16

Not the Love Actually India footage! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40600110/chapters/101720886 by @inspiteallthedanger is a favorite I should revisit after this painful day.

“Yes, what Were we doing?” Literally, why did you start this conversation, Paul? What did you think John and George were going to do? Just let you have your little casual chat about the footage? Come on, you know them better than that. “In your room?” “Yeah, right. I remember, yeah.” You set yourself up for this, babe.

I would LOVE to know the real context for John’s mic-job. Because yes, that is real. He really did do that while staring like That at Paul. But it wasn’t after he said, “I don’t regret anything. Ever.” What was the real moment where John decided that was his move? And did Paul really just keep talking right over all of that? Beatles tumblr deserves access to all that footage just for all the obsessing we do.

It is noteworthy, certainly, that we know for a fact that a good chunk of John’s India footage is just Paul, but in how much of that footage, I wonder, is Paul also focused on John?

We all know Paul approves, but why did we have to use valuable time to show monkey sex? I did not need to see that.

“I have all the tapes, too.” Those laughs. You guys aren’t as sneaky as you think you are. Also, @ Lennon estate you won't release the tapes. Chickens.

George is just SO sick of their shit. “Because that was the purpose of going there was to try and find who yourself is.” AKA ‘I took your dumb asses on this beautiful spiritual retreat and you had to make it about your stupid psychosexual obsession just like you do with everything else.’ “And if you were really yourself, you wouldn’t be any of who we are now.” AKA ‘if you two would stop fucking hiding, we – me and Ringo too, you’ve dragged us down with you – wouldn’t be in this hellish mess.’ And here’s the thing. He’s pissed off. And rightly so. But he’s still going along with their veils and secrecy. A callback to his strumming over Paul ranting at him. He’ll still protect them even when he fundamentally disagrees. George is such a beautiful person and so underrated by people like me.

Paul’s appreciative little look as John finally ends the difficult conversation.

"Bye, Bye Love” is DEFINITELY *meaningful*

John calling Two of Us “Four of Us” is so sweet. Like saying to George and Ringo, “You are important too. Just because we don’t have weird thoughts about your physical adjacency to Elvis Presley, doesn't mean we don’t love you.”

I think John’s willingness to be taught is also an underrated leadership quality of his. All the old men obsessed with Leader Lennon won’t acknowledge it, but that’s what it is. It’s humility and a recognition of other’s strength and it’s leadership.

Literally everyone else: Just don’t look and it’ll go away. John: what? Don’t look at Paul? I don’t know how to do that.

George and Ringo honestly had the patience of saints to just sit there and play through Two of Us eight million times so John and Paul could do their little accents and silly voices.

And then John can also do the traditional leadership, too. “Start again, ey. Shh, don’t talk when he’s playing there, gang.” And really, he’s the best of the four for that job by far.But it’s far from acerbic or cutting. Get Back John is certainly almost undiluted Lovely John.

Quick reminder to anyone who may have forgotten: those boots George is wearing are literally Paul’s hand-me-downs. Earlier on the nagra reels, George was describing a kind of boots he’d like a pair of and Paul was like “I’ve got some you could have.” Permanent baby brother status.

“That’s a good idea, John.” “Yeah, well I’m full of ideas like that, I’m famous for ‘em. Literary Beatle, you know.” Puhlease. I know fics with more realistic dialogue.

“The things that’ve worked out best for us haven’t really been planned any more than this has, it’s just. You know, you just go into something and it just does it itself.” Yeah, George. Because of Brian.

Paul really wants to do a big Thing at the end, because he loves performing, yeah. But what’s this about John and Yoko’s black bag? Does he think that performing together will remind John that being a Beatle with Paul is what he loves? Or does he just want closure before everything falls apart?

He really does hate to see him upset, doesn’t he. Like, I think he does a lot of things purposely to get a reaction out of Paul. And sometimes he needs to see him hurt to know he even cares. But from the way he’s watching Paul chewing his nails and rocking, you’d think Paul’s worries affected John physically. And then he breaks into “I Lost My Little Girl” almost as a sort of knee-jerk comfort instinct.

These two shots are comedic gold.

My cabaret boys again. Heck, maybe I’ll write it just for myself. Honestly though I love that the two Beatles who loved performing and who would’ve been performers in any life (would’ve been performing circus elephants if they’d been reincarnated as animals) got to continue doing it into their eighties. One of the few happinesses in the end of the Beatles.

Get Back really is such a great character study, though. George hands John a drink. John takes it without looking at George, let alone the drink, and gulps. George hands Paul a drink. Paul smiles at him, then proceeds to sniff it and swirl it and inspect it like it might be poison before he gives it a taste.

John chewing the mic. I hope you didn’t do That to Paul’s dick in India. What if that’s all that happened?

Bitching and gossiping: top requirements in the job description for John Lennon’s Codependent Special Person.

In these last few minutes of the day, I’m relating more and more to George. I’m sick of John and Paul and all their drama and stupidity. John suggests they write another verse of Let it Be together, and Paul looks frankly horrified at the idea.

So John lays his head in Yoko’s lap, reminding me painfully of that “ . . . except you can go to bed with it and it can pet your head without . . .” quote.

And then a few minutes later, Paul’s spiraling again and asks to go home to which John responds with a tease. “I’m just tryna get the group working, you know,” and “You’re gonna have to be strict, Paul.” And it’s just dizzying and frustrating at this point. Where are they possibly going to go at this rate?

#sorry that this one was late #And probably less coherent or insightful #Two jobs and a teething baby and a depressed husband today so it is what it is #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #get back

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satelitis · 2 months

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dal winston hcs (as a dallas kin)

he smokes in public places like restaurants

-> bro has smokers cough like no tomorrow

gets sun burnt so easily it's not even funny

-> the gang definitely teases him for it n calls him like a tomato n stuff

dallas definitely has like permanent eye bags fml

he also has busted up knuckes n dry skin

bro loves the smell of diesel

picky.ass.eater

and you KNOW he loves those gross ass ham cheese and cracker lunchables

he has a staring problem, for both reasons, he zones big time and he's judgy, either way he doesnt care

he doesnt like elvis presley

he's left handed fs

sharp ass ny accent that he cant shake loose from

-> two n steve always mimicking him

-> two and steve biting their tongues when dal kicks their asses over it

vanilla guy for life

he's so forgetful

pony: "dal where were you we were supposed to go to the dingo" " oh yeah i forgot"

he needs glasses, and REFUSES to wear them

-> hence why he gets raging headaches!!

he would cheat in poker or cards or whatever BUT he doesnt need to cause hes just naturally gifted at it, plus he's been playing since atleast 6 i wanna say.

-> his grandma DEFINITELY taught him

dals a grandmas boy

he loves his grandma

he also knows how to dance and you cannot tell me otherwise

he FUMES whenever someone calls him austin, san antonio, houston, fort worth or any of it

-> the jokes get old

-> but not for two bit

-> modern day two in every minor inconvience saying to dal "houston we have a problem"

dallas knows the most random shit ever

he'll be spitting out info from the most random event in history

n the gang is js like 🤨🤨🤨tf??

he does the justin beiber hair swoopy thingy but only bc HE DOESNT CUT IT OMG

#anywho!! lmk if ya want a pt II (i'll be making one regardless bc i ahve a lot of thoughts about him)#idle banter (dal's v.)#blonde street rat (dal's v.)#my saving grace (dal's v.)#the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders #dallas winston

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sissylittlefeather · 5 months

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How the Web Was Woven: Chapter 3

A/N: Buckle in, folks. Shit's about to get real. Once again, this is the time travel/soulmate AU with Elvis and a fem!reader. Prepare yourselves, friends.

Special thanks to @ccab for always being my beta, to @elvisfatass for always being my support, and this time to @tacozebra051 for encouraging me to post this, even when I almost chickened out.

Need to catch up? Here's my Masterlist.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, ANGST, ANGST, AND MORE ANGST, talk of death, grief, etc. Also kissing, cussing, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie (I promise this is not a smut fest. I tried to make it very tasteful- the sex has a purpose. You'll see why.). But also so much angst and sadness.

Word count: ~2.7k

You jump up and walk slowly towards the portal, your heart beating wildly in your chest...

******

The house is eerily silent and all you can hear is muffled sobs. Thank God you wore a dress that you bought at a vintage shop and not your typical jeans and t-shirt. Although, for the past year, you've been casually wearing clothing from the '50s just in case you stumbled across a portal.

It doesn't take you long to find him. In fact, you damn near trip over him. He's in the same corner of the house you were in, curled up and crying, clutching what looks like a woman's nightgown. Your mind races.

Gladys.

You're exactly 50 years in the past and Gladys Presley died two days ago.

You crouch down and try to approach him slowly. You don't want to scare him. You reach out and gently put a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at you and his mouth drops open.

"Y/n. You're here?"

"I'm here." He grabs you and wraps his arms around your waist, head on your chest as he continues to sob.

"My mother..." He tries to choke out an explanation.

"Shhh, no, I know. You don't have to say it." He cries for a few more minutes and then it dawns on him. He pulls back and his face has changed from abject sorrow to unmitigated rage.

"You know? You knew this was going to happen!" He pushes you away from him.

"Elvis I-"

"You knew and you said NOTHING." Tears start to stream down your face.

"I couldn't say anything. I couldn't tell you."

"BULLSHIT. You could've said something. Anything. So that I could've done something. Or at least spent more time with her. God, how could you?" Your shoulders shake as your tears hit the floor. There's so much venom in his words.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry."

"Just get out."

"Elvis, where am I going to go? The portal is closed. I'm stuck here."

"That's your problem."

"Please." He looks up at you and the depth of his pain is evident on his face. You cup his cheeks in your hands. "I can't change what's in the past. You matter to the world, Elvis. Anything I tell you might ruin that. I know you're in pain right now, but I think you'll understand that when you're not." He nods, so you keep going. "Do you think I wanted to keep this from you? That I wanted to let you hurt like this? Do you know how badly I wanted to save you from this? How hard it was for me to know this was going to happen and be powerless to stop it? I'm here, somehow. This is the best gift I can give you. I'm here to be with you through it. God, I'm so sorry." You press him against your chest again and both of you sob together as you hold him.

You sit like this for a long time, not even noticing exactly how long. Eventually, Elvis falls asleep against you like a spent child and you continue to sit on the floor with him. When one of the maids finds you, she's shocked because she has no idea who you are or how you got there.

"Young lady, who are you?"

"I'm y/n, Elvis's friend from Tupelo." You pray that lie will be enough. Elvis stirs awake when he hears you talking.

"She's my girlfriend. I called her earlier and she came over. Don't worry about it." The maid nods her head skeptically and goes back to doing whatever she was doing. He looks up at you.

"My back is killing me. Come up to my room and we'll get in bed."

"Nobody will ask questions?"

"This is my damn house. They can kiss my ass." As you make your way upstairs with him, your mind wanders back to him referring to you as his girlfriend. If only.

******

You wake up together tangled in sheets and each other. He holds you close to him and kisses your forehead.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday." He whispers.

"No, it's okay. I would be mad too."

"You really can't tell me anything?"

"I really can't. It might jeopardize too many things. And besides, I know that I won't because the future is what it is."

"That makes my head hurt."

"Yeah, it's complicated." You lay in silence for a little while, arms wrapped around each other. Finally, he speaks.

"I am glad you're here. I've missed you a lot over the past year."

"I missed you too. I've been looking for you everywhere, going to places you performed and all kinds of stuff. I can't believe I found you here."

"Well, I live here."

"I know, but I've been here three times in the last year. I never found a portal." You lay there together for a bit not saying anything. Finally, he speaks again.

"I like your dress." He looks over at the black and white polka dotted garment where you laid it over a chair in his room. You're wearing one of his pajama tops now.

"Thanks. I bought it at a vintage shop."

"That's funny." He almost laughs, but then it's like a shadow passes over him. "I'm sorry I can't be like I was."

Your heart breaks because you know he'll never be quite like that again. He's lost his jovial innocence and even when he's happy later on, there'll always be a small piece of him missing.

"It's okay, Elvis. You're allowed to hurt." He rolls away from you and starts to cry again. You pull on his shoulder gently until he rolls back and you hold him again as he sobs. As he does, you run your fingers through his hair and notice how much shorter it is. Then, you remember that he's been drafted and will have to leave soon. What will you do when he goes? Hopefully, you'll find a portal before then.

He cries until he seemingly can't anymore and then he just lays on your chest trying to breathe.

"What should we do today?" You ask, your stomach rumbling.

"Can we just stay here and do this today?"

"You want to stay in bed?"

"Yeah."

"We can do whatever you want. But I'm gonna need some food." He looks up at you and gives you a small smile.

"Come with me." He gets out of bed and wraps you in his robe. Then, he takes you down to the kitchen, where one of the ladies that works there is doing some dishes.

"My girl is hungry. What do we have to eat in this house?"

"Breakfast or lunch?" You look at your watch. It's almost noon. You didn't realize you slept that long.

"Lunch, I guess?" You look up at him and he nods.

"Sandwiches?" You've read about the sandwiches Elvis eats. You're not sure you're ready to go there.

"Yes, but just peanut butter and bananas for me please."

"How did you... you know what kind of sandwiches I eat?" You smile awkwardly and he shakes his head incredulously.

The woman laughs and starts gathering the ingredients for the sandwiches.

You sit at the table talking while you eat and his mood seems to have improved a little bit. He still doesn't smile, though. When you finish, he grabs your hand.

"Better, honey?"

"Much better. Back to bed?"

"Yes please."

The woman who made the sandwiches raises her eyebrows at your suggestion, but Elvis doesn't notice or doesn't care. You make your way back up the stairs together and barely make it into his room before he falls apart again. He sinks to the floor and you hold him and rock him gently.

You manage to get him back into the bed and he settles against you while you stroke his hair and hum lullabies and gospel songs. He spends most of the day like this in your arms crying on and off. Any time you try to move, he pulls you closer and begs you to stay where you are, so you do. Luckily, the other people in the house seem to know how upset he is, so no one disturbs you. Aside from the maids who know you're there, they probably just think he's in his room alone.

When evening comes, he looks up at you from his place on your chest. It's been about an hour since his last crying spell.

"I think I want to take a shower."

"Okay, that's good."

"I have a headache from crying. I think it'll help."

"I'm sure it will."

"Will you come with me?"

"You want me to sit in the bathroom while you shower?" You're willing to do almost anything for him at this point. It kills you to see him in so much pain.

"I want you to get in the shower with me."

"Elvis, I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Please, y/n. I need you. I just don't want to be alone." His eyes well up again, so you agree quickly.

"Okay. Whatever you need. I'm here." He nods and slowly gets out of bed, pulling you with him. You start the water and he just stands there, so you go to him and help him undress. Once he's naked, you take off your own clothes and then get in the shower together.

The water runs down both of you as he wraps himself around you and cries again, big sobs this time.

"God, why?" He groans into your hair.

"Only He knows." You whisper back, praying that's a decent response. It seems to satisfy him a little because he stands up and nods.

"I'm sorry." He looks down at his feet.

"Elvis, please stop apologizing. I am here for anything. I love you." His eyes snap up to yours and he seems to be searching your face. All the pain and all the grief pause for just a moment as he thinks about what you just said.

"You love me?"

"Of course I do. I should've told you before you left last time." He leans down and presses his lips against yours softly.

"I love you too, y/n. Please don't leave me." You wrap your arms around his waist and lay your head on his chest. You can't stay here forever. Or can you?

You feel his body quake as he begins to cry again, so you pull away from him and get a washcloth. Once it's soapy, you gently run it over him, cleansing him in a ritual of service and love. When his body is clean, you get some shampoo and massage it into his hair. He leans back into the water and rinses it out. You notice that he's stopped crying for the moment as he reaches for the shampoo.

"Can I wash your hair?"

"Oh, um, sure, if you want to." He nods and begins to massage shampoo into your hair. Trading places with you under the water, he leans your head back and rinses your hair under the shower head. When you stand back up, he kisses your forehead.

"Thank you. You're a nice distraction." He puts his hand on your neck and runs his thumb over your lips. He seems to notice for the first time that you're naked.

Your body is beautiful and even through his pain he can appreciate it. His hand trails down your chest to your hip.

"We should get out." You realize what's happening and decide it's probably time to put your clothes back on.

"Please, y/n. Let me make love to you."

"Oh, Elvis, I-"

"Please, I just want to feel something." He whispers as he kisses down your neck. He comes back to your mouth and kisses you lovingly, his tongue grazing yours gently. He whispers again.

"Please."

"Okay." You nod. If this is what he needs, you're not going to deny him. And it's not like you don't want it too. He kisses you more deeply and uses both hands to pull your hips into his, pressing his erection into your lower stomach. Bending his knees slightly, he lifts one of your legs and enters you slowly. Once he's fully pushed into you, he groans softly.

The intimacy of this moment, with the water streaming down your body and his connection with you undeniable, washes over him and he loves you completely. When he moves in and out of you, it's not driven by lust, but by a need to feel as close to you as possible. He has wrapped you around him like a much-needed security blanket and every thrust brings you closer together. Everywhere your skin touches is an opportunity for shared pleasure and he needs it so badly.

You whimper softly with the sensation of him pushing inside you so gently. You've never made love like this before and there's a softness to it that fills you with affection for him. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and you pepper him with small kisses on his face.

The weight of your connection is not lost on either of you as you move together. He begins to pump with a little more speed and you know he's approaching the inevitable end. Neither of you wants the moment of closeness to expire, but you know that it must.

When the end does come, he moans softly and tangles his fingers in your hair, kissing you with every ounce of passion in his body. He lowers your leg carefully, pulling out of you gently and pressing his forehead to yours.

"I love you. I love you with all of me." Tears come to both of you, mixing with the water that's still running down your bodies.

"I am yours, Elvis." He kisses you again and pulls you close to him, reaching behind you to turn the water off. You open the shower curtain and step out and he wraps both of you in a large towel. You're so wrapped up in each other that you don't even notice it.

It's not until you almost step through it that you see the portal.

"No!" He says it loudly when he realizes what it is. You turn and grab him tightly.

"I don't wanna go."

"Then don't. Stay here with me forever."

"Elvis, you know I can't." You're both crying frantically now.

"You can't leave me here like this without you."

"I don't have a choice!"

"There's always a choice!"

"No. I know what your future is and it isn't me. It can't be me."

"I can't lose you too." His voice is so thick with emotion as you run into his room and dress quickly. He stands and stares at you, tears streaming down his face. You walk to him and hold his face in your hands.

"You're not losing me. You'll never lose me. I will find you again. Or you find me. We've done it twice now. I believe we can do it again."

"If I find you, I'm not leaving."

"Don't say that."

"Goddammit, y/n, why is this happening to us?!"

"I don't know! But I'm so glad it is." You choke on the last part of the sentence and he holds you so tightly it's almost hard to breathe.

"I love you." He kisses the top of your head.

"I love you too, but I have to go." He releases you and kisses your mouth again.

"I will find you. I promise." You nod and walk away from him towards the bathroom, half hoping that the portal has closed.

But it hasn't. The air is still wavy and the buzzing sound fills the small room. He stands in the doorway naked with the towel wrapped around his waist. You give him one last sad smile and walk through.

He sinks to the floor and weeps. How will he survive this without you?

******

You're back in the corner of Graceland where you found the first portal. Your hair is wet and wild and you're crying and a tour guide is shocked to come upon you in such a state. Still, she's found weirder things in the mansion, so she gently escorts you out of the house. When you finally get back to your car, you sit in the driver's seat and cry hysterically. How will you find him again?

******

Please come back for Chapter 4!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @ashtag6887 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @that-hotdog @tacozebra051

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #how the web was woven

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missmaywemeetagain · 5 months

Text

A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving 💗🧣🦃

A very happy Thanksgiving weekend to those who celebrate! ❤️

This blurb came out of nowhere, in a fit of Thanksgiving inspiration (and a special thanks to Norah for inadvertently nudging me towards a Thanksgiving prompt)! Because of this, it is not overly edited or revised. I will say, I'm not sure yet just how canon I want this to be in terms of the PS Universe, but I figure it came out of me for a reason, so I decided to go with it for now.

I think my current moody headspace influenced the vibe for this--for us fans, it's a slightly indulgent "what could have been" scenario. But that's PS in a nutshell, isn't it? 🥹

Anyhoo, I hope this hits you in the feels! And I hope you know just how much you matter to me, even though I've been a bit MIA recently.

Much love xoxoxox, Madi 💗

TW: It's 1977, so...medical issues/trauma/strife. Panic attack. Thanksgiving stress. A little hint of sexy at the end bc I couldn't leave you on a melancholy note! 💋

A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 1977

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. P, but the oven is out. Lamar took a peek, but the thing is as cold as ice and don’t look like it’s gonna be warm any time soon,” Mary says, looking as distraught as you feel. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner.”

The naked, trussed, and cold turkey on the counter mocks you.

“No, no, it’s not your fault, Mary. We’ll…figure something out,” you try and reassure her, but it feels like a weight has just been placed on your chest. You pinch the bridge of your nose to stave off the massive headache that began early this morning when Nicky barged into your room at the crack of dawn sobbing because he’d had a nightmare that Mr. Gobble Gobble, a monster turkey, had eaten Daddy instead of the other way around.

This was one of many nightmares that your poor little boy had suffered since August, but certainly the first starring a murderous Thanksgiving turkey. He’d barely been consolable and neither of you had gotten back to sleep.

You take a deep breath, holding back the tears that threaten your vision.

Today needs to be perfect. It was supposed to be perfect.

But you should have known. After all, this year has been far from perfect.

You force yourself away from the wave of despair trying to overcome you. No, we’ve been lucky, you think. It could be so much worse.

Unfortunately, your nerves are shot, which makes sense considering the last few months you’ve had. You’ve kept it together so well. You’ve had to. For Nicky. For Elvis. But that tried resolve begins to crumble with the pressure of it all, as though everything that has happened is hitting you all at once.

Now you have a house full of hungry people, Elvis will be home any minute, and your usual quick-footed problem-solving skills have flown out the window. Your hands begin to tremble.

The panic swells as the kitchen swarms with people looking to you for direction, and in that moment, Nicky runs through the adults, chased by one of the other kids. It happens so fast—you barely have time to register the commotion before disaster strikes.

You watch in horror as the kids fly into the sideboard, knocking the precious side dishes and desserts onto the floor with a resounding crash.

The collective gasp of the adults in the room sends your panic into overdrive.

Thanksgiving is officially ruined.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you shout. The entire room goes silent. It’s not everyday Elvis Presley’s calm and collected wife loses her shit. No, that is something usually reserved for the man himself.

“Well, that’s not quite the welcome home I was expecting,” a familiar baritone chuckles from behind you.

You whip around, your bottom lip quivering. “Elvis?” you whisper.

He’s standing right here—standing! On his own!—leaning on his cane for support, a twinkle in his eye that you haven’t seen in ages. One you weren’t sure you’d ever see again. And the sight of him finally being home again after so many months in the hospital is more than you can bear. After standing tall and strong for him for so long, you crumble into a thousand pieces. An uncontrollable sob chokes out of you, your tears overflowing.

“Aw, honey,” he says quietly, slowly making his way to you, waving everyone else out of the room with the commanding flick of his hand. They exit in a flash with their concerned and pitied looks. Not that you care, because the second you can, you are falling into your husband’s open arms.

“I’m so sorry…your homecoming…it’s all ruined,” you sob into his chest, being mindful of the long scar down the center. Feeling the warmth of him engulfing you is overwhelming. His scent, untainted by antiseptic and hospital smells for the first time in a long time, swirls around you, caressing your senses.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. Let it all out, Satnin,” he coos, stroking your hair with his free hand. “Hers has been so strong for hims, but hims is home now.”

The tenderness of his baby talk in your ear sends a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, staining the silk of his blue dress shirt. He’s dressed up, you think absently, knowing this is a huge thing. Even before that fateful August morning, he’d been mostly wearing his tracksuits when he wasn’t performing. He’d been so uncomfortable and in pain, you’d understood why.

You bury your head into his neck, pent up emotions violently shuddering through your body as you let your tears fall freely for the first time in months. You can barely breathe with how you wedge yourself into him, with how he holds you tight. He’s so much slimmer now that the edema is gone and his colon has been tended to, you realize, but he’s still soft in all the right places. You still fit against him perfectly, and his grip on you makes you realize he understands just how raw you are.

You cry more, thinking about how the last time he was here was when you’d found him unresponsive on the bathroom floor. How you’d never been so scared in your entire life, not even when you yourself had brushes with death.

It's a miracle he’s here at all. None of you, doctors included, were sure if he’d ever step through the doors of Graceland again. Not after the heart attack, or the coma, or the complications from his various surgeries. It had been one blow after another, for weeks, months. But somehow, in true stubborn Elvis fashion, he’d pulled through.

He’d gritted his way through healing, through physical therapy, through weaning off so many of the meds he’d been on before and during his hospital stay, and he hated every second of it. He’d been livid about the colostomy, but you’d had no care for his vanity when you’d had to make the decision to save his life. You didn’t care if he hated you because at least he’d be alive to tell you so. He’d gotten past it, mostly, especially once he was feeling better.

The entire ordeal had terrified him. Something had changed in him in those weeks he’d lingered between life and death, something he wasn’t ready to talk about just yet, but even with all the setbacks, his determination to come home was intensely motivating.

Which is why you’d wanted it to be special, and why it being Thanksgiving had so much meaning. Elvis was finally coming home. Then everything had gone to hell in a handbasket.

“I wanted everything to be perfect for you. You deserve it,” you say quietly, sniffling, holding him as tight as you dare without wanting to hurt him.

“Darlin’, just bein’ back home with you and Nicky is more than I ever dreamed of. I don’t need no big fancy dinner or welcome home committee. I jus’ need you.”

You pull back then, your heart about ready to burst, and look at him. He looks downright debonair with his silvery hair (which you’d convinced him not to dye back after it had grown out during his illness), freshly cut and shorter than it had been in years, fluffy but brushed back off his face in a style reminiscent to when he was younger. His apple cheeks are full and have more color than they’ve had in months.

“What?” he asks looking down at you, almost bashful under your gaze.

You reach up and cup his freshly shaven cheek, smooth and soft under your palm. Those deep ocean blue eyes of his threaten to swallow you whole. Staring into their depths, you don’t want to imagine a world without him in it anymore.

“I just love you,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out without choking up again. “So much.”

Eyes shining, Elvis pulls you up and into him. His lips are as sweet and as soft as you remember when they press into yours. The kiss is full of yearning, of love, and of everything you two have been through the past twenty years. It’s truly like coming home.

The kiss turns hungry then, more so than you expect. It’s been so very long since you’ve had each other in this way and it surprises you how readily your body remembers, despite all the pain and trauma you both have experienced. You open for him, and he moans when his tongue brushes against yours. A fiery wave of heat blisters through you then, hastily banishing away your tears.

Despite all the challenges you’ve faced over the years, you’ve always felt the pull of him in your soul. You’ve always wanted him, neededhim, even when you convinced yourself to forget because you thought you couldn’t have him. And now, after almost losing him for good, you can think of nothing else but him. The warmth of his body pressed against yours causes you to melt. The way his lips and hands roam over the curves of your body sends you soaring.

You thought you’d never have this again. It had almost broken you.

“I’m here, baby. I’m home, I promise,” he mutters into your skin, as if reading your mind.

You kiss him deeply, yanking him into you by his pretty shirt, taking his breath away.

He pulls away and presses his forehead to yours, and you can feel him sway on his feet, a little unbalanced.

“Good news—looks like Little Elvis is back in working order,” he says breathlessly, pressing his thickening erection into your belly. He seems pleasantly surprised.

Honestly, with everything dire that happened, it hadn’t even crossed your mind as a concern, but it makes sense that it could be an issue. You grin up at him with the knowledge that it isn’t, then roll your hips against him.

He groans. “Bad news—not sure I have the energy to do all the things I wanna to ya, and we got a house full of people.” Doesn’t stop him from grabbing a handful of your bottom, however.

“Oh, that’s never stopped us before, now has it?” you muse, walking your fingers gently down his chest and over his belly to palm his length.

“Lord have mercy, woman,” he moans, his eyes fluttering closed. You notice him lean more heavily on his cane and instantly ease up. One blue eye opens with a quirked brow. “Hey now, I din’t say stop.”

You laugh. “Well, it seems dinner is ruined anyhow,” you say, surveying the disaster of broken dishes and scattered food all over the floor, and the cold, raw turkey on the counter. “Maybe we better get you upstairs to rest.”

Rest is, of course, the furthest thing from your mind now, which you let him know with a little squeeze to his butt.

“Mmhmm, yes, I definitely need to lie down,” he mumbles as he peppers you with kisses. Suddenly, he freezes against you. “But, honey, I-I-I’m not sure how much I can do,” he whispers, a wave of uncertainty washing over him.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll take it slow. Real slow. One step at a time, like fumbling teenagers,” you say lightly, cupping his face and looking up into his eyes. “Or we can just kiss and hold each other. I’m just happy you’re here, baby.”

He nods, seemingly reassured by this. “I know I don’t say it as much as I should, but I thank God every day for you and for what we have together, Satnin,” he says quietly, brushing your hair behind your ear, kissing you gently. “I love you.”

Your heart and body ache for him. “We better get you upstairs to “rest”before I start crying again,” you snuffle, laughing, slowly walking with him toward the stairs.

“Well, tears aren’t entirely off the table…I can think of a couple good ways I can make you cry,” he teases, nibbling at your ear.

“Elvis Aaron, you did not just…” you gasp.

“What??” he says innocently. “Am I wrong?”

A shiver runs down your spine and settles in the heat of your belly.

You’ve missed him. Terribly.

But you do have so much to be thankful for this year, namely for the infuriatingly talented, generous, and stubborn man you married and are gingerly leading up the stairs for the first time in months.

In fact, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

#a pink scarf thanksgiving #pink scarf universe #elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis 1977 #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis fic #elvis x you #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis imagine #big daddy elvis #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction

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thatbanditqueen · 3 months

Text

A Basic Training Snippet

Life has been very cruel and gotten between me and my favorite pastime... writing delusional scenarios in which I, I mean my original characters, dated Elvis Presley. So I thought for fun I would just share a very short snippet from the chapter of Basic Training I am working on, in which Elvis invites Bess to spend the weekend with him in Waco at the house of his friend, DJ and TV host Eddie Fadal.

This is very rough, I am not sure if it sounds like Elvis, I need to go back through it once I finish the chapter. I haven't even had anyone alpha this. However, I had at one point told @be-my-ally I would participate in the writing prompt "weather" and post Sunday (yesterday) and so this is my very pathetic attempt to just post something that at least mentions weather in passing...

If you want to read or catch up on this WIP you can find it here

“Well, you know I’m mainly a legs and ass man, through and through, but boy oh boy, Bessie is stacked. I tell ya what. Fa sho. I don’t know how it's possible, but they’re even bigger when you got ‘em in ya hands. Why you nodding Lamar, you ain’t ever gotten to second base, quit lyin.”

The rain had stopped by the time Bess opened her eyes again to find the bed empty, though she could still hear the drip drop of water through the hole. There it was, like an inverted nipple in the middle of the new glossy pink wall, a perfect round sphere with layers of drywall caved in around the edges where the firework had shot through. The smell of cigarettes wafted in from outside, along with a set of men's voices. Bess was about to call to them when she heard Elvis say the word “Anita.”

There was laughter, then the sound of slaps and skids along concrete, as if a scuffle had broken out, followed by more laughter.

“Shit, but you’re wrong, Rex, cuz there are really only two types of girls. See, with ‘Nita, she is a good girl, but she puts it all on the table. If I’m happy, she’s happy, that’s all she wants. She let's it all hang out. All I gotta do is look at her and smile and she’s gonesville. But then, then there are the ones who keep it all tied up. You know, you saw it Lamar, when I come down here, Anita was ballin her damn eyes out. Now Bess, Bess’d never let you see her cry. Not if she can halp it. She plays it cool. But when you touch her you can feel her vibrating underneath that ice, jus enough to know her motor's running. And boy, when you get it going, what a motor. When she cries out, man, you know ya really earned it. Know what I mean?"

There was some muffled laughter, and Bess couldn’t quite hear everything, but what she did hear made her face flush a deep crimson red.

“Oh, well I found out last night. I swear, Bess tastes so fresh and sweet, I know I’m the first guy she let touch her.”

“Nah, a college girl?”

“What do you know, huh, lardass? Reckon I been with seventy five, no, I mean a hundred or more girls. Trust me, I know women, that girl spent college with her nose in her books.”

“Now you got your nose in her - OW - what the fuck?”

“I don’t wanna hear you talk bout her like that, got it?”

“But you just -”

“But you just, but you just, just mind ya goddamn manners.”

Bess sat there, unsure if she wanted to keep listening, but as she turned she was distracted by a dark set of eyes staring her from the doorway. She pulled the strap of her nightie up, and smoothed her hair back as she smiled at Janice Fadal.

“Mommy told me not to wake you up, so I’ve just been sitting here waiting. Ready to do my make up again?”

Bess nodded, relaxing as she stood and patted the little girl’s head.

“Sure, just let me get dressed, huh?’

Then Janice’s slick little tongue curved up and licked the bottom of Bess’ wrist.

“I don’t think you taste like ice cream at all. More like salt. “

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

more to come, let me know what you think....

@whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @from-memphis-with-love @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @moonchild-daniella @richardslady121 @ab4eva @i-r-i-n-a-a @eliseinmemphis @kingdomforapony @everythingelvispresley @dkayfixates @artlover8992 @freudianslumber @amydarcimarie @toreigh @18lkpeters @yynneessmons @ashtag6887 @waiting4brucewayne2adoptme @returntopresley @rjmartin11 @bigromansgirl @louisejoy86 @notstefaniepresley

#snippety snip #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfiction #basic training #army elvis #banditqueenwrites

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devil-doll13 · 10 months

Text

Some House of Wax/Sinclair Brothers Headcanons I’ve had in my head that I’ve already shared w the server but… The rest of the world deserves to know.

Related to gif, Vincent is the ‘medical expert’ of the house solely because he’s the one who knows the human body/first aid the best. I mean, in the movie we see him stitching up those wounds on what’s-his-face pretty neatly, right? This is also part of the reason why he automatically reaches for Bo during this scene.

Given his birth date was sniffed out by fans before me (1970) and this man looks like he’s a cosplayer sometimes, I truly believe Bo idolised Elvis Presley as a kid, and maybe a bit as an adult as well. He still enjoys listening to rock n’ roll from that era when he’s in a good mood. When he’s in a bad mood, or doing his business™️ in his sex dungeon/basement, that’s when the Marilyn Manson comes on.

All of them have had an alt phase of some sort. For Vincent it was goth, for Bo it was rivethead/industrial rock and for Lester it was grunge.

Les is also down bad fucking horrendous for alt people in general. Yes, he has magazines stuffed down his sofa, yes, they used to be Bo’s.

Bo is allergic to nuts. He also gets really nasty hay fever. I also think possibly him having sensory issues/picky eater could’ve led to meltdowns as we see in the opening. And really, it’s the 1970s/80s do you expect his parents to understand or sympathise?

In contrast, Lester has the constitution of a Greek god somehow and has probably eaten some absolutely vile shit as a kid.

I know most people interpret Vince as sweet and shy but… While I do think he’s more measured and withdrawn compared to Bo, I also think being the ‘favourite’ in terms of being Trudy’s little art prodigy contributed to a sort of spoilt brattiness esp as a kid. (Exhibit A: The ‘Bo Sux’ fridge art in the opening) As an adult, there’s still a sense of entitlement to him. What I’m saying is that he’s an insufferable art nerd lol. He definitely isn’t toothless and his arguments with Bo aren’t necessarily one-sided, he’s just capable of ignoring him when he wants to; he’s used to his twin, after all. While I do think he’s capable of being soft, don’t forget this man killed a woman in cold blood and recorded it. I also think he can get snippy enough during arguments to combat Bo’s generally sharp tongue.

Speaking of which, everyone in the (surviving) family knows ASL. It’s necessary when communicating with Vincent.

Again with how prolific a killer Vincent is, I suspect he may be the one who does the most murder out of all of them. Bo is the handsome ‘face’ of Ambrose, and Vincent is right under the seedy underbelly with a knife, ready to spill guts (and then sew it up again once he’s got them in the workshop). Lester is similar to Bo in that he mostly just guides people toward the town, but I do think he gets his own notions sometimes.

From a more x reader perspective, Bo strikes me as a man who’s most charming when he’s not trying to be. Of course he can put on an act for victims/tourists, but those are just empty words, y’know? Also, has a kinda cheesy side.

I know everyone has Jonesy as Lester’s dog but… I think she’s really Vincent’s. In the movie, she’s always seen with Vin or in the house of wax itself, it’s only when he dies that she goes to Lester. I actually think Les is a cat person (tell me he wouldn’t actually encourage their hunting habits for his own personal collection…) while Vin is a dog person. Also, hot take I think Bo loves snakes and reptiles.

Given that the House of Wax and Ambrose itself is a big ol’ art project, and we’ve seen the state of the church (permanently in the middle of dead ass crusty Trudy’s funeral) I think there may be a sort of difficulty letting go of their past in the brothers, maybe some hoarding as well (I mean we haven’t even seen some of the other houses in Ambrose but this is just speculation). We get the sense that Ambrose is a place where time stands still, forever, until its conservationists finally die. Idk I’m talking out my ass here

#feel free to agree disagree criticise hate love flip flop #I’d honestly love to hear other people’s thoughts and headcanons too #I was talking in the server about this but I love how this fandom has just sustained itself on tumblr it’s really beautiful #Vincent Sinclair #Bo Sinclair #Lester Sinclair #House of Wax #House of Wax headcanons #headcanons #my writing

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headfullofpresley · 1 year

Note

Vamp!E Request! Elvis being shy about his hunger for blood, not knowing how to ask and being a southern gentleman about it 🫣

𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 6,5K

Warnings: 50s!elvis, vampire!elvis, best friends to lovers, strong language, blood consumption, gladys is alive, mentions of the colonel, mentions of nick adams, partly set at the tupelo fairgrounds, smut; slightly subby!elvis, semi-public, car sex, hand job (f. & m. receiving) vag penetration, creampie, unprotected sex.

A/N: damn, i'm gettin' kinda rusty at smut buuut i had fun writing this! also, i'm shit at writing shy stuff, but i tried. anyways, this has been sitting in my inbox for a hot minute- sorry for taking so damn long, dear! hope you'll enjoy. ❤

masterlist | suggested playlist

“Goddamnit Nick, you’re fuckin’ useless- I asked you to bring enough, I have to get up there in 25 minutes and there’s nothin’ left!”

Gladys visibly cringed at the roar of her son’s loud voice and the slamming of the ice box that was inside the dressing room tent where Elvis was giving Nick Adams a piece of his mind.

People close to Elvis knew he had a bit of a temper now and then, but only few knew that was because he was dealing with heightened emotions he was still getting used to. He had only been turned into a vampire two years ago in an unfortunate accident and both he and the people around him were still learning about vampirism.

Having her son turned into an immortal creature that needed to feed on blood to stay alive was something Gladys had a hard time dealing with in the beginning, but she had gotten used to it now. She was used to the bloodbags in her freezer and the way he’d squeeze her a little too tight when hugging her sometimes, but whenever he was in a mood like this, she knew best thing to do was to stay away.

“What’s going on, Lovie?” you questioned as you arrived at the tent and heard your best friend barking at Adams, who wisely kept his mouth shut despite having been granted with immortality longer ago than Elvis. The beginning actor knew young vampires could be reckless and were hot headed- he had no idea how, or if, Elvis would lash out if he’d say or do anything.

“Oh, Y/N,” Gladys sighed with worry in her eyes, grabbing your hands and squeezing them softly to comfort herself rather than you. “You know how he gets- I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure you can calm him down. He always listens to you,”

It was true- he did always listen to you, because he knew he could literally say anything to you and you wouldn’t bat an eye. You’ve been friends with Elvis since you were children- he knew all your secrets and you knew his. When he had become a creature he knew nothing about, you were the first person he came to- scaring the living shit out of you when he stood in front of your door covered in blood.

But you didn’t turn him away, didn’t leave him to deal with everything alone. He trusted you, sometimes even more so than himself.

You turned to look over your shoulder, meeting the eyes of The Colonel who stood a few feet away, talking to Tupelo’s local press. He gave you a little nod, knowing that you were the only person that was able to go in there and come out unscathed- he sure as hell wasn’t going to try.

“Please, Y/N. I don’t know what to do with him anymore,” Vernon softly begged as he wrapped an arm around Gladys’ shoulder. You sighed softly and looked at her, giving her a gentle smile and a nod of your head.

“I’ll see if I can get him to calm down- don’t worry. Everything will be okay,” you assured Gladys, kissing her cheek and squeezing her hands before letting them go and stepping inside the tent.

Empty bloodbags were littered through the dressing room, Nick Adams very obviously being the culprit of the deed- guilt was written all over his face. He looked up and as he noticed you, he gave you a little nod and rushed out of the tent.

You didn’t give him the time of day, not being very fond of Mr. Hollywood.

“Did you at least get one?” you chuckled softly as you picked up a few bags, trying to lighten the mood. You knew it probably wouldn’t work, and a comment like that would only anger him more if it’d come from anyone else, but this was you.

He had never hurt you before and he wasn’t planning on doing so either.

“That motherfucker took everything, the fuckin’ pig,” he spat angrily, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he leaned against a vanity table and watched you throw some bags in the trash. “I have to get on that stage and I haven’t had a damn sip.. bite.. sip- ah, whatever,”

“When was the last time you fed?” you asked as you cleaned some drips of blood from your hands with a paper towel, walking toward him after you threw that away too. You lifted yourself on the table, putting your chin on his shoulder as you looked at him. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a second- it took him a little bit to give you a proper reply, your scent distracting him.

“T-this mornin’..” he opened his eyes, turning his face to look at you. Your heart skipped a beat when you felt his breath on your face- you had hoped you still had one secret that Elvis didn’t know about, but you were pretty sure he knew you were in love with him.

Your heart gave you away every time.

His eyes wandered down to your lips and to the curve of your neck. The sight of your blood pumping through your veins which was more obvious to his eyes than those of a human combined with the sound of your heart beating faster and faster against your ribcage made his mouth water. For a second there, you thought you could see him leaning in, but he was on the other side of the dressing room before you could even register his movements.

“You’re hungry, El,” you pointed out, a slight hint of worry on your tongue. He tried to act casual, combing his hair in one of the mirrors in the tent and fixing the collar of his velvet blouse. “You need to eat- you need to get your energy up for the show,”

“Y/N.. please..” he sighed as he looked at you, shoving his comb in the back pocket of his pants before crossing his arms loosely in front of his chest again. He already knew what you were getting at, but he refused. “I’m.. I’m okay. I’ll send The Colonel to the nearest hospital for some new bags, I’ll be fine,”

You shook your head at his stubbornness as you hopped off the vanity table, slowly walking over to him. You knew he never wanted to feed from you- it was dangerous, especially for a young vampire like him. But you wanted him to enjoy himself up on that stage and you knew he wouldn’t be able to do that on an empty stomach. He needed blood, one way or the other.

And the thought of him sinking his teeth in your skin made your knees weak- you had been dreaming about it plenty of times before.

It took Elvis a lot of convincing. A lot.

He only had ten minutes left before the show and he could already hear The Colonel pacing outside of the tent, nervous that Elvis would be a no-show. Elvis was growing more nervous himself, not because he didn’t want to feed on you – oh boy, did he want to – but because he didn’t want to hurt you.

He had never fed directly from the source- he completed his transition with a bloodbag, a diet he stuck to. It was hard to fight his urges, but if he wanted a career in showbusiness, he couldn’t go around biting people left and right.

But here you were, sitting on his lap as he had settled on one of the couches in the dressing room. Hair pulled back, the side of your neck on full display, inviting him. Your scent was nearly overwhelming, but still he had his doubts- with you being so eager for it, he found himself becoming a little shy.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he mumbled as he tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest. The tip of his nose ghosted along your jawline and the curse he let out under his breath sent a tingle down your spine and in between your thighs. “W-what.. what if.. I’m not a-able to stop?”

You grabbed onto his shirt, your other hand holding onto his shoulder as your arm was resting around his frame. You pushed yourself even closer to him, making him groan softly as his plumb lips caressed your neck. “You will,” you whispered breathlessly, your hand moving from his shoulder to the back of his head, fingertips tangling in his gelled locks. “I trust you, the way you always trust me.”

He pulled his head back out of your neck a little, bringing his hand up to grab your chin and making you look at him. His cheeks were flushed and the growing erection that was poking your thigh underneath you made you nearly lose your mind. As much as you wanted so much more than just a bite, time wasn’t on your side right now.

“What if I hurt you?” he questioned in a low whisper, his tongue making an appearance to sweep over his lower lip.

“Maybe I like pain,” you grinned playfully, tugging on his hair a little as you arched your back, pressing your chest against his. His hand that was resting on your hip moved lower, large palm squeezing at your curves- just as he was about to kiss you, you pulled back with all your mental strength.

“We don’t have time, El. You need to feed,” you told him, pulling his head back a little by giving his hair another tug. He groaned as he looked at you through hooded eyes, squeezing your ass with a little more strength, stealing a small moan from you. Now you were the one with equally as flushed cheeks and it made him laugh softly, leaning back into your neck when you released the tension on his hair.

He knew he was going to have to be quick and he hated it. He wished he could take his time with this- kissing your neck, letting his tongue trace your veins and feeling the blood pump through them underneath his wet muscle. Right now, it was all rushed and he barely had time to taste the perfume on your neck.

But despite the lack of time, his mama raised him right. It was obvious that you wanted this and he didn’t need to ask for consent anymore, but he still felt it was the right thing to do.

“H-Honey.. can I.. can I bite you?”

The question was almost comical if you didn’t live in a world where immortal creatures roamed around freely. And maybe you would’ve laughed at it in any other situation, but right now it nearly made you jump out of your skin.

You wanted him. You needed him.

“Yes, Elvis,” you moaned softly as you felt him nuzzling his nose in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent. “Please bite me,”

To the best of his abilities, he ignored how his cock twitched in the confinements of his pants upon hearing your words. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to properly kiss you or take you right here and now. He went for the next best thing- placing rushed kisses against your skin before he found the spot he was looking for, parting his lips and pushing his fangs into your neck when they appeared.

Elvis didn’t know how, or if, he could ever go back to bloodbags.

He also didn’t know if it was because you were the first human he fed from or because warm blood was just so much better, but he found the taste addicting.

Your blood gave him a rush of energy, even more so than bloodbags gave him, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting one of his hands roam your body, his other hand cupping the other side of your jaw to keep you in place. He was squeezing your ass and hips, pushing you firmer against his chest and at one point, his hand found its way in between your thighs. You were wearing pants and you cursed yourself for making that decision this morning- before you could even focus if you felt his fingers there, his hand was gone again.

The more blood he took, the weaker you were starting to feel but it didn’t stop you from moaning and clinging onto him. The pain was starting to turn into pleasure and you wouldn’t be surprised if your panties were soaked by now, but your mind was too foggy to care about it.

“Elvis! What’s takin’ you so long?” Vernon yelled from outside the tent, making both you and Elvis freeze. He didn’t want to pull away, wanted to take more of your blood, but he was forced to. Elvis knew if he wouldn’t provide his father with an answer, the man would come inside the tent and Elvis didn’t want him to see you and him in a position like this.

His mother would have his head.

You whimpered softly at the feeling of Elvis gently pulling his fangs out of your flesh, his vampiric features disappearing again as he cleared his throat a little. “I’ll be right there, Daddy!”

You heard Vernon mumbling something you couldn’t make out before he shuffled away from the tent. Elvis turned to you and no words needed to be spoken as he crashed his lips onto yours, laying you down on the couch. He was in between your thighs in a split second, grinding against you and sucking greedily on your lower lip.

You broke the messy kiss by laughing, placing your hands flat against his chest. He whined softly as he pouted at you- which would look a whole lot cuter if his lips weren’t covered in your blood.

“Please, Y/N- I’m fast, baby. I can get you to cum before you even know it,”

You widened your eyes at his words, laughing again as he groaned dramatically when you shook your head. You grabbed his face when he kissed you again, not wanting to pull back, but forced to.

“After the show, okay?” you suggested, sounding out of breath, trying your best not to wrap your legs around his waist and trap him on top of you. “You’re full of energy now, but I need a minute,”

He grinned, nodding his head as he slowly got up from the couch. You sat up as well, pulling some tissues out of the box that stood on the coffee table littered with drinks and magazines, wiping some blood off your neck. Elvis cleaned his face, but he couldn’t stop his legs from wandering back over to you and kissing you again. You kissed him back, moaning softly in his mouth as he let his tongue explore your mouth- another voice calling for Elvis came from the outside of the tent and the young vampire pulled back with a deep, slightly frustrated groan.

“Don’t go anywhere, okay, honey?”

You smiled at him, throwing the tissues on the table. “I wouldn’t dare to leave,” you told him, slowly getting up from the couch. You were a little wobbly on your feet, but you managed to follow him to the exit of the tent. “Go have fun up there,”

He nodded, smiling as he leaned in to steal another kiss but this time, your lips didn’t get the chance to touch. Vernon bursted in the tent and grabbed his son’s arm, pulling him outside. You stuck your head outside, laughing softly at the sight of Elvis being dragged away- when you turned to your left, you saw Gladys was still there, this time with her hands full of snacks she had gotten at the fair.

She gave you a knowing look and a shade of pink colored your cheeks, following her back inside the tent and allowing her to feed you the snacks and tend to the little bite marks Elvis created in your neck.

You just hoped all she thought Elvis did was feed from you- nothing more, nothing less.

Gladys wasn’t born yesterday. She knew you probably just as well as she knew her own son and she was very aware about your feelings for Elvis and his for you- while he might be a little bit better at hiding his crush to you, not to her. He had always confided in his mother and that didn’t stop after he turned into a vampire. She’d sit at the kitchen table with him in the middle of the night whenever he came home from a show and she’d listen to all his, sometimes too, crazy stories- and also about how bad in love he was with you.

She thought you were the perfect girl for Elvis and she wouldn’t accept it whenever he said things would probably never work out because he lived forever and you didn’t. She wanted you as her daughter in law and no one else, so when Elvis was done performing and giving attention to his fans and asked her if it was okay if he’d take you for a ride, she nearly threw you and her son in his purple El Dorado.

Elvis was worried for a second, but she told him to stop worrying and Vernon was perfectly okay driving the pink Cadillac- after all, it was kinda her car, even though she didn’t drive it herself.

Neither Gladys or you seemed to care about the friends you brought to the event and were now kind of stranded in Tupelo and Elvis didn’t really think about it either as he started the engine of the car.

“Thank you, Lovie. Tell Mr. Presley to drive safely!” you told her as you hung out the open window and gave her a quick hug and kissed her cheek, quickly getting back in the car again- Elvis drove off with a wave and you didn’t stop waving until Gladys was completely out of sight.

Pulling the silk scarf Gladys had given you from your neck, you looked at the small bite marks through the rearview mirror.

“Here,” Elvis spoke up as he drove off the fairgrounds, avoiding the festivities downtown as he turned the other way. He bit into his thumb, breaking enough skin to draw some blood- you knew his blood was healing, but you had never needed it before. Despite not needing the substance to survive nor did it taste as good to you as it did to him, you being the one taking his blood now was kind of turning you on all over again. “Quick, honey,” he laughed softly as he noticed his skin healing up again.

Before it could, you quickly grabbed his hand and sucked his thumb in between your lips. His fingers clenched around the steering wheel when he felt you sucking on the digit, tongue lapping around it, your eyes boring into his. “O-Oh.. s-shit,” he stammered softly, his body immediately responding to your actions and the way you were looking at him, blood rushing to his cock.

You giggled softly as you released his thumb with a soft ‘pop’ and placed a quick kiss on the back of his hand before dropping it in his lap. Looking at your neck in the mirror again, you were fascinated by the sight of the marks disappearing like they had never been there in the first place.

“Where are we going?” you asked as you crawled closer to him, resisting the urge to plant yourself in his lap. He bit his lip as his eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds when you ran your fingers through his hair and dragged your nails down the back of his neck- all of his senses were on high alert right now.

He could hear your steady heartbeat, the traffic outside, the radio playing softly in the background. He could hear, see and smell everything but the scent of your growing arousal was the most dominant one and it was driving him insane.

He needed to find a parking spot and fast.

“I-I don’t know… off this road.. a-anywhere we can be alone,”

It was all you needed to know to mark your territory in his neck, having fun with creating hickeys and seeing them heal up before you even had the chance to admire them.

Luckily, Elvis knew his way around Tupelo. This morning, the original plan had been to hang around the fairgrounds after the shows as far as that was possible and then make the drive back to Memphis but both you and Elvis were too impatient to make the nearly two hour drive right now.

The vampire found an empty parking lot near the highway where he sloppily parked the Cadillac and as soon as he killed the engine, you were straddling him and kissing him hard. Right now, you did not care at all if you looked desperate or not, because you were. You had been painfully turned on the second he bit you earlier today and you waited long enough- your chance to have him was being presented right in front of your nose and you were going to grab onto it with both hands.

Elvis sure as hell didn’t mind either- he had been waiting for this moment ever since hormones came out to play during his teenage years.

“Damnit,” he mumbled against your lips with a grin on his face, his hands fumbling with the few buttons of your pants. “Why didn’t ya wear a dress today?” he teased, not really caring what you wore or whatsoever. He’d have the fabric off soon anyways and to him, you looked good in anything. But inside the tight space of the car, it would’ve made his job a bit more easier.

Pulling back from the kiss, you laughed and playfully swatted his hands away to flick open the buttons. He grabbed onto your hips and swiftly put you on your back on the front seat of the car- his movements were so quick that there was no room or time for clumsiness. He seemed confident in himself as he pulled your zipper down and tugged your pants down your thighs after you kicked off the flats you were wearing, but still there was that sense of nervousness coming from the both of you.

You weren’t worried about the fact that you were about to have sex with a vampire, but this was your best friend. The boy you had a crush on since you were a young girl- the boy who gave you your first kiss during a game of spin the bottle, the boy who stood up for you against everyone and everything. Your relationship could either change for better or for worse, but with the way he was looking up at you while kissing his way down your leg and to your thigh, he got you too distracted to let the worries take over your mind.

Elvis didn’t waste time and pulled your panties down, dropping them somewhere on the floor as he placed his flat hands against the back of your thighs, spreading your legs- the sight of you being so exposed in front of his face and the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils so deliciously made him dig his thumbs in your thighs and thrust his hips forward against the seat to create some friction. Despite the sun having set a few hours ago and the only light you had shining in the car came from a lamppost on the other side of the parking lot, he could see you clear as crystal and he found it hard to look away.

Your pussy was quite literally glistening because you were so wet- he was mesmerized.

“How long are you gonna stare at it?” you teased as you raised yourself on your elbows, getting a better view of having him settled in between your legs.

His eyes met yours as he laughed, releasing tension on one of your thighs to move his hand down and gather some of your slick on his digits as he ran them through your folds, making you gasp softly. “Sorry, honey- it’s just so… pretty,”

Your cheeks heated up at the odd compliment- you weren’t a virgin and had seen other guys in this position, although not in a car, but none of them had ever said anything like that. And none of them had ever admired your most sensitive body part as if it was a piece of fine art.

“Been waitin’ too long to see it,” he whispered loud enough for you to hear through the sound of your heart thumping faster in your ears- a soft moan rolled off your tongue as his thumb rubbed small, slow circles on your clit. Your hips automatically moved along to the rhythm of his fingertips and your hand moved down in his hair as he suddenly slipped in two fingers at the same time.

He knew you weren’t a virgin, so he knew you could take it.

“Elvis, please..” you whined softly, trying to push his face closer to where you wanted him most, but it was like trying to move a mountain- he didn’t even move a muscle.

“Impatient little thing,”

You could see by the way he was smirking that he wasn’t done teasing. It took him a lot of restraint to hold himself back, but he wanted to see how far he could take it. He kissed you before, but the both of you had never gone this far- he didn’t know what you were into and what you were definitely not into, but he wanted to find out on his own. He let you tug on his hair all you wanted as he kissed the inside of your thigh, rolling his tongue against your heated skin while pushing his fingers deeper inside of you- he pulled them back, but just as you were about to complain, he sunk them right back in, pressing the palm of his hand against your clit. As he rubbed it against the sensitive nub while bending the tip of his fingers inside of you, you let out a moaned curse.

He brought himself up, squeezing you in between his body and the front seat, his lips meeting yours. You immediately welcomed his tongue into your mouth, roaming your hands down his chest and to the buttons of his blouse. He deepened the kiss as he groaned, picking up the pace of his fingers which he pumped in and out of you as you easily flicked open all the buttons of his shirt and ran your hands up his chest. His skin was warm due to the velvet fabric he was wearing and it was just as soft as well- the sound of him moaning in the kiss when your nails caressed his nipples made your muscles tighten around his digits.

When you moved your hands down to tug his pants down his thighs and your hands disappeared in his boxershorts, he bit your lower lip harshly. Letting out a high pitched moan, you wrapped your hand around his cock and squeezed it softly in response- he sucked your lip into his mouth, tasting the blood he had drawn.

“Elvis,” you moaned breathlessly as he released your lip, swiping his tongue over it to get the last drip of blood. “Bite me,”

He moaned softly as he pressed his forehead against yours, his lips ghosting over yours- your hand picked up pace, thumb swirling around his tip to lace it with some of his pre-cum, and so did his fingers.

“W-wanna fuck while doin’ it,” he whispered as he flicked his tongue against your lips teasingly, making you laugh softly and nod.

Despite having all the time in the world, your body was screaming, yearning, for him- if you wouldn’t have him now, the world might just come to an end.

The stretch of Elvis filling you up as you sank down onto him left you gasping and whining, nails digging into his shoulders which you were holding onto for dear life.

Elvis wasn’t doing much better himself- he hadn’t slept with a lot of people after turning into a vampire. He was already in love with you before that and due to his heightened emotions, those feelings grew tenfold in intensity. Sure, he dated a few girls and did some fooling around now and then but they weren’t you. It just wasn’t the same. So, the feeling of your warm tightness trapping him inside of you right now had him throwing his head back on the seat and his hands gripping onto your hips, guiding your slow and gentle thrusts.

He wouldn’t be able to last long if you’d go any faster.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuuuck,” he cursed, rolling his head around to look at you through hooded lids. “You feel so good, Y/N- fuck,”

You laughed softly, your confidence growing at his words. You were slowly but surely getting used to the feeling of having him inside of you and wanted to pick up the pace, but he moaned deeply and held onto your hips firmer, preventing you from doing so.

“S-Slowly, slowly,” he warned, his cheeks a little flushed. You smiled at him and nodded, bringing your hands into your hair and moving it over your shoulder- he licked his lips at the exposed skin of your neck. You were curious and wanted to find out if you’d experience it in the same way you did earlier today- as he wrapped his arms around your waist, trapping you against his chest, and kissed your neck, it was like even that felt way more intense than before.

Your hands found their way back into his hair and you whined as you felt the sharp pain of his fangs penetrating your skin but as he tightened his grip around you, the pain was long gone. All you felt was pleasure and this was nothing compared to this afternoon- it felt so much better. You took advantage of his hands not being on your hips anymore, thrusting onto him a little firmer- it took him slightly by surprise and he groaned deeply against your skin, some blood slipping out from between his lips and down your collarbones.

He took less than before and you had eaten a proper meal in between his first and second show, so your energy didn’t fade as fast. The feeling of him pulling his fangs out of your flesh was still a strange one that made you shiver and the spot he just bit stung, but as he lapped his tongue over the bite marks, the uncomfortable hint of pain was gone as soon as it came.

Elvis pulled his head out of your neck and you cupped his face, staining your thumb with the blood that was on his lips before letting him suck on the digit. The sight made your muscles clench around his length tightly and he groaned, teasingly but softly biting your thumb before you pulled it out of his mouth. You didn’t know what came over you as you leaned in and licked up some of your own blood that dripped down his chin before kissing him- Elvis sure as hell wasn’t complaining, eagerly and sloppily kissing you back.

“Faster?” you questioned hopefully in between kisses, twirling your hips around teasingly.

Elvis laughed softly, loosening his arms around you and moving his hands down to your ass, harshly squeezing it. “Fuck yes, faster, baby- fuck me,”

You’d never expected Elvis to be a submissive type during sex, but it awakened a whole new side inside of yourself. Having him tell you to fuck him was something you wouldn’t forget about any time soon.

But unlike Elvis, you weren’t much of a teaser and gave him what he asked for right away.

Elvis wasn’t even sure if he was on this planet anymore. This was better than any kind of blood he’d ever tasted, better than the music settling in his bones when he was on stage- this was goddamn euphoric.

The entire car was shaking and rumbling with how fast and hard you were riding him, the fog on the windows hard evidence to people driving by that unholy things were being done in the vehicle, but he couldn’t get himself to care one bit.

He could barely think straight, didn’t even know where to put his hands anymore- they went from running through his hair, to squeezing your breasts which were on full display because he had hastily taken your top off minutes earlier, and squeezing at your thighs. The moans that left you were like music to his ears, but to you, his were even better.

He had completely put down his guard, moaning and whining desperately, calling out your name like a prayer. It got you more motivated than you’d ever been during sex with anyone else and you were pretty sure your thighs were going to feel like jelly after this, but you didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t stop, not with him looking this pretty and vulnerable underneath you- you just wished you had more lighting to admire him in all his glory.

“God, I’m so c-cl.. close,” he grunted, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as you placed your hands behind you on his knees, arching your back to give him a priceless view of your body. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he wasn’t going to miss out on a view like that. “Yes, baby- just like that, feels d-damn good. Fuck, fuck- where’d ya learn that?!”

You laughed softly through your moans at his words, repeating the action of raising your hips until his cock threatened to leave your tightness altogether before firmly sinking back down onto him. It was obvious to you in that moment that the girls Elvis had been with before weren’t as bold as you and this only made you feel more confident, a little smug even.

“You wanna cum inside me, baby?”

Elvis’ jaw clenched at that- never had any girl called him ‘baby’ like that. Never had any girl asked him if he wanted to cum inside of her. But your question sure didn’t fall on deaf ears- he liked having you on top, but he wanted you underneath him when he’d fill you up. Grabbing your hips, he nearly knocked the wind out of your lungs as he changed the position to missionary.

You didn’t mind the change all too much- it gave your legs a little time to rest as you wrapped them loosely around his waist and with the way he was pounding into you in a pace that didn’t even seem or feel human, hitting your spot with every thrust, it had you screaming nearly as loud as the girls at the front row of his shows.

Now his name was rolling off your tongue in a mantra, nails clawing at his biceps desperately as tears stung in your eyes. You couldn’t even announce your climax if you wanted to, because it hit you in the face like a ton of bricks, making you arch your back and spasm so hard that Elvis had to place his hand on your stomach, keeping you in place as he chased his own orgasm.

You were seeing stars, feeling slightly light headed, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off your best friend as he let out a deep moan, followed by a string of profanities. His fingers were digging in your flesh so harshly you wouldn’t be surprised he was bruising you, but you were too out of your mind to comment on it or let it bother you.

His thrusts slowed down, hips stuttering forward as he threw his head back in his neck and grabbed onto your hips to prevent you from moving away. Not that you were planning to, despite starting to feel sensitive.

You were trying to get your breathing under control, whining softly as he pulled out of you and shoved his fingers inside of you again, stopping his cum from leaking onto the seat. You weren’t worried, knowing he wasn’t able to procreate anymore- you welcomed his lips as he softly pressed them onto yours, letting out a deep, content sigh in the kiss.

“We should probably go back to pick up the others,” you whispered against his lips with a soft laugh and he pulled back with a grin, slowly pulling his fingers out of you.

“They’ll find their way back,” he shrugged, going in for another kiss but you placed a finger against his lips, making him sigh and lower his head on your chest, snuggling up to you.

“It’s a two hour drive, El- we really can’t do that. Although Nick kinda deserves to be stranded,” you mumbled, making the male on top of you vibrate with laughter. “Also, I’m kinda in the mood for cotton candy,”

Raising his head, he gave you a goofy frown of his eyebrows and laughed as he shook his head. Then a grin spread across his face and he leaned in closer, kissing his way to your neck along your jawline. “You’re sweeter than cotton candy, beautiful,”

You winced softly as you felt his tongue lap at the bite marks in your neck, the pleasure not there to distract you from the pain this time. He immediately pulled out of your neck with apologetic eyes, biting the palm of his hand before holding it out to you- not feeling as turned on and freaky as before anymore, his blood tasted rather peculiar, but it did make the uncomfortable pain and bite marks in your neck disappear.

“Five more minutes,” you told him as you wiped some blood off your mouth with the back of your hand, wrapping your arms around him to bring him back in your embrace. “Then we’ll pick up the strays,”

He laughed at your words, nodding as he snuggled his face in your neck. He kept his fangs to himself this time, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing and licking the dried blood off your skin, the both of you hugging each other so hard you could barely breathe.

“I love you,” he blurted out in a whisper.

When you didn’t say anything back, panic started to creep into his veins and he slowly raised his head to look down at you. He caressed a strand of hair out of your face, about to apologize or maybe even tell you you shouldn’t feel obligated to say it back, but you beat him to it.

“I love you too, Elvis,” you told him with a smile tugging at your lips. He let out a soft, relieved sigh and kissed you again- eagerly, firmly, passionately.

The strays could wait a little longer than five minutes.

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