#Elvis Presley

[andietries]

They should have done this in Stitch

[iloveelvisss]

Does anybody have the answer to why, as a girl that’s never met him before, that I’m like actually in love with Elvis? Because it’s seems like nobody in my life gets me when I say that, or they think I’m being silly. But I swear, my feelings can’t just be nothing. I genuinely love him. In love with him, like he’s my husband, in love. Like we’re soulmates in love. I literally bawl my eyes out when I remember I’ll never get to experience him, or personally be with him like my heart so desperately wants to be. I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m not, and it hurts like a physical pain.

Idk, just please don’t tell me I’m crazy. I love that man.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

I just want to say how good your stories are and I really love them they are so detailed and good!.. I wanted to request a fic. Nympho reader trying to get Elvis's attention ata family and friends dinner (the memohis mafia, their wives yk) but he denies her until he can't take it anymore and drags her off to the bathroom and fucks her hard and makes her be quiet. 🙏🏼

Maneater

A/N: Sorry this has taken me so long! I've been thinking about it on and off for a while now, and finally got something written down.

Pairing: Elvis x nympho!reader

Word count: 2.3K

TWs: Infidelity, name-calling, spanking, rough sex, mirror sex, reader is gagged, degredation kink, praise kink, a handjob, p in v sex, also probably should mention the appearance of Lamar's dick, might need a warning...

Elvis fixes you with a stern look as he tells you yet again that this is a nice dinner and you’re not to do anything to mess it up. What he means by that is that he doesn’t want you winding him up at the dinner table. He’s never met a girl like you. You’re desperate for it, all the time. He can’t keep up. Perhaps he could have, in his 20s, but not now he’s 34. He gave up trying to please you with his hands and mouth and dick all the time - his jaw started to ache and he’s getting worried about his fingers anyway from all the karate. The less said about his dick the better. He’d eventually caved and bought a vibrator, something to make you cum a few times in a row and hopefully shut you up. When that stopped being a guaranteed cure he decided he couldn’t take it anymore and broke up with you. He’s never broken up with a girl before (they usually do the leaving) and it was difficult. Made even more difficult by him finding you sucking Jerry off, not more than an hour later. So he’d taken you back, out of jealousy really, he supposes.

“You’re going to be a good girl, right?”

You twist a few strands of hair around your finger and tilt your head to the side. It’s not that you don’t want to be good. You just have these urges, and they don’t really seem to be stoppable.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He walks the few steps between you and pinches your cheeks with his fingers. “Right?”

You nod enthusiastically. “I’m going to be a good girl.” Already you’re squeezing your thighs together. He really needs to learn that you find all of this such a turn on that it’s just making the whole situation worse.

“Good. Let’s go downstairs.”

***

You manage the first course without incident, but by the time the main dish is on the table you’re thoroughly distracted again. Elvis sat you to his left so that he could keep an eye on you, and he’s been careful not to touch you or even really look at you directly that much. But there’s so much sauce he keeps having to lick his lips, more than usual, and you can’t help but think about all the other places that tongue has been or could go… You wriggle about a little in your chair, getting some friction between it and your pussy, thinking about him eating you rather than the meatloaf.

Elvis notices your tell-tale movements and reaches one hand beneath the table to pinch your thigh, hard. You squeak, but you get the message and stop moving. He clears his throat and moves his hand back to the table, returning to his conversation with Joe. You take a few deep breaths and try to get your head back in the game. Eat dinner, ignore Elvis, be a good girl.

“How’s it going, pipsqueak?” Lemar asks, from your left.

“‘M not a pipsqeak,” you hum, fluttering your eyelashes and putting your hand on his thigh. So much for being a good girl.

Lemar grins. He doesn’t usually get a lot of attention from the ladies, but you’re the exception. And he likes you because you treat him just the same as you do everyone else - as a potential ride.

“Look like one to me,” he teases. “Enjoying your meatloaf?”

You shrug, putting down your fork. “Can think of some meat I’d prefer…”

Your hand wanders a little further up Lamar’s thigh, and then you chance a look over to Elvis, who is still studiously ignoring you. Well, if you can’t get his attention you’ve sure as shit got Lamar’s.

Lamar actually blushes at your words, looking nervously over at Elvis now himself. He’s going to get into trouble for this but it’s turning him on so he’s not sure if he cares. Elvis is deep in conversation with Joe and his wife and hasn’t noticed anything, so the other man doesn’t stop your hand as it continues its journey up his thigh, finally reaching his dick and giving it a friendly squeeze. He’s playing with fire now, but he just takes another mouthful of meatloaf as you unzip him one-handed and dip your hand into his boxers, starting to stroke him.

He tries not to choke on the food in his mouth at the sensation. Your little hand is very skilled, even at this weird angle, and suddenly he realises that you could make him cum at the dinner table. And you probably will, since consequences don’t really seem to bother you. Not that surprising, since all the guys know you sucked Jerry off and Elvis took you back anyway.

You’re already moving quickly, and you don’t bother trying to cover up what you’re doing that much. No-one notices though, busy chatting and eating and drinking, not paying any attention to you. You pout, almost to yourself, and then decide you have to do something to get some attention. You hate to be ignored.

“Elvis?” You drawl, lazily.

Lamar freezes. Why on earth are you doing this? This is worse than just making him cum at the dinner table, this is making him cum whilst Elvis watches. It’s a miracle no-one has noticed what you’re doing, and you want to Elvis to notice, of all people.

“Yes, honey,” Elvis replies, coldly, rolling his eyes.

Your hand is still working Lamar’s dick and he’s getting closer and closer to release. Now Elvis has turned to look at you, he knows he can’t try to pull your hand off him, that’ll make it too obvious. But he can’t let you keep going, that’ll make it even more obvious. He panics and so he does nothing, feeling his balls getting heavier as you keep jerking him. There’s no way that this ends well.

“Are you enjoying your meatloaf?” You lick your lips teasingly.

Elvis frowns a little, thinking that something about the way you’re sitting looks weird. Your shoulder keeps moving and… something about Lamar looks weird too. Suddenly it snaps into focus and he realises what’s happening. Around the same time as Lamar cums with a barely disguised moan.

“You little slut.”

He stands and grabs you by the arm, dragging you out of your chair and then behind him as he marches up the stairs. Lamar. Lamar of all people. And at the dinner table! He’s not sure he can keep seeing you but he can’t break up with you without teaching you a lesson first.

Lamar zips himself up and tries to look innocent, although it’s not long before the other guys figure out what happened, especially when they see the stains on his pants. It’s only the presence of the wives that keep them from really ribbing him at the table, but they can barely believe it. That girl Elvis is seeing really is some kind of nymphomaniac.

Your stomach flips and you feel yourself getting wetter as you struggle to keep up with him, first up the stairs and then into the en suite. He slams the door and then rounds on you, fury etched into his face.

“Ya really just gave Lamar a handjob at the dinner table? In my house? With me right next ta ya?”

You bite your lip. “‘M sorry, Daddy. I can’t help it.”

“You need to learn,” he growls.

And this is the problem. He thinks this is a punishment, but you’re just excited. You want to be taught lesson after lesson. You like it when he gets like this, a little out of control. You want him to fuck you like an animal and keep going way past the point of enjoyment. You want it to go on and on until you beg him to stop, and even then he continues.

He spins you around to face the big mirror over the bathroom sink, pushing you so that you bend at the waist, your little skirt flipping up to uncover your ass. Pulling your panties down and off, he stuffs them in his pocket and looks briefly at your reflection. You look back at him, big doe eyes and pouting lips.

“Maybe this’ll teach ya.”

He spanks you, hard, and you yelp. So he carries on, over and over again. You can feel his rings against your skin, making each slap sting even more. Little squeals fall from your mouth as he keeps going, your ass getting redder and redder.

“Shush.”

“Sorry Daddy,” you coo, trying hard to clamp your mouth shut and not make any more noise.

But he doesn’t stop hitting you, and it’s starting to get really sore, and you can’t help yelping again and then wriggling a little, a half-hearted attempt to get away.

“I told ya to shush.”

He grabs the panties and stuffs them into your mouth. You can feel your arousal running down your leg. Jerking Lamar off was worth it for this reaction.

He spanks you a few more times but he can see how turned on you are and he can’t pretend his dick isn’t aching right now too. Dragging a finger up the inside of your thigh, he brings it up, wet, to his lips and lets you see him lick it.

“Dirty little girl,” he hisses.

You moan around the panties, drool pooling around them and starting to spill out of the sides and into the sink. He looks into your eyes and… you look… happy? He can’t understand it. After that spanking, the way he’s humiliating you, the panties in your mouth… how can you be happy? He unzips his pants and takes out his dick, pushing it inside you hard and fast. You groan at being so full so quickly but your wetness means he slides in no problem, you’re so ready for him. Even more than usual.

He grunts as he starts to thrust into you, one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, bunching it into a makeshift ponytail. Your hips bump the sink with every thrust and you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow. You’ll probably have a bruised ass, too, with the beating he gave it. You moan again, pleasure rippling through your body as he pulls your head up and arches your back, his dick hitting somewhere delicious inside you.

“Nasty little slut,” he groans, pulling your hair some more. “Look at yourself.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, hair everywhere, mascara running down your red cheeks, saliva spilling over your chin. Then you look back at him and his eyes look wild, almost black with lust and fury, his face flushed and his lip curled into a sneer. He briefly lets go of your hip to pull the panties out of your mouth, letting them fall into the sink.

“What d’ya look like?”

“A nasty little slut, Daddy.”

His eyes roll back in his head as he starts to pound you, wanting to somehow fuck this out of you. You’re such a damn frustrating little girl. So obedient when you’re taking his dick, and so goddamn wayward when you’re not.

His dick keeps rubbing that place inside you that you like so much, and you know you’ve got to be almost there now. But you can’t just cum without permission. You could jerk Lamar off without permission, but cumming was a whole different story.

“Daddy, I need to cum.”

“Ya always fuckin’ need ta cum. That’s the problem with ya.” He snaps.

“Mmmm. But now. Please. ‘M so close.”

“Fine,” he huffs, and the result is almost immediate, your walls are pulsing around him, squeezing and squeezing.

You scoop up the soggy panties from the sink and put them back in your own mouth, so that the noise you make as you cum on his dick is muffled. But he still hears it, and still sees your face contorted in ecstasy in the mirror, and combined with the way you’re squeezing him there’s nothing he can do but cum too, hard and deep inside you. He groans, staggering backwards and then managing to sit himself down on the toilet lid, legs spread, head thrown back. Fuck. That was good. You were a damn good fuck.

You spit the panties out of your mouth then straighten, legs like jelly, before turning around. Seeing him there with his dick still out of his pants you can’t help yourself. You kneel down between his legs and start to lick him clean. His head slowly moves forwards and he stares down at you, incredulously.

“What’re ya doin’?” There’s a softness in his voice now, and he finds himself stroking your cheek with his forefinger.

“Bein’ good,” you tell him, licking a final stripe up him and then looking up at his face. “Hoping for round two,” you add, more honestly.

He shakes his head. “Little girl, you are insatiable.”

You nod. “I know. Sorry, Daddy.”

He sighs and pulls you up into his lap. “What am I gonna do with ya?”

Your arms slip around his neck and you look at him with those big doe eyes again. “Spank me? Teach me a lesson? Fill up all my little holes?”

Elvis blushes at your filthy mouth, even after the things he’s just said and done to you. He shakes his head again.

“It’s this big hole,” he says, pinching your cheeks with his thumb and a finger, and then pressing his forefinger to your lips. “That keeps gettin’ ya in trouble.”

You nod sagely. “I know. Probably best to fill that up too.”

He can’t help giggling. There’s something adorable about you, even if you are the filthiest girl he’s ever met. You giggle too. You like this, this attention from him. Even though he’s not fucking you or spanking you, you like him up close and intimate like this.

He kisses your temple and then makes a decision.

“Alright. To hell with this dinner. Get on the bed and I’ll shut ya up properly this time.”

***

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas

[sissylittlefeather]

Bonded: Part 4

Baby What You Want Me to Do

A/N: Here is the next part to the vampire series I started last Halloween! Things are heating up as we move from 1960 to 1970 with vampire Elvis and our vampire reader. I hope you enjoy!

Need to catch up?

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, but they're vampires so also blood drinking, biting, and someone with a pretty serious illness

Word count: ~3.8k

December 1970

He prays desperately that they'll find you. You're his only hope.

Elvis paces the TV room at Graceland smoking his cigar much too quickly. What will he do if the guys can't find you? He's talked to three different vampires and they all refused to help him. Surely, once he explains, you'll do what he needs.

There's also a small part of him that just wants to know where you are, wants to see you again. He's wondered where you were so many times over the last decade and he almost broke down and looked for you on several occasions. But he was never as desperate as he is now.

He sits down on the couch and stares absentmindedly at the TVs as they play three different football games. Hopefully Sonny and the guys can find you. They have to find you.

******

You leave your job at the Moulin Rouge not long after your encounter with Elvis. People start to notice that you aren't aging. But more than that, everything there reminds you of him. So you pack up and move to Rome. You bounce around Europe for the better part of the decade and then decide you'll go home to America. By the mid ‘60s there are more soldiers, but you have no interest in living in Vietnam. Besides, you’re getting a little tired of the routine that keeps you alive. Several times you consider giving up entirely and letting yourself fade, but there’s always a reason to keep going, even if it’s just that you have to go to work the next day.

You watch Elvis's career from afar, see every single one of his movies, and cry when you watch the Special in ‘68. That's when you go home, settling in Las Vegas to become a showgirl. There is a steady stream of male tourists and, if you’re being honest, the vague chance that you might run into Elvis. In a way, you’re happy, despite living alone. After Paris, you stop looking for others like you and learn to be content to live in isolation. Even after all these years, the only one you really want is him.

You get invited to one of his parties once by some guy who is trying to show off, but you bail at the last second, scared of how he might react to seeing you again. He’s married with a child, why would he want to reconnect with the woman who ruined his life? Still, his life doesn't seem ruined when you read what the papers have to say about his grand return to the stage. You're happy he’s happy and you make that be enough.

******

Elvis walks upstairs to Lisa Marie’s room and stands in the doorway for a little while just watching the scene in front of him. His little girl lays in the bed asleep as the nurse sits beside her waiting for the next coughing fit.

“How is she?” He whispers and the nurse looks up at him.

“Not any better. The doctor is worried that the whooping cough will turn to pneumonia. If that happens-”

“It won't.” He can't entertain that possibility in his mind. She's already too sick. He walks over to the bed and kneels down beside it, looking at his toddler daughter struggling to breathe on the pillow. She's not even 3 years old. “I won't let it happen.”

“Mr. Presley, I know it's hard to think about, but she's not responding to the antibiotics. You need to-” He turns to her with his eyes burning and cruel. It's easy to forget he's a vampire until he looks like this. The nurse doesn't know, of course, but she's filled with an icy cold terror anyway.

“I've already fired three nurses for talking like this. Do you want to be next?” He spits it at her and she shakes her head vehemently.

“N-no sir. I'm sorry.” She shrinks like a mouse in front of a violent predator. Elvis glares at her, nostrils flaring, and seriously considers draining her dry. He hasn't fed in days and he feels his fangs descend just thinking about it. Shaking his head a little, he turns back to face the bed and takes a deep breath to get rid of his fangs.

“You just do your job. Leave the rest to me.” He lifts Lisa Marie’s hand to his lips and kisses it gently. “My baby will be just fine.”

The nurse nods as he stands up and walks to the doorway, pausing to look back at the bed.

“She will be fine.” He has to find you before it's too late.

******

You read in the papers that Elvis is back in Vegas at the end of January 1971. Every time you find out he's there, your heart skips and you try not to pray that this is the time you run into him. You attempt to go about your business as usual and ignore the strange pull you feel to reach out to him.

It takes every amount of threatening from the Colonel to get Elvis to go back to Vegas while Lisa Marie is sick. Her whooping cough does turn into pneumonia and she just seems to get worse with each passing day. Elvis has her moved to a hospital in Vegas so he can be with her any time he's not on stage.

In the meantime, the men he's sent to search for you continue to come up empty handed. Nobody at the Moulin Rouge knows where you are and none of their other leads go anywhere. Mary hasn't spoken with you since the day Elvis was turned. And even though they find Anya back home in Russia, she doesn't know where you are either. Last she heard, you were going back to America, but she wasn't sure where you'd gone.

Elvis breaks almost every knick knack in his Vegas suite flying into fits of rage over their incompetence. He could've told them you were in America. There's a strange feeling in him that tells him you're close by, he's just not sure where.

So when he sees you one day crossing the street in front of him on his way to the hospital, he almost doesn't believe it's you. But he'd recognize you anywhere, even with his eyes closed. For some reason, his extreme senses pick up on you better than anything he's ever experienced. He can smell you and hear you despite the bustling city around him.

Without warning, he unlocks the door and hops out of the car, ignoring the pleas from his bodyguards. He's stronger than all of them combined, so they don't even attempt to hold him back as he runs across the street to you.

You feel him before you see him, his scent almost overwhelming you. Your eyes close and you stop dead in your tracks as he comes up behind you.

“Y/n…”

“Elvis.” You turn to him, opening your eyes slowly. For a second, you both just stare at each other.

“I need you.” You're not sure what you were expecting to come out of his mouth, but it wasn't that.

“You… need me?”

“Yes. Please. Come with me.” You're on your way to work, but you don't think twice.

“Okay.” He leads you back through traffic to his car where it's parked as his bodyguards wait for him to come back. Sonny stands there, not sure what to think about the kind of woman that makes Elvis Presley jump out of a moving car.

“What the hell, boss?” Elvis just shakes his head.

“I told you she was close, man.” Sonny's mouth pops open.

“Is that… she's… that's her?” Elvis nods as he opens the door for you to slide into the backseat.

“That's her.” He slides into the seat beside you and slams the car door. You can't get over how good he looks in his velvet jacket. His hair is a lot longer than the last time you saw him, but he's just as handsome as he's ever been.

“Elvis…”

“I need your help. I've been looking for you.” Your body is screaming for you to pull him close to you, but you try to ignore the instinct.

“For me? Why?”

“You'll see.” You ride in silence, not sure what to say to the man you've loved for over a decade when you haven't seen him in just as long. When the car pulls up in front of the hospital, you really start to wonder what he wants with you. “Don't say anything to the press.”

He doesn't give you time to ask any questions before getting out of the car and running to your side to help you out.

“Elvis, what-?”

“Just come with me.” He puts his hand on the small of your back, sending shivers through both of you, and leads you past the paparazzi and through the hospital to Lisa Marie's room. At the door he turns to you with a strange look of desperation on his face. His distress is almost palpable. “I need your help with this.”

He pushes the door open and guides you into the room. When you see the little girl in the bed, oxygen pumping and monitors beeping, your hand goes to your mouth.

“This is my daughter, Lisa Marie. She has pneumonia and it's not responding to the medication.” Your eyes fill with tears, his sadness overwhelming you.

“What do you need from me?” He hesitates for a second and then decides he has nothing to lose.

“I need you to help me turn her into one of us.”

His request hangs in the air like some tangible thing. It takes a second for you to really register what he's asking, before you turn to him with your eyes wide.

“Elvis, she's a child. She's a baby. I'm not-”

“She's dying, y/n. I can't lose her.” You feel the desperation roll off of him in deep waves and look back at the toddler in the bed. For a second, you consider what it would mean.

“No, Elvis! I'm not doing this!” You turn and walk out of the hospital room. In the hallway, you lean against the wall and try to catch your breath. His emotions are making it difficult to think. You don't remember being this sensitive to him before, but it's like the years apart have made your senses even more extreme. There's always a strange sort of connection between a vampire and their maker, but yours seems to be especially strong. Or maybe his feelings are just that intense.

“Y/n! Please. You're my only hope of saving her.” His blue eyes burn with desperation.

“No!” You yell at first and then lower your voice when you realize the nurses at the desk are watching the two of you. “I'm not doing this, Elvis. I can't.”

He grabs your shoulders and shakes you a little, not hard but enough to feel.

“You have to! You did this to me! You owe me this!” He's frantic now, almost hysterical with the thought that you're refusing to do what he needs. You reach up and take his face in both hands.

“Elvis. Not here. Not like this. People are watching.” He blinks a few times and lets go of your shoulders, looking around. He sniffs hard and takes his glasses off to wipe his eyes. Placing them back on his nose, he looks at you intensely.

“Okay. Come with me.” He takes your hand and drags you back through the hospital to his car, ignoring the reporters as they yell questions about who you are and why he's at the hospital. Back in the safety of the car, he breaks down. “I don't know what else to do.”

He leans over in your arms and you hold him as he cries on your chest. Tears stream down your cheeks and your body is wracked with sobs. You're not sure if it's his sadness or yours that's got you like this, but you hold him and rock with him in your arms the whole way back to his hotel.

When you pull up, he groans and sits up, wiping his face with his hands. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to you to wipe your face with. You're not sure why he didn't use it himself, but it's like that would be admitting he had cried. Once you're both cleaned up as much as you can be, he opens the car door and leads you up to his suite. As soon as you're alone, he rounds on you. His eyes are so much on fire that they're almost red.

“Tell me again why the fuck you won’t save my daughter’s life.”

“Elvis, think about what you're asking me. You want me to help you make your baby a vampire.” He turns and kicks a table.

“I want you to SAVE HER LIFE.” He snarls at you angrily. You decide that yelling back is not going to be helpful. Instead you take a deep breath and ask quietly.

“Did I save your life?” He stares at you.

“What?”

“When I turned you, did I save your life?” You say it slowly and deliberately and watch as he puts together what you're asking.

“No, but I wasn't dying.” He seems to have softened a bit though, so you continue this line of questioning.

“And are you happy that I turned you?”

“Not really.” The bitterness in his voice cuts straight through you.

“Is this the life you want for your child?” That strikes a chord and he looks up at you with his eyes cold again.

“I didn't want this life for myself.” Now it's your turn to shake your head and get a little fired up.

“Oh no you don't. You do not get to blame this on me. You begged me to turn you.” You watch as he puffs up again and prepares for a fight.

“And you knew better!”

“I told you-”

“BUT YOU DID IT ANYWAY!” He walks close to you and towers over you. “YOU DID IT ANYWAY!”

“YOU DIDN’T GIVE ME AN OPTION!” He scares you a bit, but you refuse to back down. “YOU-”

“AND THEN YOU SENT ME AWAY!” You laugh derisively.

“I sent you away?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” You take a step towards him and look up into his face. “You left me!”

He grabs your upper arms and shakes you again.

“DO YOU THINK I WANTED TO LEAVE-” You cut him off and scream.

“DO YOU THINK I WANTED YOU TO LEAVE?! I LOVED YOU!” He lets go of your arms and his mouth pops open, but he closes it quickly and turns away from you. You whisper to his back. “I love you.”

You try to suppress your tears, dying to know what he is thinking. He doesn't give you long to wonder, though. Instead, he turns back to you with a tortured expression.

“Why the fuck didn't you say anything?”

“I knew better! I knew you didn't love me!” He shakes his head.

“You decided for me.”

“Are you telling me I was wrong?!” Your voice wavers as the tears threaten to spill over. “You know you didn't-”

And then in three steps he's wrapped around you, his mouth crashed into yours, kissing you with an unbridled passion.

You don't even think, your body just responds and you jump to wrap your legs around his waist. He catches you easily and carries you to the bedroom, his mouth never moving from yours. A decade’s worth of pent up passion is escaping you both as he lays you down on the bed and rolls his hips forward to meet yours. He stops for the smallest second and strokes the side of your face with the back of his fingers. Then he leans in and kisses you softly a few times before the heat takes over again and he tears at your clothes. In a few short minutes he's got you both stripped naked and you press your bodies together, soaking in the feeling of each other’s skin. It's been so long since he's had you like this that he almost forgot what it felt like to be this close to you, but it all comes rushing back to him as you whimper underneath him. He presses his lips to your body, leaving a trail of hot kisses in his wake as he moves down your stomach. His fangs have already descended and he grazes them against your inner thigh in the place where he bit you when you made love before he left Germany. How many nights has he thought of that day? The way you tasted and smelled and how you writhed under his body in pleasure.

You're overwhelmed with the reality of him as he worships you, having spent too many years imagining him, replaying your last time together over and over in your mind with your fingers pressed to your clit, whispering his name into the darkness like a prayer. You feel your fangs against your bottom lip and arch your back as he drags his tongue up your thigh and hovers just over your center.

“You really thought I didn't love you?” He whispers, just before he lowers his mouth to you, letting his tongue dart out over your sensitive bud. You moan softly as he begins to lick and suck you with the fire of a man possessed by desire. Words are beyond you as he works your clit with his mouth and then moves down to press his tongue as deep inside you as it'll go. You whimper and gasp as he fucks you with his tongue and then moves back up, sliding two long fingers into you. The feeling of his rings against your entrance is new and particularly delicious as you feel your orgasm start to gather in between your hips. His fangs press gently into your skin as he licks you hard and slides his fingers in and out. He knows you're close to a climax, remembers the way you feel like this, and is pulling out all the stops to push you over the edge. “Come on, baby. You can let go for me. I'm not goin’ anywhere.”

He's not sure why that's what he says, but it works nonetheless and you feel yourself giving in to the pleasure as it washes over you in pounding waves. He moans a little when he feels you pulse around his fingers. As your clit softens, he pulls back a bit and it takes everything in him not to sink his fangs into your thigh. His dick is so hard it almost hurts and he's dying for some kind of release. He hasn't fed in way too long and the knowledge that you're there and you taste so good is about to kill him.

You watch, confused, as he moves away from you and sits up with his back against the headboard, leaning back and sighing deeply.

“Elvis, what-?”

“I'm trying not to bite you.” You sit up and look at him, so beautiful with his eyes closed and his head thrown back, shaggy hair a little wet with sweat. His body is taut and when your eyes land on his hard cock standing at the ready, your pussy clenches around nothing.

“Why?” You whisper as you slink over to him and crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs and taking his dick in your hand. He groans as you start to pump him and then lean in and kiss his chest. “I don't mind.”

He immediately lifts his head and looks down as you move your hair out of the way and expose your neck to him. It’s been so long and he knows how good you taste. A low growl escapes him as he leans forward and licks a spot on your neck.

“You're sure, baby?”

“Just don't drain me, but yes.” He smiles a little and drags his fangs across your skin. Your hand is still pumping him, but as he moves to bite you, you lift up and sink down onto his cock while his fangs press into your neck. Both of you moan deeply with the double sensation. You roll your hips against him as he sucks the blood from your neck and the passion begins to mount again as both of his hands move to your back. He groans as you begin to bounce on him harder, pushing him so deep inside you that you dance on the edge of another orgasm.

“Fuck, Elvis!” You moan and he backs away from your neck and pulls your mouth to his, your fangs bumping into his as you taste your own blood on his tongue. He moves his hands to your hips and starts to lift and drop you faster and faster, feeling the pleasure rise in him and threaten to explode inside you. Then, he grabs the other side of your neck with his hand and presses his forehead into yours as you fuck him.

“Of course I loved you. I’ve always loved you. I still love you.” You let out a strangled moan at his words and clamp your mouth shut. The instinct to bite him is so strong that you can barely control it. And it only gets worse when he cocks his head to the side and moves his hair off his neck.

“I can't.”

“Yes you can. Please.”

“Elvis…” But it's beyond your control when he moves his thumb to your clit and he pushes you over the edge into another blinding climax. Your eyes darken and the next thing you know, you're sinking your fangs into him as he holds you in place and cums deep inside you. The sweet taste of his blood rushes over your tongue as his cock pulses inside you. The pleasure overwhelms both of you so deeply that for a second it feels like you black out. When you both come to, you're laying on the bed with your head down by his feet and his head by yours. You feel him grab your ankle and kiss it, a smile spreading across your face.

“You okay, baby?” He asks with his lips against your skin. You sit up and rearrange to be in his arms. He kisses your forehead and sighs deeply.

“I'm fine. Better than fine. Are you okay?” You look up at him but he keeps his eyes on the ceiling.

“Yeah, I'm… I love you.” You kiss his jawline.

“I love you too. What is it?” There's a pause as you watch him try to find the words to say what's on his mind. Eventually he just opens his mouth and it comes tumbling out.

“My baby girl is gonna die, isn't she?”

You lay together in silence and the thought hits him that at least he'll have you when it happens.

******

To be continued...

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

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69

[elvisvideos]

Elvis gets ready to go snorkeling while vacationing in Hawaii. 1969

[polksaladava]

✼　 ҉ 　✼ the psychology of Elvis, pt. 1 ✼　 ҉ 　✼

i’ve been thinking a lot about the psychology of Elvis since watching the new documentary and i desperately need to scream my little brain worms into the void. i'm not really adding anything to the conversation that @joons didn't already say (much more concisely and eloquently than i'm about to lol) but alas, a yapper never ceases.

obviously i’m not a doctor or an expert by any means, so there’s a good chance i’m just talking out of my ass. always interested to hear other people’s thoughts and opinions but if you’re thinking about engaging with this post in bad faith, don’t!

of course Elvis lived a very complicated and unusual life, and we can never truly know why a person does what they do, but there's a series of major events that i can think of that very obviously impacted him and probably lead to a lot of the patterns of behavior we saw in his adult years.

for a start, he grew up very poor. we know poverty leaves deep and lasting trauma - experiencing resource scarcity, especially during your formative years, has a huge impact on developmental psychology. not only that, but his dad was in prison for 8 months when Elvis was only 3-4 years old. that's old enough to remember the emotions associated, but not old enough that he could have really understood what was happening at the time. AND by all accounts, it seemed he also had a hard time fitting in at school, which i'm sure wasn't helped when the family moved two hours away from his home town.

overall, his childhood was really characterized by scarcity - lack of money, lack of resources, lack of stability, lack of friends. but then he makes it through high school and he hits it big! seemingly overnight and out of no where. and now, there's money coming in! he can afford to buy his family a nice home! he's adored by crowds and he's found friends! and all of this is incredible and he attributes it all to none other than colonel tom parker.

and so now we have this deep-seeded fear of scarcity and this belief that all of the abundance he's finally experiencing should be attributed to the colonel. and the only way to make sure that the colonel stays is to keep him happy.

and then the two worst things that could have possibly happened happen at the same time - he gets sent to Germany, in turn being forced to abandon his career and his life as he knows it, and his mother and very best friend dies tragically.

and suddenly he realizes that the money and the fame and the resources aren't enough to keep bad things from happening, and the worst thing that can happen is losing the people you love - and maybe more importantly, losing the people who love you.

so now we have a man who was, by all accounts, already gentle and kind and loving by nature, whose brain has been conditioned to prioritize having people in his corner above all else. which, to a degree, is just human nature! we intrinsically know that we need a tribe to thrive in the wild. but when you experience the trauma that he went through at such formative times in his life, that becomes your singular goal. to survive, you cannot be alone.

and how do you avoid being alone? you give people a reason to want to be around you. and that reason could be a lot of different things - love, money, sex, entertainment. and he was pretty damn good at providing all of the above. so of course he builds a loyal group to surround him at all times. not only is he kind and fun and beautiful, but he's essentially bankrolling their whole lives. he buys them houses and cars and puts them on his payroll.

and now we have a huge problem, because we're well into the 1960's and Elvis has been raking in cash hand over foot, but he's miserable. he doesn't have a live audience to feed him anymore. the work is meaningless and embarrassing, and his health is on the rocks. but the colonel is constantly reminding him that he's only one step away from desolation, and now Elvis is really scared, because he's essentially the sole provider for a family of 15 at this point and he has to keep the cash flowing. so he stays miserable and does the bad movies and continues to do exactly what the colonel says. and god forbid any of the leeches around him (not you jerry or charlie!!) say anything, because they're not about to lose their paycheck!

but thankfully we make it through the majority of the 60's, and everything changes with the help of steve binder and the '68 special. and that's where i'm going to hop off my soap box for today, but trust me i have MUCH more to say about the 70's and the eventual decline of an empire and how this ties in to the lore of Elvis Presley™ as we know it today.

if any of you actually made it this far, i apologize for the 10 minutes you will never get back. may god bless you angels. maybe go outside or something now tho. okay love you xoxo

[ladelinee]

Two different films, same gesture 🥰

Set of “King Creole” and “Follow that Dream”

[whositmcwhatsit]

Just pretend, I'm holding you

And whispering things soft and low

And think of me, how it's gonna be

Just pretend I didn't go…

[hooked-on-elvis]

ᴇʟᴠɪꜱ' ᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ɪɴ ꜰᴀꜱʜɪᴏɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ' ᴄᴏꜱᴛᴜᴍᴇꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇꜱ

A personal Elvis touch to some of his characters's wardrobe.

Recently me and @jhoneybees were drooling over Elvis in Girls! Girls! Girls! (1962) and Fun In Acapulco (1963). I couldn't stop thinking about the backwards rolled up cuffs shirts that his characters wear in some scenes in both films because they look so good in him! Then I realized that Elvis used to wear his shirts just like this occasionally in the 1950s, before his Hollywood career had begun.

(2-3) Elvis on May 21, 1955 backstage at the Louisiana Hayride at the Municipal Auditorium in Shreveport, Louisiana. (4-6) January 25, 1955. Elvis Presley. Tyler, TX. backstage Mayfair building.

(7) Elvis in Graceland in 1960. Here Elvis' acting career was already happening but he hadn't used the rolled-backwards sleeve cuffs shirts in the movies just yet (at least that I remember of), but that's gonna change in a couple of years.

(8-10) Elvis as Ross Carpenter in Girls! Girls! Girls! (1962).

(11-13) Elvis as Mike Windgren in Fun In Acapulco (1963).

Looking at those pictures I can imagine that Elvis himself did some styling to his character's wardrobe occasionally, very seldom I think. However it doesn't stop at the early 60s films… I noticed that again in Charro! (1969).

(14-15) The King as Jess Wade, with his one of his signature looks, the high collars (the jacket just appears for a brief moment in the film but when I saw it I was like 'Oh, Elvis... anyone could recognize you just by looking at your back from miles away...'

It's not like we need any pictures to proof high-collars were his thing but it won't cause any harm too, so...

Cool, isn't it? But, wait a minute, there's more! The next one was prior to Charro!

Right now, I can't say that Elvis in fact had any say-so concerning his characters costumes but that's my assumption based on a little studying on his history and by watching his movies but another thing gave me the idea he could do something about his costumes for the films.

Sandi Miller (fan/gate girl) shared on her Facebook account that she and another fan gave Elvis a jacket in 1966 while Double Trouble (MGM, 1967) was in production. Principal filming for Elvis's twenty-fourth movie began on July 11, 1966 and was finished by August 30, 1966. After the movie was released, visiting the fans as usual, Elvis told Sandi to watch a specific scene in the film and there it was! He was wearing the jacket she gave him.

August 3rd, 1966. Elvis off to the studio to film 'Double Trouble'. Candids by fan Sandi Miller.

On the pictures above, Sandi (on her Facebook account) said: "Elvis on his way to the studio to film 'Double Trouble.' On his lap is a jacket we gave him purchased from St. James mens shop in Fullerton." Fan Kathryn Harper Sherrill then asked Sandi: "And didn't he tell you to watch closely part of that film & your jacket was used in a scene of the film when he was packing or unpacking?" For what Sandi replied: "Yes, he did!"

On that post Sandi doesn't specify which jacket it was, unfortunately, but I followed the hint and looked for a scene Elvis' character was packing in the film. The jacket Sandi Miller gave EP is most likely this one below. He's wearing it while he sings 'City By Night' and also 'Old MacDonald' in that portion of the film.

Wasn't it thoughtful of him to wear a jacket gifted to him by a fan in one of his films?

This is Elvis in 1966, returning or leaving his Hillcrest home in California, during the Double Trouble movie production period. The jacket looks like the same he wore in the film for those scenes I mentioned previously.

Conclusion: I guess it's safe to say that Elvis sometimes would style his costumes a little bit, putting something more of himself into his characters beyond the unmistakable charm, humor and talent. i don't know if that's a good thing to do because most actors' goals is to have a character that requires them to transform their image and behaviors to a point the characters don't resemble their off-screen personas in the slightest but, knowing how Elvis' movies were so… unusual… specially made to please Elvis' audience as they were (always craving for more) and how that caused the screenplays not to have real efforts put into that would give EP the need to really become someone else for his movies, it's not exactly wrong of him to incorporate his own persona (to a given extent) into the characters he played. All in all, I guess that makes his acting career even more unique. Elvis was not an ordinary artist after all. At times being that spectacular human being backfired, and Elvis just… went with the flow.

Those are just a few moments I noticed when Elvis' fashion style was lent to his on-screen characters. Have you noticed any other moments in the movies where this happens?

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 10 - Thunder and Lightning

Summary: Priscilla's explosive Barbara Walters interview paints Elvis as unstable and susceptible to bad influences. A violent outburst in Valerie's apartment reveals the dangerous volatility beneath his tender nature. What starts as a night of rage transforms into a meditation on love and loyalty as the Memphis Mafia rallies around their leader, showing how Elvis' inner circle protects him from his demons - though some betrayals cut too deep to heal.

Word Count: 3,014

"Now Priscilla," Barbara Walters leaned forward with practiced sympathy, "you've been very gracious about the separation. But our viewers want to know - what really happened?"

Elvis sat perfectly still on my couch, one hand wrapped around a glass of seltzer. He hadn't touched it. Just held it like an anchor. I watched him closely. 

"I've always been private about our marriage," Priscilla demurred, every hair in place, makeup perfect. "But I suppose the public deserves some truth."

"Don't," Elvis whispered to the screen. His voice held a warning I'd never heard before.

Barbara pressed on. "There are rumors about... lifestyle changes. About Elvis' evolving artistic choices. Some say he's become erratic, difficult to work with."

"The pills," I thought, my stomach dropping. But Priscilla surprised me.

Read more here.

Taglist:

@whositmcwhatsit  @ellie-24  @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain  @be-my-ally  @vintageshanny  @prompted-wordsmith @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather  @atleastpleasetelephone @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @therealslimshakespeare @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @jhoneybees @atleastpleasetelephone @eapep @elvispresleywife @that-hotdog @landlockedmermaid77 @sissylittlefeather @kawaiiwitchy @eapep @iloveelvisss @argangelbornxoxo

[iloveelvisss]

Lovestruck (an Elvis fic/imagine)

Pairing: yandere!Elvis x Reader

Summary: It’s 1975 and Linda has rejected Elvis’ proposal, leaving him drug dependent. Worried and frustrated, his family and Linda get an in-home nurse to get him back on track with his health. But what happens when Elvis mistakes her kindness for love?

Warnings/Triggers: this is a yandere fic so expect dark themes such as, obsessive, compulsive, manipulative, crazed behavior. Elvis is delusional. References to sex and baby making. Forced marriage, and slight kidnapping? References to the colonel.

Priscilla left. And Elvis believed he was heartbroken, keyword: believed. And he sulked and sulked and sulked for weeks.

But then Linda came around. He was convinced he was in love with her, letting her move in and redecorate his house and make friends with his baby daughter. He even thought about proposing. But she said she wasn't sure if that's what she wanted.

And while she was a good distraction at first, when she rejected his proposal, the drugs became more of a distraction to him. And he made it okay by telling himself that drugs couldn't tell him no.

And that's how it went for the longest time. But people were worried. His family was worried— even baby Lisa knew something was up with her daddy.

So Linda, armed with everyone else's concern, took matters into her own hands. She called so many doctors and rehabilitation centers, and eventually she got a nurse to agree to live in at Graceland to try and get him off all the pills.

•

You walk into the grand house, following the gorgeous woman. She's sweet, has a good character and you can tell from just talking the few words you have.

The house looks different from the pictures that were once in the pages of a tabloid, with Elvis on the couch with a guitar. Back then the house was light, with royal blues and whites, but now it was like a vampire's lair— all red and gold.

"I just want to say thank you. We've tried to get him to go to rehab, but he refuses every time."

You smile sweetly at Linda. This is the first job that could actually mean something for you, and you feel as though you should be the one saying thank you. Before this opportunity, you were prescribing solutions to trust fund teens in California who got ahold of drugs at their high school parties. It was a good job, but you wanted more— you went to school for more. You felt as though your talents could be put to better use, and this was that breakthrough you were looking for since you graduated college.

"No, this is an honor, seriously. And sometimes it's better for people of his caliber to be kept away from prying eyes in times like these. Going to a center would put him at more of a risk for a press leak." You sit down with her as you make it to the living room, and there you find Elvis' father as well. He stands and shakes your hand.

You sit with them and talk about plans and the goals they have for his recovery, and all the while, you're stuck wondering why the man himself isn't here. This is a meeting about his health, after all. But they don't mention it, so you don't either.

And once they're satisfied with everything, Linda shows you to what's going to be your room for the next however many months.

An hour later, you go down to dinner, not expecting Elvis because Linda informed you that he usually took his dinner in his room nowadays. But to everyone's surprise, about halfway into the meal, the stairs creak, and almost immediately his presence engulfs you. Your eyes widen and you instantly stand up, still not quite believing that you're in the same room as your favorite singer.

His eyes scan the room before they zero in on you; it takes your breath away completely. And because of the nerves wracking your body, you give him the most awkward smile ever, mentally scolding yourself for being so stupid. He's human just like you. That's what you repeat to yourself over and over as he slowly stalks over to you from around the table.

Everyone— the few members of the Memphis mafia that decided to stay for dinner, Linda, Vernon, the cook who was plating the food— all stare with bated breath, all of them knowing how Elvis feels about rehab. He doesn't believe he has a problem. "Well what do we have here, hm? Ya sneak through the gate, honey?"

It takes you a minute to shake yourself from your trance, but once you do you shake your head. You're acting like a little girl that's seeing Santa Claus for the first time. "N- no, sir... pardon me, my name is Y/N," you stick your hand out for him to shake, "I'm your new nurse."

Linda winces and you shoot her a confused look. She expected him to blow up, or for his jaw to tick, or for him to say something snide— anything other than the gentle smile that graces his lips. He takes your hand and places a kiss on the back. Vernon clears his throat awkwardly. What is happening, you wonder to yourself. Everyone is acting like they're at a funeral. Except Elvis. He's acting like he got the latest Cadillac model.

Bless Linda's poor heart, and the fact that she can tell you innocently have no clue what the look in her boyfriend's eyes is. If she were anyone else, she'd want to tear your hair out. But she keeps quiet, just grateful that he's taking the news well. "Well I'll be damned, I didn't know I was sick. Honey, am I sick?" His eyes turn to Linda— only for a split second before they're piercing into you again. Is this love at first sight... because it sure seems like it to Elvis. He had to talk to all the other girls for at least a day before he felt something. Linda bats her eyelashes, "it's just in case, E, that's all. Gotta have ya perfect for the stage, yeah?"

He hums, and then finally lets your hand go. He gestures to your chair and then sits at the head of the table that's conveniently beside you. "Welcome then, Y/N."

You smile, this time a lot more gracefully, and then sit like he did. "Well why y'all starin' like dummies? Eat." He instructs everyone at the table, and like little minions, they all obey.

But he talks to you. About everything under the sun. And during such a time, you both come to an agreement on what he needs to do differently in order to maintain his health. A nice and easy regiment that should keep him from facing very terrible withdrawals. He seems to like you, or maybe he's just a really nice guy, but either way, you decide you're going to really enjoy staying here.

Weeks pass much the same. You like being friends with Elvis, and you realize that he's extremely humble and down to earth, not at all like the negative press he gets. You get a solid routine down; once a day, you give him a checkup, and you also lessen his pill intake everyday until he's down to strictly only what he actually needs. And much to the Colonel's dismay— a man you deemed icky the first time you met him— Elvis fires Dr. Nick and takes on a doctor you personally recommend.

•

Elvis knew this time. And despite his earlier feelings, he was mentally thanking Linda for rejecting him. And whether or not you liked it, you were going to be his.

You were his guardian Angel. That had to be it. You were saving his life. Of course he had a problem, and now he knew it. You were sent to him by God and were there to save him. He knew it. He knew that had to be the truth. Why else would you be so willing to better such a man?

Oh, and the way you smiled at him. The way your eyes lingered on him. The way you so very clearly wanted to be his. He wasn't blind, and the way you always looked at him with a twinkle in your eyes, that had to be you pleading for him to take you away— make you his. And once he knew for sure his plan would work, he'd do just that. He'd save you just the same way you saved him. And you'd be together, like you both wanted. Forever.

His hands would linger. When you'd check his blood pressure and breathing, he'd put his hand on your shoulder. And you never told him no, you never pushed him away. And he knew signs when they were given— you were definitely giving him signs.

There was this language between the two of you, a silent pining. He knew it. 'Just a while longer, angel. We'll be together.' It was a mantra inside his head every second of every day.

Four months into your residency as Elvis liked to call it, and fours months of mutual pining, Elvis knew it was time. He put his plan into action. You came home from the pharmacy to see bags in the foyer— your bags. With tears in your eyes, you walked up the stairs, "Elvis? Hello?"

You paused as he walked out of his room, looking the picture of health and happiness. He could see the confusion written all over your face. He was about to explain when you cut him off. "M' fired? Ya want me to leave?"

And then he saw resolution mix in with the emotions filling your face. You dry your tears. "Well thank you for the opportunity. It was great, and I hope I helped you well enough, Mr. Presley." You seemed almost fine with the idea, just a little beaten up about losing a job. But he knew better, you were playing hard to get.

"Mr. Presley? Baby, don't call me that, Mr. Presley is my daddy. Can't ya tell? We're goin' away... you and me." He grabbed your hand, a smile painting his face.

And there was that confusion again, and if he weren't so crazy, he'd also see that the look he thought was love was actually a little bit of fear. He'd been extra touchy and sweet, but you thought that was just the type of person he was. But now you could tell that he was just rather crazy. What did he mean going away? You were his nurse. "What're you talking about, Elvis?"

"C'mon, darlin' let's not dance around this no more. I see the way ya look at me— we're in love." He grins wolfishly, his grip tightening. He looks down at your lips.

You shake your head slowly, your eyes widening. You take a step back, looking behind you for any sign of anyone else, but it's then that you realize the house is eerily silent except for the two of you. He pulls you back, your face making contact with his chest. His free hand tangles into your hair and tilts your face so you can look at him. "Angel, I know moving away seems scary, but we can be together. We can start that life we both want, hm? I know ya feel the same, ya don't gotta say it right now."

And you can't even say anything or even try and run because he's got you thrown over his shoulder and in his car within minutes. He buckles you in and gets in the drivers seat after instructing Sonny to load your stuff into another car and to meet him at the airport.

He looks at you from the rear view mirror with a crazed smirk, one he thinks is harmless and loving. "How's Vegas sound, angel? We can get married in a chapel and ya can watch my shows every night, and we'll make Lisa Marie a big sister. I can tell yer beggin' for me to make ya a mama," his fingers drum on the steering wheel as he speeds through Memphis to the airport, "Oh yeah, I can see it now. Ya won't leave the bed for months after we get hitched. And I'll make this one last 'cause yer my soulmate. I was a dumb sonofabitch for thinkin' it was Cilla."

And as you stare at him through the mirror, tears fighting to fall from your eyes, you realize that this is one situation you don't think you can get out of. You screwed up.

Heyyy lovies! So I wrote this today because I wanted to read a fic like this but I couldn’t find one, so I just wrote it myself. First time writing darker themes, so bear with me if it’s not that good. Enjoy anyway, or at least I hope. Much love❣️ (I also just wanted an excuse to use that picture because he looks so scrumptious in it).

[presleyhearted]

Plot Twist! | a One Shot

pairing: 70s!elvis x female reader

genre: humor, angst, fluff.

summary: After ranting to your best friend about the most cruel break up of your life, you fall asleep. You awaken in the presence of 1970s Elvis Presley himself. You vent out to him about your messed up love life, because well, this must be a dream anyways. He can't actually be real, right? Right?!

word count: 5.3k

author's note: Hello darlings! It's been a while. This year has been one of the hardest years of my life, and so it was hard to come back to writing. But this concept has been in my head for a while. I thought it might be an interesting, sorta lighthearted fun concept. I hope you enjoy it! please comment. all feedback is appreciated. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors, I wrote this out quite fast <3

warnings: cussing, a cruel breakup, tears.

“I’m like the main fucking character to a romcom, except there is no good guy!” You laughed humorlessly, taking a spoonful from the tub of strawberry ice cream in your hand. 

Your best friend looks at you with sympathy. You should apologize for bursting through her apartment a mere twenty minutes ago. But your best friend being who she is, knowing you since you guys were practically in diapers, knows that there has to be something major going on. There has to be a reason. And she was right, it only took her simply asking you ‘What happened?’ that made you burst into a puddle of tears and your knees give out on her carpeted living room floor. 

Your boyfriend of two years broke up with you - over text. And not only that, he also took back the necklace that he got you as an anniversary gift. It should’ve been a blissful Saturday morning. But waking up in your bed and finding the spot empty next to you, to then receiving a text from him. Starting the cliche line of ‘it’s me, not you.’ and ending it with ‘It was a bet. I’m sorry.’ To then a follow-up text of how he took off the necklace around your neck, with no sense of remorse whatsoever. 

The realization of it all didn’t hit you all at once. First, it was a wave of shock. Eventually, that shock was like the key to unlocking a myriad of emotions that felt like life had slapped you right in the face. It is crazy how much a heartbroken heart can render you physically drained. You didn’t even know how you managed to drive to your best friend’s house. You were moving, but you didn’t feel anything of what was happening was real. 

And so here you are, tears practically painting your face as your best friend consoles you for what you think must be the hundredth time.  

“That asshole! I’m gonna throw hands, I swear Y/N.” Your best friend said, face in a fit of anger once you spilled the entire story to her. 

“I am such an idiot!” You sobbed, grabbing a tissue from the box beside you. You could barely taste the flavor of the ice cream anymore. It feels as though all the energy has been drained out of you. 

You were in no condition to drive home, so your best friend set up the guest bedroom which you were so grateful for. Even speaking seemed like such a task. You set your phone down on the nightstand, as you lied down on the bed with the covers over your body. Unfortunately, you feel that your mind won’t stay quiet. Sighing in frustration, you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and shuffled your ‘calming music’ playlist. 

It appears to be proven effective, as the voice of Elvis Presley lulls you into the land of dreams. 

“E, I don’t-”

“I got this, Jerry. Go.”

Voices lead you to stir awake and when you do, you are wide awake. 

Because who wouldn’t when the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll himself is staring at you? 

You let out a giggle, “Okay, hi, Elvis.” 

This dream is a product of your exhausted and heartbroken brain. Really, you had nothing to complain about. It is a blissful dream to escape from the nightmare of your reality. 

Elvis is amused. Well, he was also confused. But amusement seemed to triumph over his emotions. He just finished his second show of the night, and usually, he would invite some people back to his suite to hang around for a while. But tonight, he didn’t have the energy to do so. Walking back to his suite with Red and Jerry beside him, they didn’t expect to find a woman right in front of his hotel room door. Eyes closed. Your chest was rising and falling. Alive. So they concluded that you were in a deep sleep. Now, Elvis has come across all sorts of encounters with fans, he is not immune to being surprised every now and again. But this was definitely not a familiar situation for him. He saw your face - your cheeks appeared to be stained with tears. Elvis’ heart ached at the sight. You were beautiful and just. . . sad. There was no other way to word it. 

Elvis was not the most reasonable person in the world. But he doesn’t why, or how, but he has this gut instinct that you were perfectly harmless. That you needed saving. He can’t just shake you awake and tell you to run off. He’s not that kind of guy. 

Red and Jerry approached and were about to ask him if they should be calling security. But Elvis shook his head and told them to stay quiet about this and to not tell anyone a word. Red and Jerry shared a look and warned Elvis that he did not know you. That you might be ‘a crazy fan.’ They were just doing their job after all. But Elvis was determined and carried you into his suite. Red walks off and Jerry, being brave enough, tries to reason with him again - but Elvis does not sway his choice. With a sigh, Jerry walked off and closed the door. 

Elvis placed you gently on his bed and whilst in the midst of taking off your shoes, he felt your body move. You were waking up. He just hoped that he would have a chance to defend himself, hoped that he doesn’t scare you. Fan or not, he knows that any logical person would be terrified waking up on the bed of a man that they don’t personally know. But he wouldn’t hurt you. Once he makes sure that you are okay, and in good condition, he has no objection to you going on your way. 

Which leads you to this moment. With him staring down at you, his eyes meeting yours for the very first time. His head tilts to the side once he hears you giggle and hear your voice, his lips pulling into an amused smile. Oh, so you are a fan. 

But then he doesn’t fail to notice the puffiness of your eyes, the cruel gift of a woman who has cried her heart out. Elvis’ eyebrows furrow in concern and he tuck a loose strand of hair behind your head, softly asking, “What’s your name, honey?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, do you remember what happened?”

“Unfortunately. I mean, my heart still feels it. Or whatever is left of it, I guess. I must be terribly heartbroken to have you show up in my dreams like this. It’s like someone took a knife and pierced it right through my heart and twisted it. It was probably my own fault, really. I was the one who fell first. Scratch that, I was the only one who fell. Since, you know, the whole thing was a bet.” You tried to laugh as if it was the funniest joke in the room. But it ended up sounding more like something between a pained cry and a forceful attempt to be comedic about a devastating situation. 

Elvis was confused. It was obvious that you were incredibly unhappy about something, but your sentences were going by like a bolt of lightning. He couldn’t keep up. 

You sat up and looked at your surroundings, “Is this your room? Like your hotel room?” You asked all of a sudden. 

Elvis was a little thrown aback by your question, as he was still in the process of trying to make sense of what you were saying. He nodded, “Yeah, how-“

You flung the covers off your body and walked slowly, taking in your surroundings. He went from kneeling beside the bed to standing up and observing you. He was prepared to catch you,  having a feeling that your knees might give out all of a sudden. You were in a fragile state and he couldn’t help but feel an immense protectiveness over you. 

“Hmm. So this is what my brain with broken heart conjure up as Elvis Presley’s hotel room.” You find yourself rushing over to the floor-to-ceiling wide window, “Gosh, even Las Vegas looks so detailed. I must be some kinda designer when my life is falling apart. Huh.” 

“You an architect, honey?” Elvis scratched the back of his neck,  still insanely confused as the minutes go by. 

You giggled, “No. But my mind seems to be.” You winked at him. 

He chuckled at your quick switch in the mood. 

You then wander away from the window and practically run over to him, his eyes widen, thinking that you are going to jump onto him. You merely giggled at his reaction. Once you stood right in front of him, inches away from his face, you tilted your head and said, “You are so tall. Sit.” Before he could have a chance to utter any response, you placed your hands on his shoulders pushing him to sit down on the bed. 

“Okay, honey, calm down.” He chuckled at your forwardness, putting his hands up in defense. 

“Oh my gosh, you even sound exactly like him!” You exclaimed happily, clapping your hands. 

“Like who?” 

“Like Elvis, you silly goose!” You rolled your eyes playfully, “My mind is not much sometimes. But sometimes, it does its thing. And this is one of those.” 

Elvis let out a loud laugh, unable to resist it. His head was thrown back, a kinda laugh that echoed off the walls. 

“Darlin’, you just made my night.” 

“Hmm, what shall I call you then? Whilst this therapeutic dream lasts. Oh! Maybe. . . dream Elvis? Mind Elvis? I mean, I know time is not really a thing in dreams. So, I don’t really know how long it lasts. But, I mean, I guess my subconscious mind knows me too much - the only way to heal from being heartbroken is by designing Elvis, who is literally the love of my life - in such good detail. I ain’t complaining, but I am just in awe. Oh, I do love my mind sometimes.” You sighed dreamily, cupping his cheeks in your hands. 

Then it clicked. It clicked in Elvis’ mind. You thought that you were dreaming. That this is a dream. You were heartbroken over someone, and thus, thought that you were dreaming this all up. It explained a whole lot. Your switch in emotions, your mood switches. All a product of broken heart. Heck, he couldn’t even find any reasonable excuse for why someone would break your heart. It was incomprehensible to him. You are beautiful and had such a unique character, something captivating. Who would dare shatter such a precious being? Elvis thought. 

“Gosh, you are insanely good-looking.” You said, hands still cupping his cheeks. Elvis didn’t make the move to remove your hands from him. Instead, he rather found your touch comforting in a way. There was that gentleness in it. 

“I mean, the resemblance is uncanny.” You removed your hands from his face, an action that let him sigh in dismay. 

Elvis couldn’t take it anymore. No matter how cute you were being. He had to correct you. He was prepared for the realization that would ensue - the chaos of it all. 

“This is no dream, honey.” Elvis shook his head, smiling kindly at you. Trying to gauge your reaction to the words he just let out. 

You simply giggled. “Yeah, right.”

You didn’t believe him. Heck, you really thought you were in the land of dreams. 

“You don’t believe me, sweetheart?” He bit his bottom lip, curiously looking at you. 

“I know you are trying to trick me, mind of mine. But I am not that heartbroken. Not too heartbroken to believe that you brought Elvis back. So, no, you can’t be real. Elvis is gone. You are a product of my imagination. “ You sighed, with a sad smile on your lips as tears started to pool in your eyes again. 

Elvis freezes at your words. Sure, he has met so many fans over the years since his fame catapulted in the world. Met some pretty interesting characters and heard all sorts of crazy stories. But this? With that expression on your face and that sheer pain in your voice, once you said those words - believing that he was gone off the face of the earth? No, Elvis has not encountered this. Not ever. 

“Nothin’ like that, darlin.’ I’m right ‘ere with ya, ain’t I?” His thumb strokes away a tear that rolled down your cheeks, as his hands find yours. His thumb gently caresses the back of your hand. 

You nodded, “Can I- , can I hug you?” A blush crept into your cheeks, a shy side to you showing itself. 

“Of course, c’mere.” He opens his arms wide, which you gladly accept and practically sink into his arms. It was comforting and strong.

Your heard was buried in the crook of his neck, and you noticed sweat glistening on his neck and hair. 

You hummed, “So soft. Almost like the real one.” 

You still believed he was your imagination. Elvis sighed. He knows that the hug was supposed to be a comfort for you since you requested it. But he felt he needed it as much you did, if not more. He felt your hands comb through his hair, still sticking to his skin from the performance he just finished. 

“Even the sweat. You must’ve just finished a show, hm?” You asked, finding yourself playing along with this dreamland. This dream scenario that your brain put together, a temporary break from your reality. Might as well play into it. 

Elvis found himself growing hot in embarrassment, “I-uh, yeah, s-sorry, honey. I didn’t get a chance to change when I found ya.” 

You put your head up to look him in the eye, “I don’t care. It’s sexy.” 

Elvis raised his eyebrow in disbelief at your comment and looked away with a blush creeping up his cheeks. You were proving to be the most fascinating person he has ever met as minute by minute goes by. 

“Oh, uh, actually honey - lemme change.” 

You nodded, untangling yourself from him and getting up from his lap. Yep, you didn’t realize you were on his lap when you pulled yourself in for a hug. 

“Okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere.” He said, before disappearing into the bathroom of the suite. You found yourself wandering around the room again, inspecting the entire setup. The telephone is hooked onto the wall. The TV screen. Some books piled in the corner. To name a few things. 

Elvis quickly returns and is now changed into a simple pair of blue silk pajamas. It suits him, you think. Seeing him look so relaxed and comfortable. And just like that, Elvis lies back down on the bed and proceeds to ask what you were heartbroken about. You giggled at the scenario. Other people have diaries they rant to or speak to themselves while they drive. But you? You have Elvis Presley - well, your imagination’s Elvis - lying down gazing at you like you are the most important person in the world. And the thing is, he really did listen. Responding every now and again and nodding his head or shaking his head. Even the switch in his facial expressions - from disbelief to pure anger as the story of your relationship with Carl unraveled. He listened to, you so intently, as if you held the secrets of the universe. You were pacing back and forth as you told the story. He saw you walk through the thousand emotions - pain, regret. Frustration, and last but not least - anger. All throughout this, yes Elvis listened to you and offered his comments, but he couldn’t help but find himself completely enamored by you. Your hair was down and it flip back and forth as you paced, your eyes so striking and expressive. Impossible not to be entranced. You were beautiful and even from your state of emotional hurt, the way you articulated your words - sure, it was frantic, but it was intelligence-coated. He loved hearing you talk. 

Eventually, Elvis asked if you were hungry. In the blink of an eye, there was knock on the door and two soda cans and two hamburgers were delivered. You sat across from him on the bed, letting out a moan as you took a bite out of the burger. A sound that Elvis found himself wanting to replay. 

“Heartbreak is so fuckin’ exhausting, thanks for the food.” You said after you both finished eating and were sat next to one another with your backs against the headboard. 

“Say, never heard a woman cuss as much as ya!” 

You grinned at his reaction and shrugged, unbothered. 

“Hey! This is my dream, so just go with it, Presley.” You pouted at him. 

Elvis cannot help but find the action adorable, and shake his head at your belief that this is still all a dream. 

“I’m gonna need you to repeat somethin’, honey,” Elvis said eyebrows furrowed. 

“Hmm?” 

“Are you in college?” He asked. 

“No, why do you ask?”

He seemed even more confused at your response, “ Just ‘cus you said this guy called it quits over textbook? I can’t make no sense of it, sweetheart.”

You cannot help but burst out into laughter at his question. My god, your imagination of Elvis, is proving to be insanely detailed. Like even with questions like this, as if you were actually in the 1970s. The years when texting was not a thing. Of course, he would be confused. But unbeknownst to you, this was not a dream and you were in fact actually in the 1970s and it was in fact THE actual Elvis Presley asking you this very question. 

“Well, in 2024, you know - the future - there is a thing called a text message. Hold on! My phone must be here somewhere, I can better explain it to you that way.” You shot up from your sitting position, and look around the room. With luck, you find your phone on the carpeted floor underneath the bed. 

“Aha! Found it.”

You hold it up and return to your position beside Elvis, with your back against the headboard. 

“The hell is that small brick doin’ under my bed?” His blue eyes were wide, looking at you like you’ve gone mad. 

You chuckled, “Elvis, no. it’s my phone.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you and pointed at the telephone hooked onto his wall just next to the TV, “Nah, honey, that over there is a phone.” 

You shook his head, “Look, I’ll show you. “ You tap it and the lock screen lights up, with the photo of Elvis from the ‘68 Comeback Special as your lock screen. You type in your passcode and unlock your phone. You spend the next ten minutes going through the various apps on your phone, and then lastly, your text messages - actually in disbelief yourself on how your dream is so clear. Then you showed him your contact list and the fact that you can call without the phone being connected to a cord. 

Elvis was in pure amazement and disbelief. Like a child opening their Christmas gift. You really are different because heck, you are from the future! There is no way.

He had your phone in his hand as he read through the break-up text sent by your boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend. 

“That damn son of a bitch,” Elvis muttered under his breath, which you caught on very clearly.

Elvis kept his control, he was so close to throwing your phone at the wall after reading that cruel text message from your ex. He couldn’t believe that someone could say such cruel words, how could he say this to you? So sweet, kind, and beautiful? It made no sense to him, and if he was right in front of Elvis now, he wouldn’t have any chance, for Elvis really would’ve punched him square in the face. No excuses. 

You shrugged, seemingly numb to it all now, you ran through all the emotions so many times now. Now, nothing is left. Exhaustion yes and a sense of relief. 

You take the phone away from him and shuffle your playlist on Apple Music before playing the phone on the nightstand. Elvis is not surprised when it’s his voice that floats through your phone, for you showed him Apple Music and explained it to him. 

“He’s all in the past now, “ You sighed, “It’s my fault. I was such an idiot.” You were lying down on the bed now. Eyes closed as your hand was covering your eyes. 

“Honey, no, none of that. “ He wraps his hand around your arm, to stop you from hiding. 

“He did you wrong. Not you. “  Elvis said softly, you opened your eyes to look at him. You found him now lying down as well, his body facing yours. You turned to face him. 

Before you could register your actions, you lifted your hands up and felt your fingers traced over his facial features. First his eyebrows, nose, cheeks, and lips. Elvis found himself sighing and closing his eyes to your touch. 

“You were too precious for the world, Elvis. I hate how it all happened to you the way it did, you deserved better. So much better.” You said, voice quieter now, and there was that look in your eyes again - sadness for him. 

You spoke in the past tense, that was something that Elvis caught on very quickly. 

He chuckled, trying to break out of being serious, “I’m still here, honey.” 

You nodded, “Sure.”

Your response unsettled him. He shook his head and decided to change the topic of conversation, “How’d you become a fan of mine? 2024 sounds far from here. . .  people remember me? ” He asked.

You smiled and Elvis felt like giving you anything and everything right there. Anything you want. A simple smile and he was a goner. 

“Of course, you are remembered. People still love you and celebrate you. How did I become your fan? Well, I listened to your music since I was a kid and it was a comfort for me. Still is. I found you so true, sincere, and unlike anyone else. You are quite easy to love, Elvis.” You said, voice so soft. Elvis felt a blush creep up his cheeks at your statement.

“Y-You beli- believe that, darlin’?” He stuttered, a glimpse of that shy boy inside of him pouring out. 

“I do.” 

You chuckled all of a sudden, “I actually believed that I would somehow marry you. Well, before I found out that no such thing was possible. You were gone way before my time. When I started learning more about you. Through the books and some documentaries, I think that was when I felt my heart shatter for the first time. You were my first heart break, Elvis.” You sighed deeply. A sad smile across your lips, and those tears pooling in your eyes again but you managed to blink back the tears.

Elvis felt his heart ache at the sight before him, he took your hands in his and gently caressed it. 

“Why?”

You shook your head, “You didn’t deserve any of it. You had all these people around you, but I felt none of them really tried to pull you out of it all. Your heart is so pure and you just wanted to make people happy. But what about you? Who is looking out for you, asking you, and making sure that you are okay? And the Colonel being who he is. That sad excuse for a human being. It infuriated me. He used you. Treated you like an object. I thought, if I was alive in your time, of course, I would love to see you perform as much as the next fan does. But first and foremost, you are a human being before you are an entertainer. It’s okay to step out of it for a while and prioritize yourself first. You belong to no one but yourself. Only yourself. You had so much passion, so much potential, so much life left to live. You should’ve done what you wanted. Not what anyone else said. Should’ve made the movies you wanted. Toured the world like you did, but of course, the Colonel didn’t want you traveling abroad, because he wouldn’t step foot back into the US. I, just, I was so angry and sad once I found out about the entire thing. You are Elvis Presley, but, sometimes you can take the mask off, you know? Just be the you before the world defined who you should be.” You finished speaking, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden for speaking so much.

Your gaze met his and tears were running down his cheeks. He was biting his bottom lip, as he shook his head. The more words came out of your mouth, the more he couldn’t help but squeeze your hand tighter. There was passion and honesty in your voice, there was no denying it. He has encountered fans, but he never encountered someone who practically urged him to step away from his image if he wanted to. Who wanted him to do what he wanted, regardless of what anyone thought. Who wanted him to feel okay. Who cares about his well-being. 

Who saw behind it all?  Behind the image. You, who validated his emotions, and saw that being grateful and being tired can co-exist. 

You saw the humanity in him. 

The long silence made you believe that you said far too much, and so you began to profusely apologise, “I’m sorry. I sa-”

“Darlin’, please, can I kiss you?” He interrupts, and your eyes widen. 

You nodded, words unable to be formed. His lips are so soft once they meet yours, and the kiss was not rushed or blazing with hunger. It was sweet and gentle and the tears that were rolling down his cheeks were melding into the kiss. He has never come across anyone like you before. He broke up apart from the kiss and before you could say anything, he buried his face in your neck - his body practically on top of you. You wrapped one arm around his and the other was gently brushing through his hair. 

“No one. . . no one ever asked me. “ He said, his voice choked up in a sob, “Only cared about Elvis the entertainer. Not me. Never had someone care ‘bout me this much. I-” He broke into sobs, body shaking, “It gets lonesome.”

His arms wrapped themselves around your body, holding you tighter and tighter. The position and the warmth of his body and his emotional state - you sighed deeply and did not make any move to break away. This dream appears to be proving to be healing to you and this imaginary Elvis. So much so, that it almost doesn’t feel like a dream anymore. 

You remove your hand from his hair and Elvis’ head turns to you, feeling the sudden lost of contact. 

“Honey, whatchu doing?” 

You pinch yourself. First your arm and then your waist. It’s the number one go-to so you can tell if you are dreaming or not. 

“I’m still here,” You whispered in disbelief, your eyes searched for a clock in the room. That’s the next thing that people do. In dreams, the time on the clock does not exist. You will not be able to read the time, at least that’s what the internet says. You find a clock hanging right above the TV. It reads the time : 4:05AM. You read it perfectly. 

Your heart speeds up crazily. Suddenly, it all adds up but you cannot bring yourself to believe how it can all be real. There is no way. 

“But that’s impossible,” You mutter to yourself in shock. 

Elvis hears you, “Somethin’ wrong, Y/N?”

“No, no. I-I was just. . . . this is real, isn’t it?” You sighed, “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Elvis, even with eyes puffy from crying, found himself chuckling. He smirked, “Give me ya hand.”

He takes your hand in his, unbuttons the first button of his pajama top, and places your hand right on top of his chest. Where his heart is. You can feel his heartbeat through the palm of your hand and feel yourself breathing even more deeply now. 

“Feel that?” 

You nodded, “Oh, shit. Holy shit! I rambled so much on how much I love you and you are actually YOU! Oh, the universe must hate me. I made an absolute fool of myself in front of my crush. This is so so embarrassing. I-I’m so sorry, Mr Presley. Forgot me. I-I’ll go now, I’ll find a way to get home. This was NOT the plot twist that I saw happening at all.” You gently removed him from you to sit up, your heart hammering so fast. 

Elvis did not like the lost of contact at all. Did not like you distancing yourself all of a sudden. You were adorably embarrassed, but the mention of you leaving was the red alert in his brain. No, he can’t allow you to leave him. No. He quickly grabbed hold of your hands, “Honey, breathe. Please, breathe. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He said softly, but voice firm. 

“I- Mr Presley, you must understand. I don’t know how and why this happened. But please, you can go back to your life, before I came crashing it-”

“Thank God you crashed it, sweetheart.” His words made you freeze. 

“I wasn’t meant to. I’m literally messing up the past, this is dangerous. I have to go.” 

“Okay, I’ll go with ya.” Elvis said as if it was the most natural and simple thing in the world to do. 

You shook your head, “You can’t, you belong in your time. Here.” You sighed. 

“Then stay. Please, honey. “ He pleads. 

“If i stay, I’ll be making more of a mess-”

“On who’s rules?”

“I-”

“You ain’t messing anythin’, sweetheart. You. . .  you are doing me the opposite.” He said softly, bring your hand to his lips and planting a kiss. 

“Mr Presley-”

“None of that, Y/N. You been callin’ me Elvis this whole time. “ He raised an eyebrow at you. 

You groaned in frustration, “Before I found out that you were real! I openly said I wanted to marry you. This wins as the most embarrassing and most reckless moment of my entire life. I swear.” 

Elvis smirked, “You are so cute, honey.” 

“Elvis-”

“Stay with me. I need you, please.” 

You look at him and his beautiful blue eyes staring at you in hope and apprehension at your response, “Stop doing that!”

His lopsided grin appears, “Doin’ what?”

“That look! Your eyes!”

Elvis sighed dramatically, “I’m not doin’ nothin’, honey.”

Practically puppy dog eyes. 

You sighed. He isn’t taking no for an answer. You basically already broke like several rules of time travel. There is no going back now. 

You think for a moment. There are a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea. You don’t need to be a scientist to know that going back in time and changing the course of events will change the future. It’s just logical. And Elvis? He was one, if not the most, central figure in American history. But, the fan in you, the one who would sometimes to be wishfully thinking that you could go back in time and save him. This is it. You didn’t think that the universe would actually play this move on you. So, with that in mind, you breathed and let out your response. 

“Okay, I’ll stay with you.”

Elvis breaks out into a smile of relief. 

This is THE plot twist of your life.  

[lovemyselfyay]

Every time he comes on the tv I do too

Elvis rest in peace 🤍

[so-lana]

Priscilla Presley, 1975🎀

[elvisvideos]

Elvis gives a press conference in Germany. October 2, 1958