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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years ago

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Sergeant Presley (a one-shot)

A/N: Somehow, against all odds in this absolute chaos of a week, I managed to bang out the "Army Elvis" prompt for this week today, like a maniac. I am both shocked and amazed that I wrote a smutty one-shot without overthinking it but also be warned this is hardly edited or revised, nor even really thought out! 😂

Thanks always to my sister wives in chaos and crime: @be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis and @from-memphis-with-love

TW: Smut! Orgasms! Basically no plot!

Rating: Mature 18+ || Word Count: 2.7k

Sergeant Presley (a one-shot)

He wants to fuck you. Oh lord how he wants to fuck you, from the moment you walk in the room and sit across the aisle from him.

Maybe it’s the curve of your calves and the way they disappear under your pencil skirt. Maybe it’s how your jacket notches in at your waist, accentuating your ample hips. Or perhaps it’s the fact that even with the conservative uniform and minimal to-do with your hair and make-up (as per regulations, of course), you still are absolutely gorgeous.

Or I’m just horny, Elvis thinks sardonically, shifting in his seat.

The movement catches your eye, and he watches curiously as you do a bit of a double take, eyes widening slightly in recognition before your head whips straight ahead.

He smirks to himself at that. It never gets old, the light that goes on in women’s eyes when they take him in in person. And he certainly isn’t getting much of it lately, being effectively shackled here in Germany, clad in his drab green Army fatigues.

Well, that’s not entirely true, he thinks as he pictures the fans that gather at all hours outside the house he’s renting while he’s here, about the girls he invites in. But it’s not quite the same, not the same at all, because his fame is tenuous and teetering here. Part of him is certain that they’ve all forgotten about him at home, despite the Colonel’s reports to the contrary, despite the new movie contracts and albums he is set to record as soon as he returns. However, the sliver of fear about his fate has burrowed deep these past two years and poisons him slowly, each day he is gone.

But now he’s counting days and weeks instead of months and years, and he can nearly taste being home. His fear and the antsy feeling that permeates him is overcome by anxious excitement now, so he’s feeling better than he has in a long time.

And here he is, getting his Sergeant stripes, and that fills him with a different sort of pride altogether.

So, perhaps it is all these factors combined that have him wanting to jump across the aisle, pull you into his arms, and kiss you silly.

He’s never seen you before and doesn’t know your name until they call you up to present you with your earned rank. Feeling a bit lecherous, he admires the view of your ass as you walk to the front and the heaving of your breast as they pin your stripes. Your pretty eyes catch his unabashedly heated gaze and pink floods your cheeks as he locks you in.

Elvis knows what he’s doing. While much of it is a natural sort of gift, he’s also honed his seductive abilities quite a bit in the last four years and gets paid a lot of money because of it. He’s also well aware that he looks good, filled out in a manly way but slimmed down in all the right areas, and right now, he’s not above using his looks to get your attention. And he so does want your attention, as much as he knows by virtue of your uniform and rank, you are completely off limits. He’s not stupid—he’s too close to the end for a court martial. Though he may not be able to fuck you the way he wants, it doesn’t mean he can’t have a little bit of fun.

Crossing his arms, he brings one hand to his mouth, letting his thumb catch on his full bottom lip and his mouth fall open slightly. Then he gazes at you with a pointed but dreamy stare, his eyes blinking slowly.

He watches you gulp and fidget at front of the room, all of which could be explained away by nerves of being put on the spot, but he knows he’s hit jackpot because there’s a little fire stoked in those lovely eyes now.

Tilting his head and raising a brow, he makes a private show of looking you up and down as you walk tenuously back to your seat. Giving him a glare of admonishment, you very purposefully do not look at him once you are seated again, but your hands wring in your lap, your leg crossing over towards him.

He’s flustered you. Warmth rolls over him, pooling in his pelvis, and through the rest of the ceremony, he tries not to think of bending you over your chair, yanking up your skirt, and sinking deep into your silky heat.

His cock twitches at the thought.

Later, fate intervenes on his behalf when he realizes you’ve been seated with him at the dinner banquet following the ceremony. He shakes your hand, introducing himself, letting his fingers squeeze and his thumb graze your palm a little too intimately. The gamut of emotions that flashes over your face before you bring down a stoic smile makes him chuckle.

He guides you to sit next to him, and while you hesitate at first, he knows he’s already won because of the way your eyes widen at the suggestion.

Now that you are close, his body goes into overdrive, and he is drunk on the sweetness of your perfume and the smoothness of your skin. He realizes he’s likely being too obvious in his flirtations but can’t bring himself to reign it in. The other men and women at the table have either consciously or subconsciously deferred to him and his charms, leaving no one to compete for your attention. He lays it on thick, wanting to eat you right up.

Elvis is hyperaware of every time you glance his direction, which is happening more often as he pulls you deeper into conversation, your cool exterior thawing bit by bit. But the way your eyes dilate and how you lick your lips when he brings the bottle of cola in front of him to his mouth has a zing of arousal shooting down his spine and straight into his cock.

Oh.

Nothing if not responsive, Elvis tongues the lip of the bottle before taking a slow drag of the sweet, fizzy soda. Your eyes are fixated now on his mouth, on the bottle, and he watches you catch your lower lip in your teeth as you stare.

Heat courses through him as he pulls the bottle away, tongue rolling over his bottom lip to catch the lingering drops of sugar caught there. You swallow visibly, and he doesn’t stop his teasing, unable to keep his lip from quirking into a delighted smirk at your attentions. Your eyes fly back up to his, as if just realizing you’ve been caught, and you flush a charming shade of red before clearing your throat and looking away quickly.

But every time he raises the bottle to his lips, your eyes catch like a moth to a flame. This time they follow his hand down as he sets the bottle on the table. Condensation gathers droplets on the cool glass and he relishes the smooth, wet feeling as he strokes the bottle with his thumb.

You fidget in your seat. It takes him a second to understand why, but once he does, he feels his cock chub up, caught mercilessly in his briefs and dress pants. The little, mischievous devil in him takes great pleasure watching you watch him make a show of gripping the bottle in his whole hand, slowly thumbing over the opening at the top again and again.

You choke a little and reach for your water, taking a deep drag and blinking rapidly, as if trying to come out of the spell he seems to have you under. You attempt to throw yourself into the conversation at the table, ignoring him with all your might, your body tense in your seat.

A challenge, he thinks, smiling.

Slowly, Elvis presses his knee into the side of your thigh, loving the way you nearly jump out of your seat in surprise at the contact. It’s like a bolt of electricity between you, and he starts to strain against his underwear.

Now that he has your attention, he places his hand back around the cola bottle, lewdly gripping it and slowly twisting his hand down and back up the glass. It’s truly not that far off from his actual size, so the motion feels almost too familiar, too easy. Your mouth pops open at the suggestive gesture and it takes everything in him to not lap his tongue into that delicate little mouth of yours. He matches his rhythm, stroking his knee against your leg, which also happens to provide some delicious friction in his pants. He feels you tense, squeezing your thighs together, and he cannot help but think of your little pink snatch likely staining your panties with slick right at this very moment.

Elvis almost groans aloud at that, catching it in his throat at the last second, but you seem to hear it and your eyes fly to his. Your pupils are blown out and cheeks are hot, and he can almost smell the arousal on you. Goddamn it, he wants to make you come, right here at the table, just for him, in front of everyone, who, wrapped up in their own conversations seem none the wiser at the seduction that is happening before them.

He’s hardly touching you but feels a surge of power when you fidget again, caught like willing prey in his stare. He can’t touch you more than he already is because that would get him in trouble, but if he can’t lay you across this table and fuck you senseless, he’s going to do it the only way he can.

His ministrations on the bottle are serving to arouse him just as much as you, each stroke making his cock twitch and strain and stiffen. Your eyes dart from his to the bottle, back and forth, your breath shallow and rapid. His eyes are heavy on you, unyielding, and look upon you as though you were under him, as though he were trapped and undulating in the heat of what he just knows is your perfect, untouched cunt.

You look back at him as though you know exactly what he’s thinking, as though your tight little hole is snug around him, sweet as honey, treating him right. Your hands clutch at your silverware, your napkin, anything you can get your hands on that isn’t him, and he knows you are well on your way to where he wants you because he can feel how your legs move back and forth, creating the friction you so desperately need between them.

He wonders if he can get away with touching you under the tablecloth, with sticking his hand into those wet panties of yours to play with your swollen and sensitive nub, but your skirt is too long and tight, and your jacket hides the waistband. No, he’s gonna have to be satisfied with eye-fucking you and jerking off this cola bottle.

Your chest starts to vibrate with tension as you try desperately to hold back the short little gasps emanating from your lips and he knows then that you are set to explode. You brace your elbows on the table, hiding the lower part of your face with your napkin, as if wiping your mouth, and he feels your hips buck. You do a helluva job not moaning and rolling your eyes back as you come for him, but he sees you drift somewhere else for a moment in your ecstasy, your eyes going blank as you pant as measured as you can into your napkin-shield.

Watching you unravel so gracefully and so untouched has his own orgasm sneaking up on him. The fact that he made you come just by looking at you but also at the element of public indecency involved has him clutching the cola bottle so hard he might break it. He wants to palm his dick with his other hand, but he knows he can’t be subtle about it and kind of likes the fact you’re making him come untouched, too.

Elvis manages to hold on until you come down from your high enough to look at him with dreamy, satiated eyes and that finally sends him over the edge. His cock pulses heavy and hard, springing against the confines of his slacks, his eyes drifting closed and lips parting as he shivers through his orgasm as quietly as he can. Holy fucking hell.

Your shy, knowing smile is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, and he can’t help but smile right back at you in kind. Your rosy cheeks and gleaming eyes make him feel giddy. His face feels red hot and he can’t help but bring the cold cola bottle to his face to cool it off. You choke back a laugh.

“You alright there, Sergeant Presley?” another soldier questions him.

“Ohhhh, I’m fine,” he drawls, amused, “Just feels like it’s a thousand degrees in here is all, in this getup.”

For once, he’s glad of his regulation briefs, as they kept him from shooting his load straight down his pant leg, but he doesn’t have to look down to know by the sheer force and amount of his release that he’s soaking through the front of his pants. His only consolation is that he knows you must be soaked through your panties, too.

If he can get his jacket on, he’ll be okay because it’s long and will cover the mess, but how he’s going to do so without the entire hall seeing he just jizzed his pants, he’s not so sure. It might not be a problem for the average Joe, but people can’t help but watch his every move, whether he wants them to or not. He realizes in his haze of horniness that maybe he didn’t really think this through.

You seem to realize his predicament, however, pretty eyes widening after looking down in his lap. You snap your head up quickly and he can sense your wheels turning. He starts to panic a little when you don’t let him in on the plan, though, as you start telling some story that he can’t seem to pay attention to with the sticky, rapidly cooling mess in his underwear.

Before he knows what’s happening, you are sweeping your arm to the side in a dramatic retelling, knocking the half-full bottle of cola over, directly into his lap.

He yelps in surprise as the dark cola soaks into his slacks, right over the other stain that had begun to set.

“Oh! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Sergeant Presley!” you cry apologetically, quite convincingly, and in other circumstances, he might try to get you into the movies with your level of commitment as you place your napkin into his lap.

He chuckles, “Oh, it’s fine, darlin’, it’s just a little soda. After all, I was going on about how warm I was gettin’, so you cooled me right off.” He gives you a wink at his obvious double entendre, and you purse your lips to hold back a laugh.

“Well, I’m awfully embarrassed,” you say quietly, fully leaning into the role. “Please send me your dry cleaning bill. It’s the least I can do.” Pulling a little pad out of your clutch, you scribble something down on the paper, tear it off, fold it, and hand it to him.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. It’s no big thing,” he says, but takes the paper anyway, sensing that you have written something other than your dry cleaner’s information on it. He motions for your pen and paper. “Can I?”

You nod and hand them over. In his chicken scratch handwriting, he scrawls a note:

If you ever find yourself in Memphis someday, honey, come to Graceland for a visit. Ask for ‘Sarge.’ I’d love to have ya.

Love, Sergeant Elvis Presley

He finishes by adding one of the numbers at Graceland and hands the pad back to her. Wishful thinking, but maybe someday, when it’s not a court-martialed offense, he’ll be able to show you the good time you deserve.

He excuses himself, then, sloshing in his soggy, ruined pants, waiting until he gets to the car to read your note.

Sergeant Presley,

One must watch out for those pesky cola bottles…Try vinegar and cold water for that stain…wouldn’t want it to set!

Corporal Y/N Y/L/N

He laughs heartily as the car pulls away.

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butler-on-beale-street · 2 years ago

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Unforgettable | E!Austin Butler X Plus!Reader | Part 10

Warnings: description of bruises associated with SA, lots of fluff, mention of revenge.

A/N: Unforgettable is back after a long hiatus! I missed this series so much, and it was past time to come back. I sincerely hope you guys enjoy.

Word Count: 5.6K

Summary: After a terrible run in with scummy Adam, Elvis flies across the United States to find you. What you thought would be a terrible day after the attack leads you into a surprising twist as Elvis wakes you...little do you know his time with you is also paired with a plan for revenge.

You scooted over to give Elvis a place to sit, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as it sank in that he was here in Memphis, and not somewhere in Hollywood.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, sitting up against your headboard. The painful rigidity of your body caused you to wince. “I mean–” you threw your hands up, realizing how bluntly you had spoken. “I mean, I’m so happy to see you, but how are you here?”

“Baby, are you kidding? Evelyn told me what happened. I left California immediately to come home– and It was quite the ordeal to try to get here, let me tell you.” He grinned softly. You smiled. He sat up cross-legged, reaching for your hands.

“What about the movie? Aren’t you going to get in trouble? Are you gonna be kicked off of it?”

He placed his hand on your shoulder. “Shhh. Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn what happens. I made my choice. I needed to be here. With you.” Despite the terrible circumstance, you felt loved and protected. “And I won’t say sorry for taking care of the people I love, no matter how much money or fans I lose.”

“Wait–You love me?” You said, turning to him, eyeing him intently. You couldn’t help the heat rushing up your neck to the apples of your cheeks. His face did the same, reddening from the question.

“I–well, uh,” He stumbled, a soft rosy blush creeping up his neck and into the apples of his cheeks. You chuckled lightly at his endearing expression. “Listen, Cheeks. I-I have to be honest with you.”

You felt your heart flip in your chest and land in your gut when he spoke. His demeanor switched suddenly into something much more sensitive and careful, and because you hadn’t quite seen him like that yet, it almost terrified you.

“It’s not the right time to say this, but it’s been on my mind so heavy that I keep messin’ words up on set. My mama says I look smitten and goofy,” He continued to ramble. Your eyes sparkled, your lips curling into a grin which grew wider and wider as Elvis continued to trip nervously over the next words.

“I’ve never met anyone like you. Not ever. You are the most…refreshing thing to come into my life in so long. You are my very first thought in the morning and the very last at night–And really, I never thought I’d say that I love a woman before we’ve officially gone steady, but I can’t help it.” You couldn’t help the grin that was blooming across your face, wishing he’d stop talking and kiss you instead. “I just want to ask you one thing. Y/n. My beautiful Cheeks. Will you be my girlfriend?”

You chuckled softly and brought your hands up to caress the curve of his cheeks, pulling him in for a soft kiss, offering a non-verbal answer first. “Yes, Elvis. Of course!” You looked into his eyes, feeling the warmth in his gaze. It comforted you into almost forgetting the sordid details of what had happened in his absence. He leaned into your embrace, gently kissing the soft curve of your lips, which sent sparks which crackled through your body like lightning–and suddenly everything felt like it would be okay. You reached your arms forward, pulling him further against you upon the bed. You couldn’t help but steal a glance at the bedroom door while you pulled him down.

“Oh! Ow!” Elvis spat, slamming his elbow into the corner of your bedside table on the way down.

“Oh!” You covered your mouth from surprise. “Oh my goodness, are you okay?” You asked, backing off of him.

“I’m fine.” He chuckled softly, his lips curled in an embarrassed grin. “Better than fine,” He assured you, returning to kiss you once more. You could feel the tight ache in your muscles, but quickly threw away the intrusive thoughts of Adam that crept within your consciousness. Elvis had turned the entire situation on its head today, securing his place within your life. You knew that as soon as he could, he’d make sure that Adam would never think of saying your name or expressing a single thought about you–especially if he wanted to be able to walk away unscathed.

***

“I’m assuming you two are official now?” Evelyn said, sitting in her father’s arm chair, stuffing potato chips in her mouth. “I could hear you giggling like a little girl from the kitchen.” You walked through the living room hand in hand with Elvis. You didn’t immediately respond, but your face said everything. “Yay! I’m so happy for you guys! What about those crazy fangirls, though? Or the media,” She said, chewing with her mouth open. “Or the photographers? What happens when they find out?” You watched as Momo ate the chips that managed to fall messily to the floor.

“Woah, woah, woah kid.” Elvis said with a grin, holding his hand in the air to stop her. “One thing at a time.”

“Well, she’s got a good point, Son.” Uncle Harold said, walking into the living room, straightening his tie and combing his hair back, obviously getting ready to head out of the house. “I don’t want my girl dealing with all that.”

“Uncle Harold. I love you. I love you so much, but I am an adult. I can take care of myself, and I’m sure that Elvis will take care of me.”

Uncle Harold straightened his back, heaving a deep sigh. “I know you are, honey. But considering what just happened…and what happened at my store, I can’t help but be the bad guy–at least for a while.”

“You’re not the bad guy. You take care of me and protect me. You always have.”

“Sir, my hand to God–I’ll never hurt her or let anyone hurt her if I have anything to say about it,” Elvis said, pulling his arm around you.

“Just prepare yourself. Both of you. Prepare for there to be fallout.” Uncle Harold said, bending to kiss you on the forehead before heading out of the door. “Welcome to the family, son,” He said, extending his hand forward for Elvis to take.

***

“I want to meet your family, Elvis. I think it’s time.” You told him, folding the load of laundry that Uncle Harold had finished and brought you. It was nice having Elvis there with you, not expecting anything, but just happy to be in your presence. He sat on your bed, leaning back against your headboard.

“My family?” He said with a grin. You watched him, knowing he was about to say something smart. You nodded. “I thought I told you I’m an orphan…long lost cousins and aunties have come out of the woodworks since the first album, let me tell you.” You reached for one of your sweaters, bunching it into a ball and tossing it at Elvis, hitting him squarely in the chest..

“Seriously, Elvis.” You said, trying your bed to maintain a resolved expression and failing. “I wanna meet them. I think I deserve to.”

Elvis leaned forward, straightening his body, setting your sweater to the side, his grin lowering into something more resolved. “You deserve the world, Y/n. Best believe I promise to give it to you. Ya know…I told Mama about you.” He said. You watched his lips move, your head swimming with just how effortlessly beautiful he was–without even trying.

“You did? What did you say? Nothing bad, I hope. You didn’t tell her about–”

“No, no. Of course not,” He cut you off immediately, pulling his hand up to stop you. “No. I told her that I came home to visit someone special. I told her about you and couldn’t stop blushin.’” he said, narrowing his eyes with mischief. “She knew immediately that it was a girl.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve got Elvis Presley blushing?” You said, twisting back and forth like a kid in a candy shop.

“Is that so hard to believe?” He asked flirtatiously. His eyes sparkled, causing your belly to flip. “Ever since that first date, you’re all I can think about, Cheeks. Maybe even since that first day when I met you in the avalanche of books.”

“Really?” You asked, still finding it incredibly difficult to believe that Elvis Presley found that much interest in you, the chubby, average, petite girl. “What made you choose me, Elvis?” You asked boldly. You fidgeted as you waited for his answer, busying your hands by folding the rest of your laundry.

“I didn’t have to choose you,” He said simply. “Wanna know what the first thing was that I noticed about you?” He asked, looking intently at you. You nodded, genuinely curious as to what he would say.

“Your beautiful smile,” He said, picking up the sweater you had thrown at him. He began to stroke the fabric absently between his fingers as he spoke. He looked up at you slowly. “You made my heart flip out of my chest that day. I was like a newborn stag that day. Barely able to walk straight. That’s why I wouldn’t leave. Couldn’t. Because of you.”

“Me?” You asked, almost confused.

“Yes, you. Why’s it so hard to believe? He asked with a wide smirk, almost entertained at your disbelief.

“I’m not used to–this,” you said, referring to yours and Elvis’s relationship. “I’ve never really been in a relationship before. I’m not used to attention. I’ve always been known as the smart girl. The big girl. Never pretty or popular.” You spoke honestly, and it surprised you with how easy it was to tell Elvis the truth. It was because you trusted him.

“Cheeks, I don’t give a damn what people say about us,” he said, setting the sweater down and crossing his arms across his chest. “I care about you. If anyone dares say something to you or me, I will knock their front teeth in,” he said. You watched his features tighten at the thought of anyone saying disparaging comments to you. “Like that sorry toad,” he spat. “He will get his day in Hell, that’s for sure. I don’t know how yet, but trust me, it will be better than simply beating his sorry ass one good time.”

“Elvis,” You said, narrowing your gaze. “I’m okay, really. He just scared mea bit.” You said, shrugging off the true seriousness of the situation.

“Just scared you? Honey, have you looked at yourself in the mirror?” He asked, his eyes widening with concern. “Sweetheart, you’re bruised all over your arms and neck. I’ve been trying not to look. If I do, I will waste my time with you thinking about how I want to wring his goddamn neck.” You noticed as he swallowed nervously, or angrily. You couldn’t really tell. His fists bunched and released within his lap.

Your hands snaked up your body, touching your skin in the tender areas. You hadn’t looked in the mirror, it was true. You winced as you touched the painful spots. The shock of the situation had deemed you complacent to everything he had done to you. Quite frankly, you didn’t want to think about it, because if you did, you’d fall apart in front of Elvis, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Adam wasn’t worth it.

“Hey, hey,” He murmured softly. “I’m sorry, honey. I- I made this about me.”

“It’s alright. Listen, I still want to meet your Mom, your Dad,” you said, sighing. “I guess I’ll just wear a turtleneck or something.” Elvis eyed you skeptically.

“You’re gonna cook alive, darlin’. It’s hot as Hell outside.” Elvis said, his eyebrows pulling upward, questioning you.

“Well, do you have a better idea?” You asked him. He shook his head no. “I just don’t want to show up meeting your family with bruises all over.”

“Well, we can always wait until I get back,” He said. “They’re not going anywhere.”

You sighed with disappointment. “Okay.” You both sat together for a long, quiet moment before he spoke again.

“Oh Cheeks, if it means that much to you, we will make a day out of it. I know for a fact that Mama and Daddy are gonna love you.”

“Turtleneck it is,” You said, a smile returning to your cheeks.

Elvis got up from the bed and came up behind you, hugging you gently around the waist. “You’re gonna be a steamin’ pot roast by the end of the afternoon,” He said, kissing you softly on your cheek and ear. “My little pot roast.”

“You are a strange man,” you said, turning to look up at him.

“Eh, I usually get away with it,” He said with a sexy wink. You pushed him away with your hands on his chest. “Go hang with Evey and Uncle Harold for a minute. Let me get dressed,” You said, chuckling.

With the door finally shut behind you, you made your way into your connected bathroom and finally took a look at yourself for the first time since the attack. Your face remained untouched, yet your arms had bloomed in ugly bruises. It was easy to map where Adam had assaulted you. Small, purple splotches cropped out upon your skin in lasting evidence of his touch. Looking at the dark, ugly spots made you sick, flipping your gut in a sickening wallop. You gripped the countertop of the sink, forcing yourself to look away. Even your hands were bruised, but not obviously noticeable. Evidence of the assault was all over your body; if you felt like you couldn’t look at yourself before, these marks made you an ‘untouchable.’ You sighed disgustedly, turning away from the mirror and sauntered out of the bathroom. You got dressed, choosing a maroon pair of corduroy slacks to pair with a white ribbed turtleneck that did manage to conceal most of the visible bruises on your skin. You primped extra, taking time to curl your hair and pin it nicely, applying tasteful makeup to your cheeks, lips and lashes. You hoped that this extra effort would distract for the horrid truth underneath it all.

“How do I look?” You asked hesitantly, walking into the living room where Elvis sat with Uncle Harold, discussing something about football. “You look absolutely beautiful, honey!” Uncle Harold said, a proud smile spreading on his face.

“I agree. You look wonderful, Baby.” Elvis agreed. Uncle Harold eyed Elvis pointedly, almost causing you to snort.

“Thank you.” You offered them both a warm smile.

“You ready?” Elvis asked, stuffing his hand in his pocket to retrieve his keys. You nodded, joining him as he got up and headed towards the front door.

“You two have fun. When can I expect her back?” Uncle Harold asked. He didn’t seem as protective as he had been before, which surprised you.

“I’ll have her home right after dinner, sir.” Elvis assured him respectfully.

“Have her home by eleven,” he said, extending your curfew. You were surprised, given how tough he was with Elvis. He seemed to be coming around. Elvis turned to him with surprise.

“Eleven?” He asked, repeating the time.

“Don’t make me regret it,” He said with a slight grin. “Now, shoo! Go have fun.” You watched as your uncle’s lips turned up in a slight grin, though he did his best to hide it.

Elvis opened the front door for you, and he followed you into the front yard. “Where’s your car? Did you park it in a hiding spot somewhere?” You asked prematurely before noticing the new car in the driveway. “What’s this?” You asked, stopping and turning to him.

“I thought the Cadi was a bit too…”

“Ostentatious?”

“Yeah, that word.”

You couldn’t help but grin, slightly embarrassed. “You’re my little bookworm,” He teased, reaching for your hand, squeezing it softly. “I got the new car so that it would be easier for me to visit. Not as many questions asked, you know?” He asked, smoothing down his hair with his free hand. He jingled the keys in his pocket, pulling them out and unlocking your door for you, letting you get in first. The car was brand new, and sparkled a bright blue. The interior was fabricated in beautiful moisturized leather the color of chocolate brown.

“Wow,” you said, smoothing your hands over the leather. “It’s so pretty.”

Elvis smiled proudly. “Isn’t it? Chevrolet…built to last, you could say,” he said with a wink, putting the keys into the ignition and starting the car. It came to life in a roar and before you knew it, you both were on the road with the windows down.

“Oh, I didn’t think to ask,” He said with a chuckle, watching your hair blowing wildly from the air whipping through the vehicle. “I’ll roll them back up.”

You shot your hand out to stop him. “Don’t! I like it.” You said with a grin. “I’ll fix it later.”

“You’re gonna look like you went through a wind tunnel, darlin’.” He grinned beautifully, turning his head to look between your face and your messy hair.

“Yeah, well. I’m feeling a bit rebellious,” you said, turning to him with a grin.

“Well, you did sneak out of your house at one in the morning to hang out with a man you barely knew. Not to mention he’s famous…and known to be a bad boy.”

“More like the most famous man in the world,” he added. “Who also has a reputation of being a bad boy,” you corrected.

He drove for a while, letting the car fill with silence, beside the quiet crackle of the radio. “Elvis?” You asked.

“Hm?” He asked, eyeing you from over the steering wheel.

“How is this going to work?”

“You mean with Mama and Daddy? Baby, they’re not gonna bite you,” He snorted, reaching across the seat for your hand.

“No, that’s not what I mean. I just–I don’t know how to not feel like…like I’m holding you back. I live in Memphis, but you’re always traveling, and I don’t see that stopping any time soon.”

He was quiet for a moment as he drove. “Can I ask you a question?” He asked, turning the question around. “What’s scaring you the most? Because I can guarantee you that I am in this completely. I’m here for you. And I’m not going anywhere, even when I have to travel. Are you worried that I won’t think of you? Or that I won’t be honest?” He asked.

“No,” You said, although the tone of your voice didn’t inspire confidence. “It’s not that. I know you’re a good guy. It’s just…I don’t know. I just don’t understand why it’s me. I just don’t.” You let your insecurities show once again. You were sure you’d begin to annoy Elvis soon enough with how often you questioned your relationship with him.

“Can I tell you a story? Or really, can I tell you about someone?” He asked, raising his eyebrows, stopping at a red light. You nodded.

There’s a woman on set–my co-star, actually.” he began. “She’s absolutely beautiful. Exquisite skin–she’s tall. Dark Hair…Doe-eyed. Full lips that always seem turned up in this little smile, like she knows something that others don’t. Absolutely gorgeous.” You sat in your seat, picking at the beds of your fingernails as you listened to him describing the woman. “Her name is Judy.”

You couldn’t help the jealousy that began to burn a hole deep within your gut. It was like corrosive acid. You realized that you were beginning to pick and dig painfully at your skin. You forced yourself to relax. “And?” You asked pointedly. Elvis could sense the tension in your tone, turning to look at you in the moment of stillness.

“The point is, no matter how pretty she is–and she’s absolutely stunning. Charming, too–” he made sure to clarify. “She’s not you, Cheeks.” You remained silent, watching him intently.

“I have a reputation of being a ladies man. Of running around–maybe taking advantage of my fame. I won’t pretend it isn’t somewhat true. Or at least in the past. But I’ve never met someone like you.”

“Never?”

“Y/n, I’ve never introduced a woman to my family if that tells you anything.”

“Really?” You asked, your eyebrows knitting together. He shook his head.

“No one serious…I mean, there were a couple in high school, but we went to school together, and I was still a kid. But since then…Since all the blessings, I’ve protected that side of my life–But you? You belong there. You belong in that safe place. I want and need you there–and I’ll prove it to you every single day until you believe me.”

You couldn’t help the grateful smile that spread across your lips. “I take it that that made you happy?” He asked with a toothy grin.

“Very much so,” You answered.

“Can I ask you another question?” He asked. You could see that he was thinking of the question before he had strung the words together, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

“Mmhmm.”

“Would you ever go with me to California? While I’m filming?”

“You want me to travel with you?” You asked, turning in your seat, surprised, but elated at the same time.

“Of course I do. Have you ever traveled that far?” He asked, turning onto the highway that would lead to Graceland.

“I’ve gone to Mississippi with my family, but besides that, it’s always been Memphis,” you admitted.

He nodded slowly as he drove. “Do you think your uncle would let you?”

“He can’t stop me,” You answered righteously. “It’s about time I do some things on my own. I know that you’d take care of me, too.”

“After she meets you, Mama will run me up the hill if anything happens to you on my watch. I know that she will love you that much.”

“You think so?” you asked, reaching your hands up to smooth your hair as best you could, watching the large wrought-iron fence appear in front of you.

“I know so.”

***

The house was large, and almost glowed from atop the hill from how beautiful the exterior was. It was a large home, cloaked in a grove of Huge oak trees which towered over the property, throwing speckled patches of shade across the emerald lawn.

“Now I understand why you say you love it here,” you said softly as he drove through the gates.

“It’s heaven on Earth, trust me. And it’s just the start. I have so many ideas. I can’t wait to show you everything.” He was giddy to show you the house. He had told you that night on the Memphis Riverwalk so many things about his life. He went on at length about his life, spending a lot of time talking about his mom and dad, about how often he had moved growing up and about the friends he had gained from all walks of life because of it. Before the fame, he had owned practically nothing except for time-beaten children’s guitar that he had played for years. Until moving to Memphis, he never had his own bedroom. He didn’t have fancy clothes. The family had an old, used car that they had packed everything they owned to move from Tupelo to Memphis for a new start. He never truly fit in at school, but at the same time, it never bothered him too much. Elvis knew who he was. He never needed anyone else to tell him who he needed to be, what ideas he had to have, what items or possessions he needed…none of it really mattered. He just wanted music–the one true thing that connected with his soul. Now that he possessed so much fame, there was very little left to want–the very opposite of the life he had growing up. The remarkable thing about Elvis was that no matter the amount of fame or notoriety he had, he never came off jaded; not for an instant. His car pulled around the front of the house, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of it as it stood in its stately elegance.

“Wow. It’s so beautiful,” You said, struggling not to appear overly astonished.

“Thank you. Earned every square inch. She is beautiful. Graceland is the perfect name, don’t you think?” He asked, turning off the ignition and stepping out of the car.

“Thank you,” you said as he opened your door for you. He shut the car door closed before offering you his hand as he proudly walked you to the large front entrance. He tried the door knob and it was unlocked.

“Mama? Daddy?” Elvis said, his volume rising enough to ring throughout the house.

“In the kitchen, baby!” A woman’s voice shouted back from somewhere in the house.

“Come on in, baby.” He said, holding the door open over your head. You ducked and walked into the house, your eyes scanning over how exquisitely decorated it was. The living room was furnished in the finest furniture, including what must have been a fifteen-foot long sofa. It was beautiful–a metallic shade of blue that brightened the room. The curtains were exquisitely white with blue accents draping the top of the windows. The house was carpeted in luxurious frost-white flooring, which almost seemed to glow from the natural light that spilled through the windows.

“Wow,” you mused. Your face must have gone slack because you heard Elvis snicker beside you.

“I wanted to paint the walls purple, but Mama wouldn’t let me. She said it looked too ‘garrish,’ he said, pulling his hands out his pockets to create quotes in the air. You grinned at him.

“Purple?” You asked him, obviously amused.

“Mmhmm, and pinstripe curtains.”

“Uh…well.”

“I know, I know, maybe not the best choice. Mom was right, but I won’t ever tell her…” He pulled his arm around you playfully, pulling you to his side.

“Tell me what?” Gladys asked with a knowing grin, padding into the living room from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a hand towel that had rested on her shoulder.. There was sweat beading on her brow and she wore a heavily floured apron over her clothing.

“Nothin’ Mama.”

“Now who’s this beautiful young lady, Darlin’?” She asked, wiping her brow before returning her hands to her hips.

“Mama, this is Y/n. She’s the girl I told you about.” You couldn’t help but feel your belly doing somersaults as he openly admitted it to his mother.

“I hope nothing terrible,” you spoke up with a bright smile. “Mrs. Presley, Elvis has told me so many amazing things about you. Said you’re such a good mama.”

The apples of Gladys’s cheeks were ringed in fresh blush, and her thin, delicate lips spread into a warm and comforting smile. “He better’ve! I’ve been cookin’ for him all day,” she said, pulling the hand towel from her shoulder and playfully swatting Elvis’s butt with it.

“Hey!” He chuckled, stepping forward to give his mother a kiss on the cheek, pulling her in for a hug.

“Well, Miss Y/n, I’m a hugger. You don’t mind, do ya?” She asked, her arms still open.

“Not at all,” You welcomed her in, taking a step forward. She didn’t know you at all yet, but she still threw her arms around you, nonetheless squeezing you with fondness. You felt the ache again, but you ignored it.

“Now sweetheart. How on God’s green earth are you not burning alive in this thing?” She said, holding you at your sides as she pulled away from the hug. You remembered that you were wearing the turtleneck. Since you had left your house, it had fit to your body like a second skin, and after a while, you forgot about it.

“Laundry day,” You began, looking down at the shirt. “Had to pull out random clothes until I could find something clean and cute. Couldn’t meet you looking frumpy, now could I?” You asked, laying on the charm.

“With as sweet as you are, sugar…you come as you are whenever you want.” You felt drawn to her, and you could understand instantly why Elvis loved her so much. She radiated kindness and charisma and you knew you’d come to crave her attention and care.

“I got fresh biscuits and gravy goin’ in the kitchen. Should be done just about now. Booby, have you eaten?” She asked, turning over her shoulder at Elvis, who blushed at the nickname. You tried and failed to conceal the enthused expression from your face. He tapped the outside of your thigh silently as you walked with him, his neck and face spreading with embarrassment.

“I think it’s cute,” You whispered, “booby?” You bumped him back.

“No mama, I didn’t eat. Serve me double,” He responded to his mother, turning the corner into the large corner where she stood over a deep cast iron skillet, stirring a thick gravy that both smelled and looked absolutely delicious..

“Y/n, honey, would you like some?” She asked while fixing Elvis’s plate.

“Sure!” You said enthusiastically, before your instincts could take over, filling your mind with insecurity. You couldn’t help it; years of ridicule–both from yourself and others, had made you clam up at the mention of food, particularly in front of others. You pushed down the feeling, deciding instead to smile, joining Elvis at the casual dining table in the kitchen. “This place is so gorgeous,” you said, watching Elvis take a few bites of the meal while Gladys made yours.

“Just wait until you see the rest,” he said with bright eyes, his mouth half full with food. “It’s not perfect yet, but I really think this is my forever home. Don’t you think, Mama?” Gladys turned, walking the plate of food over to you, setting it down in front of you.

“Absolutely, baby. I love this home. I was just talking to your grandmother about it,” She said, sighing and taking a seat in the empty chair between you and Elvis.“We’re used to nothin’, let me tell you,” she said mostly to you. “Not a penny matters to us as long as we’ve got each other– but this house certainly feels like the home we’ve always dreamed of, right honey?” She asked, reaching to squeeze Elvis’s shoulder lovingly.

“Of course, Mama,” Elvis said, chewing another bite.. You took a bite of the food in front of you, immediately feeling your taste buds exploding from the amazing flavor. It transported you through time back to your childhood, when your father and mother waltzed around the kitchen locked within each other’s embrace, absolutely in love. You sat in thought, pondering over how food had the unique and amazing quality to ignite memories, some of which you had forgotten about.

“What do you think, Y/n?” Elvis asked, snapping you back to attention.

“What? I’m sorry, what did you say?” You asked.

“Momma was just talking about the stables. I need to feed the horses. Want to come?”

“You have horses?” You asked, raising your eyebrows.

“Mmhmm,” He said, standing from the table, taking his plate and setting it in the deep sink. “Two of them. And an ass,” he chuckled, his mother cutting an eye at him.

“I want more though. There’s a whole lotta land back there. I wanna fill it out with the strongest, most beautiful race horses,” he said, his eyes cast in hopeful dreaming.

“Well, let’s stay humble with what we’ve got for now, Satnin,” Gladys said, patting Elvis’s back. “You can barely keep up with the two you’ve got. This time last month we had to hire extra housekeepers to shampoo the carpets. Elvis let the horses roam right in. You would have thought this was the stable,” she reached for your plate, using the hand towel on her shoulder to flick off the biscuit flakes from the table onto the floor. You looked up at Elvis with a slightly judgemental expression.

“I was having fun!” He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders.

“If that’s your idea of fun, I am in deep, deep trouble,” you said.

“He better behave around you, baby. Or I’ll have Vernon chase him down the road with his own cadillac.”

“Okay, okay Mama,” Elvis interjected, leading his mother towards the back door of the house. “You should show Y/n your vegetable garden–I know how much you love it. I’ve got to make a quick phone call,” he spoke. You raised an eyebrow with curiosity, feeling your anxiety spike slightly knowing you’d be left alone with Elvis’s mother. You wanted to leave the best impression, and truth be told, you didn’t have the best track record of not making a fool of yourself when it came to being nervous around others.

***

“Red, I need a favor,” Elvis spoke, stroking his chin to comfort himself.

“What’s the matter, E?” Red spoke on the other side of the phone. “Someone crawl over the fence again? Need backup?” He asked in a long southern drawl.

“No, no, no,” Elvis gesticulated his hand dismissively though his friend couldn’t see the gesture. “I need you to hire someone at the dealership.”

“What exactly are you gettin’ at?” He asked. Elvis raked his fingers through his hair, loosening the carefully coiffed style.

“It’s a long story.” Elvis said. “Meet me at home at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I need you to do something for me–and it won’t be pretty.” Elvis didn’t speak further on the phone, saying a curt goodbye before placing the receiver back onto the wall.

Tomorrow revenge would begin–on his terms.

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