aliciaelle47

[aliciaelle47]

I’ve been thinking about this for a while.

And it hurts.

So, Anakin Skywalker. There’s one thing in my mind that’s always associated with him, and it’s not what you’d think. Not the fact that he’s a Jedi or the chosen one, not even specifically Darth Vader and his betrayal. No, whenever I think of him, I think of Slavery.

Think about it. He may not have been called a slave (by that term) for most of his life, but there was never a point in his life where he was without a Master.

In the first movie, he was very explicitly a slave.

In the second, he wasn’t.

But he still had little say in anything in his life, as he was tethered to Obi-Wan. I must say, as much crap as he gets from the fandom for being a whiny teenager? I get why. I really get it. He’s so kriffing bitter. He left home thinking that he would finally be free, and be given the chance to become a Jedi knight and help people (remember the dream that he had that he came back to Tatooine and freed all the slaves?) And it turns out being a Jedi is not like he thought. He’s not helping those that truly need it like he did when he volunteered to help Qui-Gon and Padmé on Tatooine. He’s helping negotiate deals between politicians (remember all the conversations about aggressive negotiations, with him and his Master Obi-Wan “The Negotiator” Kenobi?)

In the Clone Wars series, we see Anakin temporarily re-enslaved by the Zygerrian queen (and may I just add, the older I get, re-watches of this arc become more and more disturbing), and this arc actually explores the idea that Anakin has never stopped being a slave, that the Jedi are just as much slaves to the republic as he was a slave on Tatooine.

And then we get to Revenge of the Sith. In which Anakin is denied the rank of Master.

But I think this means a lot more to him than we realize. It wasn’t just a promotion to Anakin. It was him finally escaping servitude once and for all. It was him achieving peer-ship with the people who (in his mind) had controlled his life up to this point. The word “Master” means something different to Anakin than it does to the rest of the council and the Order at large. And so they didn’t understand. I think that denying Anakin the rank of Master was a bigger turning point than a lot of people realize. Because I imagine he would feel in that moment like he would always be that little slave boy from Tatooine, and that the Jedi were keeping him that way. That wasn’t their intention. They didn’t know he was feeling this way, and I doubt they would have understood even if they did. This was a major factor in Anakin’s turn to the dark side.

But even after his turn, he wasn’t free.

He was more slave than ever, tethered to his new Master, Sidious. He has no say over what he does or where he goes. He does only what his Master says. He is confined in this suit that restricts his ability to move, to walk, to fight, to see; that made it so much easier for his master to control him. His personal mobile prison. A set of mechanical chains.

As terrifying as Vader was to outsiders, as incredible as Anakin was during the Clone Wars, he never stopped being the little slave boy from Tatooine.

Until his Son came and freed him.

And in this context, Anakin and Padmé’s relationship takes on a brand new meaning. I think the only times he felt truly free was when he was with her. When he first saw her on Tatooine, he called her an Angel, a creature he had heard about from the pilots, who were not slaves, who were not confined to the desert of Tatooine, and who he wanted to be like someday (and isn’t it ironic that these Moons of Iego, this place that Anakin associated with freedom, was found isolated and enslaved during the clone wars, during a time when Padme herself was sick and dying).

Their relationship was something the Jedi had no say in, no control over. And I think that’s a big reason why he is so protective of her, to the point of being controlling at times. How ironic, that in his zealous quest to safeguard his own freedom he began to infringe on the freedom of so many others.

But Luke, the product of his and Padme’s relationship, was different. In many ways, Luke’s life mirror’s Anakin’s. He grew up on Tatooine, he became a Jedi, he got caught up in the middle of a galactic war. But the difference is, Luke wasn’t a slave. Not at any point in his journey. When he left Tatooine, he made the choice to do so. When he became a Jedi, that was his choice. When he left to save his friends, he was willing to give up his training to do it. Luke walked Anakin’s path, but he did so freely. And in the end, it was Luke that quite literally removed Anakin’s chains.

[aliciaelle47]

A few years ago, I got a great bootleg on here of Anastasia The Musical (saw it in person but wanted to be able to go back to it whenever I wanted).

Does anyone have a decent bootleg for MJ The Musical? I saw this in person too. I’d just love to be able to see it again.

[aliciaelle47]

A few minutes before he was due to depart, Clark Gable drew Carole Lombard lovingly into his arms and kissed her ardently. We didn’t even pretend to look the other way. We were seeing the screen’s greatest lover in action and girls, he’s all right. Carole, with her handkerchief pressed to her lips, climbed back into the car and drove away. Gable was leaving for four whole days. Can you imagine these two if Clark marched off to war? - Photoplay, 1937 When he went off to war, he spent his days reliving wonderful times with her. He told me about their first duck shoot, early in the morning, the fog too thick to see the ducks, although you could hear them. Carole asked what they could do about it. Just sit here in the blind until it clears, Clark told her. She said she had just thought of something they could do while they were waiting. “We made love twice,” Clark said, “which ain’t easy in a duck blind.” He made a funny little sound; I thought he was chortling over the incident, but in the moonlight I could see his tears. He continued to weep as he told me about the evening that Carole, dressed in a smashing white evening gown, jumped into a fishpond, and he told me about the dogs they had given each other, the silly picnics Carole arranged, the Sundays alone on their ranch, all the while making little observations about films and Hollywood that I didn’t really understand, but what I did understand was the enormous love Gable had had for this woman. It was unreal that Clark Gable was sitting there with me on the wet stand weeping over the loss of his movie-star wife. “They think I don’t know,” he said, “but I do—what they found of her—I know…decapitated, and the rest of her burned to nothing.” He fished inside his shirt and brought out a small locket that he opened. It contained a fragment of jeweled metal. He said that was the only thing of hers that hadn’t burned—the fragment was from a diamond-and-ruby clip he had given to her. - A. E. Hotchner, The Day I Fired Alan Ladd and Other World War II Adventures

[aliciaelle47]

10 Types of Kisses

Various LOTR/TH x Reader

Pairings: Aragorn, Fili, Haldir, Kili, & Legolas x Reader (separately).

Pronouns: n/a.

Prompt(s): 10 types of kisses by @urfriendlywriter. You can find her post here. (I used 9/10 of them).

Word Count: 3.4k words (3415)

Warnings: No beta, we die like Boromir. open wounds (Aragorns + Fili's), marriage (Fili's), swearing (Kili's), mentions of battle + death + blood (Legolas).

Tree Speaks: I had a lot of fun writing this but it also went into territory that I'm not particularly comfortable with writing yet so we'll see how this pans out.

Translations: amad - mother, dwarrowdams - a term used for female dwarves.

LOTR + TH Masterlist

Published: 25/02/2023

1. Aragorn

soft kisses - where they're just lying beside you, hands playing with your hair as they trail tender kisses all over your lips

The two of you were meant to be sleeping of course, but the gloom of the mines made it hard to settle. You supposed that's why he pulled you away from the others slightly, to a spot just that bit further away.

Aragorn was on first watch as usual, having made it his task since the beginning of the journey, and always insisted that the hobbits and Gandalf got plenty of sleep. But with that came the usual knowing looks between the two of you as Aragorn knew his love wouldn't sleep unless he would.

So with that knowledge, and him sensing his love's rising anxiety at being trapped underground, it now brought them to this.

He tilted your head up from where it was resting against his chest, his hand cupping your face. Aragorn brushed a few loose strands of hair off your face from where it had fallen out of place as his own head tilted down towards yours. His hand gently entwined with your other, and he paused in his movements, allowing you to decide next.

You gently reached up, threading your hand through his long locks and gently pulling him down towards you. He pressed his lips to yours, mouth moving slowly, softly, intimately.

He pulled away, your lips chasing after his, a small smile gracing his lips as he pressed another kiss, and then another, and then another to your lips.

the type of kiss where you can't find words to say after, or the ones where your forehead lingers against each other's

Aragorn's horse trotted through helms deep, having just pulled him up from the river bed where if not found, he would've succumbed to his wounds. He dismounted his horse and received a scolding from Gimli before forcing himself up the staircases and into the deep.

Legolas rose from outside the doors, greeting his friend who believed him dead. The elf pulled him into a familiar embrace before pulling back and making a sarcastic comment about the ranger.

The elf turned a small smile gracing his face before yelling the name of a person. The ranger followed his line of sight. It fell on his love, you.

You looked up after the elf who yelled out to you, before seeing the man you mourned for standing with him. Abandoning your stuff, you ran to him, arms thrown over his shoulders and crushing him to your chest as a few sobs left you.

His arms encircled you as he leant his forehead against yours. He didn't care at that point about the mud caking him and he didn't think you cared enough at that point, so it made no odds on whether he was careful or not.

He pulled back slightly, raising his hand to caress your face before pressing his lips to yours. Tears left both of you as his mouth moved languidly with yours.

Aragorn pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He wanted to say so much to you, fearing that he would never see you again but all thoughts left him as he wished to stay in this moment, longing for nothing but you.

2. Fili

messy kisses - curly hair, ruffled sheets and half-buttoned clothes as you just want more and at that moment, they're the most beautiful soul to you ever

The sun trickled in through the window, bypassing the curtains that hadn't been fully drawn across the night before. The young (ish) couple lounged in the bed, bodies pressed together as close as they could get with the few layers of clothes still between them.

He tilted your head up to meet his, his lips pressing against yours, moving languidly in the early morn. Fili reached up, hand caressing your courting and marriage braids that were still somewhat intact.

He groaned, feeling one of your hands gripping the hair at the base of his neck and the other slipping under his shirt across his chest.

Fili pulled back, eyes fluttering open to meet yours; your own half-lidded as you drew in a few stuttering breaths. It was a pleasant greeting from your love first thing in the morning, one that you would be against again.

You gazed up at Fili, the dwarf hovering over you, careful not to rest his entire body weight on you. The tressels of sunlight filtered through his hair, causing a glow to shine over him.

His eyes trailed over your face, memorising every detail as if it was the first time he saw you.

kisses on your body ♡ frail kisses on your shoulder! on your lower back, belly and trailing to your neck, collarbones, lips.

A cry of pain left your lips.

Oin pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from where it was pressed tightly against your side. The infection from the arrow had spread, the orcs having laced it with something deadly.

The pain wasn't something Fili wished on anyone, much less you. So he did his best to comfort you whilst the infection ransacked your body. His hands firmly held you, one holding the back of your head, and the other gripping your forearm to stop you from forcing Oin's hand away from the wound he was trying his best to treat.

After Oin had doused the cut in water, trying to flood any dirt that wormed its way in, Fili pulled you closer. The healer moved back to gather some more altheas and cloths, leaving you curled against your prince's chest.

Fili dropped his head down to your shoulder, as your tears continued to douse his shirt - not that he cared as it was covered in sweat, grime, and whatever else from the trip across middle earth - his hand on your head slipping down to the back of your neck, stroking his fingers in what he hoped was a soothing pattern.

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, the fabric of your tunic had been pulled away, cut away for easier access. It would need replacing, he noted, but hoped that it would be enough to cover you until the sun rose again.

Fili continued his ministrations, pressing another kiss further up your shoulder. And then another at the junction where it met your neck. He considered pressing one to your neck, in that one spot he knew made you shiver, but with the way you were sitting in his lap you were already considered improper in public, so he begrudgingly decided against it.

Oin chose to return at that moment, pressing the churned-up altheas against your wound and then tying the cleanest cloth over it. You cried out in pain, more tears falling. It was like someone was driving a burning knife into your arm, over, and over, and over again. The pain rolling in waves.

Fili kept whispering words of praises and comfort, the Kadzhul translations lost in your mind as all you could feel was the pain, and him.

The knot was finally tied on the bandage. Fili slid his hand from the back of your neck to cup your face, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead before leaning his own upon yours.

I'm here, you're safe now, I love you, the action spoke more words than Fili could find himself saying.

3. Haldir

lazy kisses as they admire you - fingers delicately trialing your jaw as they kiss your lips

"Haldir," you groaned, leaning back against his chest, head turned up to face him. A smile graced his lips, his eyes locked with yours, shining full of love.

It wasn't often you got to spend a prolonged period of time with your Marchwarden, especially with him being gone for months at a time to guard Lothlórien's borders. So any time you spent with him was precious, even if you knew he would be leaving at the end of it again.

The braid in his hair was loose, albeit from your hands running through his hair earlier, causing him to have a sexy, but dishevelled look. The thought of elves being supermodels no matter what state they were in flashed through your mind again causing you to chuckle slightly.

Haldir raised his hand, letting it linger under your jaw as he delicately leaned down to place another kiss against your lips. Warmth bloomed through you and as his lips moved against yours, all thought about him having to leave again in a few days retreated into the depths of your mind.

You were drunk off the taste of him, off his kisses as he stole your breath each time. And nothing would ever change that.

goodbye kisses - kisses lingering like liquor in each other's lips, bitter but sweet, "I'll always come back to you, love. you're my home after all."

The boats gifted to the fellowship had just finished being prepared and were packed full of provisions to last you a good while.

The thought of having to leave your home again haunted you but not just because it was where you lived. No, because this time you were leaving your love, not knowing when you were to see him again. He was your home.

The Marchwarden was allowed to see his love off, having been granted a week's leave whilst you and the fellowship recovered and stayed in Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien. After you were sent as an emissary to Imladris, Rivendell in the common tongue, and word had returned that you had embarked on a journey to destroy the one ring, Haldir was worried for you.

He knew the history of the ring, as did most if not all elves and was worried about the dangers you may face. He knew that you could protect yourself, having been a sparring partner against you for years, but the worry did not dissipate.

He met you at the shoreline, his hand over his heart in the traditional greeting before he held your hand in his. Sadness filled his eyes as he wished not to see you leave, but knowing that this was a journey you were willing to take.

Haldir leant his head against yours as he fixed the cloak hung around your shoulders, ensuring that the broach was attached properly.

His hands lingered on your waist as he prepared himself to say goodbye again. It was one thing being the one who was leaving, but now that he was on the receiving side for once, he now knew how your heart felt each time he went on patrol. That feeling of not knowing if you were coming back or not eating at his heart.

Your hand on his cheek stole his spiralling mind from his thoughts as your lips pressed against his. A tear threatened to leave his eye as he consumed your kiss like a drug. The fear bubbling in his chest soothing to make way for the love he held for you but the melancholy feeling at having to be parted from you made it more bittersweet than anything.

His lips lingered over yours as you pulled away, his hand raising to stoke a strand of hair back from your face. Haldir wished he could keep you here in his arms but understood the task you had undertaken would not be dropped lightly.

4. Kili

kissing and realising this is the person you'll always love, you'll always want to touch and snuggle with

Kili didn't think he could hold you any closer than he currently was.

You were practically melded into him, hands gripping tightly to the back of his jacket. The clothing was still damp from the thunderous storm you had walked through, but nonetheless had to still wear.

The terror that shot through him as the thunder giant collided with the mountain, believing that he had lost not only his brother but you as well, was something he never wished to feel again. His hands trembled slightly at the thought.

He shifted slightly, taking some pressure off his shoulder whilst pulling you upwards slightly so you were level with him. The ground wasn't pleasant to lie on, less so on his side, and even less so with damp clothes on, but Kili knew this was the company's best option right now.

Kili rested his head against yours, his eyes meeting yours. He nudged his nose with yours affectionately, giving you time to pull away.

It was something he always did, you noted. Every time he wanted to kiss you but couldn't find the words to say it, or was surrounded by too many prying eyes, he did that. Gave you that tell that allowed you to decide what happens next.

You tentatively leant forwards, tilting your head upwards ever so slightly, letting your lips press against his. There was no rush. No incessant desire to pull the other closer, just him.

Kili moved his lips slowly with yours, savouring every moment that he got with you. Fuck, he loved you. The realisation pulled at his heartstrings more, knowing that he could've lost you today.

prohibited kiss - you're not even supposed to be seeing each other but your hands are on his hair and his hands around your waist, lower bodies pressing into each other as you kiss

Laughter radiated through your body as you were pulled through the endless turns and corridors of Erebor. The stone walls were lined with torches and braziers all lit with fires burning brightly.

To anyone else, it would be a maze, a catacomb of tunnels that unless sense was made of them, would surely lead to your demise. But years of living there had engraved the pathways into your mind, and no doubt Kili's.

His hand dragged you to a secluded corner, himself coming to a halt. He could no longer hear the guards trying to follow the two of you. Pride flooded his chest as he gazed back at you, finally alone with his betrothed.

You were finally able to get a good look at him, now that he didn't have all the dwarrowdams fawning over him. Even if he wasn't "beautiful" by dwarf standards, he was still a prince and would have people trying to gain his favour.

But his title didn't matter to you. Kili did.

And by the creator himself, did you love the way he looked. His hair tousled from the running, and the short beard he was so desperately trying to grow accentuated his face.

But the ceremonial robes that hung to his body? You couldn't resist.

He found himself pushed back, pinned against the pillar. Kili's eyes locked with yours, the same fire of desire within him, burning through you.

Your lips pressed with his, mouths moving frantically with the others. Your hands that gripped onto the front of his robes slid up, trailing up his neck and into his hair, pulling slightly to press him into you more.  A groan left him at a particularly harsh tug before your hand moved to trace his courting braid.

He pulled away, panting, breathless, kissing you again and pulling you into him, arms gripping your waist, hands in his hair, your bodies practically merging into one. If his Amad caught him now, he wouldn't even have to face the scornful looks of Dwalin, he would already be lying in his grave.

But could he let you go? Fuck no.

5. Legolas

shy kisses - when you're the one pulling them closer, and they nuzzle their face in your crook after the kiss, hands around your waist as their ears get red

You were scared. If anything you were currently lustful, but you were about to fight in a war against ten thousand troops with an army of less than a third of that. So you were scared.

Legolas had turned to where you leant against one of the pillars, choosing to come and check all the fastenings on your armour. He was meticulous and methodical as he went to each and every one, adjusting where he deemed necessary whilst checking it caused you no discomfort.

A soft smile graced your face, as you watch his gentle movements before reaching out to cup his face in one of your hands. A blush, so subtle anyone who didn’t know Legolas would miss it, warmed his face, his head lifting and eyes locking with yours. It was as if he was staring straight into your soul, his piercing grey eyes full of love but fear.

You pulled him towards you, Legolas leaning his head down as his hand held over yours on his face, the other resting gently on your waist. Leaning up, you gently pressed your lips to his. Just once, mind you, the action as tender as possible, letting him come to you.

Legolas leant into you, pressing his lips back against yours, moving at a slow pace. He wanted to savour this moment as much as possible before the two of you walked to what could be your deaths.

ahem.

The clearing of the person's throat sprung the two of you apart, you mentally preparing for the endless stream of apologies to whichever passerby caught you, only for it to be someone you knew all too well.

"Aragorn." You spoke, heavily embarrassed to be caught with your lover.

The ranger looked between the two of you, his face being that awful neutral resting one making it so you couldn't judge his feelings on the matter. Aragorn must have read the panic starting to creep up in you as a teasing smile broke out.

“I have no qualms with this,” he began before looking over his shoulder towards the entrance of the armoury, “but the people of Rohan may not be as forgiving if you are caught.”

He turned on his heel, making his way up the staircase and leaving the two to their devices.

A moment passed and then a chuckle left your lips as a sigh left Legolas’. His head fell to your shoulder as the blush absconding his cheeks spread like wildfire tinting his ears a rosy colour.

At least it was only Aragorn, you mused, If Gimli had found you then he wouldn’t stop teasing your elf.

kisses of reassurance - saying that you're safe, still with them, that your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, that they couldn't get rid of you if they tried, that for some insane reason, you're not dead yet

Your chest heaved, trying to inhale as much air as possible as you sprinted up the mud-soaked hill. Aragorn had yelled for the soldiers to retreat into Minas Tirith and you were making your way as fast as you could until an arrow pierced your shoulder.

The doors were closed and sealed as you entered alongside the last few stragglers, a resounding bang from the wood hitting the stone frame. The room spun on its axis.

The throbbing pain in your arm continued, each ebb seeming stronger which was probably due to the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe you should've stayed fighting, it surely couldn't hurt as much as your arm did, you thought as your uninjured arm reached out to hold yourself up against the wall.

Giving up on keeping yourself upright, you slid falling somewhat ungracefully to the floor, blood dripping from your wound and soaking your sleeve. It was funny how much damage one arrow could cause.

You blinked.

The sun had risen, and from where you could see it, it was around mid-morning. Your eyes focused and you could see a worried face in a sea of platinum blonde hair. Legolas.

Ignoring the sound of the elf’s worry, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, as he gracefully knelt down next to you. His hands mindlessly moved to cup your face, as he had to pull his eyes away from your crudely bandaged arm. The arrow had been jagged and cut more as it pierced you, causing more blood to be lost.

Your hand covered one of his as Legolas moved to press his forehead to yours.

“I'm okay,” you whispered, breaking the silence between the two of you. Your thumb stroked the back of his hand absentmindedly, as you tilted your head up, meeting his lips with yours. It was one of desperation, longing and fear. A shuddered breath left you as the two of you broke apart.

“We’re okay.”

[aliciaelle47]

Unforgettable | E!Austin Butler X Plus!Reader | Part 5

Warnings: None, just fluff (FIRST KISS)!

A/N: This chapter is shorter than others, but I feel like it was well paced and I was excited to show you guys!

Word Count: 3K

here are two WONDERFUL moodboards that were made for unforgettable by the lovely @superbatson and @mpmarypoppins Here are the links respectively! They are exactly the vibe I am going for!

Moodboard 1 | Moodboard 2

Jumping out of your window, directly into his arms...not a bad deal, right?

“After you,” Elvis said, opening your car door for you. Within a few moments, he was zooming out of your neighborhood. You couldn’t help but look out of your window with anxiety as you watched the familiarity of your surroundings begin to shift into new views of Memphis. “You okay? You’re mighty quiet over there,” Elvis asked, eyeing you every few seconds from the steering wheel. 

You turned to him. “This is just very new to me.” You answered honestly. 

“What’s new to you?” He asked, taking his eyes off the road for a second before returning his focus. 

“How about casually going on a midnight spree with a superstar for starters,” You offered with a clever smirk. There was a moment of silence before Elvis spoke again. 

“I don’t think that’s what it is,” He said, this time keeping his eyes on the road. “I think you just aren’t used to attention.” This time, his eyes met yours, tracing your features as they fell in reaction to the accuracy of his words. You didn’t know what to say to that. “You are beautiful, Y/n. You’re smart, sassy, fun loving—and you know your worth.” You felt the heat rising through your skin. It wasn’t exactly embarrassment that you were feeling; rather, you felt exposed, like you were being seen beneath a magnifying glass. You were impressed and a bit surprised with how honest Elvis was. Even so, he always knew what to say to make you feel understood. 

“You’re right,” You agreed finally. “I'm used to living in the background.” You fidgeted with the fabric of your skirt, bunching it between your fingers as you spoke. “And for the longest time I was okay with it.” It was true. You were used to being the one whose story was written from the inside rather than being expressed through popularity—through being a spectacle for admirers. You’d much rather huddle in a corner with your books. They’d never judge you. They’d never perceive you for the things they could see on the outside, and never know from the inside. You had few friends in school. The rest came from your massive collection of literature. And for a long time, it was enough for you, until it wasn‘t anymore. 

“You know,” he began. “You would never think it, but I am very much like you.” You couldn’t help but scrunch your face in response. 

“How’s that?” You asked. “You’re literally one of the most famous people in the world.” You took a moment to adjust your expression, pulling it into more of a neutral position. 

“Mm, well that’s for my music and for my good looks,” He said with a soft grin. “The world knows Elvis Presley, but they don’t know Elvis.” You observed him, his expression flattening into something more thoughtful and intimate. “You’re getting to know Elvis. The world doesn’t know my life story. They don't know about my childhood. They don’t know about the struggle I went through, or how hard I fought to be able to make a name for myself and my family, or even to put food on the table.” He looked over at you once more. “Sorry, I know that’s a lot at once. But the truth is, in many ways, you and I share similarities that make me feel drawn to you. I feel like I can tell you things without feeling like you expect something outta me.” 

“I don’t feel like I am built to judge. At least not like the girls around me are.” you responded simply. “Superficial things do not interest me. Yes, I knew you were famous when I first met you, but even so, you are still a person behind all of the glamor, are you not?” You asked, tilting your body in your seat to see him better. 

“I am. I just happened to be blessed beyond measure when I least expected it. But even then, with fame comes consequences.” You nodded slowly as he pulled into a deserted parking lot. You recognized it as the Memphis RiverWalk. “Anyway, here we are.” He pulled the car in park, turning off the ignition. 

“The River Walk?” You asked, looking out of your window to see the brightly lit walkway that ran adjacent to the Mississippi river. There was no one in sight–something that would usually leave you feeling unnerved and vulnerable, but with Elvis, he had the opposite effect. His hand lacing in yours pulled your focus away from the window. 

“I have a little something prepared. Nothing big,” He said, his cheeks flushing slightly. You matched his gaze as he looked down at your hands clasped together. You squeezed your hand in his, using your thumb to stroke upon the softness of his skin. You followed his eyes as he looked at you. “You up for a midnight snack?” He asked, his eyebrow raising almost with mischief.

“Sure, why not?” You asked, returning a playful grin. 

“Wait till you see,” He answered, disconnecting his hand from yours to run over to your side of the car and open your door for you. “I had a little something prepared just in case you’d give into my wild idea.” His eyes sparkled in the low light as he looked at you. You couldn’t help but feel magnetized to him and the way he hung on your every word showed that he felt the same way too. 

He tossed his keys in the air, eliciting a soft metallic jingle as the keys flew up and fell back down into the palm of his hand. You waited for him as he unlocked the trunk, bending to retrieve whatever it was that he had packed. 

“These things are really convenient, you know–” He said, straightening, lifting a large picnic basket out of the boot of the car along with a lantern. “It fit some food, a blanket, some grapes, some–” You bent upward to kiss him softly on the cheek. He paused immediately in his tracks, looking down at you with subtle surprise. “What was that for, Cheeks?” He asked, his lips pulling into a smile. 

You shrugged in response. “I just think you’re sweet,” you said, looking back at him. “And I like you.” He put his arm around you, pulling you into him by your shoulder. 

“I like you too, Y/n. You know, I haven’t said it, but you have a beautiful name.” He pulled his hand down beside him, reaching for yours. 

***

“I like to come down here when I’ve got things to think about,” Elvis said as you both walked together. The night was humid and you could feel the muggy evening pasted upon your skin. Looking over the water, you watched the horizon split into multiple shades of darkness. “It’s quiet at night. I’d never be able to come here any other time.” 

“You know,” You said, swinging your hand with his. “I forget that you’re famous,” you admitted, looking up at him, your face pulled in a slightly embarrassed expression. 

He was quiet for a moment before letting out a belly laugh. “You just haven’t seen what it can be like if I’m not careful.” Before long, you had arrived in an area that was well lit by lamp posts. Elvis set down the picnic basket on the plush grass, reaching into it to retrieve the folded blanket that he had packed. “Let me get this all set up real quick,” he said, snapping the blanket out in front of him, letting it flutter to the ground in a perfect square. He got down on his knees, crawling onto the blanket. “C’mere,” he said, reaching his hand upward for you to take. 

You clasped your hand with his, bending your knees to join him on the blanket. “You really know how to make a last minute date, don’t you?” You asked, making yourself comfortable next to him. 

“Is this a date?” He asked, turning to you with a neutral expression. Your gut dropped and flipped over, suddenly extremely intimidated by the man beside you. He searched for your eyes, daring you to look at him. 

“I mean–I, uh,” you couldn’t help but let your gaze fall back down to the gingham pattern of the blanket, your fingers pinching nervously at the fabric. His fingertips found their way to your chin turning you to look at him. 

“I was just kiddin’.” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth unconsciously. “I make you nervous, don’t I? Maybe I shouldn’t make it so obvious.” He brought his hands back down, reaching for a matchbook, ripping off a match and opening a latch on the lantern, inserting the flame inside. You watched as light began to splash the area around you, the soft flames fluttering in sienna glow. 

“You do, but it’s okay,” You answered, rubbing your arms–mostly as a nervous habit. 

“Are you cold?” He asked, shrugging off his jacket, pulling it around you. You reached up with your hands to bring it around your shoulders. You smiled softly as you looked at him. 

“Thank you,” you offered. You weren’t really cold, but having a piece of Elvis wrapped around you, no matter how small, made your insides do acrobatics. He nodded quickly before turning to the basket. 

“I brought a bottle of wine,” he said, pulling the bottle out of the basket, along with two wine glasses. “Also some snacks that I stole from the fridge.” 

“Stole?” You asked, clearly enthused. “Elvis, you’re set for life.”

“Mm, that may be true, but I didn’t have the staff pack all of this for me. I did it myself. I wanted everything to be my idea. For you.” He popped a grape into his mouth, unaware of the weight his words had. Your heart pounded in your chest. He cared enough to do all of this by himself. He could have simply asked anyone around him to handle it and they would have with no questions asked, but he wanted it to be perfect. You watched quietly as he poured a glass of wine for you both, handing yours over to you. “Cheers, Cheeks,” he said, lifting the glass in the air. 

“To what?” You asked, curious for what his response would be. 

“To unexpected gifts and chance encounters.” He winked at you as he clinked his glass against yours. You tilted your head, returning the sentiment. 

“Cheers.” 

***

“Do you ever think about how big the universe is?” You asked, laying back on your blanket, looking up at the night sky. Elvis laid beside you with his arms clasped together upon his chest. Though the air was thick and muggy, the constellations shone with spectacular clarity, twinkling like sequins and rhinestones upon dark velvet. 

“Back in Tupelo,” Elvis began, turning his head to you. “We lived in an itty bitty shack house. Poorest neighborhood in town.” He paused, looking back at the sky. “Well, even though it was just daddy, mamma and me, sometimes the house just felt too small. I needed somewhere to go.” He itched his face while he thought. “So, I’d just bring my pillows and a ratty old blanket outside and I’d sleep on the porch, thinking about how small I felt in such a big ole world.” He was quiet for another moment. “Maybe I was just too small for Tupelo, Mississippi.” He chuckled softly, before his features fell again. You smiled as you listened to him. “I’ve always been about music. Nothing else ever got my attention as much as it did. You know–I did okay in school. Not great, but you know what’s funny?” He asked, eyeing you from the side. 

“What?” You asked, propping yourself on your side so that you could see Elvis better. 

“Music was the only subject I ever failed at school.” He continued. 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your eyes widened as you giggled in disbelief. “You, Elvis Presley, failed music class?” He nodded, his lip curling into a guilty grin. “Sure did.” 

“Well, you sure showed them wrong,” you offered. 

“Well, it certainly ain’t all my good looks,” he said, flashing a bright smile. You rolled your eyes playfully. “It would be a pity if it were all a lie.”

“I’m hurt, Cheeks,” He said, leaning up and clutching his chest. “You just like me for my looks and for my singin’.” You shook your head. 

“That’s not why I like you, Elvis.” You offered quietly. Elvis’s humor softened into something more attentive. 

“No?” He asked, his eyebrow raising, maintaining a hint of a smirk. 

“No. I like you because you are compassionate to everyone you meet. You listen and care about what I have to say. You treat me just like everyone else. Probably even better, if I am being honest–” 

“Why wouldn’t I treat you good?” He asked, his face drawing into slight concern, possibly even confusion. 

“We both know I’m not a normal beauty. I could barely fit the clothes at that boutique you took Evey and I to. I’m not the prettiest or the most stylish.” 

“None of that matters to me,” He said, stopping you from continuing. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, I was taken by you.” It was difficult to process what Elvis was telling you, and every synapse told you not to believe it. That is, until he pulled himself closer to you until he was practically leaning over you. He tilted your chin to look at him, and though it was very difficult to look directly in his eyes, you did it anyway. “I meant what I said in that letter, Y/n. I cannot stop thinking about you. Why do you think I drove to your house in the middle of the night, risking your uncle running after me with a pitchfork or a fireplace poker?” You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You didn’t know I was up, or if I would say yes,” You challenged quietly, still smiling at him. 

“But I was willing to take the drive, even if I didn’t get to see you. I just wanted to be close to you.” He said, his eyes looking deeply into yours, as if searching for the key to your soul, which he unknowingly already found. 

“You are now,” you offered matter-of-factly. 

 “Then I guess the risk was well worth the reward,” he replied in a low murmur, bringing his fingertips to rest upon your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. A moment of silence elapsed between the two of you, yet your bodies communicated in synchronization with one another. As if pulled together by orbital gravity, his lips found yours for the first time. Goosebumps spread all over your body as he touched you, his fingertips drifting to the nape of your neck as he leaned over you, his weight pressing you softly against the earth–and you let him. You had only been kissed a handful of times, and they were never moments that mattered enough for you to remember. Elvis set you ablaze with his touch, his lips molding to yours perfectly. You enjoyed that way that his kiss felt, so soft and sensitive to your every move. He kissed you with sincerity and intensity, savoring every touch and every taste of you. The kiss intensified and you felt your hands creep up to his body, taking the initiative to get him to turn so that you could have more leverage. With him on his back, you took the opportunity to mirror his previous approach, at risk of looking quite risquee. With no one looking, you didn’t care, and neither did he. You pressed yourself to him, feeling his lower teeth grinding softly against your lip as you kissed him. Your hands messied the neatness of his hair, twirling and pulling at the ends. His hands traveled about your body, but never strayed to anywhere inappropriate or questionable, no matter how much you both may have wanted it in the moment. For what seemed like forever, he held you in that embrace and you felt like you could never get enough of him. He broke from the kiss eventually, delivering several ragged puffs of air against your skin. 

“Wow,” He said softly, making a show of falling on his back, staring up at the sky.  He sighed deeply, his chest heaving up and down as he worked to regulate his breathing. “You wore me out,” He said, eyeing you with a sexy smirk. He raked both hands through his hair. You looked down at yourself realizing that you were halfway into the grass rather than on the blanket, which was now awkwardly  bunched up underneath Elvis. You decided not to care. You joined him, returning to lay beside him as you looked at the same stars together. “That was…” he began, searching for a finishing word. 

“Spectacular,” you offered, biting your own bottom lip, which had grown quite numb. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to kiss you,” He admitted, reaching down to take your hand. “I hope I didn’t do anything to make you feel uncomfortable.” 

“What? No, Elvis,” You said, turning on your side once more so that you were resting against him. “You make me feel beautiful–and I loved every second.” He looked at you for an extended moment and you dragged yourself upward to kiss him delicately upon the lips once more. “I am very happy. The happiest I have been in a very long time.” He held you that way for a long time, cuddled up to him with his arm around you, looking up at the stars.

End of Part 5.

Taglist: @mamaspresley @anestesia-mxm @misspygmypie @austin-butlers-gf @cozacorner @she-is-juniper @shimmeringlights44 @mariposa-mila @austinelvisimagines @sagesolsticewrites @guns-n-queen @anangelwhodidntfall @harley-thurd @bamitzzsam @annakatf @suitrry @eurusthewanderer @domaniquessidehoe @spencer-is-amazing @kittenlittle24 @softmullet @cb97slut @hunterthecharmer @mirandastuckinthe80s @puppykitt @stargiirl27 @maddieks-blog @kyddosebastian @girlnairb @its-funny-til-its-not @im-just-star-dust @bobbykennedyfan @venus-haze @groovydeputyfestivalkid @hockeyfootballhoe @21bruhs @thebeatlesbitch @dangerdolll @coffee-addict21 @kingelviscreole @adoreyouusugar @slutforblueeyes @theinvisiblecapricorn @ghxst-heart @yagirlalexx @sapph1re @madzandflowerz31 @kaycinema @theloveoftoms @annamarie16 @omgellenlouise @re3kin @feverdawg @cutie-ghost

[aliciaelle47]

“i can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” | Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

12 years ago, Elvis chose his career over you. What happens when he shows up at your door asking for a second chance?

a/n: this is entirely based on a dialogue prompt I saw from @twelvegods: “I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” apparently it was a really good prompt because it inspired all 8,735 words of this lol. I I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it <3 Thank you all again so so so much for 500 followers!!

Word count: 8.7k

Warnings: a couple swear words, lots of angst in the first half, Y/N has trust issues oops, I think that's it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

“I’m gonna marry you someday.”

That’s what Elvis Presley had said to you when he was just 20 years old and his career was starting to take off, thanks in large part (as Elvis said) to the Colonel. And you, being the young girl in love that you were, believed him.

What a fool you were.

You managed to stay together for another year before the Colonel, his claws digging into Elvis’s heart and soul to bleed all the green he could out of him, managed to convince him that appearing single would be what was best for his career— he had to let all those screaming girls believe they had a chance with him, after all.

“Baby please,” Elvis pleaded, “this is for my career. I promise it won’t be for long. We’ll get back together, you’ll see.”

You shook your head, “No, Elvis. I’m not gonna sit around waiting for you like some damsel in distress. If you want me, keep me. But otherwise…”

You paused, waiting for him to say something. Begging, pleading, praying he would say something, that you had managed to change his mind.

When he said nothing, you exploded.

You had screamed and cried, and he had screamed and cried, and you had taken your things that had made their way into his room in Graceland and stormed out of his life for good, only pausing to give him one final sincere “I love you” before you walked out the door.

The last image you had of him (that wasn’t on a tv screen or poster) was of him standing in the foyer in Graceland, tears streaming down his face, refusing to chase after you.

You hoped that time would eventually heal your wounded heart, but apparently whoever said time heals all wounds was a fucking idiot because it was now just over a decade later and you were still as in love with Elvis Presley as you had been when you were one of the only girls in the world who knew his name.

He, evidently, didn’t feel the same.

That much was clear, at least, based on the way he was still overly flirtatious with his audience in his shows, not to mention the rumors about relationships with his movie co-stars. In his shows, before he went off to Germany, he had taken to stepping down into the audience and kissing practically every woman in the room. That alone cleared any remaining doubts from your mind that he still thought about you in any capacity, despite that little voice in the back of your head that still held out some futile, desperate hope.

You’re about to curl up on the couch with some tea and your copy of Anne of Green Gables — exactly what you need on a rainy day like today — when someone knocks on your door.

“You expecting anyone, Y/N?” your friend Annie calls from the hall. You had been living with her for about 5 years down in Louisiana, after the memories in Memphis had become too much, and you loved it.

“Nope,” You call back, wondering who on earth would be knocking on doors in this weather. “If it’s one of those door-to-door salesmen, slam it in his face again.” You suggest with a laugh.

“Will do,” comes her reply, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

You turn you attention back to your book as the door opens, and nearly spill your tea all over yourself as you hear a sultry drawl you hadn’t heard in person in over a decade.

“Hi Annie… is Y/N here?”

There’s a moment of silence where you’re sure Annie is as stunned as you are, then:

“Maybe,” she replies curtly, “What do ya want?”

Annie knew the whole story of you and Elvis, and she had sworn that she’d never let you get hurt like that ever again.

“Please, Annie, I just wanna talk to her.”

“And why should I let you? You’ve got a lotta nerve comin’ here after what you did—“

You’re not sure what prompts you to set your book and mug down and sigh “Annie, just let him in,” but you’re just as surprised as Annie is that you did.

She reluctantly steps aside to let him in, eyeing him warily the entire time.

Your eyes drink him in; this is the first time you’re seeing him in person in over 12 years, and your mind automatically catalogs the differences since you last saw him. He’s tanned, with a few more freckles, a result of the California sun, no doubt, and tinted glasses hide his eyes. His burgundy suit is soaked, and his hair, which was no doubt carefully styled before, now flops onto his forehead, dripping into his eyes.

He takes off his sunglasses, revealing tired blue eyes. From the way his eyes track along your body, he was drinking you in the same way you had done him.

There’s a beat of silence, then his eyes finally meet yours.

“Hi,” he says softly.

You maintain a straight face, unwilling to be taken in so easily.

“What do you want?” you ask, your voice cold. You want nothing more than to rush into his arms, but you remind yourself: he chose his career over you, and never looked back.

“I fired the Colonel,” he blurts, after several moments of trying to figure out what to say.

“About time,” you snort, dropping your serious demeanor for a split second, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“I made a mistake, Y/N. A lotta mistakes, really, but letting you go was the biggest one I ever made in my life. I missed you so, so much, and I—“

You cut him off, “Elvis, cut the shit. You made it very clear you moved on from me.”

“Y/N, I never stopped thinkin’ about you, I promise.”

“Sure, and was that before or after you kissed every girl in the audience at the end of every damn show?”

“Y/N, I—“ he starts, frustrated, then takes a deep breath. He starts again, calmer, softer, “I know how that looks. But I… I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” He looks earnestly into your eyes.

You feel your cracked heart melt just a little at his words, and yet…

“I don’t…” you sigh, “I don’t believe you. You put your career before me over a decade ago, and I tried to move on, but I couldn’t when I was seeing your face and hearing your voice everywhere, and it hurt like hell. And now you walk back in here, tell me you just made a mistake, and… what? Expect me to take you back just like that?”

“Please, Y/N,” he says, an echo of his plea back when he broke your heart for the first time, “I know I messed up bad, but… it’s you. It’s always been you, with those girls in the audience, even with Ann-Margret… I was always thinkin’ about you. And I’m willin’ to do whatever I have to to fix this. Anything. I mean it.”

And you can see the conviction in his eyes, like he’s that little boy again who believed he was Captain Marvel Jr. and could fly his family out of poverty to the Rock of Eternity. You know in your bones that he’d buy you the moon if it meant he could love you again.

But you’d made the mistake of believing his promises before.

“Elvis, I don’t know if I can trust you. How do I know you won’t drop me when your next manager thinks that’d be ‘what’s best for your career’?”

He winces as you throw the Colonel’s words from all those years ago back in his face. “I know I ruined any kind of trust you had in me that day, and I can’t tell you enough how goddamn sorry I am, Y/N. But I’m not askin’ for you to forgive me right now, I just want a chance to try and fix this. That’s all, I swear.”

He waits as you process his words, practically holding his breath as you think of how to reply.

“I’ll think about it,” you say softly.

He nods. “That’s all I’m askin’ for, sw— Y/N,” he fumbles to avoid using the old pet name for you.

“I think you should go now,” you say, your voice cold again to hide how the almost-pet name brought a storm of feelings rushing back..

“Right, um..” he fumbles around in his pocket, producing a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it, “Gimme a call, if you want? I’ve gotta head back to Memphis in a couple days, that’ll probably be the easiest way to reach me if you, uh, decide anything.”

“Okay,” you nod, glancing at it quickly before stuffing it in your pocket. The number was for Graceland’s house phone; a number you’d never forgotten for a second, not that you’d be telling Elvis that.

“Well, um… bye Y/N, Annie,” he nods as he moves past your roommate towards the door. He pauses, hesitating for a moment before turning back to you. “You look good, Y/N,” he says softly before heading back out into the downpour.

The “you, too” you whisper in reply is lost in the sound of rain hitting the pavement outside.

The enormity of everything that had just transpired suddenly hits you and you fall back onto the couch, tears welling up in your eyes.

Annie rushes over, concerned. You look up as she fusses over you.

“Was that… did that actually just happen?”

Annie nods, “Yeah, it did, honey. I can scarcely believe it myself.”

“Did I do the right thing?” You wring your hands, suddenly second-guessing every decision you made during the interaction with Elvis.

“I know I’ve always said that I’d punch him in his smug face if he ever showed up here after what he did to you,” Annie says, “But I see the way you look at him when he shows up on the TV, and that ain’t the look of someone who’s just angry at an ex. You’re still in love with him, honey, I know it, and I feel like a fresh start is what both of you need. I don’t mean to overstep,” she drawls, “But if I can give you some advice: just start over as friends. Don’t jump back into a relationship right away. Try to make it organic. A clean slate.”

“A clean slate,” you echo, processing her words.

You mull over what to do for a few days, worst and best-case scenarios swirling around your brain, and eventually dial Graceland. Your foot taps anxiously as you lean against the wall by the phone, listening to it ring.

“Hullo?” A raspy voice comes over the receiver.

“Hi, Elvis,” you say, trying your best to sound casual, “It’s, uh, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh, hey,” he stammers, sounding less like the confident King of Rock and Roll superstar and more like the shy little kid you’d grown up with, “Uh, how are you?”

“I’m alright.” You reply, “Look, I did some thinking about what you said and, well… I’ve got a couple questions before I decide anything.”

“Sure, yeah, what is it?”

“Well, first of all… why now?”

“Huh?”

You sigh, “It’s been over 10 years, Elvis. What made you come back now? What made you fire the Colonel after all this time?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t very happy with the movies the Colonel was signing me up for. And then he planned this whole silly special for NBC…” he sighs, “I’ve been lost ever since I lost Mama— before that, even, when I lost—“ he cuts himself off with an awkward cough, “uh, anyway; he wasn’t helping. And I finally realized that he didn’t really care what I wanted to do. It was all about profit for him,” he says quietly. He goes on to explain hiring Binder and Bones to help with the special, to “find himself” again, and the realization he’d had that he hadn’t truly felt like himself since he’d left you.

“Hm,” is your only response at first, trying to shove down the warmth growing in your chest. “Well, um… thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. I want you to know, Y/N… you can trust me. I know I ruined that back then, but I’d really like a chance to try and rebuild it with you if I can.”

“I think I’d like that, too.” You say after a moment of silence. “Look, Elvis, I… I don’t think it would be a good idea, if we’re gonna do this, to pick up right where we left off. We need a… a clean slate. So what if we started over as friends?” You fidget with the phone cord as you await his reply.

There are several moments of silence, and you're wondering if something happened with the call before his raspy drawl comes over the phone once more.

“I’d love to be your friend again, Y/N.”

A wave of relief floods your body, and you smile. You think for a moment before speaking again, saying hesitantly, “I’m coming up to visit for Mama’s birthday next weekend, and… maybe we could see each other then? That would be a ‘friend’ thing to do, right?”

“Yeah, I’d… I’d really like that.”

“Great, well,” you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, “I’ll just give you a call when I’m back home and we can figure everything out then?”

“Whatever works for you is fine with me,” he assures you, “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

“Me, too,” you say softly, allowing a tiny bit of the warmth you felt earlier to creep back. “I’ll see you next weekend, then.”

“See you then,” he says and with a click, the phone is back to humming a dial tone.

You’re buzzing with anticipation for the next week, not only excited to see your family but also to see Elvis.

“Y/N!” Your mother rushes out as you pull into the driveway of your family’s Memphis home, “My baby’s home!”

“Happy birthday, Mama,” you smile as she rushes up to give you a hug, squeezing you tight.

“Thank you, darlin’. Come inside, honey, come in!” she insists, grabbing your suitcase from you despite your protests.

“Honey!” she calls to your father as she leads you into your childhood home, “Look who’s finally decided to come for a visit!”

“Mama, I was just here for Easter,” you remind her as you head to the living room to greet your father. “Hi Daddy,” you smile as he pulls you in for a hug.

“Good to see you, sweetheart,” he says, “Louisiana treatin’ you well?”

You nod, “Mhm. Everyone’s real nice, and Annie’s always lookin’ out for me.”

You fill your parents in on life in Louisiana, and in return they (your mother, mostly) regale you with all the Memphis gossip you’ve missed. Apparently the young couple next door had a baby recently, another young couple in town just got married, and oh yes, Elvis came back fr—

“Mary Ann, you know I don’t like talkin’ about that boy!” your father exclaims, cutting your mother off.

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do, Walter,” your mother retorts, “It’s not as if we can pretend he doesn’t exist, not when he’s such a big part of this town…”

As you listen to your parents bicker, you decide that now might as well be as good a time as any to bring up your new friendship.

“Actually, Mama,” you interrupt their bickering, “I’m gonna try and meet up with Elvis while I’m in town this weekend…”

Your father’s expression flickers between confusion and anger at your words, while your mother’s morphs into one of delight.

“Oh honey, that’s wonderful!” She exclaims, “Though I admit, I thought you’d’ve at least called to tell us you got back together—“

“Mama!” You cut her off, heat flooding your face, “We’re not back together, I promise,” you add with a glance over to your father. “He showed up at our place last week, we had a talk, and we’re gonna try to be friends again.”

“Well I’m glad to see the two of you are startin’ over, honey,” your mother says with a smile

“I still don’t trust that boy,” your father grumbles. “Just… be careful, alright?”

You nod, “Of course, you know I always am, Daddy.”

”When were you two planning on meeting up?” your mother asks.

You shrug, “We haven’t figured out the details yet. I was gonna call him today to sort everything out.”

”Well you should invite him over for dinner while you’re in town.” your mother suggests, with just a hint of a mischievous sparkle in her eye, ignoring your father’s clear alarm at the suggestion.

You groan. “Mama, no, he really doesn’t need to come for dinner—“

”Y/N L/N, inviting a friend over for dinner is a polite thing to do,” your mother scolds, “and in this house we are always…?”

“Polite and respectful,” you mumble, repeating the words that had been drilled into you in childhood.

She nods, satisfied. ”It’s settled then. You two will have your little meetup and then he can come over for dinner that night, or the next if it suits him.”

”Yes, Mama,” you say, resigned. “I’ll go call him now.”

You make your way over to the kitchen, dialing the number you’ve had memorized for over 12 years.

“Hello?” The same raspy voice comes over the receiver.

”Hey, it’s um, it’s me. Y/N.”

”Oh, hey. Um, how are ya?”

”I’m alright. I’m back in town now, and Mama’s bein’… well, Mama, so you can imagine.” you say with a soft laugh.

”Oh, I can imagine,” he agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “How was the drive up?”

The two of you make small talk for a bit, slowly easing back into being a part of each other’s lives, and eventually you remember the reason you called. “Oh, yeah, by the way; I was calling to see if there was a day or time that worked for you as far as meeting up this weekend?”

”Oh, yeah.” You can hear some rustling on his end, and you assume he’s checking his schedule. “I’m actually free this afternoon around 1 if that works? Or tomorrow?”

You weren’t prepared to see him quite so soon, but you suppose now is better than putting it off until tomorrow. “This afternoon is perfect. You still like that diner on Beale Street, right?”

He hums an affirmative, and you smile, “Great, I’ll meet you there at 1, then.”

”I’ll see you then,” and the line clicks back to a dial tone.

You head back to the living room, entering to see your parents doing a wonderfully poor job of pretending as though they weren’t listening to your conversation. You roll your eyes.

”I assume you already heard, but Elvis and I are meeting for lunch at 1, just as friends, Mama,” you say pointedly, noting the beam on your mother’s face. “I’ll ask him about dinner then.”

Your father harrumphs, but mainly keeps silent, a firm frown on his face.

”That’s wonderful, honey,” your mother beams, “You’ve gotta get goin’ pretty soon then, huh?”

“Huh?” You glance over at the clock on the mantle and sure enough, it’s already 15 past noon and you still haven’t changed out of the outfit you wore for the 6-hour drive up to Memphis. You grab your suitcase and race to make yourself presentable, managing to change into a dress that seems nice enough for a lunch outing (but not too fancy), fix your windswept hair, and reapply your makeup in a cool 30 minutes before racing out the door.

Before you can make it out to the porch, though, your father stops you, calling your name as you’re about to step out the door. You turn, “Yes, Daddy?”

He has a solemn look on his face. “Just… be careful, darlin’. You know me, I hold grudges like no one else, and I admit I still haven’t forgiven him for what he did to you all those years ago. If you let him in, and he hurts you again somehow I… I don’t know what I’d do.”

You step back into the room and envelop him in a hug. “Thank you for looking out for me, Daddy. I’ll be careful, I promise. I’m not the same girl I was when I met him.” You add with a sad smile.

He squeezes your hand comfortingly, “I know you’ll be smart. If he does anything, you come right to me and I’ll sort him out, alright?” You nod and, satisfied, he kindly shoos you out the door with a soft “Go on, have fun.”

You pull up to the diner to find that Elvis is already there, if the deep purple Cadillac parked nearby is any indication.

He waves from a booth near the back as you enter, his bodyguards seated at a table nearby. You slide into the seat across from him, pushing down the butterflies that threaten to stir. It might’ve been a bad idea to choose the place you went on your first date, you realize belatedly, but too late now.

“How are you?” he asks with a casual smile.

“Pretty good,” you reply, “My parents have been updating me on all the Memphis gossip I’ve missed since I was away, very exciting stuff,” you say sarcastically. “Mama says hi, by the way.”

“Tell her I say hi back,” he grins.

“Will do. Uh, how are you?” You say, trying to fall back into the rhythm of talking to him.

“I’m alright. There’s this big thing I’m gonna be workin’ on soon, I’m pretty excited for it.”

“Oh, big thing?” You ask, your interest piqued.

“It’s a…” he pauses, looking around, “no one really knows about it yet, so you gotta promise not to tell anyone, alright?”

You nod, and he continues, leaning in to whisper, “You remember that special I told you about, the one that Steve and Bones are helpin’ me with? It’s gonna be a TV special for NBC. A Christmas show, kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Well, it’ll have a couple of Christmas songs, but I really want it to be about finding myself again. Gettin’ back to the real Elvis.”

“Sounds exciting,” you reply, a genuine smile coming across your face at how excited he seems.

A starstruck waitress comes to take your order, and the conversation continues.

“So,” Elvis says, “how are you doin’ in Louisiana?”

“I actually really like it there,” you reply, smiling. “Annie’s great, obviously, and I found a job at a bookstore that I really love, things are goin’ pretty well. I do have the occasional grumpy customer, but that’s just how it is.” You finish with a shrug.

“Grumpy customer? Sounds like you’ve got some stories to tell,” he says, sounding genuinely interested, and you can’t help but launch into the story of a man who was sure that Stranger in a Strange Land was in the nonfiction section no matter how many times you tried to lead him over to science fiction.

You finally fall back into a rhythm of friendly conversation, trading stories for over an hour before you finally bring up what your mother had asked.

“Oh by the way,” you say, sipping your milkshake, “Mama wanted me to invite you to dinner tomorrow night.”

Elvis nearly chokes on the fry he’s just taken a bite of. “Sorry, what?”

“I told my parents that we were meeting up and she was adamant that I at the very least invite you to come over for dinner tomorrow— you know how she is about politeness—“ you explain, “but I promise, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I completely understand, I’d be more than happy to make up an excuse for you.”

“And refuse an invitation from Mrs. L/N? It’s like you want her to kill me,” he jokes. “I’d be more than happy to come,” he says, in a more sincere tone. “Besides, friends come over for dinner right?”

“Of course,” you say, trying to reassure yourself as much as him, “and Mama’s very excited to see you, so be prepared for that.”

“I always am,” he replies with a smile.

You arrange for him to come over at 7 the next night, and the rest of lunch goes smoothly until the check arrives, which starts off a round of bickering between the two of you about who should pay.

“Please let me get this, I want this to be a start to making it up to you,” Elvis argues.

“I appreciate it but I’m perfectly capable of paying for lunch, thank you very much,” you retort, and this goes on for several minutes before the two of you eventually agree to split the check.

“It was good to see you, Y/N,” Elvis says as you exit the diner, his bodyguards dutifully on alert as they follow you out.

“You, too.” You say. “I…” I didn’t realize just how much I missed you, is what you want to say, but instead, you go with “I had a good time.”

His face lights up as if those 5 little words were all he needed to brighten his day. He steps towards the Cadillac, throwing a friendly wave to you as he calls “See you tomorrow!”

You wave back, and you don’t realize how happy you are until your cheeks start to ache from smiling on the drive home.

The next day, your mother is practically frantic, bustling around the house making sure everything is perfect for when Elvis gets here.

“Mama, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever been here! And we’re just friends, please try to remember that.”

“Alright, alright, I know, honey. I just think it’s nice that you two are spending time together again, that’s—“

The doorbell rings, and your mother jumps into action, plucking microscopic bits of lint from your dress before hurrying to the door and opening it with a polite smile.

Elvis stands on your porch, bearing a polite smile and a bouquet of lilacs. “Hello, Mrs. L/N.”

“Hello, Elvis!” Your mother beams, “It’s wonderful to see you again. And you brought Y/N flowers, how sweet!” She looks pointedly at you.

Elvis lets out a nervous laugh as he steps into the house, “Actually, Mrs. L/N, these are for you. A birthday gift.” He holds out the bouquet to her with a shy smile, looking remarkably like the shy boy he had been back in ‘51 when you first became friends.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you dear. Wasn’t that kind of him, Walter?”

“Very kind,” your father grumbles in a tone that makes it seem as though Elvis had brought a pile of mud as a gift. He nods a greeting, “Hello, Elvis. California’s treatin’ you well, I hear.”

“Uh, yes, sir, it is. Thank you.” he replies.

When your father doesn’t respond, Elvis turns his attention to you. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you reply, resisting the urge to fuss with your dress.

The awkward silence that follows is broken as your mother ushers everyone to the dining room, arranged so she and your father are at the heads of the table while you and Elvis are sitting across from one another.

The meal begins, and the conversation that follows is strained but polite, with your mother eagerly asking questions about life in California and Hollywood and Elvis answering modestly then turning the conversation back to your family, remaining the picture of a Southern gentleman. The conversation remains polite apart from your father’s not-so-subtle grumbling about Elvis running off the California, and just when you think it can’t get any worse, he decides to bring up the rumors of Elvis’s womanizing.

“So, Elvis,” your father says casually, though his eyes remain calculating, “what’s all this I hear about you and… what’s that actress’s name, Ann-Margret? Or have you moved on to someone new by now?”

You feel your face flush, and you’re sure the mortification shows on your face as you hiss for your father to stop, please.

“Oh well sir, that’s really all just the tabloids tryin’ to get their stuff to sell, there’s no truth to that at all, I promise. Ann-Margret is a good friend of mine now, though.” Elvis answers politely, unfazed as your mother quietly scolds your father.

“Walter, quit it, you’re scarin’ the boy!”

“Well good, he should be scared after what he did to my little girl!”

“Dad!” you exclaim, mortified, “We talked about this! We’re friends now, you promised you’d be polite!”

“No, it’s alright, Y/N,” Elvis assures you, briefly breaking eye contact with your father to glance over at you, “He’s just lookin’ out for you like any father would, and I respect you for that, sir.”

Your father grunts a reply, and the conversation picks up again, still polite but even more strained than before.

Elvis remains as polite as ever, even offering to take care of the dishes — “Oh I can get those plates for ya, don’t you worry Mrs. L/N” — and despite your determination for a clean slate, your mind betrays you, reminding you of how shy and overly polite he was the first few times he was over for dinner, especially after the two of you first got together. Sure, he’s gotten a little more confident, which you’ll admit is kind of attractive, but— NO.

You firmly cut off that train of thought, no matter how badly that little voice in the back of your head (the one that practically melted at the sight of him at your door with a bouquet, reminiscent of your first date) wants to keep on track. Just friends, clean slate, you remind yourself.

After the dishes are done, your mother prepares coffee for everyone and the four of you head to the living room. At one point, Elvis gets up to get a refill, and your father follows him.

Your father approaches Elvis once it’s clear that neither you nor your mother will be getting up, and corners him.

“Now Elvis, I’m gonna try to be polite, because my daughter’s told me you two are tryin’ to be friends and I respect her wishes, but I don’t trust you after what you did to her. And if I get even a hint that you’re playin’ with her feelings, well… I’m afraid that won’t end well for ya, son.”

Elvis nods quickly, “Sir I promise you, I have no intentions of playing with your daughter’s feelings. She’s very dear to me, and I swear I’d do anything to make sure she’s happy.” He says, conviction clear in his eyes.

Your father eyes Elvis for several long moments and, apparently satisfied, returns to the living room with more coffee for you and your mother.

Elvis takes a breath to compose himself — he’s forgotten how scary your father could be when he wanted to — and exits the kitchen, re-entering as you’re laughing at some comment your mother made.

You turn as he enters with a wide smile on your face, and he’s suddenly slammed back to a time where you looked at him like that every time he entered a room— when you looked at him as though he’d hung the moon and stars just for you.

Fighting the urge to rush over and kiss you senseless — that’s not something a friend would do, he reminds himself — he moves to sit in the armchair across from you, turning his attention to whatever neighbor your mother is gossiping about tonight.

The night eventually winds to a close and Elvis thanks your parents profusely for “a wonderful meal and even better company.”

Your mother waves off the compliment modestly, “Oh it was nothin’ darling. We’ll be glad to have you back anytime. Y/N, why don’t you walk our guest out while we take care of these last few things?” she says, gesturing to the coffee mugs still sitting out.

Elvis gives one last wave to your parents, wishing them well, before stepping out to the porch with you.

“Well, my parents loved you,” you tease as the two of you make your way to the pink Cadillac looking more than slightly out of place in your modest gravel driveway.

He lets out a shy laugh, “They haven’t changed a bit, that’s for sure. Your daddy’s still as protective as ever.” His tone softens as he continues, “It was nice seein’ them again. ‘Specially your mama. She’s always been better to me than I deserve.”

Acting on impulse, you lean over and squeeze his hand as you remember his own mama isn’t waiting for him at home anymore. “You’re welcome over anytime. I mean it.”

“Thank you,” he replies in a near whisper. Your hand stays clasped with his, the warmth of him tempting you closer, and his gaze drifts slowly down to your lips before the two of you snap back to yourselves and create a respectable two feet of distance between you.

“Uh, anyway,” you attempt to continue the conversation, refusing to acknowledge that moment of… whatever that was, “Are you gonna be here for a while longer?”

He shakes his head, “I’m actually gonna be leaving for California again tomorrow.” he says almost apologetically, adding with a nod to the house, “But I’ll still be able to call ya for a bit, right?”

A frown crosses your face as you remember: “I’m actually headin’ back to Louisiana tomorrow. But,” you brighten, “I can give you my number for down there if you want?”

“I’d love that,” Elvis smiles.

You rummage around in your pockets for anything you can scribble on, producing some long-forgotten shopping list and a small pen. You scrawl your phone number down and hand it to him, determinedly not noticing the sparks you feel as your fingers brush.

“I’ll call ya every night,” he says as he stuffs it in his pocket, “I’ll need ya to keep me updated on all the Louisiana gossip, hm?”

A sad smile crosses your face at the memory of the last time he’d made a promise like that. Despite all your talk of a clean slate, you can’t help but remind him, “Let’s not make promises you can’t keep, Elvis.”

You give him one last wave, wish him goodnight, and walk back inside, his pleas of “What? No, Y/N, this ain’t gonna be like that!” falling on deaf ears.

You put on a brave face for your parents the next day, joking about what a coincidence it was that both you and Elvis happened to be leaving town on the same day, but behind closed doors, you’re unable to block the memories of the last time he had promised he’d call you every night: when he went along with the Colonel on Hank Snow’s tour.

1955

“I’ll be back in time for prom, darlin’, I promise,” Elvis reassures you over the phone. “I’ll bring you a corsage, we’ll have a great time.”

“Okay,” you reply, “I’m sorry, I know I must sound silly, but I’m just really lookin’ forward to going with you.”

“That’s not silly,” he assures you with a soft laugh, “I’m lookin’ forward to it, t—“ he cuts off, and you can barely make out what sounds like a knock on the door on his end of the line. “That’ll be Scotty again, no doubt.” he groans good-naturedly. There’s some shuffling as he makes his way over, yanking the door open with a “Scotty, how many times do I have to tell ya—“

“Elvis?” you say, concerned at how he cuts off mid-sentence, “Is everything alright?”

There’s a moment of silence, after which he stammers out a response.

“I, uh… I gotta go, I’ll call ya back, darlin’, alright?”

He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before hanging up, but in the split second before it goes to a dial tone you can just make out a woman’s sultry voice over the receiver.

1968 - Present Day

He had still called after that, but not as frequently; certainly not every day like he promised. And while you forgave what happened on tour, you had never quite forgotten what him being away for a stretch of time could mean.

Still. Clean slate. Maybe this time could be different, you reasoned, though you were barely convincing yourself at this point.

You head back to Louisiana, promising your parents you’ll visit again soon and that you’ll give them a call as soon as you get home. You stumble through the door of your little house, exhausted after the 6-hour drive. Annie rushes over to hug you.

“Hey honey! Good to have ya home,” she grins, taking your suitcase from you, “I’ve got lunch for ya, you go sit down. I’ll put this in your room. And then I wanna hear all about how that li’l meetup went,” she adds with a wink, gently shoving you towards the kitchen while she heads down the hall.

You smile as you enter the kitchen to see a little card with the words “Welcome Home” in Annie’s signature scrawl next to a plate on the counter. You take a bite of the sandwich waiting for you — grilled cheese, Annie’s specialty — and finally allow yourself to relax. At that moment, Annie slides in with a mischievous grin, plopping herself down on the stool next to you.

“So…” she leads, a sparkle in her eye. “How was it?”

“It was good,” you reply, purposefully misinterpreting her question, “We took Mama out for dinner and I made her a cake—”

Annie cuts you off with a playful swat to your arm, “Not that! Elvis,” she says, dragging out the ‘s’ longer than necessary.

You roll your eyes, “Fine! It was… fine. We met up for lunch at this old diner we used to go to, we talked… Mama had me invite him over for dinner, and he brought flowers for her” you say pointedly, noticing the gleam in her eyes. “It went well, all things considered. Daddy did have some things to say, he still hasn’t quite forgiven him for what he did, but Elvis was a real gentleman the whole time. He actually went back to California today, filming somethin’ for TV, but he said he wants to keep in touch.”

“That’s great, honey!” Annie squeals, “I’m glad y’all are doin’ well.”

You give a weak smile in return. “Yeah, he said he’s gonna call every day, but…”

“Oh…” Annie’s eyes soften in understanding, recalling what you had told her about your relationship before. “Y/N, I know it might be scary, but what if it’s different this time? What if he actually keeps his promise? He’s said he wants to work on trust with you again, right? This is the perfect opportunity for him to prove to you that he’s worth trusting. And if he doesn’t,” she adds in a lighter tone, “I’ll fly out to California and sock him right in his pretty face myself.”

“I know you will,” you laugh, “but you’re right, I’ll—“

You’re cut off as the phone rings, and you lock eyes with Annie. It can’t be him already, can it? No, it’s probably your parents calling to make sure you made it home safely, you reason as you move to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N,” the heavy drawl surprises you, and you nearly miss what Elvis says next, “I’m glad I caught you, I was callin’ a bit ago and got quite a tellin’ off from Annie sayin’ that you weren’t there yet.”

At that you turn to glare at Annie, who only gives you a smug, mischievous smirk in return.

“Yeah, I just got in maybe twenty minutes ago,” you reply, the shock slowly fading into a kind of warmth as his voice washes over you.

“How was the drive?”

“Long,” you say with a laugh, “I’m glad to be home now. How’s California?”

“‘S alright,” he replies, “I just got back from finalizing some stuff with Steve for filming tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah,” you recall your conversation from a few days ago, “The Christmas special, right? Or,” you correct yourself, “the not-entirely-Christmas special.”

“Exactly,” he laughs, “I’m actually pretty excited about it.”

“That’s good,” you smile, “I hope everything goes well.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says sincerely. “But anyway, enough about me. How are you?”

“Well, Annie had one of her famous grilled cheeses waiting for me when I got here so I’d say we’re off to a pretty good start. Tomorrow’s an inventory day at work, though, not nearly as exciting as filming a special for NBC.”

He sucks in a breath in sympathy, “I remember you never liked those days. Good luck with that,” he says, “and I’ll tell ya what: I’ll make sure to tell you all about the boring parts of filming so ya don’t get too jealous, how ‘bout that?” he teases

“Sounds perfect,” you laugh.

You don’t even notice the time flying by as the conversation continues, the two of you talking about everything and nothing, and you fall into a rhythm of talking for hours every night. Slowly, the nagging fear you feel that today’s the day he won’t call starts to fade, and you look forward to your nightly chats where you fill him in on any interesting customers and he tells you about the goofs he made that day during filming.

“I’m not kiddin’, I legitimately forgot the words!” he laughs.

Your only reply is to laugh even harder at the image of him surrounded by cameras forgetting the words to Heartbreak Hotel.

“Alright, come on, it ain’t that funny,” he says in a mock-hurt tone.

“Oh, I promise it is,” you say, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye, “I might need you to send me a copy or whatever of these goofs, I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.”

“I’ll see if I can arrange that for ya…” he replies, his voice trailing off as he seemingly turns away from the receiver for some reason.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just someone at the door,” he assures you, “Gimme one second.”

There’s some shuffling as he makes his way to the door, and your surprise at the thought of him carrying the phone with him across the room turns into a sinking feeling in your stomach as you hear the squeak of a door open and the muffled sounds of a woman’s voice. Your heart sinks as the memory of that day on his tour starts to play again in your mind, a cacophony of not again, I knew this would happen, I shouldn’t have trusted him filling your ears.

“-N? Y/N, you there?” You slowly blink back to reality as Elvis calls your name over the receiver, “Everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply hesitantly as he dives into an explanation about some crazy fan sneaking past security to his room. He pauses, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice.

“Y/N… you can talk to me, you know that, right? What’s wrong?” he says softly, and he sounds so genuine you want to cry.

“It’s… it’s silly…” you reply, embarrassed at the thought of telling him that that memory from all this years ago still haunts you.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to know if I can help,” he replies patiently.

You sigh, and launch into an explanation of that night back in ‘55. “You just hung up on me, and the last thing I heard was some woman’s voice, and I didn’t realize how much that hurt me until I started worrying about who you were with whenever you were gone for a long time.” You explain softly, nervously fiddling with the phone cord.

“So just now, when you heard that girl at my door…” he sighs, realization dawning on him, “that brought all that back, didn’t it? I’m sorry, Y/N.” He says, and the sincerity of his words does bring tears to your eyes this time.

“I’m alright, I promise,” you reassure him, “surprised you turned her down,” you tease, wanting to move on.

“I don’t do that kinda thing anymore,” he laughs, picking up on your attempt to move to another topic, “besides, why would I stop to talk to some stranger who thinks they know everything about me when I could talk to you?”

Your heart flutters at the compliment, and you hope he can’t tell how much you’re blushing over the phone, “Aw, you’re sweet.”

There’s a moment of silence; not an awkward one, but comfortable, like the two of you don’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company, even if it’s just on the phone. The moment is cut short, however, as Elvis speaks up again.

“I was thinkin’— and you’re free to say no, of course— well, Steve’s organizing this screening of the special before it airs. Right now it’s just Steve, Bones, Dad, Jerry, and me, but I’d like you to be there, too. Maybe get an opinion from someone who’s not family or paid to be nice to me.” He jokes.

“I’d love to,” you reply, “I’ll have to see if I can get off work, but if I can I’ll absolutely be there. And don’t worry, I’ll be brutally honest about the whole thing,” you add teasingly.

“I’m countin’ on it.” He laughs, “I’ll call once Steve has the day arranged and hopefully you can make it.”

The date Steve apparently figures out is November 19, two weeks before the special is actually set to air. Elvis relays to you that he’s arranged to do the screening at Graceland, and luckily you manage to convince your boss to give you both that day and the following day off for the long drive. Your parents are delighted to see you, of course, and you just barely miss the knowing smile on your mother’s face as you gush about how well your friendship with Elvis is going. Your father has warmed up to him the slightest bit, it seems, since your visit back in June, if the fact that he doesn’t scowl at every mention of Elvis’s name is any indication.

You take a deep breath as you pull up to Graceland. You force down the surfacing memories from the last time you were here, when Elvis officially put his career before you. Clean. Slate. you forcefully remind yourself as you step up to the front door.

The door swings open barely half a second after you ring the doorbell, and you find Elvis standing there, a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

There’s a moment where the two of you simply stare at each other before he blinks, as if coming back to his senses, and steps aside to let you in. “Come on in, lemme introduce you to everybody,” he says, leading you to a room with not one, not two, but three TVs mounted into the wall, as one of his household staff comes to take your coat. 4 spaces on the immense couch taking up most of the space in the room are taken, one by his father and three others by people you don’t recognize. “This is Jerry, my manager,” Elvis says, gesturing to a man in a brown suit who looked to be in his late-20s with shaggy blondish hair, “and Steve and Bones, the masterminds behind this whole thing,” he introduces the two men sitting beside Jerry with a smile, one with neat brown hair and an ascot tied around his neck, the other with dark curly hair and round glasses. The three men give you various waves and smiles.

“And of course you know my dad,” Elvis finishes, gesturing to where he’s sitting next to Bones.

“Of course, hi Mr. Presley,” you say with a smile, coming over to shake his hand.

“Good to see you again, Y/N, how’ve ya been?” he asks as you take a seat next to him.

You’re hyperaware of Elvis sitting next to you as you make small talk with everyone, carefully leaning so that there’s a bit of distance between the two of you. As the screening begins, your attention is torn between the performance onscreen and real-life Elvis making jokes in your ear about “this is actually the take right after that goof I told you about—“ Your senses are full of him: the scent of his cologne, his arm brushing against yours, the feeling of his breath on your neck as he whispers to you, and it takes more and more of your energy to actually focus on the TVs in front of you.

About half an hour into the special, you excuse yourself and wander out to the hall, needing a break from the proximity. You don’t realize Elvis followed you out until his hand gently wraps around your wrist, making you jump.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were alright” he explains, releasing you.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “just… needed a break.”

“It was that bad?” he jokes, “Damn, I’ll have to let Steve know.”

You shake your head, “No, no, it’s not that, it’s…” You hesitate, unsure if you should say what the real reason is. Your friendship is going so well, you’re not sure how he’ll react if you admit that your feelings for him were back in full force, that in truth they never really left.

“What is it?” he asks, concern in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, deciding it’s now or never.

“I’m in love with you. I never really stopped being in love with you, if I’m being honest. But being with you these past few months, being your friend again… I’ve loved it. I’ve loved talking with you on the phone for hours about everything and nothing, seeing you talk with my parents like nothing’s changed, and I… I wanna try again. For real this time.” You bite your lip, nervously gauging his reaction.

“You— you mean that?” Elvis asks softly, eyes wide.

“Yes,” you reply, “I mean it.”

“Y/N, I’d… I’d love that. I promise,” he says sincerely, “I’ll do it right this time. I’ll be the man you deserve.” He steps closer, his lips now just a breath away from yours. “Can I—“ his eyes flick from looking into yours down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you right now.” he breathes.

You nod your consent, and he swoops down to capture your lips with his, one hand cupping your cheek while the other grips your waist, pulling you close. Your arms wind around his neck up into his hair, mussing the carefully styled locks as you savor the feeling of his lips velvet-soft against yours. He walks you backward until you’re pressed against the wall, his lips never leaving yours as his body presses against you. Eventually the need for air gets the better of you, and he reluctantly pulls away, keeping his forehead and nose pressed to yours as if he can’t bear to be any farther away. His blue eyes lock with yours as you catch your breath.

“I missed you so much,” he breathes, lips brushing against yours, and the amount of love clear in those 5 little words brings tears to your eyes.

“I missed you, too,” you reply softly, a smile spreading across your face.

The two of you stay like that for a while, pressed against the wall of the hallway, before Elvis mumbles “As much as I’d love to just stay here with you forever, we should probably get back before they notice we’re gone.”

“Oh, right,” you laugh sheepishly as you remember the reason you were there in the first place.

The two of you slip back into the TV room, your absence seemingly having gone unnoticed, and assume the spaces you had occupied before you left, with one small difference: your hand is intertwined with his throughout the rest of the screening.

Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @anangelwhodidntfall @austin-butlers-gf @butlersluvbot @killerqueenfan @kittenlittle24 @beauvibaby @kingelviscreole @justjacesstuff @sweetheartlizzie07 @coldonexx @londonalozzy @kaycinema @annamarie16 @adoreyouusugar @djconde58 @mirandastuckinthe80s @luke-my-skywalker @tubble-wubble @apparently-sunshine @kisseskae @whotfatemywaffles @gyomei-tiddies @friedwangsss @shynovelist @sassy-ahsoka-tano @she-is-juniper

[aliciaelle47]

Reblogging to read later.

August || Elvis Presley

pairing: Elvis Presley x reader (mentioned)

warnings: angst, so much angst, anger, shouting, cursing, descriptions of major character death

word count: 1087

masterlist || wanna be in the taglist? click HERE | PART TWO

>> so I watched Elvis again last night with the discord and was incredibly sad and cried (again) so I had to let out my feelings with some angst. I hope ya’ll enjoy this and don’t cry like I almost did a few times while writing this lol

Keep reading

[aliciaelle47]

Earth Angel - Austin Butler! Elvis x GN! BAMF! Reader (ELVIS 2022)

Summary: You were sick & tired of seeing your husband being worked like a dog. One day you at last had reached your limit.

Author’s Notes: This is pretty much my take on the scene that showcases Elvis’s exhaustion. It’s definitely very different from the film but with some similarities. Just like in my other fic we take yet another trip to the hospital & there’s even more arguing haha. I also tried really hard to make this one gender neutral! Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 2.57 K

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNING: angsty, mentions of drug addiction, medical malpractice, exhaustion, business corruption, ver light mention of death, foul language, arguing & very loosely implied sexual activity

Additional Notes: thank you so much for all the love on my first fic!! here’s another elvis one. i posted sumn for any requests that you guys have! a smutty austin butler fic is coming up soon!! ;) thanks for reading, pretty. love ya!! <3

The international was killing him. Colonel Parker was killing him.

You had never liked that man, a sense of wickedness had plagued behind each one of his damned smiles, that he always had the audacity to give Elvis.

And your patience had been running short. Another idiot, that Dr. Nick had been pumping your husband full of all kinds of drugs for years on end. And it was starting to take its major toll on your beloved. He’d been slurring every other word, in a state of delirium for hours on end. You don’t know how many nights you’d woken up to see him still wide awake, tears in his eyes.

You refused to let this go, you would not lose the love of your life to these greedy bastards.

You were always a headstrong person, it’s why his Mama had grown so fond of you. Unlike most, you stood up and stood against her baby whenever you thought it was necessary. All for the sake of his greater good. And much to the dismay of certain people, your judgment had yet to ever fail you.

It was just another night before showtime, and Elvis had been especially miserable all day.

He woke up that morning, almost whimpering in pain beside you.

“Sweetie? You don’t look so good.” You said, putting a hand to his forehead.

“I have a bit of a headache s’ all. I’ll be fine, Doll.” He said quietly.

You wrapped yourself around him in a hug, your head was flush against his chest as he rubbed down your back and cupped your face, pulling you in for a kiss.

“Stay safe for me, Elvis.” You muttered as he pulled away, you were already dressed for the day and had a couple of things to do before showtime that night.

He kissed your forehead real quickly, “I will, Darling, I swear it.”

You already had a bad feeling that whole day as you ran through your errands.

When you finally arrived at the International, Elvis greeted you with an exhausted smile and a gentle kiss. It was still another few hours till the show.

“Feeling any better?” You asked him.

He didn’t have the heart to tell you that he was feeling even shittier than he did this morning.

“Sure thing, baby.” He brought you close to his side as the guys surrounded him in a sudden buzz, trying to tell him something about the “Colonel’s lies”. You had stopped in your tracks.

Wait. What.

“What the hell are you guys on about?” You exclaimed.

“It’s fucking crazy, I know. That lying son of a bitch isn’t even a Colonel, hell he’s not even a Tom! Or a Parker!” Steve cried out.

“Oh my god..” You glanced up at Elvis.

“What is this.. all about-” He cuts himself off by collapsing before all of you.

Your eyes widened in horror, you immediately fell to his side. You lifted his head to your lap.

“Elvis? Baby can you hear me?” He was unresponsive. Your own heart was racing.

“CALL 911 NOW!” Your voice was billowing through the hallway as people scrambled to do so.

“The only thing that matters is that man gets up on that stage tonight!” The Colonel yelled.

You sat upwards in shock. Rage rushing through your body, heating up in your gut. You looked to Elvis’s father.

No. No way his own father will agree with this man. Surely? He wouldn’t..

“I-I suppose we can see what Dr. Nick can do.” His father stuttered out.

He would.

“Are you fucking serious?” You deadpanned.

“This is your son! Your only child. And he is dying. Do you hear me? YOUR SON IS FUCKING DYING. THIS LIFESTYLE IS KILLING HIM.” You raised your voice at him.

You swiftly pulled off your jacket, folded it and placed it beneath Elvis’s head.

You stand face to face with the Colonel.

“You are fucking killing my husband & I will not stand for it no more. The show is canceled for tonight. You hear me? I don’t care what you have to do. We’re done at the International.” You spat.

“Now now, let’s not make decisions for Mr. Presley-” You cut him off.

“Oh you’re one to talk! I know your secret Colonel. You take 50% of his income and yet you want more. All any of you people ever want is more! I am his lover. I am a parent to his children! I can speak for my unwell husband if I damn well please!”

“If he changes his own mind later on, so be it. But for now we are DONE. I don’t care what I have to do, I will get my husband the care he needs. With or without you, asshole.” Your breathing was heavy, your hands shaking in anger.

“You are making a grave mistake trying to negotiate for a man who will never love you like he loves the thrill of the audience.” He said it. And you lost it.

You slapped the Colonel right across the face, and shoved the man against the wall.

“Hey! Hey- Y/N what the hell are you doing?!” Joe pushed the man trying to interfere to the side.

“I WAS HIS FIRST AUDIENCE. I HAVE BEEN BESIDE ELVIS PRESLEY SINCE WE WERE KIDS. NO ONE CAN LOVE THAT MAN, LIKE I CAN, LIKE THE CHILDREN WE ARE RAISING TOGETHER CAN! HIS HEALTH AND WELL-BEING, AND OUR FAMILY IS ALL THAT MATTERS TO ME. UNLIKE YOU.”

“SO DON’T YOU DARE EVEN TRY TO SPEAK TO ME ABOUT LOVE!”

“YOU HAVE NO ONE, AND YOU DESERVE NO ONE. NO WONDER YOUR SO DESPERATE TO KEEP YOUR CLAWS SUNK INTO HIM!” You growled.

You let go of the man as you’re told by someone that the ambulance has arrived. You rush out behind them and hop into the back, clutching his hand as you were rushed to the hospital.

“Good gods, please let my love be okay.” You whispered.

After being rushed to treatment for exhaustion, you sat in the chair beside his bed in the hospital suite. It was just you, and Elvis laying stiff as a board in bed. And already in just a matter of a few hours, “Get Well” cards, balloons, teddies and other little knick knacks had made their way up, delivered by the nurses from worried fans. It was really sweet.

He finally began to stir, you glanced at him, worry in your eyes.

“Hey pretty baby, hope I didn’t scare ya too much..” His voice was gravely, his sweet drawl still evident.

“Oh honey, you scared me to death!” You brought his hand up to your lips and kissed it.

“But I’m glad you’re at least conscious now. I canceled the show for ya.. in case that wasn’t obvious already.” You said.

“Thank you, Darling..” He trailed off.

“I’m done doing business with that damned “Colonel” and this time I really do mean it.” He said, looking you in the eyes.

“And baby.. I wanna get clean. I don’t want these damn pills in my system anymore..” He whispered, almost like he was scared to say it.

You gleamed with joy.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. It’ll be hard but you’ve got it. I know you do baby.” You smiled.

“And as for that Colonel, good. I’m done with him too. And let me tell you baby I had much to say to that man. Still do, honestly.” You groaned.

Elvis’s eyes widened, there’s nothing that scared him more than when you were genuinely angry.

“What’d you say.. what’d you do?” He asked, out of curiosity.

“Don’t worry too much ‘bout it.” You winked.

“You better rest now.” You kissed his forehead.

He smiled in defeat as he scooted the side and tugged at your shirt for you to lay with him. You happily complied.

After some more advice from the Doctors, and some things being taken care of on a business front, y’all were soon packing up all of your things from the Vegas suite and flying back home, to Graceland. Where Elvis would be under private care with certified professionals on how to get clean. As well as mental health care professionals.

He took the time to heal, to rediscover who he really was beneath the gaudy clothes, the extravagant stages and the hustle & bustle life.

He spent more time with your children, with you and he got to visit his Mama’s final resting place more.

When he was ready, he fought the Colonel in court, and won. And not to long afterwards, he went on that overseas tour. He went anywhere and everywhere he wanted. Japan, Brazil, Mexico, Italy, France, The UK, Ireland, and so so many other places. He went back to Germany too, of course.

And you accompanied him for some of it, even bringing along the children to see the world with their parents. As well as to buy all the candy and toys the world had to offer.

He was finally as happy as he once was all those years ago, as a young boy. And it was all thanks to you, and your kind, firecracker soul. He couldn’t have asked for a better life partner.

And you were so beyond proud of him, seeing him take the first steps to recovery. The man you’ve loved for as long as you can remember. You swear you could literally see the youth returning to his face. Suddenly, he didn’t look a day over 25.

Your life together is simply blissful.

It’s a typical autumn evening now, the smell of cinnamon has filled the entire house as you and Elvis have gotten up to your shenanigans in the kitchen again.

Well, you had been attempting to make a pumpkin pie alone, in peace while he put the kids to bed. But unfortunately for you as long as your husband is awake you’ll always have at least one child to look after.

You were mixing the pumpkin mixture with spices before he stuck his finger in and licked up a spoonful, just to spit it out. Onto the counter.

“Elvis! I haven’t mixed the sugar in!” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh. Well I suppose that explains the taste of whatever that is.” He says dumbly.

You laugh at his unintentionally childish manner. He wraps one of his arms around you from behind, as you begin to measure out the ingredients and letting him pour them in, once again, like a little kid.

“Wow honey, look at you go!” You giggled at him.

“Don’t patronize me! ‘M trying real hard here, pumpkin.” His tongue is peeking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

“Well once you pour all that in, give it a good mix, and start gently! While I prepare the pie dough.” You smile up at him.

You just radiate warmth. He blows you a kiss in response, you pretend to grab it and stuff it into your shirt. He laughs, it’s heaven to your ears.

The rest of the evening, and into the late night is spent dancing around the kitchen, listening to the songs of your youth. And then drinking wine, and then eating a few pieces of pie. Because once your kids see it tomorrow it won’t last for much longer.

It’s nearly 2 in the morning now, so you go into the shower together. Your delicate touches leave him shivering every time. It’s always been so cute to you how despite his demeanor while performing, where he always seems to be totally in control of the stage, dominating the audience, he’s always the one completely and utterly at your mercy when you’re alone together.

He kisses you directly beneath the shower head and it tastes like shampoo, you both laugh.

You finish up in the shower, dry off & do your nighttime skincare. However a certain glow is evident on both of your faces after your little rendezvous in the shower.

You meet him under the covers and snuggle close to him. He kisses the top of your head as your bodies melt into one another. You kiss right over where his heart is.

He sighs in content, as you already are beginning to drift off to sleep.

“Goodnight, my angel.” He whispers to you.

“Mm, Goodnight, Sweetie.” You mutter into his chest.

“And sweet dreams, I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible, my love.”

[aliciaelle47]

All Shook Up

Character/Fandom: Elvis - ELVIS (2022)

Requested: yes! - anons

Prompt: When Gladys Presley invited you up to Graceland to work as a cook in the house, you had mixed feelings. But in order to support yourself and your daddy, you moved up to Memphis. Things have been awkward between you and Elvis, but strange things are happening every day and, not surprisingly, Elvis has you all shook up again. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Angst, smut, cursing, a little physical aggressiveness + i think that's it!

Rating:  M, this is good stuff baby  ||     Word Count: 16,259 🥴

A/N: IT’S FINALLY HERE!! I have never worked harder on a fic tbh, and the dialogue in this one hits so hard. Yes, the one part is inspired by that scene in Dirty Dancing — you know the one. Sorry for taking FOREVER, but I really hope y'all enjoy it!

This is Part 4 of ASG. FInd the rest of the series here!

🦋 mila

This is a BIG boi + it’s special, so pls read these notes:

I try to make my fics as gender neutral as possible (still working on it!) but this is def a FEM!READER!

This is super long, so I put little PAGE BREAKS in places where you can pause reading. Please take advantage of them!

Deadass made a PLAYLIST to enhance your reading experience. It's in order + should flow with the plot. But depending on reading speed, it might be off, and that's totally okay! If you want the true experience, I've written where to jump + play certain songs in the fic. This is obvi totally optional!!!

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

“I jus don’t know what to do bout it,” Gladys says, running a hand over her face. “They’re makin fun of my baby all over town. And probably all over the country, too.”

“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Presley,” you respond, taking a bowl of something warm from her fingers. “I can always go back home if this is a bad time.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, honey,” she replies in her thick southern drawl. “We love havin you over. You don’t know how nice it is to have another woman in this damn house.”

You smile painfully as you watch her reach for a beer.

A lot has happened since Elvis had broken your heart and left you sobbing on the floor of your house in Louisiana. It was almost five months later when you’d received a call from Gladys Presley. You had been shocked to hear her voice on the other end of the line. She’d called to ask if you wanted to come up to Memphis and move in with the family. One of their cooks had quit, and Gladys couldn’t find anyone who cooked southern style food the way she liked it. You know she’s taken quite a liking to you. Whenever Elvis had brought you home for dinner, just a handful of times, you’d always been willing to help.

Anyway, you did always have a knack for cooking, especially those delicious southern-style comfort dishes. You had originally refused, but when she called twice more and offered to pay you handsomely, it wasn’t really a conversation anymore. You and daddy have been struggling recently after he’s turned to alcohol for comfort and isn't working as much as usual. You’d picked up an extra job at the diner in town while still working at the hayride. You've been working yourself to death, but with the Presley’s money you can help support yourself and your father without having to break your back.

Plus, she’d offered.

You are always incredibly nervous about seeing Elvis, especially after everything that has happened. But you didn’t know what else to do. It was too good of a deal for you. So, you’d packed up some of your belongings and moved up to Memphis, leaving daddy at home.

Mr. and Mrs. Peachtree, the Presley’s neighbors, welcomed you into a small guest house in their backyard. Gladys had offered for you to stay at Graceland, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to bear it. Being so close to him, and not being able to have him. It was all too painful, too regretful. And you knew Elvis wouldn’t want you there, anyway.

It really hasn’t been all that bad. The money is good, the amenities nice, Mr. and Mrs. Peachtree are always warm and welcoming toward you. And Gladys has been surprisingly like a surrogate mother in many ways. She’s been protective over you, frequently asking how you’re getting on at the house and whether the Peachtrees are treating you right. She has even asked how your father is a time or two, even though you get the feeling she doesn’t like him much. You can’t blame her. She’d even let you have a few sips of beer, despite the fact that you’re still underage. That’s something your father would never allow you to do, even if you were of legal age.

“I just hope he’s doin aright,” Gladys continues. “That damn Colonel is always tellin him what to do.”

You keep your mouth shut, but raise your eyebrows in agreeance. Despite sympathizing with her, you don’t feel like it’s your place to say anything about the family. Not to mention this entire conversation is still a sore spot since you're convinced that the Colonel is the reason for your breakup with Elvis.

“Oh lord they’re home! My poor baby!” Gladys shouts, glancing out the windows.

Speak of the devil, himself. You join her at the window, watching the familiar dark purple 1956 Cadillac Eldorado drive slowly up the path to the house. There has been a crowd outside for hours now, and the noise is driving you crazy.

The dinner isn’t even finished cooking yet, but Elvis and Mr. Presley would be bursting through the front door any minute now. They’re coming back from New York where Elivs had been on the Steve Allen show. Long story short, the performance was a disaster. He’d been put onstage in full-length tailcoats and forced to sing to a hound dog. An actual dog.

You watched at home with the Peachtrees, squeezing a pillow tightly. You’d felt especially awkward in recent days. You like the Peachtrees very much, but they are made of old money and you know they have mixed feelings about the Presleys. Mrs. Peachtree has been adamant that Elvis isn’t the type of boy young girls should be looking up to. And she used his “Hound Dog” performance as ammunition to prove her point. You bite your tongue whenever she begins to badmouth him. And you pretend not to know about all of the rude things the neighbors whisper about the Presleys behind their backs.

Just as the car parks, you quietly dip back into the kitchen to help Alberta, the other cook, with the rest of the food. But mostly to avoid Elvis. You do that a lot nowadays, and you don’t even want to think about the first time he’d discovered you at the house. Apparently, Gladys had neglected to tell her son that his ex-sweetheart would be coming up to work in the house.

You wince just thinking about how all the blood drained from his face, how he’d dropped his guitar out of shock. How the force of its fall had broken the guitar's neck. You hadn’t meant for him to see you. Ever, actually. It's your preference, truthfully, to never be seen by him again. But he’d walked in the door as you were rushing to get the plates out for dinner on time. And then it just happened. You both saw each other and everything was over, the whole facade. And you’d only been there for three days.

After that first awkward encounter, things actually improved between you. You still can’t talk or look at each other, but you’re able to be in the same room without feeling sick to your stomach. That sounds like nothing to celebrate, but it's kind of a big accomplishment for you. Gladys is a big reason why you’re starting to come around to each other again. She really wants you to be friends. At least. It’s also easier with Elvis touring more often now, since he’s gone so much. In the last month, you’ve barely even seen him at all.

But something in your stomach drops as you hear the door open and some scuffling and low talking. You suddenly feel extremely embarrassed to be present in the house and are afraid to reveal yourself, especially if he’s already in a bad mood. You busy yourself doing something that doesn’t really need to be done. Anything to keep you from having to go out there and deal with family issues.

Alberta hands you some dishes. You would protest, but Alberta knows you aren’t doing anything but avoiding Elvis. And she is actually busy, so you take the plates. Gulping nervously, you raise your neck high to feign confidence and then go out into the dining room. Gladys is shouting, still complaining about Elvis’ hound dog performance.

“...and I said maybe you shouldn’t speak like that. And she said…”

“I like what you did with the dog,” you hear Vernon say from the living room.

“It was the most embarrassin performance of my life, daddy,” you can barely hear Elvis’ gruff, mumbled reply.

You sheepishly glance up from your place in the dining room and can’t help but grin a little at Elvis’ childlike appearance. He’s laying on his side on the piano bench, looking like an exhausted toddler.

“...gettin a laugh outta putin a hillbilly in a tailcoat and singin to a dog,” Gladys continues.

You let the second hand embarrassment settle in your gut as you remember how stiff and unnatural he looked during his performance on live television. You had hated the whole thing. It just wasn’t him. It isn’t him. You know him well enough to know that the way he moves only enhances his performance. It’s the passion inside of him that moves him the way it does.

You turn away as Gladys continues to complain about the neighbors’ whispered gossip. You try to pretend like you don’t know that the Peachtrees are in that very group. The Peachtrees were nice enough to not say it to her face, of course, but they were always saying rude things about Elvis behind Gladys’ back. And you don’t have the heart or the place to tell the Presleys the nasty things and rumors that are whispered in the secret spaces of the neighborhood.

“Damn it, mama. It were either that or get cancelled,” Elvis says, flipping onto his back. “Then that’s it for television. The Colonel says that I’m runnin outta states I’m welcome in. And they don’t pay unless I can perform. Colonel says I play the charity concert tomorrow night as the new family style and ‘en everybody calms down and we get back on track.”

“Someone’s gotta think bout keepin a roof over our heads,” Vernon agrees, bringing his cigarette to his lips.

You keep your mouth shut, even though thoughts are circling around your head. You take a stack of silverware from Alberta. You feel extremely awkward, like you should leave. This is family business, and here you are in the middle of it.

“Roof over our head?” Gladys asks, gesturing toward the roof of Graceland. “We’ve always managed to keep a roof over our head, Vernon.”

“Colonel says daddy’s business manager. It’s his job,” Elvis replies.

“We was doin jus fine before that man came along,” Gladys responds sharply.

“Colonel has got us all uh this,” Elvis says, gesturing to Graceland again.

“I don’t want all this!” Gladys shouts. “You’re not happy!”

“I’m not!” Elvis yells back, flexing his arms and curling his fingers into fists.

You jump when Gladys slams the dining room table, distracted by the strangely sexy temper Elvis had displayed. Her hands create a shockwave that clinks all the nice dishes and silverware up and down on the table. You hold a few plates to your chest and accidentally make eye contact with Elvis. He stares back at you with eyes that are dark blue, clouded with anger and frustration. This is the first time you’ve both really looked at each other, like really looked, in so many months. Since you’d broken up, really. And it kills every part of you.

“And what the hell is she even doin here?” Elvis asks, pointing at you. You feel a tinge of pain and bite the inside of your cheek, pressing the plates into your chest uncomfortably.

“I invited her! You leave her outta this. And that’s beside the point, Elvis. You’re losin yourself, bewbie,” Gladys yells sharply.

“Aw hell, mama, I…”

Gladys approaches her son slowly as he shakes his head. She places her hands on his shoulders and whispers into his ear.

“The way you sing and move, it’s god-given. So, there can’t be nothin wrong with it,” she says. You glance up again from the table to see Elvis staring right at you. His eyes have softened, returning to their natural blue now. That gentle blue that you haven't seen in so long.

As much as you hate to admit it, your whole body is screaming with affection when he looks at you. You really need the job, but if you’re honest with yourself, so much of you also wants to be near him. You know what had happened between you has caused a rift so great that it might never be repaired. But you want to try so badly. You hope every day that maybe, just maybe, he’ll see you the way he once did and fall back in love with you all over again. This time, you think, you can say it back.

Suddenly, his cousin Billy and bunch of teenage friends come barrelling into the house, causing a ruckus and tracking dirt everywhere. The commotion breaks the intense eye contact between you.

“Don’t track mud in the house, Billy!” Elvis yells. When Billy starts to protest, Elvis grabs him by the shirt and tosses him toward the open front door. “Get outta my house!” he shouts. “Get outta my goddamn house! Trackin mud in my house, doin my damn head in.”

He takes a few steps toward the door, rubbing a hand over his face and into his hair. He has your full attention, and everyone else’s in the room, even if he doesn’t realize it. You hate seeing him this way. The reckless energy he gives off in these moods makes you nervous that he’ll do something rash without meaning to.

“Mama, you ain’t never happy. No matter what I do, no matter how much I give ya, it ain’t never enough,” he shouts, and you can hear Gladys quietly starting to cry. She takes a swig of the beer in her hand. Elvis turns to leave but then spins back around and points with an accusatory finger at his mother.

“And I wish you would not drink so goddamn much. It’s not good for ya!”

“Bewbie!” Gladys yells after him, as he spins on his heel and storms outside.

Reacting without thinking, you place the plates down on the table and take off out of the house and through the door after him. He storms to his car and angrily throws the door open. When you step outside into the warm Tennessee air, you’re confronted with a group of people you don’t even know. You frustratedly push your way through them and stalk toward the car. But by the time you reach him, he’s already started it and peeled off into the grass, tires squealing.

The rubber tires singe the beautifully manicured lawn as Billy yells at him to turn around. You take off running, cutting through the grass and hoping to catch him in time. As you approach the gate through your shortcut, there’s a mass of people waiting, holding up signs, snapping photos, and cheering. You watch as he flicks the radio on and wince at the sound of “Hound Dog” radiating from the car. He angrily wipes his mouth and punches the tuner again to find a different station. “Hound Dog” again. He pokes it again, this time landing on the Beale Street station. His favorite.

[ -> "Let It All Hang Out" ]

His focus on changing the station means that he’s stopped the car and fans have gathered around it in a circle. He’s stuck for a moment, just long enough for you to push your way through the crowd and latch your fingers onto the side of the convertible. You can tell that your sudden movements have scared him — probably because of the screaming girls around you — when his head shoots up in your direction. You swing the door open and climb in.

“What the hell you doin?” he shouts over the noise, clenching his jaw and looking at you sideways.

“You’re not goin nowhere by yaself,” you say forcefully and fold your arms over your chest. “Not when ya like this.”

His angry expression is back and scares you a little, but you also feel a subtle throbbing sensation deep in the pit of your stomach. A feeling you know well and have felt before around Elvis.

He says nothing back but turns the wheel as he starts to drive again. Girls scream, shake their signs, and try to grab at the car. You catch quite a few dirty looks from some of them, which you return without hesitation. As he squeals out of the driveway, you glance back to see a black car taking off after you. You turn around on your knees to try and get a better look at it as it tails you.

“Someone's followin us,” you say, turning back around to slide into the leather seat.

“Let ‘em. I don’t give a shit,” Elvis says and you clamp your lips shut.

You both settle in for the drive, no sounds but the wind blowing through the car and the hits from Beale Street humming on the radio. You glance over at him as he drives. His jaw is clenched and shoulders upright. Although his arm is draped lazily across the steering wheel, his fingers are constantly moving, curling and uncurling. His hair has fallen over his forehead in thick clumps and the wind is blowing the flaps of his pink lace shirt open and closed over his chest. Your eyes absentmindedly trace down the fabric and land on his chest. This is the first time the two of you have been alone since that day. The tension is too much for your body to sit still.

You turn over your shoulder, seeing the black car still following you. You feel like you should speak up and say something but aren’t sure how to begin. He turns onto Beale Street, and your mouth drops slightly open as you look around. There’s nothing particularly special about it, but it’s busy. There’s an energy around that you can’t describe. It just feels…electric, lively. You turn around again on your knees to look around.

“So this is Beale Street, huh? Where you always run off to,” you mutter to yourself, but apparently loud enough for him to hear you. You gulp hard after speaking, not realizing fully that this is the first time either of you has spoken to the other. Besides the occasional 'excuse me' or 'sorry' mutters while navigating the house.

“You ain’t never been down here?” he asks but continues before you get a chance to respond. “No, why would ya, a girl like you?”

You ignore his rude comment and respond, “No, I haven’t. But I like it a whole lot.”

You’re staring up at the bright flashing signs on the buildings and smile when you hear music spilling out of one of the open windows. Club Handy, the sign out front says. Elvis pulls into a parking spot on the street.

“It’s a good place. People here are good people. It reminds me of home.”

You feel your heart ache at his words. He frantically grabs his jacket, looking like he’s about to blast out of the car. Your hands fly to the handle of the door, about to open it, when you notice him freeze. He closes his eyes, clenches his jaw, and breathes deeply. His eyelashes are dark and long as they flutter closed. You want nothing more than to feel them tickle your cheekbones as he kisses your lips. You consider reaching out to touch him, but you can’t bring yourself to. How dare you touch him after what you did…

“Are you okay?” you basically whisper it.

He shrugs aggressively, throwing the door open and exiting the car. He mumbles a 'fine' before you hop out of the car to follow his lead. You stick to his side as a crowd of people begins to gather around the car. You glance up at him, sure that this isn’t what he wants right now, but powerless to stop the horde of people closing in on you.

“EP!”

Both of your heads shoot up in the direction of the shout. Elvis’ eyes light up as he waves to a man sticking his head out of a window.

“B.B.!”

Your eyes go wide. B.B…B.B. King?

Elvis has turned around to sign some autographs while making his way through the crowd. You are getting pushed back, but you reach out and grab tightly onto Elvis’ lace shirt.

“Hey, what’re ya-”

His shocked expression quickly changes to one of irritation when he whips around to see you grasping onto him.

“Don’t rip my shirt,” is all he says, and you nod.

You frantically follow him around the street, but every time he tries to go into a building, the crowd of people assemble to stop him. You see an open space and pull on his shirt, trying to drag him in that direction.

“What is wrong with ya?” he says angrily.

“I’m tryin to help,” you respond, yanking him. “Go this way.”

But in the time you spend trying to convince him to follow you, another crowd has gathered. He pulls away from you to shrug his jacket on, and you lose your grip on him. You stumble back and get lost in the crowd, surging forward. You can still see him, but you’re drowning in a sea of people you don’t know, faces you don’t recognize. You watch as a young woman presses a kiss onto his lips, and your gut drops like a brick into the ocean. You awkwardly turn to try and get back to the car. You decide to just wait there, but someone grasps harshly onto your wrist. You whirl back around.

“C'mon,” Elvis says, his angry expression is back, making your heart lurch.

You don’t necessarily enjoy his anger when it’s directed at you. But the fact that he’s grasping your wrist instead of anyone else’s is making your body feel hot. You suddenly realize that everyone in the crowd is probably wondering who you are. Elvis drags you into the building and the doors slam behind you. He releases your wrist, and you peer around the dark hallway. Elvis hugs the man who let you into the building, the man who, now looking at him, you’re pretty sure is B.B. King.

“It’s damn good to see ya, EP. What the hell you doin up here tonight?”

“Goddamn it, B.B. There’s so much happenin, with mama goin on bout the hound dog and the Colonel’s got me wearin tails and everybody wants somethin different, I-”

“Hey, listen,” B.B. says, grabbing his shoulders. “If you’re sad and you wanna be sad, you’re at the right place. If you’re happy and you wanna be happy? Guess what, you’re at the right place. So just do me a favor, let it all hang out. Let it all hang out, EP!”

“Let it all hang out,” Elvis agrees.

B.B.’s eyes flick behind Elvis and finally latch onto you, awkwardly standing still with your fingers intertwined in front of you.

“And who’s this lovely lady?” he asks, taking your hand to press a chaste kiss to it. You smile bashfully.

“This is Birdie,” Elvis responds, avoiding your eyes, “my neighbor.”

“B.B. King, nice to meet you,” B.B. responds. You smile.

“Oh, I know who y'are. Elvis talks about ya all the time.”

“Does he now? And did he drag you all the way up here with him just to meet me?”

“No, I did not drag her up here,” Elvis responds, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

You gulp. Suddenly, two girls come crashing through the hallway, hanging onto each other and laughing.

“B.B.! How you doin baby?” one of them asks through a fit of giggles. “Oh, my, and the Elvis Presley. I thought you was too big to be comin up here anymore.”

“Never,” he replies, and you despise the way he smirks at her, looking the woman up and down. The other girl mindlessly stumbles away, leaving just the three of you in the hallway.

“Dolores, this is Birdie, Elvis’ friend,” B.B. says, gesturing toward you. You give her a small smile, and she returns a genuine one.

“This your first time down here on Beale Street?”

You nod, wondering what gives you away so easily.

“What’re ya here for? The music? I know Elvis is,” Dolores says, throwing a sexy smile in Elvis’ direction. Your heart thuds in your chest, but you swallow the lump in your throat.

“I’m just here to absorb as much as I can. Maybe do some dancin? I’m ain't too sure.”

“Well you can dance and absorb all you want, hunny, but you ain’t wearin that inside,” Dolores says, gesturing at your outfit.

You glance down at your checked skirt and yellow sweater, suddenly feeling like a massive prude.

“W-what’s wrong with it?”

Dolores gives you a disgusted face but shrugs.

“Well there ain’t nothin wrong with it, per se. But it just ain’t the kinda thing you wear to a club like Club Handy. We gotta get you into somethin else. Shopping time! Come on, baby, let’s get you set up.”

Dolores grabs your hand and starts to drag you along.

“We’ll be back, gentleman. Enjoy ya fellas time,” she says, waving as you head out.

You’ve never been around a woman with so much force before. Not force in a bad way, but in a way that makes you feel powerful and in control. That isn’t a feeling you’re used to. Most of your friends at home are like little flowers, always doing what they’re told and never going out for any reason other than to attend Church or visit the library. Dolores pulls you out of the building and across the street. You notice that the crowd has dispersed completely now, although the streets are still busy. You approach a dress shop with low lighting.

“Uh…is it still open? It’s quite late,” you say, never having heard of a late night dress shop.

“Of course it’s still open! What if somebody needed a dress late at night, just like we do right now?” Dolores asks.

You walk into the shop together, and your eyes bulge out of your head. The dresses are gorgeous but nothing like you’ve ever seen before. They are short, tight, and sparkly all over. You can’t help but let your mouth fall open as you glance around at the bold colors adorning the walls and mannequins. This store is teeming with potential, but for a girl like you?

“Mama Ray! Are you in here?” Dolores yells.

A middle-aged black woman comes out from the back, smiling sweetly.

“Dolores, baby, it’s good to see you again! Come in, come in! What d’ya need, girl?”

“We need a dress for this girl right here,” Dolores says smoothly. “Somethin worthy of a dance night at Club Handy. Somethin for a girl tryna get a man all hot and bothered, you know.”

“Ooh, girl! Come here, then, lemme see ya,” Mama Ray says, and you step toward her, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. Mama Ray circles you like a hawk, looking up and down your angles and curves. She rubs a finger on her chin, grabbing a few samples of colors and holding them up to your cheeks.

“Aha, that’s the one,” she says finally, pulling a deep sparkly black hue. “I got one in the back in this color that you should try.”

She disappears around the corner and Dolores leans against the checkout counter, playing with her immaculate nails.

“So how long have you been in love with Elvis?” she asks without skipping a beat, even though her statement makes your heart skip about a hundred beats.

“What?” you sputter.

“Oh come on, sugar. I’m not blind. Any damn body can tell by the way you look at him that you’ve got the hots for him.”

You look over at her, about to protest again, but her kind eyes make you want to confide in her. Besides, even if you did tell her the truth, you didn’t think she’d actually believe one word you say. You sigh deeply and nod.

“A long time, Dolores,” you reply. “We were goin together back when he was stayin in Louisiana, but…”

You wave your hand dismissively.

“Well it don't much matter now.”

“What the hell do you mean it don't matter?”

“We broke up. It was messy. It’s over.”

“It don’t have to be,” she says. “You just gotta show him what he’s missin.”

Your head snaps to attention as Mama Ray comes out from the back with the long sparkling dress. She holds it out for you, and you disappear behind the curtains of the dressing room. You drop your head into your hands for a moment, breathing deeply.

How did you get yourself into this mess?

You undress and gently try to pull the black dress on. It takes you a minute to figure out exactly how it’s supposed to fit. You’ve never worn anything like it in your life and shrug, holding two pieces of fabric in front of your face.

You exit the dressing room, holding the straps like they’re fragile baby birds. Dolores laughs as soon as she sees you and beckons you over.

“You didn’t even look at yourself, did ya?” she asks, maneuvering you over to a mirror. “That ain’t how you wear it. Lemme help ya.”

You lean away her for a moment, trying to resist, but she’s too willful. And before you know it you’re standing in front of yourself. Except the person looking at the mirror is not the same one peering back through the glass. Dolores’ fingers daintily and expertly maneuver the portions of the dress around until it looks much more natural. She steps back and your mouth drops open for a moment at the sight of yourself. The dress is skin tight, hugging all of your curves in the right places.

The top is crossed at the neck, leaving a hole where your cleavage is clearly visible. Another strap winds around your throat like a choker and it has a gem which draws attention to your jawline. You feel regal and elegant. You can also feel that it leaves the entire top half of your back uncovered. The way it hugs your hips and then falls into grand drapes makes you look taller and older. You touch a hand to your chest, shocked by the sight of yourself.

“Ooh, hot mama!” Dolores shouts, clapping her hands. She takes a turn around your body, pinching and tucking parts of the dress to see how it fits you. “Damn that fits you good. He ain’t gonna be able to take his eyes off of you.”

“That dress was made for ya, honey,” Mama Ray agrees, nodding her head. “In fact…I’ll sell it to ya for half off cause it looks so good on ya.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. I have plenty to-”

“I said what I said.”

You shut your mouth, reaching into your purse to grab what little cash you have stuffed away in there.

“Try these on, too,” she says, sliding a pair of high-heeled black pumps across the counter. 

With Dolores’ help you step into them.

“How do ya feel?” Dolores asks.

“Uh…not like myself.”

“Nah, baby, that’s the point,” Dolores says, placing her hands on your shoulders. “The real you is scared, too frightened to be bold and make a move on the man you want. This you, well she’s strong. She’s brave. Pretend like you’re someone else. Embrace this new version of you and make up a whole new name for yourself. Who do you wanna be?”

“Bird,” you say without skipping a beat. “Elvis always calls me 'Lil Birdie'. He even introduced me to ya as Birdie, but that's ain't my name. I ain't no little birdie, anymore."

[ -> "Tupelo Shuffle" ]

“No you ain’t, hunny. But one last thing before we go get you your man,” Dolores says, reaching up to untie the ribbon holding your hair up into a ponytail. You breathe deeply as the hair falls down and tickles your neck and ears. Dolores fluffs it up then turns you around to look at yourself before speaking.

“He has no idea what’s comin.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

You and Dolores run, giggling, across the street back to Club Handy. You are terrified to move in the tight dress for fear of breaking it, but the more you shift the more comfortable you get. By the time you’re running up the stairs of the club you’re moving like a regular pro, looking elegant and sexy while you do. As you climb the stairs, quite a few men whistle and compliment you. You smile bashfully and fluff your hair up. Dolores stops you right outside the door, grabbing your hands.

“Alright now,” she says. “Don’t forget who you are tonight, Bird. Be confident, be sexy, and most of all be a tease.”

She winks and you nod, instinctively pulling her into a hug. She chuckles and hugs you back.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

She swings the door open and music floods into the hallway. You both step in, feeling energized and buzzing with nerves. The music is fast-paced and loud, the room smells deeply of smoke and cologne. You take a big whiff, feeling emboldened by the strength of the scent. You look around for a moment, spotting Elvis talking to B.B. in a corner. He hasn’t noticed you yet since he’s bent over with a relaxed smile. It’s a smile you haven't seen in quite a while and one you've desperately missed. You are jealous, wishing you had been the one to make him smile like that.

“I might need a little liquid courage,” you say, and she nods with a mischievous smile.

You walk together over to the bar and order two whiskeys. You start to drink yours but sputter, spitting some out. You feel your face grow hot with embarrassment, but luckily everyone’s attention is focused on the young man singing at the front of the room.

“Now that ain’t cool. Is Bird the type of woman who can’t hold her liquor?” Dolores asks, staring you down. You clear your throat and shake your head stiffly.

“Hell no she’s ain't,” you respond, pouring the rest of your drink down your throat like you’d seen Mrs. Presley do a time or two before. It burns your esophagus and tears well up in your eyes, but channeling Bird helps you blink them away.

Whether it’s just you being a lightweight and drinking for the first time or the strength of the whiskey or your brain making things up, you feel emboldened and maybe a little drunk already? You smile confidently and hook your arm over Dolores’ elbow. You both saunter over to where Elvis and B.B. King are sitting.

“Well, hi there, boys!” Dolores says, her voice like velvet.

You point your chin up as much as you can, elongating your neck. Elvis starts to look up with a smile, but it fades quickly when he finally sees you. You stare back directly, refusing to back down. You’re tired of running away and the courage from the liquor buzzing in your brain helps you do what you’ve wanted to do for the last few months.

His eyes slowly, agonizingly trace down your figure, around every inch of your body. You can see him taking in everything you’re putting out, including the cleavage in the middle of your chest. You feel sexier than ever with his eyes landing on you like that, and it makes you even more confident. When his eyes return to yours, they are black with lust. His lips are parted and you can see him practically panting for you. You relax your body, sticking your hip out to place your palm on it sassily. You’re daring him to want you

“Damn. Lil Birdie, I-”

“My name ain't Birdie, tonight,” you cut him off. “Tonight I’m just Bird.”

You can see the confusion turn into recognition in his eyes as you speak the words. His eyebrows furrow and you catch a glimmer of sadness in them.

“Well, Bird, how was your shopping trip?” B.B asks, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Oh I’d say it was very successful,” Dolores responds. “Wouldn’t you, B.B.? I mean just look at this dress Mama Ray pulled out for Bird.”

“Oh I’d say it was a success, alright,” B.B. agrees, and you notice his eyes trailing up and down your figure as well. He pulls out the chair next to him. You glance at Dolores who raises her eyebrow, and you understand.

You saunter in front of her to sit down next to B.B. and lean forward in the chair. You rest your elbows on the table, feeling Elvis’ eyes track your every movement and loving every single second of it. You stare intently at B.B. with a little smile festering on your face.

“So, this is my first time on Beale Street,” you start, tracing the top of a whiskey glass on the table with your finger. It’s pretty different from where I live.”

“Yeah? Is different bad?”

“Oh no. Different is good. Really good. This place feels like everythin I been missing,” you respond. “The cars are fast, clothes are fine, and the men? Well…”

[ -> "Do You Love Me" ]

You let your finger fall down from the whiskey glass onto B.B.'s fingers, lightly tracing across them. As you stare into each other’s eyes, the music changes to something energetic but sensual. B.B. stands and offers you his hand.

“Would you like to dance, Bird?”

You smile and stretch your arm out in response, dropping you fingers into his. He pulls you up and after him onto the dancefloor. As you walk by Elvis’ chair, you make sure to ‘accidentally’ drag your fingers along his shoulders. You barely feel him shudder under your touch for a quick moment before B.B. has you on the dancefloor.

You’ve only ever danced a formal waltz and a little shimmy here and there, but nothing like the gyrating hips and quick feet you see around you. You let B.B. take the lead, and he pulls you close as you string your arms over his shoulders.

“Now I know you aren’t wearing that dress for me,” B.B. whispers in your ear as your hips sway together. “Or anybody else in this building except for one person.”

“I don’t know what ya mean, B.B.”

He just nods at Elvis, who’s still tracking your every move with his deep blue eyes. You glance around for Dolores and find her giggling in the corner with a handsome man.

“It’s really that obvious?" you ask and then sigh deeply. This is the second time tonight someone has commented on your — apparently obvious — infatuation with Elvis. 

“Pretty obvious,” B.B. replies. “Maybe not to some people, but as a man I can tell when a woman is trying to turn someone on. Chicks don’t wear dresses like this for no reason. But I think I can help ya.”

“I welcome it. Elvis hates me,” you say. “We had a messy breakup and things have never been the same.”

“Sometimes that's how things go, but it doesn’t mean they’ve gotta stay that way,” B.B. responds, gripping your hip firmly onto him. You don’t feel any sexual attraction toward B.B., but if you did it would be over for you. He certainly knows how to hold a woman tenderly in all the right places.

“Arch your back just a little.”

You follow his directions, making sure to emphasize your ass and chest. As B.B. turns you around, you make eye contact with Elvis. His finger is dragging along his bottom lip, pulling it out, and his eyes are focused on you totally, completely, unwavering. You hold his gaze and cuddle closer to B.B., turning your head to brush your lips gently against B.B.’s ear.

“You’re an evil genius,” B.B. laughs. “He’ll hate that.”

This time when B.B. swirls you around, you purposefully avoid Elvis’ eyes, knowing he’s looking for you. You’re like a toddler on a carousel with an attentive parent watching your every turn around the circle. Just as you laugh at something B.B. says, the song ends and another, less dance-worthy tune heats up.

“I could use another drink. Buy me one?” you ask B.B. and he nods, taking your hand and leading you to the bar.

You get another whiskey, down it fast, and feel immediately blurred. But you love it. It’s all according to your plan as you walk back to the table. B.B. pulls your chair out for you, placing you directly between he and Elvis. You smirk as you take your seat and throw your head back to shake out your hair. You can feel his eyes burning holes through your clothes, but you turn away from him toward B.B. and get back to chatting, making sure to laugh at all of B.B.’s jokes.

After a while, most of the people in the club have left, and there’s only a handful still milling around. The lights have been dimmed down and tables emptied as the last few guests crowd onto the dancefloor. You’re on your third whiskey when you realize that, at some point, Elvis and B.B. had gone out to the balcony to talk. So, it’s just you left at the table, with Dolores hanging about somewhere. You’ve started to lose track of time and everything moves in slow motion, blurred and relaxed.

[ -> "Fever" ]

When the song changes again, you find yourself stretching up from your seated place, drawn to the dancefloor. You make sure to sway your hips even though Elvis is nowhere to be found. You position yourself near one of the windows, mostly hidden from others, where you can do your thing and only be noticed by a few people, most of all the one you want to notice you.

You slowly reach your arms up into the air and begin to sway your hips around in time with the music. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, letting the music flow through your veins and direct your body. You feel connected, at peace, and utterly in love with yourself. You can feel that you’re irresistible right now and everyone has their eyes on you.

With your eyes closed, you feel completely disoriented. Suddenly, hands are on your waist, gripping the skin, and hot breath is ghosting over your neck. Your eyes fly open, and you tilt your head. You would know the touch of those hands anywhere.

“Can I help you,” you mumble.

Elvis chuckles breathily as one of his hands slides its way onto your abdomen, while the other sneaks down toward your heat. Your hand flies up to stop him, gripping his fingers and moving them back up to a respectable place.

“Uh, uh, uh,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t get dirty with men who don’t deserve it.”

You resist a shudder as his lips tickle your ear. He presses his body against your backside, and you let your arms drape back onto his shoulders. You sway your ass into him and feel his member twitch. You smirk as his grip on your stomach tightens, squeezing the breath from your body. Your eyes close again, and you tilt your neck to the side. Your heart rate increases with every hot breath he takes on your neck. Just as his lips brush the tender skin there, the song ends abruptly.

It takes everything in you, but you won’t give him the satisfaction. You push away from his body, untangling yourself despite his best efforts to hold on. Fixing your dress and hair, you return to the table to finish your drink. You feel his eyes on your figure as you slink away, sitting down and dumping the rest of your whiskey down your throat like a pro. You let the unpleasant sensation ripple through your body, shivering, and turn with a drunken smile toward B.B. You open your mouth to say something flirty, but-

“Get up,” Elvis’ voice is raspy and deep as he mutters into your ear.

You whip around, about to tell him to fuck off, but when you see his expression you falter. His eyes are angrier than you’ve ever seen them, almost black in the dim lights of the club. There’s something about his intense gaze that’s unhinged, animalstic. It scares you and also arouses you, so you smile briefly at B.B. and get up from your seat. As soon as you stand, Elvis, grabs onto your bicep and ushers you into the hallway. He swings you outside, and you roughly pull back on his grasp.

“Hey, go easy, ya brute,” you spat, managing to rip yourself away from him. You smooth down your dress. “What the hell is thi-”

“What the fuck do ya think you’re doing?” he hisses, grabbing your arm again.

“Excuse me?” you hiss back. “I haven’t done nothin to you. Let go of me, ya asshole.”

You wiggle in his fingers, but his arm slams loudly onto the wall by your head. It prevents you from going anywhere, pinning you between a wall and a hard place. You look at him with widened eyes.

“Let me leave, Elvis,” you say, genuinely a little scared now. “I wanna go home.”

You duck under his arm, but it slips off the wall and wraps itself around your wrist. You flail your arms from side to side and even try to thump his chest a few times, but he only holds on tighter. As you struggle, he backs you up, slamming you against the wall. You shudder in a sense of alarm, which is quickly turning into delight. He presses himself up against you, clenching his jaw. Every part of his body touches you, except in the place where you need him most. He stretches your arms up, pinning them above your head and bears down on you. You smirk, chuckling silently.

“What’s wrong, EP? Can’t take the heat?” you breathily whisper and flash your teeth as you bite at the air like an untamed horse.

Who is this person and what are they saying?

Whatever you did works, though, because he audibly growls and presses your wrists harder into the wall.

“Why are ya doin this to me?” he demands, pressing into you. You resist the urge to moan or groan, neglecting your body’s most primal needs. Your leg twitches, tingling to wrap itself against him, but you resist with every fiber of your being.

“Doin what?” you reply with a voice much stronger than you feel.

You lean into the air between you, challenging him to answer. You both breathe heavily, knowing what you want but refusing to give in. You watch as his eyes fall down to your breasts and then back up to your eyes. You feel him hard against your thigh, but you clamp your teeth together.

“You know damn well what ya doin, Lil Birdie.”

“Just Bird. I’m ain't little anymore, Elvis. You’ll call me Bird.”

His eyes flash angrily for a moment and you gulp before the lusty glaze returns. He continues through clenched teeth. You decide to play coy, knowing it’ll drive him wild.

“And I have no idea what ya talkin about,” you say, strategically letting your leg slide up his body and hook onto his hips. You watch his eyes follow the movement. He says nothing, and you know it’s because he can’t.

“Is it…things like this,” you angle your head toward his bare forearm, dragging your tongue across the skin, tasting the salt of his body. “Is that what I’m doin?”

He groans again, and you can see his jaw clenching roughly. It’s taking everything in him not to pounce on you.

“Goddamn it. I swear to god, Lil Birdie, if you don’t stop this right now,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“What? What are ya gonna do about it?”

You stare at each other for a moment. There is almost no light in the hallway; the only shadows in the room come from the blinking lights of the street signs outside. You can smell the lingering scent of smoke on Elvis’ clothes. A creeping smirk is pasted on your face, and his chest rises and falls rapidly with labored breathing. Already tired of waiting, you flex your leg on his hip, pushing his member against you.

His lips crash onto yours, pushing your head flush against the wall. You curl your fingers above your head, arching your back to press your body harder against his. His grip is firm on your wrists and it aches, but you welcome the pain. He’s kissing you frantically, desperately, hotly all over. There’s no chance for either of you to breathe. Every time he finishes a kiss, he goes straight back for another one. His hair is getting messy, falling into your faces and tickling your skin. You bite his bottom lip, and he forces his tongue into your mouth.

As he assaults your lips, you squeeze him with your leg, and he responds immediately by pressing himself against you and pulling back before repeating. You moan quietly into his plump lips, and he groans in response. He starts to get into a rhythm, and you feel yourself growing warmer by the minute. Your stomach is twisting and turning, demanding more contact. His lips slip off yours and trail hot, wet kisses down onto your neck. He bites and sucks harshly on the skin, and you moan louder at the pleasure that shockwaves through your body. He manages to bite a sweet spot on your neck at the exact moment his hips thrust between your clothed bodies and you can’t help yourself. His name flies out in a moan through your lips.

“No…” he growls.

Suddenly the air around you is devastatingly cold. Your leg falls to the ground with a thud and your arms follow. They hang limp at your sides as you struggle for breath. Elvis has pushed himself off of you and is standing at the opposite end of the hallway, breathless and disheveled. You look at him from across the way, feeling tears start to well up in your eyes. You’re frozen, this time with real fear. Not of his anger but of losing him again. Despite the fuzziness of the booze from earlier, you feel more sober than ever now. Elvis makes eye contact with you, biting onto his tongue with his teeth. He laughs, but something is off. It’s not a happy laugh or even a lusty one. It’s disturbed, sadistic almost, as if he couldn’t even believe he’d let himself be manipulated by little old you. He glares back at you and even in the dim lights, you can see that his eyes are glassy. He shakes his head and then sprints down the stairs.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

It takes you a second to gather your breath and to push the tears back into your eyes, even though your face won’t unscrew itself from the emotional pain. You wipe a straggling tear away as you bound down the stairs after him. When you hit the bottom step, you pause for a moment to quickly tear off your shoes to move faster. They are starting to hurt your feet, anyway. You run outside to see him climbing into the car.

All of the lights along the street have either been turned off or dimmed, and there is almost no one left in the streets or buildings. The spotlights shine with hazy lights that reflect the moisture on the roads. In the distance, you hear the familiar sound of Elvis’ car starting — or trying to.  For some reason the engine sputters and the car stalls. By the time it’s finished hissing, your fingers are clutching onto the side of the convertible again.

“Goddamnit!” he screams, slamming his palms against the steering wheel.

His forehead follows, banging onto the wheel. You don’t get into the car, unsure of what to do. You want to hold him, tell him everything will be alright, stroke his hair. But everything is so awkward between you. Something in the universe doesn’t want you to be together. Not without a struggle, at least.

“Get in,” he mutters dryly. “I’ll take ya home.”

You keep quiet and climb into the car. Elvis patiently starts it and the engine revs to life just fine. He whips out of the space and starts driving home. You can’t bring yourself to say anything. Not even when you notice that he’s taken a wrong turn. Not even when you’ve been driving for twenty minutes even though Graceland is only ten minutes away. Not even when the houses and cars start to become fewer and far between. The way he expertly navigates each turn suggests to you that he already knows it isn’t the way home. You know you should be scared since you have no idea where he’s taking you. He could be kidnapping you for all you know.

But nothing in you could care that much. You are with him and, truthfully, that’s all you care about. Once you’ve reached a dark, nature-filled area, he pulls over into the grass.

You haven’t had much time to go exploring around Memphis since Gladys has kept you pretty busy working at the house. But you can tell that you’re in some kind of park. It’s incredibly dark, but the headlights cast beams of yellow onto the scene. And the pale blue light of the moon adds an eerie but calming contrast as its glimmers reflect off the small body of water below you. You crane your neck to look up at the white wafer in the sky and Elvis stops the car.

The weather can not be better for being outside. The heavy, humid air is still warm but as the wind gently blows off the lake, it hits your skin, chilled, and balances out to the perfect temperature. You can hear crickets chirping and rustling leaves in the wind. Sitting here surrounded by the perfect weather and calming atmosphere of the park, you feel a sense of calmness like you’ve never experienced before.

“I don’t understand ya,” Elvis finally says in a monotone voice. No feeling in his tone, whatsoever.

You turn to him but say nothing, waiting for him to expand.

“I give you everythin and you reject it,” he continues. “Then outta nowhere, you want it all back. I-I don’t understand it.”

You still say nothing, feeling your forehead crease as it tries to prevent the tears from forming.

“Do ya have any idea what I’ve been goin through?” he asks, his voice raising. You finally look him in the eyes with desperate fear.

“You destroyed me, Birdie. Wrecked me completely,” he says, his eyes glassy in the darkness. “I didn’t know what to do with myself. I woke up every single damn day and wondered what the goddamn point uh life was if you ain’t here with me. Nothin felt right. Everythin was empty, even my music. I felt so goddamn alone. Like nobody was there for me. Like nobody fuckin cared, I mean really cared, bout me.”

“Then why d'ya do it?” you interject, whispering loudly. You shake your head leaning toward him. “Why did you come to me that day? We coulda just moved on. Together.”

“I did what I had to do,” he replies. “I thought…I thought it was the right thing to do. What I had to do.”

“How could you possibly think it was right, when it felt so, so wrong?”

“I was jus lookin out for my career, aright,” he’s shouting now. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doin! Everybody wants something goddamn different, and I don’t know how I’m ‘posed to please everybody. Mama wants one thing, the Colonel wants another, and then there’s you and…I just don’t know what the fuck you want. I think ya love me and then you leave me out to dry.”

“I didn’t mean to, Elvis!” you shout back. “I just…I was so angry with ya. For breakin my heart, for dumpin me like I was extra baggage!”

The tears start to spill out of you eyes, and your voice shakes and cracks.

“And I could tell that it was hurtin you and that it wasn’t what you wanted. So, the fact that you continued to lie to me…Elvis, it was breakin me into pieces. I trusted ya, even though everybody I know told me not to. I did. I trusted ya and, in that moment, you lied to me for no good reason other than to hurt me. You proved all those people right, and I didn’t know what to believe.”

“Listen,” he snapped, holding up a finger. “I never, ever meant to hurt ya. But don’t act like the innocent party here. I gave ya a chance. I put everythin out there for ya and you threw it all the garbage.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean to, I-”

“You know I didn’t have to fuckin say that to ya! Specially not when I’ve got girls throwin themselves at me left and right. I could have any damn woman I want. Temptation’s everywhere - and then here you fuckin go again in that goddamn dress tonight,” he cut himself off. “Puttin everything out there, gettin all up close with B.B. Everybody’s fuckin lookin at ya, wantin ya. Torturing me. Puttin me through hell and for what?! So you can win? So you can punish me? For what, Bird?!!”

“No!” you scream through clenched teeth.

“Fuck! You’re so damn infuriatin!” he yells, curling his fingers up like he’s squashing your head between them. “I told you that I fuckin loved ya, and you said nothing! Not a damn thing. You let me walk outta there thinkin that you didn’t give a damn bout me. Then you show up here workin with my mama, my fucking mother, behind my back. I wanted you outta my life and here you go again back in it. And now you just won't fuckin leave me alone! You won’t let me go down to Beale Street to cool myself off! You just always gotta be in the fuckin middle of it all!”

“I’m just tryna protect you! You were scarin me, Elvis! I thought maybe you were gonna hurt yourself or somethin, the way you tore outta there. I just want ya to be happy, damn it! And I can help! Why won’t you just let me in? I can help you!”

“Because I don’t want you to have to deal with all this! The colonel is the best chance I got. I gotta support my family, cause I ain’t gonna let 'em get into a situation like that ever again. I know I can be great and make a difference in this shit world. But I can’t do that on my own. I need help, and he’s gonna help me. He’s the only one who can, so I gotta trust him.”

“Fine!” you yell, throwing your hands up. “But why won’t you jus admit that he told you to break up with me?! I know he did. That’s all I wanted, Elvis! I just wanted to hear the truth from your lips. I didn’t wanna be lied to.”

“Yes! Alright, yes! He did advise me to break up with you! But his advice ain’t the only reason! I want you outta my life! I want you somewhere safe where you don’t gotta deal with none of this shit! All these people, th-these women, throwin themselves on me all the time! Hangin round my house! Callin my goddamn phone! All these cameras and photographers takin pictures of me every time I fuckin breathe. I didn’t wanna put ya through all that. It ain’t fair to ya!”

“Well,” you say weakly, your bottom lip starting to tremble. “Then I guess I’ll leave if ya want me to. The only reason I was here anyway is because ya mama asked me to come, but I can go tomorrow. I’ll move back to Louisiana and live with Daddy.”

“No. See that’s the worst fucking thing bout it,” he continues. “I don’t want you to leave at all. Not even a little bit.”

You’re both leaning into each other, your faces half angry and half sad. Both of your eyes are brimming with tears. Your faces are close without touching. You don’t know what to say to him, so your eyes desperately search his instead.

“I want you here all the damn time. I think about ya every second of every day,” he continues, reaching up to touch your cheek. “I want you every second of every day. Damn it, Lil Birdie, you have no fuckin idea how badly I wanted to rip this dress off ya body and have my way with ya right there. How badly I wanna touch ya, feel ya, make ya feel good, hear how ya scream my name.”

You close your eyes, leaning into his hand and biting your lip.

“And it ain’t jus that. I love bein with ya, talkin to ya. Everything about you draws me in. It’s like a trap. But I can’t keep doin this with ya. It’s like one day you want me and when I come too close, you push me away. And I jus don’t think…that I can be around ya if you don’t love me back. Because…Lil Birdie, I ain’t ever loved anyone or anythin as much as I love you. With my entire being. Everythin that I am. And bein around you…it just hurts too damn much.”

His voice starts to crack at the end of the sentence and he drops his head. You hear him sniff and notice his shoulders lightly shaking. All of your uncomfortable tingles fall away, and you quickly move closer to him to rest your palms on the sides of his face. You lift it to see his eyes underneath the dark night sky. Tears are streaming down his cheeks and you hurriedly wipe them away.

“No, no, no, no. Oh, Elvis, I didn’t mean to…I didn’t want any of this. I never meant to hurt ya I just don’t trust the Colonel, that’s all. He’s a manipulator, just like my daddy can be. I know it cause I see the same things in him that I see in my own daddy. All he’ll do is hurt ya and ruin ya. And I can’t,” you get choked up,” I can’t take that.”

“It doesn't matter none. Nunna this does if you don’t love me anyhow,” he quietly breathes out. You sniff hard and look up at the moon and stars, trying to will your emotions into subservience.

“I…I didn’t say it before cause I was afraid, okay?” you whisper. The tears fall silently down your face now, staining your skin. “The last person I said it to was my mama, right before she died. And I haven't said it to nobody else since then, cause…”

You lose your voice, both embarrassed and afraid of the secret words you have never voiced to anyone other than yourself.

“Cause what?” he asks, looking up at you with glossy eyes.

“Nothin. It’s stupid,” you reply, pinching the bridge of your nose. He pries your fingers loose and tilts your chin toward him.

“There ain’t nothin you could ever say to me that’s stupid. Talk to me, baby.”

His sweet blue eyes always hold so much passion and when they're trained on you, it feels like you’re the most expensive object in the world. The only one worth looking at. You take a shaky breath.

“Well, the thing is, ya see, my mama was real sick. On her deathbed sick, and I went to visit her at the hospital and I…well I told her that I loved her. And she jus…” the tears start streaming again. “She jus died! Right there! Right after I’d said it…I can’t never say it again, Elvis. I’m terrified that it’s gonna…th-that I’m gonna…”

“Kill someone?”

You wince in pain as you try to hold back your tears.

“I told ya it was stupid.”

“It ain’t stupid, baby,” he says, moving to cup your cheek. “No, it ain’t stupid. And I’m sorry if I pressured ya, I just didn’t know.”

“How could ya? I never told nobody. Not even daddy. This is the first time I’ve ever said it out loud, actually.”

He scoots as close to you as he can with the gear shift between you and strokes both of your cheeks with his thumbs.

“I know you care bout me. That much is obvious, specially since I know you didn’t come all the way up here to help my mama in the kitchen,” he says, smiling. You release a sad laugh. “That’s more of a nightmare than a dream. And I can feel it in the way you look at me. I can tell. But if you ain’t ready to say it, I ain’t gonna make ya. I just…I would really like it if…can we try again?”

You look at him in the moonlight. His hair is disheveled, pushed back onto his head and tangled. He looks so incredibly handsome in the pale moonlight as it casts soft, hazy shadows over his features.

“Please, Lil Birdie, can we try again?”

You nod. He offers a small smile, bringing your head to his lips to kiss your forehead gently. You close your eyes and eagerly accept it. When he pulls back, he releases you and turns back around in his seat. You stay put, gazing at him in the moonlight again as he leans his head back against the seat and heaves a big breath. He looks more relaxed, but his lips are pressed into a straight line.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Gathering what energy you have left, you climb out of the car and walk around to his side. You hold out your hand, silently, nudging his finger with yours. He glances over at you with sad eyes and you speak.

“Dance with me.”

You mean to ask him, but it comes out more like a command.

“We ain’t got no music,” he mumbles. You lean over him in the car, flicking on the radio and punching a few different stations until you land on one with a slow song. “Cry to Me” by Solomon Burke.

[ -> Cry to Me ]

“Now what’s your excuse?” you ask.

He says nothing.

“Dance with me, Elvis.”

You wiggle your fingers, and he glances up before reaching for your hand. You pop open the door to the car and he swings his legs out, standing up. After he straightens up, you have to glance up at him. You drag him in front of the car, the headlights casting shadows of your bodies onto the grass canvas behind you. You carefully move your hands to his chest, stepping closer to him. His arms weakly wind around your waist and lay limp on your hips. When you look up to see his chin pointed down, you slide a few fingers underneath it and raise his eyes up to yours. He looks soft, sweet, and subdued staring down at you. You begin to sway from side to side, gently and intimately.

You slide your hands up his chest and pull him close to you, winding your arms up and around his neck. You slide your fingers onto the nape of his neck, gingerly yanking on the tuft of hair at the bottom of his head. His head slowly tilts back in acceptance of your touch. You feel his arms strengthen, pulling you closer, and he lowers his forehead to yours. You sway your hips against him to the rhythm of the music and slowly start to lean your head back. His grip on your waist tightens as you bend the top half of your body all the way back, hinging at the waist like you’d watched a few women do at the club. When you come back up to him, you run your hands over the soft lace of his pink top, taking in all the texture you can. You nod your face up, brushing your lips softly against his. His eyes close and you hear his deep breaths as he grips onto what little fabric of your dress he can clutch.

“You made me a promise once,” you whisper against his lips.

“Nah, it ain’t right,” he responds, shaking his head. And you know he remembers what he’d promised you on the lake.

“And breakin a promise is?” you ask, pulling back to look into his eyes.

You wind your whole arm around his shoulders, and he supports your back as he dips you in a circle. When he pulls you back up, his arms travel up your back, his hands clutching onto your shoulders. Somehow, he manages to pull you even further into him. Your bodies are pressed together again, just like they had been at the club. Your insides start to throb, feeling him grow against your leg. He needs you, and you desperately want to give him what he requires.

“Unless…you don’t want me,” you suggest, knowing you’re wrong but giving him an easy out if he really doesn’t feel up to it. He shakes his head immediately and chuckles softly.

As your bodies sway together to the music, friction increases between your skin. You tilt your head to the side, and he moves his head into the space you’d created for him. His breath is warm on your neck, and his lips brush against your skin. Not kissing it, but almost. You feel one of his hands travel down the dress and onto your ass. As you lean your body backward again, he supports your entire frame with one arm, his eyes tracking your body as it moves fluidly. He watches the way your neck exposes itself to him with hunger. He pulls you up again to his eye level. His face is obscured by shadows in the moonlight, but even in the darkness you can see the desire, the dark lust, the need for you.

“Oh hell no, baby girl. I want ya somethin fierce,” he says. “I always do.”

And you can tell the difference between his expression now compared to the one from the club. This one isn’t just lust. It’s desire. He doesn’t just want your body. He wants all of you. Whatever you have to give.

Your head is tilted still, and you close your eyes as he drags his hot lips up the skin and onto your cheek. He presses his forehead against yours. You keep your eyes shut, not wanting to see, only to feel his hands, his mouth on you. His presence.

“Then take me,” you whisper, bringing your fingers up to his face. You sensually drag them down his cheekbones and to his lips. He groans, quietly, in contentment and you smile.

“I can’t.”

“Why not? I’m givin you everything ya need. I’m givin you permission, no I’m askin for it. I’m beggin for it. For ya to love me in every way that you can…because I love you.”

His eyes flash open in shock, and his hand slides onto your face to stroke your cheekbone.

“I love you, Elvis,” you repeat and a smile breaks onto your face. You release a tense breath, feeling free from the cage you’d locked yourself in. He returns the expression with the smile of someone so deeply in love. In the way his eyes search you and see you, you can feel his love. It swirls around you and pulls you into a warm embrace.

The next time you lean back to be dipped, he reaches through the slit in the side of the dress to grab onto your thigh. His fingers dig deeply into the skin, supporting you without question. And he pulls you flush against him, expertly angling his hips into your heat. You gasp, letting your head fall back again. And you start to move in rhythm against his hips. He slowly raises you up again to let your lips brush together once more and you feel his lips twitch up into a small smirk.

You hover by his lips for a moment before letting your fingers drag across his chest. You take in the feeling of the lace, the soft skin of his chest in between, and watch as your fingers pull apart the open flaps. You circle around to his back, running your hands up his spine and feeling him shudder underneath you. As you circle back to the front, you let your fingers fall uncomfortably low on his back, ghosting over his bum and then teasing the skin right above his belt loops. His eyes flutter closed for a second, his lips falling open. You raise yourself onto tip-toes, whispering into his ear.

“Take me, Elvis.”

By the way his fingers turn you around, you can tell that he’s giving in. His hands slide effortlessly down your abdomen, creeping closer to your heat. You turn your head for a moment, but it’s enough time for his lips to return to your neck. He doesn’t kiss it, doesn’t bite it, just rests there, teasing the skin. He deftly unclips the top part of your dress fastened around your neck and the straps fall open, resting on your chest and exposing the tops of your breasts for him to access. You breathe heavily, feeling the mounds expand and contract. You throw your arm up and over his shoulder, grasping onto his neck as you gyrate your hips back into him. His hand moves to wind around your ribcage, just below your breasts. So close, but so far. He whips you around to face him.

“I love this dress,” he says, smirking. “Let’s burn it.”

He walks you back until your thighs hit the front hood of the car. You slide your hands down his chest, pulling up on the fabric of the lace top and untucking it from his pants. You lift the shirt up over his head and toss it somewhere on the grass. Your hands return to his shoulders, running down his smooth skin and feeling the hair on his chest. You bite your lip, nudging your nose against his. You feel him twitch against you and raise his lips up. You deny him a kiss, even as his hands slide underneath your legs and lift you up onto the hood of the car. Your pussy is throbbing now with him pressing against you to intensify the feeling. You spread your legs, pulling him in between your thighs. He nestles his head into your neck again and this time, he gives you what you need.

He kisses the skin hotly and then bites it playfully, pulling on the skin. You sigh with pleasure. His calloused hands push the fabric of the dress aside to run up your thighs. He leans on top of you, pulling your leg around his hip. You let him lay you down on top of the hood, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in. Your eyes are locked despite the movement. You can feel him even more now as he leans against you on top of the car. Your pussy screams for contact and you wiggle to try and get some. He's positioned his hand behind your head to protect it from the metal hood of the car, and his fingers splay onto your neck to support you.

Your hands fly to his face, gently stroking both of his cheeks with your thumbs. You look at each other for a minute, sharing a silent expression of love. Your head bobs forward without realizing, wanting his lips. But he's too far away, so all your action does is show him how badly you need his lips. You’ve waited long enough. He caresses you so gently, tilting his face down and finally pressing his lips to yours. The perfect kind of kiss, sweet but still passionate. His plump lips wrap perfectly around yours, and as he kisses you, he applies more pressure. You push back, liking the little game you’re playing.

He runs his tongue over your lower lip, and you push him back to look at him. You can feel your eyes growing heavy with lust, and you know he probably finds you sexier than ever with how badly you clearly want him. He leans down again, and you open your mouth for him to slip in. Your tongues dance together, swirling around each other. He gently thrusts against you. You whimper quietly and let your hands slide down the smooth skin of his chest again.

You push him back, leaning up to stay in contact with his lips. But far enough back that you can dance your fingers down to the skin above his belt. You feel his stomach suck in a breath as you grab onto the metal belt hook and pull him harshly against you. He grunts, and you smirk into the kiss as you start to unhook his belt. You angrily pull it out of the loops and throw it onto the ground, wanting it out of the way. As you slide down off the hood, his hands fall to your waist and then onto your ass, squeezing it hard. You unbutton and unzip his pants, wickiedly running your fingers down into the pants and over his hard dick. He slides his hands around your waist, gripping you hard, and yanks himself away.

“Jump,” he commands, breathlessly. You do as he directs, and he pulls you effortlessly onto his hips. You wrap your legs around him, winding your arms around his shoulders and kissing him passionately, frantically, deeply.

He carries you around to the side of the car, pushing your legs down. You plop to the ground, and he flips you around again to pull your body against him. His hands travel up your sides, under your armpits, pushing your arms above your head. You leave them up, wiggling your fingers into the chilly air as his fingers tickle your upper back while he unzips the dress. You feel hot breath and wet kisses on your back as he pushes the fabric aside and kisses down your spine. You shudder and arch your back when he swipes his tongue over your lower back. He pushes the fabric down your body and pulls it off your hips, leaving you only in a strapless bra, panties, and the garter belt holding up your silk stockings.

You turn around and lean against the door to the backseat. He kneels underneath you, pulling your leg up and over his shoulder. He runs his hands down your thighs, tugging on the straps of the garter belt. You pant and bite your lip, watching his fingers dance across your skin. He unclips the belt and wraps his fingers around the tops of the stockings, slowly, agonizingly rolling them back off your legs. He kisses down your thighs, down your kneecaps, your shins, and onto the tops of your feet. He does your other leg, and you wiggle in anticipation, feeling your desire start to leak through your panties and the swollen lips of your pussy.

Elvis’ hands claw their way back up to the belt, unfastening it from your waist and letting it fall to the ground. As he stands, his hands slide up your back, clutching onto your bra and pushing it open. He sways you back and forth to the music still coming from the radio, pressing himself flush against you. He opens the door to the backseat, and you let him lay you down as he flings the bra off to some unknown space in the grass. You giggle giddily, bending your knees to wrap around his hips as he lowers himself down onto you.

You kiss him eagerly, clutching onto the back of his neck and pushing his hips down into you. His hands slide up your stomach, massaging your breasts as he bites and pulls on your lips. As soon as his fingers latch onto your nipple, you moan into his lips.

“So sexy…” he mumbles as he pulls back roughly to latch his lips onto your nipple.

His tongue swirls around the sensitive skin, and your fingers tangle themselves into his hair. The chilled wind means that your nipples are standing to attention, and you can tell that he likes it. He sucks on the sensitive skin around your breasts, nipping at your nipple and pulling it between his teeth. You moan breathlessly, grabbing painfully onto his hair. You feel him moan back into your skin, which only makes you wetter. He releases your skin and the cold wind freezes the moisture on your skin. You frantically pull at his hair and face, wanting him back on your lips.

He crashes up onto you, and your fingers desperately clutch lower on his body, pushing the fabric of his pants away. He pulls back, straightening and you jump to help him toss his pants off. When they’re laying lifeless on the ground, you push him down onto the seat, climbing on top of his waist to straddle him. His hands fall to your ass as you push him all the way back onto the seats, leaning over him and letting your hair tickle his chest.

“Fuck…so sexy, lil mama,” he says, biting his lip. You smirk, feeling your pussy throb at his words.

His mouth falls open with labored breathing as he runs his tongue over his teeth at the sight of you on top of him. You start to move your hips against him, pushing your ass into the air as you lean down to kiss his neck. His hands grip your ass harder, pushing you back and forth as you grind on his dick. He growls as you bite hard onto his neck.

“Goddamn, lil mama, where the hell d’you learn to do that?” he asks, and you just giggle.

“Oh, I got a good teacher,” you respond, dragging a finger across his lips.

His wet lips open and you slide your finger in. You bite your lip at the feeling of his tongue swirling around your finger. Your breathing is ragged, and you don’t know how your pussy could get more swollen than it already is. You’re so wet that you can barely even feel the juices you’re sure are leaking out of your pussy. You mischievously lean close to him as if you’re going to press a kiss on his lips. Just as he leans up to brush his lips against yours, you wickedly pull back. He jerks forward, and his eyes fly open at your sudden absence. He grips your hips as he sits up, and you start to fall back until he catches you in his arm. You smirk, knowing you’ve teased him successfully.

“Bad girl,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Get on ya back.”

You nod enthusiastically, hopping off of him and switching places. He returns to your breasts, peppering them with kisses and sucking the skin. He drags his luscious lips all the way down your body and hooks his fingers into your underwear. He pulls them off and stretches your leg out, kissing down the skin. He gets to your inner thigh, and you physically peel your body off the cushion. Anything you have to do to get him to touch your throbbing folds. He bites and pulls on the skin of your inner thigh, as close as humanly possible to your heat, and you whimper and groan.

“Please…” you whisper, without meaning to. Elvis looks up at you from where he is, a wicked smile pasted on his face.

“What d’you say, baby girl?”

“Please,” you breathe louder and catch yourself moaning, even though he’s not touching you.

He finally runs a finger up your folds, and you notice how easily it slides through the liquid. You shiver and bite your lip hard, closing your eyes instinctively. Fuck, it feels so good. But his finger only lingers for a moment before it disappears. Your eyes shoot open, and you whimper again, wiggling your hips.

“You’re so fuckin wet for me, Lil Birdie, goddamn,” he says in a deep, raspy voice. “You been this wet for me all night?”

“You been that hard for me all night,” you shoot back, dragging a toe along his hard dick. He sucks in a breath and grabs your foot.

“Behave now, lil mama. You had ya time to be a tease. My turn, now.”

He runs a finger up your folds again, and you convulse with a groan.

“You like that, don’t ya, princess? How I tease ya?”

“Y-yes,” you reply softly.

“Ya just so perfect, all wet and swollen for me. It’d be a shame to ruin it,” he says, running two fingers up your wetness.

You ball your fingers into fists and thrash around on the leather seats. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust. He bites his lip and licks your folds, sucking on your clit. You moan loudly at the feeling of his coarse tongue drawing shapes on your sensitive nerves. You grasp at the side of the seat when he licks it again and then inserts a finger.

“Shit, so loose,” he mutters, pumping a finger in and out for only a few seconds before adding another finger and then another.

Three is as many as you can handle at the moment, the tightness becoming uncomfortable. He pumps his three fingers in and out of you a few more times, your juices sloshing from the movement of his fingers.

He pulls out and you watch with an open mouth as he licks his fingers clean, one at a time. His tongue swirls daintily around each finger, and you clutch, white-knuckled, onto the bench of the car. He gives you a quick kiss on your clit, and you throw your head back with a sharp intake of breath. He picks up your legs, pulling him into his lap. You pant, feeling him twitch hard below you.

“You still a virgin, darlin?” he asks, and you nod. His eyes light up. “Good. Now, I made ya a promise, and I intend to keep that promise. But I gotta ask ya. Is this what you want? Here in the back uh the car? Not at home in a bed.”

“Here is fine,” you respond quickly, reaching to grasp him to you. He shakes his head, removing your hands from his neck and holding them to his chest.

“I’m serious, Lil Birdie. This what ya want? I ain’t about to ruin ya first time.”

“You couldn’t ruin it if you tried, Elvis,” you reply, running your hands down his face, his arms, his body. “Everything is perfect, baby. I jus want you. All of ya. Everythin you can give me. I want it all.”

He smiles sweetly and presses a kiss to your forehead. He leans over the front seat and pops open the glove box to get out a condom.

“How long have those been in there?” you ask, laughing.

“Just a few hours,” he says sheepishly. “Got some from B.B. at the club.”

You giggle, falling back onto the leather seats, and watch as he rolls the strange thing over his hard dick. He pumps it a few times to make sure it’s secure, and you gulp as he comes closer. He leans down to kiss you, resting his dick against your heat. You resist the urge to move, letting yourself get familiar with him but also teasing your nerves in the process. You kiss him, sweet and sensually. No biting, no licking, just lips meeting other lips. When he pulls back, his eyes are mostly full of lust.

“You’re all mine,” he whispers, tucking a strand of sweaty hair behind your ear. “I get ya all to myself. You’re so pure, untouched. And here I getta ruin ya. Make ya feel things you ain’t never felt before.”

“Go slow,” you say, smiling, and he nods.

“Don’t worry, Lil Birdie, I’ll take my time. I want this to be good for ya. Perfect.”

He gently grabs his dick and runs it along your folds a few times. You breathe in quickly and bite your lip. He smirks and gently guides the tip in. You squeeze your eyes shut and dig your nails into his bicep as you feel his member stretching out your skin. It’s painful but not as bad as you have been expecting. He rests inside you for a moment, brushing hair out of your eyes and kissing your forehead.

“I love you," he whispers and you open your eyes. He’s smiling down at you with a face so loving that it almost draws tears to your eyes.

“I love you,” you reply, stroking his cheek. “I’m ready.”

He nods, slowly starting to thrust in and out of you. You wind your arms around him, pulling him close to you. His head buries itself in your neck, biting and sucking on the skin as he slowly pushes in and out of you. It still hurts, and your eyes grow watery with tears. But as he wraps his arms underneath you, pulling you as close to him as possible, it starts to hurt less. Your moans increase as you get more comfortable and they fall into rhythm with his movements. You body starts to respond on its own, moving in time with his thrusts. Your hips rise up meet him, and he speeds up after you show him you can take it.

“You’re so fuckin tight, lil mama,” he whispers in your ear. You moan through a smile in response, tangling your hands into his hair. As you yank harshly on the locks, he moans and grunts.

“Elvis…” you moan, and he growls.

“I love it when ya say my name, baby.”

You giggle.

“Elvis…” you repeat, dragging out the last ‘s’. He hisses out a breath.

“Hell, Bird, you’re so infuriatin. You got me fucked up bad,” he says, and you feel his muscles flexing underneath your fingers.

You dig your nails into his back, throwing your head back. He takes the opportunity to press his lips against your neck. He grips your lower back, pushing you up so that it arches. You moan frantically between breaths, raking your fingers down his smooth back.

“I’m go-I’m gonna…” you choke out.

“Hold off jus a lil longer, sugar,” he says, grunting as he slams into you.

Your body is moving without your control, pushing him on and on, deeper and deeper into you. You bite your lip hard, probably drawing blood, and scratch his back, clench your thighs. Whatever you have to do to hold off until you get permission. His movements grow sloppier as he nears his own orgasm. He sweats, the droplets dripping off of his hair and onto your skin. In any other scenario, you’d be disgusted. But the thought of his scent marking you, claiming you, it’s everything.

“Elvis, baby, I can’t,” you whimper, curling your toes.

“It’s okay, lil mama,”  he grunts. “Let go.”

One more thrust is all that you need. You feel your stomach clench and waves of pleasure roll over you. Your body shudders, and you scream as you reach the top of the mountain. You slowly slide down the other side as Elvis pulls out of you, pumping himself a few times to finish off. Your legs are shaking, vibrating with the painful pleasure that spreads through your veins. You breathe raggedly, shakily.

Elvis is kneeling above you, his abs shuddering. His hair is pushed back, sweat dripping down the side of his forehead. His mouth is dark red, hanging open in a satisfied half-smile. You rest your hands on your head and breathe out a laugh. Elvis takes a deep breath and rolls off of the seat onto the floor of the car. A few moments of silence pass, both of you trying to get ahold of your breathing.

“So…that’s sex, huh?” you ask breathless.

[ -> "In the Still of the Night" ]

You lazily let your fingers drop down to him, and he clamps onto them. He says nothing and when you roll over to glance down at him, his eyes are closed, a dumb smile pasted onto his features. You chuckle, rolling onto your stomach so that you can peer at him. His eyes open and look up at you. His face looks so handsome, flushed with red cheeks from the heat of your sex. His hair is sticking to his forehead and up in the air at the same time, laying sexily all over him.

“How was it?” he asks. Your lips curve up into a huge smile and you shake your head.

“Let’s just say I’d really, really like to do it again sometime.”

He smiles handsomely, closing his eyes.

“You know, baby,” he continues. “I’ve been with a lotta women. But ain’t nobody ever got me all shook up like you. You got me hot all night, sweatin my ass off cause I needed ya so bad. You showin up in that dress and dancin around like some kinda mythical siren or somethin," he pauses to laugh. "I ain’t never been so aroused in my whole life. Not to mention the way you move. You got a god-given gift for this, girl. But I’m glad I could make it good for ya.”

You gently touch his face, dragging a finger along his swollen lips. He opens one eye and smiles mischievously, popping your finger into his mouth and running his tongue over the nerves. You playfully smack him and laugh, but your joy falters for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I shoulda told you about everythin. I shoulda said it the day ya left. That I loved you. That I love you. I’ve hated myself every day since then cause I let you walk away. And then when your mama called, I jus wanted to see you so badly. I thought maybe you would just fall in love with me all over again.”

“It’s okay, darlin,” he says, sitting up. He takes your fingers in his hands and kisses them gently. “I never shoulda put ya in that situation. It was wrong of me. I knew I loved you. Hell, I knew I loved you since that first day we took our first walk together back from the hayride. And I never fell outta love with you neither. You hurt me somethin bad, but I never stopped lovin you all those days. All that time.”

You squeeze his fingers, leaning down to kiss him.

“I ain’t gonna lie to ya,” he says. “It won’t be easy, bein with me through all this. But I wouldn’t want it any other way. I want you here, with me, forever. I’ll always love you, Lil Birdie.”

“I love ya more,” you respond. You look at each other for a moment before the wind blows through the air and you shiver.

“You’re freezin,” he says. He hops out of the car to go searching for something. You fold your arms over your chest to try and stay warm.

“What’re ya lookin for?”

“My goddamn jacket! Where the hell is it?” he yells, and you laugh at the sight of him, completely and totally naked, stalking around like bigfoot trying to find his clothes in the dark. He laughs, and you bury your head into your hands.

“Aha!” he shouts, and you laugh harder, feeling tears well in your eyes. Happy tears, for the first time in a long time.

He comes back with the biggest, most proud smile on his face. He drops it over your body and, surprisingly, it’s much warmer than you’re expecting.

“That’s better. Let’s get ya home before you freeze to death,” he says. You climb out of the car and lean down to pick up your crumpled dress, not realizing the show you’re giving Elvis.

“Or before I lose control of myself and fuck ya again." 

You whirl around to smack him, but he grabs your arms and pulls you into him. You laugh and he places a soft kiss on your lips. You quickly gather up the rest of the clothes and hop back into the car. You listen to the radio on low, holding his hand and leaning your head back with closed eyes. The wind feels soothing and refreshing, even though it’s a bit cold. You don’t say anything to each other on the way back, just sit in comfortable, content silence. Every so often, Elvis raises your fingers to his lips to kiss them…

“Birdie, baby girl, wake up,” you stir to Elvis’ soft, raspy voice. You’re back in the driveway at Graceland. “You fell asleep, baby. C’mon, Imma take you inside.”

“But I don’t have a bed 'ere,” you mumble, as he lifts you out of the car, bridal style. You rub your eyes and then hold onto his neck.

“Oh no,” he says in a sing-songy voice and smirks. “I guess we’ll have to share.”

You smile and giggle, burying your head in his neck. He carries you inside, quietly, and sneaks you up the stairs and into his room. You borrow one of his extra shirts to sleep in and crawl into the bed. You probably smell like sex, but you don’t care. Once he wraps his warm, strong arms around you, you’re the happiest you’ve ever been.

“You’re my girl,” Elvis whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Forever,” you whisper before falling into a deep sleep.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know! :)

taglist: @mrsjna @floralcyanide @austinbutler17 @slutforsomegoodlettuce @cb97slut @datsavageavenger @misspygmypie @yourfriendhenrywinter @queenslandlover-93 @kittenlittle24 @theliterarybeldam @slutforblueeyes

Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

[aliciaelle47]

In the Mood for Love (Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Elvis breaks up with you just as his career is taking off, as if your support for him meant nothing. You finally manage to work through your heartbreak and start what you think is a new chapter in your life with someone who seems to understand what you’re going through. After two months of guilt and regret, Elvis returns to Memphis to find that you’ve apparently moved on, but he’s determined to win you back.

Note: This is based off of an anonymous request. Reader is gender neutral. I listened to the soundtrack from In the Mood For Love (one of my favorite movies ever) while writing this, and Frank is inspired by Tony Leung’s character Chow. Please let me know what you all think. Requests are open🔮

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Mentions of cheating. Some jealous behavior, but nothing disturbing.

Walking up to ‘Miss Louann’s Dance Studio’ as the sun set purple behind you, you felt your stomach flip at the prospect of stepping out of your comfort zone. You signed up for a beginner’s Latin dancing class on a whim, wanting something to take your mind off of Elvis, your boyfriend of two years, breaking up with you as soon as he started getting famous.

Even if you ended up being terrible at it, you hoped a new hobby and making new friends would be a step in the right direction of getting yourself out of the funk you’d been in for the past two months. You’d go to work and feel sorry for yourself, come home and cry yourself to sleep, and be an absolute drag whenever you went out with friends because inevitably his music was playing somewhere. If anyone but your ex had recorded ‘Heartbreak Hotel’, you’d probably have the record on non-stop. You decided enough was enough, and you needed to move forward with your life.

Keep reading

[aliciaelle47]

Caught in a Trap Pt.1 (Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Description: The reader is caught in a trap, aka with her boyfriend, and she can’t exactly escape. If she could she would’ve left already. Essentially a stranger, Elvis, saves her. 

Notes: I didn’t have it in my heart to have Elvis be the bad guy. I know people like angst… but they also like a happy ending. This is essentially that, but Elvis is the light of readers day. The reader is a female, and it just fits in with the year and just… trust me on this. This will be put into two parts. Part one… well ya know. Part two, smut.

Masterlist

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

Warnings: Abusive Relationship, Abuse, Physical Abuse, Mental Abuse, Psychological Manipulation, Sexual Assault, Assault, Heavy Swearing, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Suicide Attempts, Violence

Word Count: 3.6k

Graceland. Home to famous rising star, Elvis Presley. You were welcomed there because your boyfriend was friends with Elvis. Sure, you knew who Elvis was… but you never really spoke or got to know him. 

You say inside on the couch. The others were outside on the front lawn playing around. You looked outside the window, watching the man you once fell in love with fool around. Your face held no emotion. You weren’t happy, you weren’t sad… You felt empty… You felt trapped really.

You became close friends with Gladys. You would put on a strong smile and your best lying tone when she asked about you and Leon. You mostly thought back to when you and him first got into a relationship. You tried to explain that to her. Truth be told… the beginning of your relationship was becoming a blur. You were pretty sure you told the story differently every single time. 

Though, when you were left by yourself, you sat on the all too familiar couch and stared outside the window. Your head was essentially lost in the clouds. Where you dreamed of a better land. A better place where you would be happy. Some place where you wouldn’t feel like an emotionless zombie

Keep reading

[aliciaelle47]

My favorite Austin pictures <3

Most of these scream bf/husband material

He’s so fucking gorgeous 🫶🏽

[aliciaelle47]

Just reblogging to read later.

DADDY ISSUES - Part 1: Motive

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: yes, kinda - in general, y'all want this hehehe

Prompt: You're just a waitress, nothing more. But when your cousin, Steve, gets into a jam and needs your help, you have no choice but to indulge him and become the front-row face of Elvis Presley's '68 Comeback Special. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: None! Inaccuracies to the actual special probably lmao. this chapter is tame. the others won't be

Rating: Pg (but this series will be very NSFW, so minors save urself the trouble + DNI)   ||     Word Count: 4644

A/N: it's finally hereeeee!! happy thirsty thursday hunnies + i hope you enjoy part 1 of the series! i promise smut will be forthcoming, but i have it plotted for almost every part so i wanted to start out with plot stuff instead 😅

Song Rec: motive by ari (feat. doja cat)

This is Part 1 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

“Order up! Table seventeen.”

You let your slippery white shoes glide across the checked floor as you slide up to the counter. You grab the plate from off the rack and trot out from behind the counter to deliver it to table seventeen.

“I got a burger and fries?” you ask, placing the plate down and proceeding with the rest of the order. You load the family’s dirty dishes onto the tray and snatch up the ringing telephone as you pass by it.

“Chadney’s Restaurant, how can I help you?” you say into the speaker.

“Hi, I’m calling for Y/N?”

“Uh…yes, this is she?” you respond, setting the tray down. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

“Oh Y/N, perfect, this is Steve, your cousin,” the voice replies.

“Steve Binder? Why are you calling me at work? Didn’t mom give you my new home phone number?”

“Yeah, but I knew you wouldn’t pick up. Listen, I’m in a bit of a bind at the moment, and I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“What kind of favor?”

“Well, seeing as you’re right across the way here, I was just wondering how many people are in the restaurant right now? Do you think any of them would be willing to come down here to be part of a live studio audience?”

You sigh, glancing around the restaurant quickly. It’s later in the afternoon, but because of the restaurant’s vicinity to NBC, it’s usually crowded most of the day. Only a few tables are empty.

“Yeah, it’s busy. I don’t know… there are some younger people. Who’s performing?”

“Elvis Presley.”

You feel your mouth drop open and your blood run cold.

“Y/N! We have orders ready to go out!” You wave a hand dismissively at your boss screaming from the kitchen.

“So, do you think anyone would be interested?” Steve presses.

“Yeah, maybe, I don’t know. Listen, I have to go. If you want them, you’ll have to come down here and get them yourself. I gotta go, Steve, bye.”

You click the phone down before he has a chance to protest and get back to work. You’re only able to run about two orders out before the door swings open and you glance up to see your cousin waltzing in with another man you don’t recognize.

“Hi everyone! If I could just have your attention please!”

Murmurs spread throughout the restaurant as forks and knives clink down onto the old yellowed ceramic plates. Silence settles before Steve continues.

“Hi all, I know this is sort of out of the ordinary, but my name is Steve Binder, and I work for NBC. We’re actually across the street right now gearing up to film a show with Elvis Presley, the King of rock’n’roll, I’m sure you’re all familiar. Unfortunately, we seem to have lost our audience. Again, I know this sounds strange, but would any of you be interested in attending the filming to be part of a live audience?”

You hear a gasp and turn to see your coworker, and only true friend, Candy, standing next to you. She glances at you with a big smile and nudges your arm with her elbow.

“Elvis!!” she whispers.

In the time Steve’s finished with his announcement, practically everyone in the cafe has jumped out of their seats and rushed toward your cousin, cheering and jeering to get in line. You walk back behind the counter to shove your apron away as Steve gestures the people funneling out of the building toward NBC Studios. You start stacking plates when you hear Steve’s voice behind you.

“Thanks for your help,” he says.

“Not a problem,” you respond, turning around to hug him. “Now, what’s this I hear about Elvis Presley?”

“Crazy, isn’t it? Bones Howe and I got a call from his producer, Jerry Schilling, about helping him reconnect with his previous image. We met him, talked for a while, and boom now we’re here.”

“That’s amazing!” Candy adds, walking up to lean against the counter. “You know your cousin here,” she gestures to you, “is like the biggest Elvis fan on the planet.”

“You don’t say. Actually…” his eyes light up and he points at you. “Y/N, you know, you’d be perfect for this. You’re exactly the kind of person we want to showcase on the special. Young, fresh, attractive, a real and authentic person. Do you think you could come with me now?”

“No. No, you know I can’t do that.”

“Why not? There’s not a soul in this place, anymore.”

You look around and shake your head.

“There are still people here, and I’m still on the clock. I can’t just leave. I’ll get fired.”

“Ah, Y/N, lay off it. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, honey,” Candy says. “You should go!”

You shake your head and turn, trying to go back to work, but Steve speaks up again.

“I can get you a prime spot. Right in front of him. And your friend is welcome to come, too. C’mon, Y/N. Please.”

Memories flash through your mind. Fans screaming, police lights flashing, flashes of black fabric. You glance back into Steve’s bright blue eyes and feel anxiety rising in your chest. It gets harder to breathe and your fingers start to feel like they’re vibrating. You can’t do this. You shouldn’t do this. You’re not ready. But Steve’s pleading eyes are too strong for your will. You sigh deeply, running a hand over your face.

“Alright fine,” you respond. “Just give me a second to figure this out.”

Steve nods and you turn toward Candy with a deep breath. She wastes no time, jumping over the counter and grabbing onto your wrist to drag you into the kitchen where your boss, Frank, is cooking up a storm.

“What the hell’s going on out there?” Frank asks, wiping sweat from his forehead. “If you’re slacking, I can replace you quicker than a flash.”

“Well, that’s actually something we wanna talk to you about,” Candy says, and you frantically shake your head at her. “A Mr. Steve Binder from NBC Studios just stopped by and he’s looking for some people to join a live audience for a show they’re recording across the street. It’s an Elvis Presley show.”

“Is it one of those goddamn movies again?” Frank asks. “Cause if I have to hear one more word about those shitty films again, I’ll fire both of your asses.”

You shoot a pleading glance at Candy and mouth the word ‘no’, but she just rolls her eyes and shakes her head at Frank’s rude comment.

“No, it’s a musical performance, Frank. And don’t threaten us like that,” she responds, and you feel panic start to pump through your veins.

“What does any of this have to do with me, anyway?” Frank asks gruffly. “I don’t care what you do in your free time.”

“Y/N and I are leaving work early to go be a part of the audience,” Candy says, angrily. “That’s what it has to do with you.”

A clanging noise sounds as Frank drops his metal spatula onto the grill. You drop your head into your hands, clutching onto the roots of your hair and dreading what words will come next.

“What did you say?” Frank asks, turning around with an irate expression on his ugly, bulbous features. You know he isn’t really asking Candy to repeat herself but giving her a chance to change her answer. She keeps her mouth in a straight, flat line, refusing to budge.

“If you think you two little girls can just leave whenever the hell you want, you’re wrong,” he says, jabbing a fat swollen finger at you both. “You walk outta here right now, you’re fired. I don’t wanna see your damn face in here again, do you understand me?”

You falter, feeling all of the blood drain from your face. No, no, no. You can’t be fired. You need this job. But apparently, Candy doesn’t.

“So be it,” she says resolutely. “Come on, Y/N, let’s go be on live television.”

Before you have a chance to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness from Frank, Candy’s fingers are latching onto your arm and dragging you away.

“Goddamn it! Fired!” Frank yells as you both dash out of the kitchen. “Do you hear me? FIRED! If I EVER see your faces in this restaurant again, I will-”

The rest of what he says is cut off when Candy slams the front door to Chadney’s, never to be opened again. Steve is waiting for you outside, and he perks up when you both approach him. You don’t hear a word of his greeting or Candy’s introduction. So many anxieties and worries are running through your brain. Your whole body feels cold and shaky, and all you can do is focus on remembering to breathe before you have a mental breakdown. The cold air-conditioned breeze shakes you back into consciousness when you walk into the NBC Studios building.

“Alright, so I’ll take you over to costuming and get you all set up, and then we’ll cart you out to the stage,” Steve explains as you dodge people running up and down the hallway with all kinds of props, costumes, and various objects.

“I thought you wanted ‘authentic people,’” you counter as Candy drags you along. You lean out of the way and nearly miss a man carting a huge stuffed moose down the narrow hallway.

“Oh, we do, but we want to make sure that everyone is styled as contemporarily as possible,” Steve says. “No offense to your uniforms.”

You quirk an eyebrow, not the least bit offended. You despise that faded blue dress with the hideous red Chadney’s logo over the left lapel. The creamy white tennis shoes are even more atrocious. Steve leads you both into the costuming room where there are dozens of people everywhere getting dressed in bright yellows, reds, greens, and blues.

“This is Barbara, and she’s gonna help style you today,” Steve says, gesturing to a middle-aged blonde woman with black squared glasses. “For Y/N, we want to put her in something extra stylish because she’s gonna stationed right in front of the camera.”

“Woah, woah, wait!” you say, holding your hands up. “What? No, Steve, I don’t want to be right in front of the camera. I would actually much prefer to get lost in the crowd as much as possible.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re everything we’re looking for as our front girl,” he says, dismissively waving his hand. “I think this one, Barb.”

You’re too busy having your third massive freak out in the last twenty minutes to pay attention to the fabric Steve pulls for you. Barbara shoves you behind a changing stall, pushing a hanger in your face. You reach for Candy only to see her being pulled away to a different stylist.

“Go ahead and get dressed, honey,” Barbara says hurriedly. “Then we’ll figure out what to do with your hair. Oh, before I forget, what shoe size are you?”

You just have enough time to shout your size at her before she’s running off among the chaos around you. You sheepishly duck behind the stall and yank your work uniform off. As quickly as you can, you pull the soft fabric of a dress over your skin. You glance down at the garment. It’s gorgeous. It has a deep red top with fluffy sleeves and little buttons. And the skirt portion is full of rust, orange, yellow, and white floral patterns. Surprisingly, the dress seems to fit very well, perhaps a bit small and tight in some places. By the time you’ve finished admiring it, Barbara is pulling you out to throw a pair of white gogo boots at you. You stuff your sweaty feet into them as Barbara pulls at your hair. It happens so fast that you can’t even comprehend how, but she somehow gets your hair into a beautifully relaxed beehive with a little orange headband that matches one of the colors on the skirt.

“You look great! Now get out there, we’re almost out of time,” she says, pushing you toward the door.

You really wish you could see yourself and at least know what you look like before you go out to be broadcast, apparently front and center, to the American public. But you get swept up by the other audience members rushing toward the stage. You aren’t really sure where you’re going, so you just mosey along with the big group and hope someone knows the right way. Eventually, you find yourself in a rough line, spanning out into the hallway. You can hear someone’s voice, it's familiar but you can’t place it, as he directs people around the tiny red stage in the middle of the room. You peer around the line to get a look at the man with the familiar voice and smile to yourself when you recognize his glasses and shaggy haircut.

Bones Howe, Steve’s business partner. You’d met here and there but would be surprised if he remembers you. You and Steve are cousins, yes, but not blood-related, so the times you see each other are rare. You step up after the older woman in front of you who reeks of cheap perfume.

“Y/N! Hi, nice to see you again. Wow, Steve was right, you look great. Just what we’re looking for,” he says with a big smile.

“Hi Bones,” you chuckle, feeling flattered at the fact that he remembers you.

“Alright so we’re gonna have you placed right here,” he says, pointing and pushing your back gently to guide you. “Now just a quick reminder to act natural but also remember that the camera will be on you the majority of the time. So just don’t pick your nose or do anything you wouldn’t want your mother to see. Thanks again for doing this!”

Before you can ask a question or say ‘you’re welcome,’ he’s gone. You shrug and take your place, once again directly by the stage. Just as you’re settling in, lazily glancing around to see if you can find Candy, someone slides in next to you.

“Hi! I’m Trixie!” a high-pitched voice says and a small hand reaches out beside you. You turn to see a beautiful woman, tall and curvy, with dark black hair and bright brown eyes. She’s wearing a turtleneck sweater, a plaid skirt, and matching knee thighs with heels. All in a vivid color of bright lavender that compliments her skin perfectly. You smile, reaching to shake her hand.

“Y/N,” you respond with a smile. “I love your outfit.”

“Thanks! I picked it out myself,” she says. “So, did you call in on the radio, too?”

“Uh…no, no I sort of…got picked, I guess,” you respond with furrowed eyebrows. Call in on the radio?

“Oh, very fancy! I called in as soon as I heard on the radio. Are you an Elvis fan? I’ve been to three of his concerts, own all his records, and seen all his films,” she says, leaning against the stage with a big smile.

“Yes, big fan!” you say, nodding. “I’ve also seen all his movies. And I’ve only been to one concert but it was…the best night of my life, honestly.”

Minus the riot that broke out after…

“Wow, that’s awesome! Which concert, I wonder if we could have been at the same one?”

“Russwood Park 1956,” you say with a deep breath.

“Wow, that must have been amazing! I remember reading about it in the papers,” Trixie says. “What was it like?”

Just as you’re about to answer, you hear that familiar voice again and glance up to see Bones kneeling down next to you.

“Ladies, if I could actually bother you both to sit up here on the stage, that would be incredible,” Bones says with a wink. “We want to make sure that it looks casual, like Elvis is just a regular guy hanging out with a bunch of kids. Alright, great!”

You look at Trixie and shrug with a nervous smile. You both hop up onto the stage, sitting sideways next to each other. You glance around you to see that a huge crowd has packed in behind you.

“Hi all and welcome to NBC Studios!”

Applause erupts all around you, and you gently clap your hands together.

“We’re so pleased to have all of you, and we’re super excited for the show. Just a few things before we get started to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible.”

He points up toward a flashing red light that says APPLAUSE. Very subtle...

“Now when that sign lights up, what do you do?” Bones asks.

The crowd erupts into applause again, and you shake your head at the sheer absurdity of it all. Bones continues to explain how things are going to work.

“And lastly, ladies and gentleman, this is television not radio, so when that goes on and you clap, let's see it on your faces.”

The crowd claps again, and you glance around to admire the variety of expressions on the faces of the audience members. Some are definitely more cut out for this acting natural thing than others.

“Now Elvis is performing tonight just for you so keep that in mind. Let that inspire you,” Bones says. “And without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, here’s Elvis Presley.

And there he is, indeed. Ironically in black, again, just like the last time you saw him. He takes the stage with a smile, and you drink him in. He looks incredible, tan and fit and happy, probably better than he had when you’d seen him last. But he seems nervous, a feeling which you hadn’t noticed the last time you’d seen him. He shakes himself out and glances around for a moment, nodding, before grabbing his guitar. You feel Trixie latch onto your hand and squeeze excitedly. You shoot her a smile as he begins to sing.

Heartbreak Hotel, one of your favorites. You feel a smile spreading across your face as his hips start to move back and forth with the beat of the song. His voice is incredible, even better than it had been when he was young. Back then, it was smoother, higher pitched. Now, it’s deep, rich, and raspy. A man’s voice. You bring a hand up to cover your mouth as he leans back, holding the microphone stand tightly. His eyes travel backward as a smirk crawls onto his face. And for a quick second, your heart stops and smile drops.

Had he seen you? No, it’s impossible. You’re kidding yourself and hoping for something that won’t happen. Something unbelievable.

So you think, until he tilts his head down and stares right at you. There’s no mistaking it this time. His eyes are trained on you for a few seconds until he removes the guitar and hands it off to a bandmate. He drops to his knees right in front of you and pushes his crotch up into your face. A sense of deja vu hits you like a brick. You suck in a sharp breath and throw a hand onto your face in embarrassment as you catch him wink at you. When he gets up to go back to center stage, you feel your chest release a shaky breath.

Despite everything in your body telling you this isn’t real, here you are again. Somehow almost in the exact same spot you had been during the performance in 1956 in Memphis. Right by the stage, right where you can see him. And he can see you. Your lips part, and you grip hard onto the fabric of the orange dress, feeling the blood once again drain from your face. You’d never thought you’d ever see him again. You couldn’t believe how lucky you’d been to see him the first time around at all. It’s 12 years ago now. You were only 16 then, now you were almost 30. Everything had changed that day. Your expectations for life, your standards for men, your understanding of sex. Everything.

You were just a face in the crowd, nothing special. Sure, you’d fought your way up to the front, but you were so small then. It was just easier for you to get there and weave through the crowd. You were just watching him in that black suit as he threw himself around onstage. You’d screamed with the other fans, gripped at the stage, overreacted like the teenage girl you were. There was nothing special about you. You were utterly ordinary. Until he’d knelt down by you, right in front of you, and reached out with his beautiful slender fingers, curled those fingers around your chin…

You absentmindedly reach up to touch the skin on your jaw, remembering the feeling of his strong grasp on the bones underneath the skin.

How it felt to have him touch you. You, out of everyone else in the crowd. He’d leaned so close to you, so close that you could see the beads of sweat on his skin, rolling down his dark black hair. He’d sang right to you. Right in your face as his eyes searched yours and he gripped onto your jaw. You’ll never forget the feeling of emptiness when he’d left your space. When he’d retreated from you. The need, the desire you felt to get him back. To have him next to you again. To have him that close to you. You would never forget that day in Russwood Park. Never.

You smile as you watch him, knowing that you’ll never forget this moment in time either. He moves around similarly to how he used to but with even more confidence now. He doesn’t have the body of a child anymore, but a man’s frame. Tall and thick. Your eyes gravitate toward his ass, and your mouth falls open as you watch it move. The full leather suit he wears hugs him in all the right places, especially there. You bite your lip at the way the fabric moves against him and shines in the light. A few people around you start to sing along, so you join in, clapping to the time. You drop your face into your hands, feeling heat creep into your cheeks as he wiggles around on stage again. You clap with a huge smile on your face as he speaks into the mic.

“It’s been a long time, baby. A long time,” he says.

After he performs, the crew brings a stool up onto the stage and he sits to chat about his career and where he’s at in his life right now.

“But that’s one thing about this tv special that I’m doing,” he’s saying, “They’re gonna let me do what I wanna do. Sing the music that I want. The music that I love. The music that makes me happy.”

You catch him glancing up at something, and your eyes follow his gaze to rest on a beautiful woman sitting in the upper sections. His wife, Priscilla. You recognize her from the magazine covers you’ve seen of them together. You’d been crushed when they’d gotten married. Of course you’re happy for them both and never at all expected that he would fall in love with you or anything like that. You knew it was implausible, but still, you had hope. Hope that was all but crushed when Mrs. Presley became a reality.

You shake off the slight disappointment that you feel trying to settle into your chest and enjoy the rest of the show. Even though Elvis’ back is toward you for the remainder of the taping, you still love hearing him talk about himself and his music. You’re having such a great time that what ends up taking three hours feels like three minutes. And you can forget, for that time, about the fact that you no longer have a stable income. You crane your neck as Elvis walks off the stage, smiling and waving to the crowd. You want to see as much of him as humanly possible. It could be the last time.

You watch as he stops momentarily to talk to a tall man with shaggy blondish hair. You turn to Trixie, who is gushing about the performance but glance back at Elvis out of the corner of your eye to see him gesturing toward your area of the stage. For a moment, your heart skips a beat but you shake yur head. No, he couldn’t possibly have singled you out again. That would make you too lucky. Way too lucky.

After the show, you’re ushered back into the costuming area and stripped of your clothes. You sigh and shrug back on your old uniform with all the ketchup and coffee stains. As soon as the fabric hits your skin, it’s a harsh reminder that you need to find a job. Like yesterday. You emerge from the changing station and gently place the dress on a table with other random pieces of clothing, but not before fishing out a small strip of worn paper. Trixie had written her name, address, and phone number on it. She’d said she’s looking for a roommate and, apparently, really likes you enough to consider you. Maybe it’s time for a move, after all.

“Thanks for your help, Barbara,” you say. She glances up at you with her magnified eyes and smiles warmly. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where I can find Mr. Binder, would you? I have something I wanted to ask him about.”

“Upstairs, to the right in the recording studio,” she responds. “If you get lost just ask someone and tell them Barb sent you.”

You thank her again and place the white gogo boots on the floor next to the table. But as you turn to leave, Barbara’s voice stops you.

“Take them,” she says softly, gesturing to the boots and the dress. “They were made for you.”

You normally wouldn’t indulge such an offer, but now that you’re jobless, you figure some free stuff can’t hurt. You smile and reach down to grab the outfit, tucking it under your arm as you wind your way around the crowds and pockets of people. When you get upstairs, you take a moment to glance around at the posters on the wall. Your eyebrows raise as you see one for Star Trek. Very cool. Your eyes swing to the right and you see what looks like, to your untrained eyes, a recording studio. You debate knocking but aren’t sure if it’ll interfere with any of the recording process, so you just quietly step in and press your back to the wall.

“Cue the gospel number now,” Steve says quickly, and you lean away from the door as a lumbering fat man waddles in.

“No,” the fat man mumbles, “None of this will be in the special.”

He gestures toward two businessmen sitting across the doorway. You hadn’t even noticed them when you’d walked in, but they look displeased in their stiff black suits.

“Can you make a note that that should be in the special,” Steve says, and you chuckle to yourself. “Now let’s segue straight into the whorehouse dancers.”

Your mouth drops open and you throw a hand over your mouth. Steve continues to bring more crazy and wild aspects into the special, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing audibly. The way Elvis’ manager frantically looks from screen to screen wracks your body with silent hisses.

Suddenly, the cast and crew start running frantically and screaming. Your laughing stops abruptly and your attention is pulled to a crew member as they dash into the room.

“Robert Kennedy’s been shot!!”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know! :)

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[aliciaelle47]

Elvis Presley (MOVIE) x Reader

He can't keep his eyes off you. Your friend kept mumbling to you. The more he sang and the more he moved, more women in the room jumped up and screamed. But that didn't stop him from looking at you, a smirk plastered on his face.

You were one of the only girls that was still sitting and not screaming. Finally your friend got tired of seeing the two of you staring at each other so she stood up. "Come on!" She yells, grabbing your hand and yanking you onto your feet. "Wait what?" You yell, she ignores you and pushes through the crowd to get in front.

She didn't stop until you two were inches away from the stage, almost in front of him. You smiled and laughed as your friend screeched like the other girls. Finally at the end he reached into the crowd, the girls ripping off his jacket in the process. As the curtains closed he gave you one last look before disappearing. You noticed the jacket on the floor, the girls fighting over it so you jumped down to get it too.

You and your friend both pulled on it and eventually got it. You both ran out of the crowd and back to your seats. "I gotta give this back to Mr Presley." You say, your friend slightly huffs. "Of course you would. Can't just keep things for fun." You chuckle. "I'll be waiting in the car, don't take too long." You nodded.

You headed to the back of the building and lightly folded the jacket over your forearm, holding your hands together, and leaning against the cool wall. After a few minutes the door to the building opened and Elvis walked out. You snapped out of your thoughts and said, "Oh- Mr Presley?" He turned to you as you tapped his shoulder gently.

"I um.. I got your jacket back for you. It looked expensive." You shyly say as you hold it out for him to take it. He smiles, "Thank you." He says as he takes the jacket from you.

"Um... Those girls were crazy in there huh?" He shrugs. "Not everyone. I didn't see you going crazy." You chuckle. "I'm not one to go crazy over a man." You say with a grin. "Oh." He whispers with a smile, enough for you to hear him.

Suddenly there was a loud car horn in the front of the building, you rolled your eyes knowing it was your friend. "Sorry I have to go, my friend is waiting for me." You say before turning on your heel and walking down the alleyway. When you got to the end he called for you, "Hey." You turn to him. "What's your name?" He asks. You smile, "Y/N L/N." You say with a chuckle.

Your friend blared her horn again, you shot your head towards her and she threw her hands up in the air. "I'm coming I'm coming." You say annoyed, storming to the car and getting inside. "Why push me to go to him then be obnoxious hm?" You ask annoyed. "Curfew my friend." She says while pulling out.

Over the spur of a few months you read on the newspaper and saw on the tv that Elvis was getting quite famous, him getting his own mansion, new cars, new clothes, tours, etc. Even though you were happy for him you almost felt sad that you knew he had completely forgotten about you.

While you were sitting at home, watching tv, someone rang your doorbell. You got up and opened the door, meeting with a person standing on the steps of your porch. It was dark and they were facing away from you, you couldn't make out who it was. "Um.. Can I help you?" You ask. "Yeah uh... I'm looking for a Y/N L/N." Your heart sank... You recognized that voice. You had listened to that voice for months on tv.

"Oh my god.." You mumble placing your hand on your stomach in shock. He then turns around and steps onto your porch, pointing at you. "Y'know how long it took to find you?" He says in a scolding tone but clearly joking. "The amount of places I called and visited." You laughed, you stared at him in shock and disbelief.

"You seem surprised." You laugh again. "Who wouldn't be? But in all honesty I thought you forgot me." You say. "Why would I forget you?" "Well y'know you're a big time musician now.. And I'm sure you've met other women like me on the road." You say, he gives you a confused look, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"If I met any other woman who was like you.. Would I be here?" You thought for a moment. "I guess not." You chuckled. "Y/N?" Who's at the door?" Your mother called from down the hall.

You looked at Elvis and grinned. "Elvis Presley." You say. Your mother got closer and when she saw the face of Elvis she screamed. You jumped and covered your mouth with your hand in embarrassment.

"What the hell is he doing out here in the cold Y/N?! Come in! Come in!" Your mother says while pushing past you, grabbing Elvis's wrist and pulling him inside. You silently cursed to yourself as you shut the door and slowly followed behind. Your mother placed him on the couch and you sat in a chair that was across from the couch.

"Would you like some coffee? I'll get you some coffee!" Your mother yells, not even letting Elvis get a word in. She quickly ran to the kitchen and you sighed to yourself.

"She's uh.. A big fan." You say, slightly annoyed. "I can tell." He says with a grin. It didn't take long for your mother to come rushing back out and place a mug on the coffee table in front of Elvis. "Oh wow this is just so exciting." Your mother says while holding onto her face in glee. "Mom, quit!" You whisper yelled to her as you smacked her legs and she smacked your hand away. "Oh you quit, just because you're not a fan doesn't mean you get to be rude." Elvis gave you a baffled look.

"You're not a fan?" "See, I never said that." You argued back. "Oh please, every time I turn on the tv and he's on it you turn red in the face and leave the room." Your mother says, throwing her hands in the air dramatically.

"I remembered I forced you to sit through a show and your leg was bouncing, your face was beat red and-" She stopped herself. "Ohhhhhh." She turned to you slowly, a huge grin on her face. "That's it. I'm an orphan." You say while turning away in your seat. "Oh hush, what girl in America doesn't have a thing for that handsome face." "Mama hush!" You yell, smacking her legs again and she smacks your knee in return.

You glanced at Elvis who thought this was the funniest thing. "And orphan? What about your father?" You roll your eyes. "Surprised he hasn't come down yet, since you screamed like you were being murdered." You say in annoyance. "Anyways..." Your mother says with the roll of her eyes, facing back to Elvis.

"What brings you here Mr Presley?" Your mother asks. "Oh uh.." You two made eye contact. "I came here for your daughter." He says while pointing to you slightly. Your mother goes back and forth looking at the two of you in confusion.

"Oh? And why's that?" She asks. "Well..." He stands up, you follow his action. "I wanted to ask your daughter..." He walks towards you and gently grabs your hand. "If she'd like to go on a date with me." You smile softly at him. "Oh my." Your mother squeals.

You thought for a moment. "Elvis Presley... You better make some room in your fancy boy schedule because.. You got yourself a date." You say. He smiles at you, you smile at him.

'Oh boy... What did I just get myself into.' You thought to yourself.

PART 2?

[aliciaelle47]

Take Good Care of Her (PT.1)

Pairing: Elvis or Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, angst, fluff, comfort, LONG, sexual intercourse, oral (female receiving), nipple play, fingering, virgin reader, loss of virginity, breeding kink, horny ass reader, 1950s period typical ideas, elvis being a hound dog, naive reader, innocent reader, people overhear, caught but they don’t realize, jealous elvis, possessive elvis, possessive reader, domestic life

Summary: Reader recalls moments during her relationship with Elvis from her newfound spot as one of Elvis Presley’s many exes.

Part Two

———————————————————————

Being an ex of the one and only Elvis Presley was no rare thing. The man has had his share of women in his life. More than he’d like to admit as a good Southern boy, a believer of the Lord, a singer of gospel tune.

You were just one of many, as the tabloids would proclaim and the rumors around Hollywood would say.

All those actresses. All those models. And you, you were just another number.

Are Elvis and Y/N calling it quits after their longtime romance in Memphis? you remember the article read, and then it continued to say: Small town girl, Y/N, can’t compete with the likes of Ann Margret.

You remember reading that article clear as day, a lump lodged in your throat, your stomach sick as a dog. Sitting at the breakfast table, trying to enjoy your meal, when your eyes found your face on the front page of the entertainment section. It was buried to the bottom of the newspaper pile, and you’d spent a minute digging around for it, wondering what your mother’d done with it. But once you laid eyes on it, you knew exactly what she was trying to conceal from you and you immediately regretted poking around for the trashy article.

You knew it was just that—some silly gossip page with no sound proof. It was all just bait, right?

That picture of you Elvis was sweet, taken during a trip to the cinema house. The paparazzi had stopped you and asked for a picture and you were so nervous you didn’t know what to do. You were looking up at the star, your hand clutched in his, and he was looking out at the crowd, protecting you. The headline surely didn’t match the image. You resounded that there couldn’t have been any truth in the title.

But then you flicked to the next page and found a picture of Elvis—your Elvis—with actress Ann Margret in his lap, his face buried in the crook of her neck, toothy grin wide as could be, and you grew worried that there was some truth in what the article’d said after all.

Your hands let the paper gently down on the table, shaking as you pulled them down to your lap, and took a long breath, a long, shakey, uneven breath. I’m not gonna cry, I’m not gonna cry. This ain’t even real. This is not happening again.

You’d like to believe it wasn’t. Your eyes burned holes into the paper, staring at her, that beautiful, flawless, long legged Hollywood star. And him. Smiling that toothy grin that you adored so. He looked absolutely enamored by her.

Slowly, you reached back up and closed the paper, only to find your face, small and baby-like, Y/E/C eyes wide and naive, staring up at Elvis like he was God. You gulped real hard.

Reality was hitting.

You looked at Elvis like he was the sun and that picture really proved that you may have adored him more than he ever could you. He wasn’t even looking at you, staring pensive in the distance, but you were looking at him with stars in your eyes.

Another long shaky breath fell from your lips. You flipped the newspaper over entirely, exposing to your eyes only the drive-in listings and coca-cola ads. If you can’t see it, it’s not real. You can convince yourself so, just as long as you cannot see it.

But… it was real. It was real this time.

————————————————————————

That very same day you received a phone call. Well, your mama did. You weren’t in but they’d asked for you. You’d gone to get some air, driving along somewhere in the country, clearing your head out.

When you came home, your mother was walking about like the floor was made of eggshells. She grinned real strange when you opened the front door, removing your driving scarf and placing your keys on the hook.

“Elvis called,” she said, never not smiling, a sympathetic glimmer in her eyes.

You smiled tightly, humming in response. “Oh?”

“Yes, yes, honey. Said he’s comin’ back to Memphis next week and would like it if you’d be at Graceland when he gets there.” The way she said it, real prim, real proper, concise and closed—you knew she knew. She wasn’t leaving much room to wiggle.

You nodded simply, not daring to look her in the eyes, and began for the stairs. “If he calls again, tell him I moved to Bermuda please.”

Your mama laughed. “Y/N… Bermuda?”

You swallowed your sadness and said from the top of the stairs, “Yes. That way if he goes looking for me, he’ll get sucked into the Bermuda triangle forever.”

You heard her sharp inhale and knew some type of scolding was coming your way but you didn’t care much for whatever she was going to say. You needed to be dramatic, and so you did, quickly rushing into your room and closing the door before she could say a word.

That was nearly three months ago. Now, you’re officially just another ex of Elvis.

You weren’t expecting all of the attention that dating him in the first place had attracted to stick around after you’d split up. You thought your little life would snap back into place, that you’d stretched your rubber band just enough to break, and that you would go much further than you’d gone. The height of your life and fame was when you were Elvis’s woman. The normal girl. The farm girl. The small town girl. The Memphis girl.

You weren’t even from Memphis. You weren’t even from Tennessee. You and Elvis didn’t meet in Memphis, but the newspapers didn’t know that. They just saw you as some chick he met on Beale Street. They didn’t know nothing about your relationship, really, but they loved to put your picture in their papers, make sure the world knew what Elvis’s ex looked like.

You were from Southaven, in Mississippi, where your family had a farm, there was one small grocer in the small strip of town, one school, one shop, and you were the prettiest girl for miles.

Your daddy ran a gas station on the farm and that was also the only thing for miles. Elvis was returning to Graceland after a long few weeks performing and touring. He was coming off a show at West Point, where he sung for an airshow in support of the troops.

His car’d stopped for gas at the only place they could find: your daddy’s station. It was your brother, Jimmie, pumping that night and you were told by your mama to deliver him sandwiches and coca-cola to keep him up.

So you prepared his sandwiches, peanut butter and fluff, and snuck some caramel candies into the bag, coke bottles clinking in your basket, and made your way from the farmhouse down the path to the gas station.

The sight you saw when you arrived you could not comprehend. You had to blink twice, thrice, four times to be sure you were seeing straight. Is that Elvis Presley?

Sure enough it was. He shook your hand and smiled at you softly. That night neither of you said much. They were in a rush to get back and he wasn’t really supposed to get outta the car even, he just needed a breather and did it anyway.

“Cars so stuffy could hardly breathe,” you heard him cracking on with your brother, who you knew to be a goofball. He was easy to joke with. All his friendships were automatic.

You were harder to crack, and it proved so that night, when Elvis ducked back into the car and smiled at you and you could hardly bring yourself to smile back.

You beat yourself up over that one. You were probably never going to see him again and you ruined your one chance to talk to him because you were what? Shy? Reserved? Proud? You didn’t know.

What the papers and the world think happened didn’t happen until a week after that. It was your birthday. Ironically, it was also the fourth of July.

You were turning eighteen. Your friends, Clara and Diane, knew the best place to go, and so blindly, you went. You packed your bag and kicked back in the backseat of Diane’s Chevy convertible. It was a road trip, the three of you would stay overnight, which your mama didn’t like, which was why your brother and his friends were following behind. You’d all get rooms at a hotel in a nice neighborhood. That’s what you told her.

Really, Clara and Diane had plans to take you to Beale Street, a strip of town that your parents would most definitely not approve of. Jimmie wasn’t even sure it was a great idea, but once he heard the music and saw the women, he was swiftly persuaded.

And that was the night you saw Elvis again. It was called Club Handy. Clara knew someone important there apparently, cousins with the owner or something. You didn’t quite know and you didn’t quite care. Your eyes had opened for the first time that night, it felt like, as you watched the singers sing and the people swing, the music roar to life.

You hardly knew how to dance, so when Elvis came in, eyes dark and angry, whispering something to the man Clara knew, you were standing real small against a wall.

Jimmie was dancing with some girl. His friends were chatting up the bartender. Clara and Diane were smoking and drinking, acting like they knew what they were doing. You were taking it in from a far.

“What’re ya doin’, wallflower?” was the first thing he said to you that night. His voice low, charming, his Southern drawl thick.

Your eyes flicked to him. Your mouth ran dry. You didn’t know what to say. Suddenly you were on fire, anxious butterflies in your stomach.

“How’d ya escape the farm?” he asked, humor in his tone.

Your smile broke out, soft and polite. “It’s ma birthday, Mr. Presley. I’m here with my friends to celebrate.” You blushed, nodding to your friends.

“Well, happy birthday, Miss…”

“Y/N”

He nodded, smiling, “Happy birthday, Miss Y/N. And please, call me Elvis.”

“Okay. Elvis it is,” you said looking down to your feet to avoid his burning gaze.

He laughed. You were awkward, but he kind of liked that. “Let me get you a drink, Y/N,” he offered, and your head immediately jerked up.

“Oh, you don’t haveta,” you bumble, “I mean, I don’t even-I’ve never-I”

“You’re a pretty girl, Y/N, don’t tell me you ain’t never had a man offer to buy you a drink before.” He chuckled, still amused. You had to explain to him all about your lack of exposure and human shield of a mother. You’d never drank before, much less been in a place that you could get a drink, let alone been in a place where a man could offer to get you one.

But Elvis Presley called you pretty and you were sure you were blushing fiercely, so you allowed him to get you one nonetheless. “Something easy to start me off, please,” you’d asked him, and he chuckled again.

For weeks after that, Elvis would either come to your family farm “for gas” or because he “just happened to be driving in this direction and thought what the hell, a visit won’t hurt.” He was pursuing you.

It played with your nerves a bunch. He was a rockstar, you were just somebody’s daughter. You helped pack crates with milk bottles and planted flowers along your family home. You were planning to go to college. You really wanted to go too, for clerical studies, so you could get a job in a city and be somebody’s secretary in a big building anywhere you wanted. You weren’t sure what you could do with your life as a woman beyond that, so your dreams weren’t plentiful and they weren’t mighty either.

But Elvis Presley wanted you, and so you followed him to Graceland where he wooed you until you finally agreed to going steady with him, despite your mama’s worries and your brother’s warnings. Elvis had just performed at Russwood Park, where he rebelled against the world and wiggled. It wasn’t that your family didn’t like his dancing; they just didn’t think all those herds of girls throwing themselves in his direction would benefit you at all. “Men are easy to tempt,” your brother’d said. “Speaking as one…”

You wish you listened. You stayed with Elvis for some time. But it was on and off really. He got busy. He got more famous. And you got busy too, you went to school, started working in downtown Memphis at an ad agency. You were very into your studies, plus on the weekends you’d have to work on the farm. When you found time for each other, you were surely with each other.

Then, he went to Germany. Shipped away, wrapped in dark green. They cut his hair, shaved his chin real close. You saw him the night before he left. He asked you to stay at Graceland with him.

You thought maybe you’d give it to him that night—you know, it.

You hadn’t done it yet, even though you’d been going together off and on for years.

You’d done other things, sort of. Mostly it was above the belt, him groping you, heavy petting, lips smacking, tongues licking, teeth biting. He’d left a large hickey on your left breast once, right above where your bra cup was. His hand had slipped into your right bra cup, his fingers tweaking your nipple, pinching it, while his lips sucked the flesh of your left breast into his mouth.

You were really hot and bothered that night. He’d never, no one’d ever, touched you like that. You didn’t know pinching your nipples could even get you reacting like that, or that the feeling of his lips anywhere other than your mouth would feel so raw, so real, so unearthly.

That and the feeling of his crotch grinding against your thigh, a hand clutching your waist, you were feeling spiritual.

When you woke up the next morning to find a large bruise-like shape on your breast, you were shocked. Kissing could do that?

You called Elvis and asked him about it. He did nothing but laugh.

After that, he was committed to showing you new things while preserving your honesty.

Genuinely, he wanted to keep you pure, so every time he’d stick his fingers in your dripping hole, he’d make sure you’d keep your skirt on, covering his hand so that you wouldn’t see any of the dirty ministrations he was playing on your soft cunt.

Your sweet eyes didn’t deserve to see the pumping of his fingers inside of you, the stretching of your little pussy, the rubbing of his thumb on your sensitive bud, but he wanted to make you feel good, especially after seeing how hot and needy you’d get every time you’d make out.

He never intended to let it go any further than making out. Okay, he knew he was going to touch your chest, but the way you squirmed against him, like you truly needed it, had him getting dirtier than he should have been.

But the under the skirt stuff only happened a handful of times. Really, it mostly was above the belt.

The night you saw him off to Germany, you went in thinking it would happen. It. You’d make love in his bedroom upstairs at Graceland.

But it didn’t.

There was an intimate family dinner, but it felt more somber than you’d liked. His mother, Gladys, had passed away just one month before. There was an empty seat at the table where she should have sat.

After dinner, you spent a quiet evening in the living room. He played something nice on the piano, singing softly. One song he asked you to join him on, and you were reluctant but did so anyway. His family never heard you sing before. No one ever had but the people at church, and even then they never heard you solo. You were a part of the choir and knew some hymns and that was it, nothing powerful or fierce. Just some soft church songs. It was beautiful to sing together, you felt like your souls had intertwined.

Then his family went to bed and you and him sat in the living room singing.

“You wanna stay the night?” he asked, low. His voice was kind, familiar.

Your heart ached in that moment, realizing just how familiar he had grown to you. It was comfortable and it was habitual at this point to be near him, just natural. When he wasn’t around, it felt like you had to relearn how to operate.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered back, nose touching his, foreheads pressing against each other. His lips were hovering just above yours, parted very slightly. Your bodies had melted into each other, right there on the piano bench.

And so you stayed, and you followed him up the stairs that night, your heart beating and ready to leave behind a part of you that you’d kept caged up for a long time. You were twenty now, and you were sure you were ready. You thought your innocence would stay on that piano bench forever. You took a deep breath as he pushed open the door to his room.

He closed the door behind you, cupping your cheeks in his hands. You pressed your hands to his chest, looking up at him through your lashes. He kissed you with such passion in that moment, his lips soft and plump moving so perfectly with yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, opening yours up and allowing him inside. He bit down onto your bottom lip, pulling it back.

“Elvis,” you whimpered.

He kissed you hard. His hand moved to your neck, his long fingers splayed across it. His other hand traced down your arm, then to the small of your back, where it fell and grabbed your ass. You moaned into his mouth, unexpecting of the sudden touch. He smiled into the kiss at your reaction.

He pulled back, hand still massaging your ass, other hand clasped your jaw, forehead pressed to yours. His eyes bore into yours, his lips hung open, breaths tumbling heavy out of his mouth.

“I love you.”

You two had said it before, during a fight after some jerk tried to chat you up at a baseball game and Elvis punched him. The guy was the shallow type, checking you out the whole game, waiting for Elvis to leave your side so he could swoop in. When he came up to you, you tried to wriggle away but he’d had you nearly cornered against the stands. Elvis found you like that and nearly chewed the guy's head off. You weren’t dating during that time, it was one of those “let’s just be friends” moments in between your spurts of being a couple. He was in Memphis only for a brief period before he had to go off and shoot some movie in Hollywood. He called you and invited you to a Memphis Chicks game. You got off of work and went, dropping everything to see him.

He said it that night, in the parking lot, in the car, after you yelled at him for getting in a fight with that guy.

“You can’t fight other guys over me, Elvis!”

“Like hell I can’t, Y/N! No guys gonna talk to my girl like that!”

You knew already that he was the possessive type. He’d been jealous before with you, angry when some guy would try to flirt with you, he’d hold you too close at Club Handy, making sure no guy had the opportunity to grab you even though everyone there already knew you were his girl, but it was never as it was in this moment.

“Elvis, I am not your girl. We are not together right now,” you shouted back. You immediately regretted it. There was hurt in his eyes.

He hung his head low. Nodding slow. His jet black hair fell over his forehead. Your reaction was immediate.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry,” you grabbed his hand and moved closer on the front bench of his cadillac. Your hand reached around to hold his cheek and move his face so he was looking at you again. His sad brooding eyes that you knew too well were enough to break a girl’s heart. You were certain yours had.

“Elvis, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t-I didn’t mean that,” you cupped his face. His hand reached up and wrapped around your wrist, gently pulling your hands off of him. He placed his large hand on your face, pulling it closer to his. His nose brushed yours.

You could feel his breath against your lips. Steady breaths, the rhythm of his breathing in tandem with the beating of his heart.

“Y/N, my wallflower, I want you to be my girl. I want you to be my girl forever, and-and I’m afraid the more we keep doing this, this, this on again and off again thing, it’ll blow up in our faces. I keep going further and further away from you and I’m-I’m afraid the distance is gonna drive us apart for good, baby.” Your mouth went dry, your heart stopped beating. “I love you,” he said. “I don’t ever wanna be apart from you.”

You said “I love you,” too, and that night you agreed to go steady. You had faith that it would work out this time, and it seemed like it really would, until he was forced to enroll in the army.

It hurt Elvis. The world didn’t love him for who he was. They wanted a different him, and going to the military, putting his life at risk, was the way to get into their good graces. He broke up with you because of it, though you knew he didn’t want to, but you knew it would be for the better. It was complicated, but Elvis was complicated.

On the night before he left for Germany, after he said those three words, he crumbled. He was crushed by this twist of fate, he didn’t want to be a soldier, he didn’t want to leave you. His mama had just died. His soul was taken from him. But he had to, and so you held him close to your heart and slept curled into one another, clinging to each other like your life depended on it.

And then the sun rose and you waved goodbye to him and didn’t see him again for two years.

That was the first time you were really deemed “Elvis’s ex.”

Opening the newspaper and seeing the name Priscilla Beaulieu in connection with Elvis Presley really threw you for a loop. He found someone else?

It hurt really bad that time. It was the first time ever you saw him with another girl since the pair of you met all those years ago, in 1956, when you were just seventeen bringing sandwiches to your brother. Sure, he was with other girls in movies and you were forced to see him kiss them, and sure, he was dancing on stage with throngs of women at his feet and you were forced to watch it happen. But those weren’t real. He was acting and performing.

You were certain that even when you weren’t “dating” that he was still with you at the heart. Whatever he did with his hips during your off again moments you didn’t want to know, and you really never did. The papers didn’t print hook ups, so you never experienced this feeling before.

What might The Good Wife, Y/N Y/L/N, do without him now?

The Good Wife?! You weren’t his wife! And that’s all they could come up with? Sure, you weren’t more than a secretary who cooked for her family, who were growing old and more than deserving of a warm meal mind you, and gardened on the weekends and cut sandwiches for her brother, but that didn’t make you some homemaker, stay at home, little housewife.

Did it? You gulped when you put the paper down. Was Elvis bored with me? For being so… simple?

Who was this Priscilla Beaulieu anyway? Some exotic French girl? You flipped the page over and your eyes bulged out of your head at the sight of her. Fourteen?! You felt like a heart attack was approaching as you slammed the paper shut, crunching it in your fist, and stormed off. What the hell could a fourteen year old have that I don’t?

“Screw Elvis Presley,” you fumed, shoving the paper into a bin.

That night you went out with friends looking to recover from the blow to your gut that was finding out Elvis—your Elvis—had a new girl. You weren’t exactly looking to find someone else, but you knew you were trying to seek revenge on Elvis, even if he would never know it happened.

You were tagged “Elvis’s ex,” though and too few men saw you as the girl you really were. They’d assumed that because you were Elvis the Pelvis’s girlfriend for so long that you’d for sure be one to lay. Most men you came into contact with during that time thought that, and you were livid each time when what you thought was a nice conversation would turn into an invitation back to their place.

Soon after, Elvis returned. You weren’t keen on seeing him right away and took every measure not to let him catch you on the phone or walking the streets of Memphis on the way to work. But it was inevitable. He came to your work and flirted his way past the front desk to get inside to you. That’s when he begged your boss to steal you for lunch early, his charm and celebrity sealing the deal. Against your will, he sat you in a booth at a diner and explained it all.

“Priscilla is just a little girl with a crush.”

“Those photos are out of context.”

You tried to be stubborn but his very presence pricked tears at your eyes. Besides, you were well aware that the press was good at spinning stories.

You agreed to seeing him for a date, and then another, and then another, and soon enough you were back to your normal life together.

Him jetting out to Hollywood to film a movie. Him getting on a bus and traveling for a show.

You putting on a blouse and blush in the morning, packing a lunch, and catching the bus into town. You were living at Graceland at this point, no longer living on the farm in Mississippi or at that shabby little apartment you rented during school.

Elvis wanted to come home to you, so he moved you into his home and it was quaint, for the most part. You moved into his bedroom, filled the drawers with your clothes, left your scent on the pillows.

He loved to sleep beside you. He loved to feel your body next to his. He loved to wake up next to you. He loved to smell your hair. He loved to put his head in the crook of your neck and kiss you lightly.

Living with Elvis was escape from reality. Living at Graceland was heaven. Especially when Elvis was actually there.

During that time in your life, Elvis was very busy. Like, very busy. He was making films left and right, performing shows left and right, completing every obligation that the Colonel and his friends requested of him. Elvis wasn’t home very often. He lived a lot in Hollywood, which saddened you, because you really did miss him much.

One time, you remember being alone at Graceland with no one but the staff, spending the day gardening, living in the big house, wishing he would just be your boyfriend, not the world's boyfriend.

But it couldn’t be possible. You knew it couldn’t.

But you could imagine what it would be like, to keep him to yourself, to wake up every single morning to his face, to his soft hair, to his arms around you. You imagined what it would be like to feel him embrace you from behind as you cook breakfast, lips on your neck, hands on your hips. For a split second your mind even dared to imagine a round belly on your body and a baby kicking inside it, his hands splayed across it, rubbing your pregnant stomach.

You swallowed that thought down quickly, fumbling with the watering can you were holding. You blushed. There’s no way that fantasy could come true. You weren’t gonna get pregnant any time soon, not with you still being a virgin.

You fumbled with the watering can again, wobbling as you stood up from the flowerbed you were kneeling down in. God, you didn’t want to be a virgin anymore. Thinking about having Elvis’s babies was something that you didn’t envision turning you on like it did, but it certainly worked.

You grabbed the can and started making your way to the front of the house. You flattened out your dress, shaking the thoughts of Elvis impregnating you out of your mind.

But your thoughts quickly came crashing back when you saw him, your man, your Elvis, leaning against his Cadillac, long black trouser-clad legs crossed over the other. The watering can was the first to fall, then the spade and shovel. You dropped all of your tools at the sight of him, too stunned.

His smile grew ten times the size. “Hi there, little mama.”

Your stomach turned. God, you missed him.

You ran to him, jumping into his arms, legs wrapped around his waist. His hands fell to your bum, holding you up.

“Woahhh, there, wallflower,” he chuckled, almost falling back at the sudden impact.

You placed kisses all over his face.

“Well, I missed you too, baby,” he cooed into your ear, pressing a big kiss to your cheek. He set you down and ran his hand through your hair, the other firm on your hip. “Let me get a look at ya, make sure this is all real.”

“I’m real. Are you real? You’re the one who’s been away so long.” You nearly cry, your eyes watering and lip quivering.

He pulls you in for a tighter hug. “Oh, baby, don’t cry. I’m home now, honey.”

“I know,” you said and nuzzled your head into his chest. “I just missed you.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, humming against your skin. “Let’s go in.”

You nodded and untangled yourself from him. He grabbed a suitcase in one hand and yours in the other and guided you into the house in gentle silence.

The door clicked shut behind you. He turned to you, holding your hand, backing you against the wall slowly. You smiled up at him, eyelashes batting.

“Hi,” you cooed.

“Hi,” he replied just as soft. His hands gripped your hip, bunching your dress up a bit. You bit your lip, eyes flashing down to his perfect pink bows.

“So pretty today,” he bent his head down to your ear, whispering.

“Thank you,” you blushed, shivers sending down your spine at the feeling of his lips on your ear.

“What you been up to all pretty like this?” his lips touched the skin behind your ear, pressing a kiss to it before bringing his head back up to look at you.

“Just gardening,” you gulped.

He nodded, a smirk on his lips. “Yeah? My wallflower planting flowers.” He bent his head to the other side of your head now, lips touching your neck, wet and hot on your skin, barely touching, just grazing. You let your mouth hang open as his hips started slowly gyrating.

“Oh,” the quiet moan fell from your lips.

“Oh?” he repeated, mocking you softly. His kisses became more passionate, no more grazing. His tongue swiped across your skin, marking the spot he wants the most, before he opened his plump lips and began to suck.

“Gah,” you moaned. His hand tightened on your hip, his crotch pressed into you. You could feel the wetness in your panties, which were already damp from your previous thoughts. You rolled your hips against him, desperate for more. “Fuck,” you moaned. “Fuck, Elvis.” Your pussy was so wet.

He chuckled, sucking your neck one last time and then tugging it with his teeth before letting it go. “What’s got you so eager, baby?” His eyes looked into yours and he could see the desperation in them. Wide, dilated, hungry. “Fuck, baby, you need me, huh?”

You squirmed against him, nodding fervently. “Yes, please, Elvis. Need you please.”

He nodded, kissing you passionately, madly, deeply. Your hands wound their way into his hair, pulling him as closely as you could to you, needing to feel him. He bunched your skirt up some more, sneaking a hand beneath it and clamping down on your thigh.

“Up,” he whispered into your mouth, and you lifted your thigh to wrap around him. He nuzzled his body in between your thighs, opening your legs up around him. His hand felt up your lifted thigh, the other one holding you steady at the hip. Your skin was so soft, so smooth, so delicate. He hasn’t forgotten what it was like to be buried between your legs at night, lapping your sweet juices up, neck warmed by your thighs. His body between them was hot and urgent, his cock hard as a rock, he wanted to taste you. He’d longed to taste you, to lick you, to eat you for the past several months now. He’d take his cock in his hand at night and imagine you sitting on his face, small hands gripping his shoulders, hips moving uncontrollably and he kisses your cunt again and again, tongue tucked away into your tight hole.

He kissed your lips hard and passionate, moving them along down your jaw and neck. He dropped to his knees, letting your leg fall on his shoulder, your dress covering him. You felt his finger prod at your panties, deftly swiping them to the side. One single finger slid up your cunt, from your hole to your clit and back, swirling your juices around. Your body twitched, shivers down your spine.

“Oh, Elvis,” a moan came right from the back of your throat, so coarse, so thick, so coated in sex. You could feel wetness on your thigh, kisses trailing their way up to the top, to meet the apex that called for him.

You didn’t know what to do with your hands. He was under your dress, the wall was barely grabbable.

You began to bunch the dress up, trying to collect it so you could weave your fingers in his hair, see him on his knees for you, see his lips on your skin.

When you pulled your skirt up, letting the cold air grace the back of his neck, Elvis growled, biting down on your thigh. He pushed two surprise fingers into your cunt and began pumping without letting you adjust. You gasped out loud, dropping your dress instinctively.

“Elvis, oh my god,” you mewled.

He kissed quickly up the rest of your thigh, hand gripping the underside of your knee and holding it up to create more space for his head, and then he kissed your clit, fingers still pumping relentlessly into you. His tongue flicked out at it. You bit your lip, head falling back against the wall, eyes slammed shut.

“Oh my god, that feels so fucking good,” you moaned loudly. “Elvis, oh my fucking god.”

You couldn’t believe it. There you were in the foyer of the Graceland mansion, barely through front door, pressed against the wall with Elvis Presley on his knees eating you out like a man starving for food. Your leg propped up and over his shoulder, your body barely able to stay upright, turning more and more into jello by the second.

In the other room, one of the cooks, Mary, quietly poked her head around the archway, eyes widening in astonishment at the sight of you and Elvis, you gripping his head, spread against the wall and devoured, and quickly darted away.

Neither you or Elvis heard as the back door opened and closed, he couldn’t hear anything with the earmuffs that were your thighs wrapped around him and you couldn’t possibly think straight. All of your senses were disabled at the moment. The only thing you knew was Elvis Presley’s tongue on your clit and fingers deep in your pussy.

Elvis removed his fingers, your juices dripping out with them, and licked a long stripe up your cunt. He swirled his tongue around your clit, flicking it twice, before licking into your hole. He stuck his tongue completely in, your thighs trembled, and he used his hand to press you against the wall even more, slamming your risen thigh into it to keep them open.

“Elvis, Elvis, Elvis, gahh,” you moaned loud and unashamedly.

Outside, Mary’s eyes were still the size of marbles when she discovered Joe Esposito and Red West striding up the back lawn.

“No, no, no, no,” Mary ran to them. “Do not go in there, boys.” She shook her hand up at the house, eyes crazy.

Red laughed down at the older woman, clapping a hand on her shoulder, and asking with a tongue that drips in sarcasm, “Everything alright, Mary?”

Joe was about to let out a loud laugh when he heard it—the exact thing that sent Mary running, “Ohhhhh fuck me, Elvis!”

It was you crying out, moaning so loud your voice echoed through the whole damn house.

Red and Joe shrugged at one another, both breaking out into grins. “Good for him,” Red said casually.

“I think you mean good for her by the sound of it,” Joe said laughing.

Meanwhile, in the house, Elvis was upright against the wall, hands clasping your waist, rocking his hips against yours as you tried to stay standing. Elvis just brought you to one of the strongest orgasms you ever experienced and you could barely tell where you were as you rode it out. Your vision nearly left you and you needed to pull Elvis up quick to support you. He immediately started kissing you, pulling your body into his, grinding his rock hard cock against you.

“You mean it?” he groaned into your ear, rutting against you. You nodded fervently, pushing your hips to meet his, craving his crotch on yours. “You really want me to fuck you?”

You groaned. You were practically still riding out your orgasm, the after waves running through you. Your wetness was still there, juices dripping down your thighs, and the more you and Elvis stayed there gyrating, the more you needed him.

“I need you, Elvis. I need to be close to you. I need you inside of me, please, baby, please give me your cock. I-I-I need it-I” he smashed his lips to yours to shut you up and roughly bunched your dress at your hips.

You couldn’t even process his movements, his hands falling under your dress, strongly ripping apart your panties, letting them drop to the floor with ease. You moaned loud at the action.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewled.

Then you heard his belt clinking, his zipper unzipping. You were getting more and more hot and wet the closer you got to him fucking you. With every step of the way you were growing more needy for him, more desperate.

“Please Elvis.”

He shook his head, placing a passionate kiss on your mouth. “Fuck, baby, you’re so hot for me, aren’t you.” You nodded quickly, too quick. It made his ego large, his dimples forming with the cheekiest of grins. “You make me so horny, baby.” You could cry the way you needed him.

He pulled his pants down till they were around his ankles and stepped out of them quickly, removing his shoes and kicking them somewhere in the process.

“Elvis, faster… need you inside a me.”

He clenched his jaw, pulling his underwear off, and gripping your ass so that you were steady. Your legs were wrapped around his hips, back against the wall.

“You ready, baby? S’gonna hurt.” He looked into your eyes and swallowed thick. He really did not want you to say you weren’t.

The way you looked, so fucked out, so desperate, you were heavenly. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself.

You nodded. “I know it’s gonna hurt, but I’m ready,” you whispered. He nodded, dropped his head to your neck, one hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly, prepping himself.

“You wanna go upstairs?” he asked

You shook your head, nose scrunching.

“You wanna get fucked against a wall for your first time?” he chuckled and slipped a finger into your pussy, scissoring your hole a bit to stretch you out.

You groaned and threw your head back again. He added two more fingers and you moved your hips in desperation for friction.

“Just wanna stretch you first, baby. S’okay, just be patient for me.”

“Mmmm, Elvis, please.” He could feel your walls squeezing him and knew he would need to warm you up some more. You may have just come on his tongue and he may have just used two slender fingers to fuck your hole but he could feel how tight you were and wanted to make sure things would go well.

You were dripping. Your juices, your cum, his saliva, so many fluids were mixing on his fingers as he scissored them inside you.

He brought his thumb to your clit and rubbed soft circles on it. If he didn’t think you were wet before, you were gushing now.

“Okay,” he brought his forehead to press against yours. “I’m gonna put the tip in.” He pulled his fingers out from you with a pop, and wetness leaked out. He looked down at your glistening cunt and smirked. Fuck he could not wait to be inside there.

And so he didn’t, he guided his mushroom head to your hole that he tried to stretch and pushed it in. He needed to inhale at the feeling, readjusting his hand on your ass to keep you up.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered. You did as he requested and your fiery eyes were met with his blazing one. The wanton passion shared between you could not be denied.

He pushed into you, and you nearly rolled your head back, eyes threatening to shut again. “Keep them open, baby.”

You nodded and kissed him, moaning as he bottomed out into you.

“Holy fuck,” you moaned. His hips stilled inside you. He was completely inside of you now. You two were connected completely for the first time.

He rolled his hips to test the waters and you gasped.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Hurts.” Your eyebrows knit together and water formed at your eyes. “Hurts, Elvis, fuck.”

“I’m sorry, wallflower. I know, I’m staying gentle with you.”

He wanted to ravage you.

He wanted to buck his hips against you and break you in half with his cock. He’s wanted to do that since he met you, really. But he has exhibited the most self restraint over the course of your tumultuous relationship.

He looked down to see where you were joined, his cock speared into your cunt. After all this waiting, all those years of keeping her pure and clean and honest and innocent, he thought, this is the way it happens. Pinned to the wall, mewling like a little kitten.

He had to admit, being loyal to you was a challenge, and perhaps that was the reason he finally decided it was time to throw in the towel and stop resisting you. He refused to cheat on you and he wanted to stay with you, he really wanted to try this commitment thing with you full time this time, no breaks, no pauses, no on again off again.

But it was difficult, and Elvis is a man with needs. The amount of women that want him, that express this very desire to him every single day, he was a strong man just for saying no.

Since he came back from Germany, he was loyal. It’d been only six months, sure, but he was loyal.

But by god, he was horny. It didn’t matter to him if you weren’t a virgin on your wedding night anymore; he’d still dress you in white anyway. No one would need to know.

“Okay. I think I’m ready,” you spoke, your voice soft and pretty.

Elvis nearly lost his head. Truly he could have watched it roll away at that moment because the sound of your angelic voice was too much to handle.

He kissed you delicately, remembering that you’re his angel, and lifting you off the wall, he carried you to the couch, cock still inside of you.

You furrowed your brow, confused.

“What are you doing, Elvis? I said I was ready.” you looked up at him with the plumpest, poutiest lips and the widest, roundest eyes and he had to clutch his heart to stop it from coming out of his chest.

He bit his lip quick then grinned reassuringly. “I know you are, baby, but I want you to be comfortable and I want it to be good and I wanna make love to you, wallflower. Don’t wanna fuck you rough against a wall right now.”

You swallowed, not sure what to say. He was slowly rocking his hips against you, cock sliding in and out, in and out, slick coating his shaft.

“You don’t?” you said, sounding sad.

He chuckled, kissing your forehead. His hand held your hip.

“Oh, I do, baby, trust me, and I will, but tonight I’m making love to you and making sure you know you’re mine.”

You nodded, agreeing. “I love you.”

That night was the first time you ever made love to Elvis Presley, and certainly not the last. During the next several months after that, you and Elvis had sex whenever you could, wherever you could. In the bathtub, in the shower, on the kitchen counter, on a pool chair, in the pool, on a hill in the grass, down at the creek, in his car, on his car, at the drive in, in the cinema house. It was relentless. You were addicted to each other. Graceland became one big sex zone and you loved it. The Memphis Mafia barely showed up unannounced anymore, to your pleasure, in fear that they’d find you fucking. It was like you and Elvis were truly living your little fantasy, playing house like you’d dreamed with no one around to stop you.

You felt like a goddess and each time you made love, he made sure to tell you that.

But all good things come to an end and Elvis Presley had to go off and be Elvis Presley again.

And so you went back to your life of seeing him for a little and seeing him for none at all, working a little at the ad firm. You’d reduced your hours. Being a secretary was no longer your dream. You wanted to be a mom, really, but you couldn’t say that just yet. So you became a gardener, just around Graceland really. But a gardener nonetheless.

Magazines would post pictures of Elvis and his co-stars. Always female and always flirty and always long legged. Every time you saw it intense jealousy would come over you. It burned a hole in your stomach. Don’t they know he’s taken?

He’d come home and he’d mention it before you’d even ask. “The girls are for publicity, baby. Colonel wants us, you and me, quiet so the movie can sell. I have to act that way.”

You’d shake your head but accept it anyway, and as a treat he’d eat you out for hours. Sometimes when you were getting makeup-sex, or reward-sex, or forget-about-the-problem-sex, you’d think maybe it would finally be the time he’d come in you—that way you could get pregnant and let those girls in those movies know that your man is your man, not theirs. Make him a daddy and your relationship will be permanently permanent was your thought process.

But that plan never came to fruition, as much as you wanted to, and as much as it almost did. Elvis stopped using condoms at some point during your relationship. Really, he didn’t start with it. The first time you had sex he didn’t use one, but that was because he knew taking it slow would allow him to pull out in time. But after that you two fucked like rabbits and he knew he wasn’t quick enough to pull out every time. But then when he left and was gone for a while, he missed you and wanted to be as close as possible. He ditched the condoms and promised to pull out, assuming you were the one that didn’t want to get pregnant.

One time you told him it didn’t matter and that he could if he wanted to, but he pulled out anyway. You kept your desires to yourself, not wishing to scare him with how badly you wanted to be pregnant with his baby. Still, every time you had sex, you’d wish he would just forget to pull out.

Another way to get the tabloids to stop putting pressure on him to appear interested in his co-stars was to get married. You knew you wanted to and you thought he did too. After all, he’d always tell you that he wanted you forever. That you’d be together always. You thought maybe becoming his bride would change things, but you knew that was a more difficult topic to present to him than the baby thing. So, again, you kept your mouth shut, too shy, too reserved, too proud, to bring it up.

Then, 1964 came. Ann Margret was cast alongside your long term boyfriend, who was finally your true boyfriend without pauses, in a film called Viva Las Vegas.

It would be just like the others, you thought. Some beautiful actress, they’ll pretend like it’s a backstage thing too, blah blah blah.

But then, came the tabloids.

You were home for the summer, helping your mama and daddy with crops and cows and the like. Elvis wasn’t at Graceland during the time anyway, so you felt it was a good time to go home. And it was, because finding that newspaper in the house that you shared with him would have been more heartbreaking, more cruel, more embarrassing than anything else. At least, in Southaven, you wouldn’t have to face the Memphis Mafia and their smug faces. Or Mary and her sympathy, or see the furniture that he loved you on or the doorway that he walked through or the towels he’d dry his hair with.

You knew it was true this time. You just did.

After years of rationalizing the photos of him and some girl, you knew these were real. They were spotted in the background of someone else’s photo… they weren’t posing for the picture, they weren’t meant to get caught. They were truly like that.

Your heart had sunk to the bottom of your stomach.

You were going back to being one of Elvis Presley’s exes.

But this time, the press was more interested in your side of the story than they were the last time, and you found yourself the center of much unwanted attention.

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authors note: hi guys!! i know this was super duper crazy long but thank you so much for reading! there is most definitely a part two for this coming soon as we will see what life is like for Elvis and the reader after the break up. makeup sex? maybe you’ll just have to read to find out

also, feel free to read my stories as both austin and real elvis! i have both in mind all the time so doesn’t matter to me

[aliciaelle47]

Currently at work. Reposting yo read later.

Only Ones Who Know — an Elvis Presley x Reader slow burn series (chapter three)

Pairing: Austin Butler!Elvis Presley x f!Reader Type: series (chapter 3 / ?) ~ chapter one ~ chapter two ~ Warnings: so much fluff, a considerable amount of angst, pining, long lost lovers, slow burn, implied childhood/family trauma (vague), some cursing Prompt: You and Elvis grew up together; he was your best friend and first love, but he and his family moved away. Eight years later, Elvis walks into the diner where you work…and he doesn’t recognize you. But there’s an intense connection between the two of you. Should you let things between you play out organically, or should you tell him who you really are? Word Count (by chapter): 7K Rating (by chapter): M (mature) A/N: This chapter was so special for me to write. It’s fluffy and angsty but I hope it makes you feel nostalgic and hopeful the way it felt for me when I wrote it. There are some brief allusions to implied childhood/family trauma, but I left it vague. Also, before y’all chew me out for writing this as a reader insert and not as an OC… I know, I know!! But I made the details ambiguous enough that most readers could suspend their imaginations enough to fill in the blanks for your own preferences. So I suppose you could read this as an OC or as a reader insert—either way, I sincerely hope you enjoy it!! I don’t claim that this is historically accurate or factual but simply inspired by the historical context! The events of this series are kind of a combination of real life events from Elvis’ life and the events of the film; thus, it may not follow the outline of events exactly as they appear the film. Inspiration for the plot more closely but loosely resembles real life documentations of Elvis’ life in 1956. Please note that I do not claim that this is historically accurate or factual but simply inspired by the historical context. Please for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks if you want to see more of my writing—thank you in advance! ♡, Juni

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The first thing I had done after I had gotten home from Beale Street was cry over Elvis Presley.

I went to my bedroom, closed the door, threw my bag and clothes on the floor, curled up in a ball on my bed, and cried. Maybe I was just being too sensitive. Or maybe it was the early morning hour that sparked my sudden despair. But I cried until my eyes ran dry of tears and I was simply too exhausted to keep them open any longer.

That night, in my dreams, I was a child again.

Keep reading

[aliciaelle47]

ELVIS 2022 and Elvis Presley in Live A Little Love A Little, 1968.