#When Elvis appeared he was already | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamingofep · 9 months ago

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A Blue Velvet Crush

(Elvis/Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

TW: Cussing, teasing, SMUTTT, fingering

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)

Word Count: 5.4K

A/N: Hello everyone! This picture of Elvis lives rent free in my head and I knew when I first saw it, I had to write something for it.

If you've never seen some of this performance, I'd recommend watching! I'll make another post with the youtube link!

Thank you again❤️

Sorry for any spelling mistakes or goofs.

Mississippi, September 26th, 1956

Traffic was backed up for miles and the buzz in the air was electrifying. You couldn’t hide your nerves though. You weren’t even supposed to be here today but by the grace of God, you got thrown in the ring and had to cover today’s most important story. Elvis Presley was back in his hometown of Tupelo, Mississippi to perform a charity concert. His rise to fame seemed to happen overnight and everyone was dying to see him in person.

You were just an intern at the Tupelo Mirror and your supervisor that was running the Elvis story got sick this morning. Eric called you at the crack of dawn, frantic that no one was going to be there to take pictures. You had only been at the newspaper for a month and a half, you didn’t want to overstep your role and be too forward, but you mentioned that you have photography experience. You ran your college photography club and were majoring in journalism. You know you can take some decent shots of him. You try to sell yourself, affirming you can do this! The whole reason you were working for the newspaper was to get a better shot of getting a job at a newspaper company after you graduated. You thought this would be the perfect way to gain the experience. And if you got some good pictures of Elvis Presley? That could change your whole life.

You did have a fondness of the man but like, who didn’t at your age? He was the new cool guy who was causing havoc wherever he went. He was talented and had this luring sense about him. You hadn’t ever seen him in person, but based on the few televised appearances he’s made, he was beyond incredible. You knew he had a talent that no one had ever had. Your parents would always make a fuss if you were watching him and tried to make you feel bad for it.

“No Christian boy should be moving like that! It’s abhorrent.” Your parents used to say.

You’d just roll your eyes and grumble under your breath. Your parents didn’t understand that he was something young people could love and be fully immersed in without having to act all prim and proper about it. There was no other artist that would make you feel the way Elvis made his audiences feel. He was passionate and he felt the music to his very soul. It showed so easily he didn’t have to say he loved what he was doing.

And now you were going to be feet away from Elvis, taking his picture and maybe even getting the chance to ask him a few questions. The cars started moving forward more and before you could get through the gates, a police officer stopped you. You rummaged through your satchel and pulled out your press pass. He quickly nodded and directed you to the portion of the lot where other photographers and press reporters were gathered. You quickly find a spot and throw your car in park. You throw your satchel over your head and grab your camera out of its bag. It wasn’t the most high-end camera but it took nice pictures. You double-checked the camera had enough film and quickly made a beeline to the stage.

There were thousands of people here already and the buzz in the air was electric. You saw girls jumping up and down giddy that they were about to see Elvis live. You had some of the men standing next to them with a bored expression on their faces like they didn’t want to be there. You had to play it cool though. You had your press badge on and the last thing you needed was for someone to see you acting giddy when you had to be professional today.

There was a corralled section for the press behind ropes that gave you a bit better access on the side of the stage but it was still very crowded. Not only that, but it was all men here and they were all significantly taller than you. You couldn’t see a damn thing from this area and became worried you weren’t going to be able to get one good photograph of this entire thing!

You try to push and shove your way closer to the front but just get these condescending looks toward you and don’t budge an inch for you. You didn’t expect anything less honestly, the industry was made up of men and wasn’t exactly kind to women entering the workplace. You shake it off, not letting it get to you too much.

The audience starts screaming as the band takes their place on stage. It’s a small band with just a drummer, bassist, and guitar player. They’re all smiles when they hear the crowd go wild for them. Your eyes are focused on the side of the stage though. You want to get the first glimpse of him when he gets on this stage.

The audience continues to grow antsy and an announcer hops on stage. He steps in front of the microphone at center stage and taps it with his finger.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I know you all are very excited to have one of our very own from Tupelo be here today. I need you to give a warm welcome to Elvis Presley.”

The crowd erupts at his name and everyone bursts out in insane excitement. You keep your eyes on the side of the stage and you raise the camera to your face, getting ready for the first shot.

The audience gets louder and you feel the hair on your arms rise. There you see him. He’s dressed in a velvety blue long-sleeve and loose black slacks with his perfect white oxfords. His hair was greased back and looked shiny. He had his guitar on and made his way to the microphone. From this angle, he looked so tall, his legs easily gliding him across the stage.

He carried this nervous energy about him tho. He puts his hand in his pocket and grabs the microphone with the other hand.

Click.

He starts Heartbreak Hotel and drives the place insane. Everyone is screaming and some girls are even crying. His voice rings out flawlessly and once he starts singing, there’s no stopping him. He can’t seem to stand still. Whether it’s the music moving him or the nerves, he is shaking and moving, making the crowd even more insane.

There are times when the screams overpower his voice coming through the microphone. He has an amused look on his face the whole time though. Especially when he swings his hips and makes the girls go bezerk. You catch yourself blushing at those moves, how he can move his hips so easily as he makes these in-passion faces. He made you feel something you’ve never felt before. It was bad, it was lust driving you to keep looking at what he was going to do next. You wanted him to move more to see just how those hips would move in other circumstances…

Click.

Fucking focus.

He wasn’t afraid to get close to his fans. It looked like he really loved them. You could tell he moved his leg just to get them going and have them look there. Or how he’d say a certain word and prolong it all sensually, it drove the place nuts. Even just the way he held the microphone and dragged it along beside him. He commanded that stage by doing the smallest things. Elvis walks slowly to the edge of the stage where dozens of fans reach out their hands for him. He gets close and reaches out his hand too, still singing and never missing a beat.

Click.

You get the side profile of him but you think it’s going to be a great picture when it develops. What you really want is a perfect picture of his face straight onto the camera. That would be a great way to solidify that you are a great photographer and can do this professionally.

Elvis finishes his set and gets rushed off stage into the building behind the arena. You follow the crowd that’s trying to get to him, hoping you can get another picture of him that’s even better than the ones you took. The other photographers aren’t paying any attention to you and push and shove their way through. You huff annoyed, hoping you can get in there before they close the doors.

You find a spot on the side but all the men in here are so much taller and crowding Elvis. You slump by the door, frustrated that you might have ruined your big chance to prove yourself at the newspaper as you haven’t gotten a single shot of his face straight on. You wanted to the perfect shot and it seems your opportunity was wasted.

“Alright everyone it’s time to leave. Elvis won’t be answering any more questions,” a man bellows. Most of the men try to protest but they slowly start to funnel out of the door. You continue to get pushed aside until you’re almost behind the door. You don’t move from behind there because, for a brief second, a devious idea pops into your head.

Just stay here long enough for everyone to leave and ask for a picture when he’s alone.

Your heart pounds away at just the thought of being alone with Elvis but you had to try it. The worst he could say was no and get out.

The last few remaining men shuffle out of the room and Elvis yells out that he’ll be right out. The door shuts closed, making your little hiding spot be exposed in plain sight.

Elvis had his back to the door so he didn’t see you right away. You sighed in relief for that but had to work up the courage to say something to him.

What exactly should you say in this situation? ‘Hi I snuck in your dressing room even though I was told to get out, can I take a few pictures of you for the newspaper?’

You cringed just thinking about it. You took a few deep breaths and straightened out your dress.

“Umm, excuse me, Elvis?” You say sheepishly.

He turns around quickly at the sound of your voice and stares wide-eyed at you. He doesn’t say anything right away and neither do you because seeing him this close and in person is too much.

He is beautiful, in every shape and form, he is beautiful. You’ve never seen such a handsome-looking man before in your life and have no words. Logical thinking went out the window with him and he looks at you with the same expression on his face. You haven’t said more than four words to him but you want him. You want him to look at you and touch you and never stop. Your core flutters at that scandalous thought.

“You scared me there honey. H-how’d you get in here?” He asks with a mischievous grin forming on his face.

“W-w-well I uhhh. Well, I work for the newspaper and I was wondering if I could take a few more pictures of you?” You ask nervously. A long silence fills the room and you are about to turn on your heels and run for the door when he gives you another cheeky smile.

“Sure, I don’t mind at all. What was your name lil’ darlin’?” He asks smoothly.

Lil’ darlin’.

Jesus Christ I’m not going to make it out of here alive with all his charm suffocating me.

“Oh gosh Elvis, thank you so much. This truly means so much to me. And my name is y/n.” You tell him in a hurry. You make sure your camera is on and ready before you look back up at him watching you intently.

“Y/n… that’s very pretty…Where’d you want me, honey?” He coos.

Your heart pounds in your ears and you can’t register anything he just said. All you can do is look at him in shock and can’t believe you’re alone with him. You know how many thousands of girls would kill for a moment like this? And the question he just asked?! Ooh, the sheer audaciousness he has. He knows he's irresistable.

I'd love you to cover me in kisses with those pillowy soft lips...

“Huh?” You say in a daze.

“Where did you wanna take my picture honey? You’re the photographer and all,” he teases. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks and you nervously look down at your camera.

“Oh yeah… sorry… I’ve never really done this,” you admit. His eyebrows shoot up surprised, “First time? Wow, that’s somethin’ for a little lady coming here and coverin’ a story on a day like this. The whole town is making a huge fuss over me, I don’t think deserve it, but it’s very special either way. I’ll make sure to give you the best pictures,” he winks. It feels like your heart just about stopped by that one minuscule movement.

Stop that. Stop that right now!

You sweetly smile up at him and move further into the room, trying to see what angle and lighting would be best. The wall behind him was blue and you thought that would be a perfect backdrop to accentuate the velvet shirt he was wearing and his piercing blue eyes.

“Umm, let’s try with you stand there. I think that would be a nice background,” you say.

He casually takes a few steps back and puts his hands in his pockets.

“Like this?” He asks. You raise the camera to your face, make sure the frame is straight, and push the button.

Click.

He looked good without even trying. He had this golden aura about him. Like he shined from within. He was remarkable and you know that without saying much else to him. Even if you didn’t like him already, you can see the appeal. He was so easy to love. So easy to be around. Everything about him was inviting and warm. You don’t know how you were going to peel yourself away from him…

“Okay, how about one smiling?” You ask. He nods his head and gives you this cute cheeky smile.

Click.

God help me I can’t breathe with this man around looking this good.

“How are they comin’ out honey?” He asks, his southern inflection on honey making you feel like the actual word.

“Oh, just fine. I think they’re going to be amazing when printed,” you try to say casually.

“Oh good… what are you doin’ working for the newspaper?” He asks, fixing the sides of his hair with a comb.

Click.

“I don’t work for the newspaper, not yet at least. I’m just an intern. I’m a student at the University of Mississippi studying journalism and thought it would help to work there for a bit so when I graduate in two years, I can hopefully get a job at a newspaper,” you explain.

He intently looks at you, interested in everything you have to say, ��That’s wonderful honey. I think that’s great you’re pursuing that. I don’t doubt for a second you won’t get a job anywhere you apply for,” he says sweetly. You can’t help but blush at his nice words and fiddle with your camera.

“Thank you, Elvis,” you say quietly. He walks over to the sofa that’s up against the wall and casually takes a seat.

He stretches out one arm along the back of the couch and the other rests on the arm of it. His legs were spread open and your eyes can’t help but stare at them. They were so long and he exuded sensuality, it nearly made you dizzy. He sees how you’re looking at him, intrigued with the man that so many found attractive.

You raise the camera to your eye once again as he looks down the lens intensely.

Click.

You felt like screaming like those girls were earlier. You’ve never felt so attracted to someone’s presence. It kind of scared you in a way.

He moves on the sofa slightly, bringing his hand to his mouth and giving you this luring, sultry gaze.

Oh lord, I’m a dead woman…

Click.

He doesn’t change this pose after the flash goes off, he continues to sit there with his eyes drinking you in. Your body can’t take this, the tension in the room is palpable and you are seriously considering running out now since you have plenty of good shots. Elvis slowly starts to lower his hand from his mouth and you see he was biting his lip behind it this whole time. He slowly drags his teeth across it before letting it go with a pop.

“Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?” He asks softly.

You can’t hide your flushed cheeks anymore and lower the camera from your face to see if he’s being serious. His eyes look heavy and somber, but he cracks a little grin to lighten the mood.

“Oh, no… not something I normally hear,” you say insecurely.

“That’s a shame darlin’, you really are. You have the most gorgeous smile, beautiful eyes, and the longest legs I’ve ever seen,” he gushes.

I’m dead. I’ve gone to heaven and died. This can’t be happening!

“Well thank you very much. I could say the same for you,” you say coyly.

His eyebrows raise at the blunt remark and chuckles softly to himself. He lowers his hand off the back of the sofa and places it on the empty space beside him, looking at it, then looking back up at you. He doesn’t need to say another word, he pulls you in without trying.

You carefully place your camera on the table and take your bag off your shoulder. You make your way to sit beside him as your heart gallops like a racing horse.

He turns his body a bit to face you more and being this close to him is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You have to hold your breath or he might notice how nervous you are.

“No guy back home telling’ you how pretty you are hmm?” He says, tucking back stands of hair behind your ear. All you can do is shake your head no. His fingertips barely graze the lobe of your ear but it makes you feel weak anyway. The arousal dripping from your core is not helping the situation and not letting you think clearly.

“Oh, well I’m sorry men are so blind over there. I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he quips, giving you a cheeky smile. “The most pretty eyes, the most pretty nose, the most pretty pink lips I’ve ever seen,” he coos, leaning in closer until you can feel his breath on your lips.

You can’t take it anymore and lean in, devouring his lips with yours. You let out a deep breath as your mouth touched his, his lips feeling softer than you could have ever possibly imagined. He was so gentle with his kiss, making sure he wasn’t overstepping your boundaries. But you didn’t care about that. You screamed for more from him. More kisses, more long heated stares, more everything.

You boldly, place your hand on his bicep, pulling yourself closer to him. He responds to your touch and you can tell he likes it. His crushed velvet shirt felt nice underneath your fingertips and felt his toned arms. He places his hand on your cheek, pulling you in with more urgency. You feel breathless, loving the way his skin makes yours feel like it’s on fire.

Elvis softly pulls away, not before biting your bottom lip and letting a sigh slip out of his mouth.

“Those lips darlin’, I could kiss them all day,” he mutters, his eyes heavy with lust.

“What’s stopping you?” You whimper. He grins and pulls you in once more.

You can’t believe any of this is real. The way he is kissing you should not feel so good and yet it does. You put both of your hands on his chest, pulling him closer to you by the collar of his shirt. His hands start to roam along your back, feeling the curve of it and how well this dress fits you. Every inch of you wants his hands placed lower. Right at the spot that is yearning for friction from those perfect hands.

He starts to drag one of his hands to your hip, squeezing there then down the top of your thigh. Need coursed through you and you couldn’t help but open your legs a tad bit. You’re not sure if he noticed, but he let out a pleased hum as he kissed you with more intensity.

You needed to feel him. You needed to feel how soft his skin would be when it’s pressed against yours. Your hand sneaks into his shirt and feel the coarse little chest hairs he had there. You were right, his skin felt perfect and it only made you crave more. You snake your hand lower and onto the top of his thigh. You make the same movements he’s doing to you and you feel his body melt at your touch.

You move your hand a bit lower and go to caress the inside part of his thigh and you freeze.

“Oh…” you moan into his mouth.

What you felt underneath your fingertips made you cry in need of him. Dear God, he was blessed in more ways than one. He was so much longer than you expected and it made your heart leap out of your chest. His cock was warm and fully hard in his pants as your fingertips slowly start to rub against him. You pull away from his lips and have to look at what your hand is feeling.

You were going to die and see the pearly gates if you tried to have that inside of you. But God you didn’t care, you wanted him so bad. You’ve never wanted a man like this in your entire life. Looking up at Elvis, he looks calm and collected, still giving you a heated stare. He looks down at your hand, then back up to you with an innocent look about him.

“You like what you feel baby?” He asks low. You take a deep breath before answering him.

“Y-yes. Yes, I do…” you say softly, your hand moving along him more. He lets out a pleased groan and adjusts his hips slightly, liking the feeling of your touch on him.

“Do you want more? Do you want to feel what it’s like inside of you?” He coos, leaning in for a soft kiss that leaves you dizzy. Your breathing felt erratic and the ache you had in your core only worsened.

“Yes please Elvis… please,” you beg. He smirks at you and kisses your neck, sending a shock of electricity through you.

“Can I see what you’re wearin’ underneath this pretty dress honey?” He asks you. You nod your head and his fingers find the zipper of your dress easily. He slowly pulls it down and pulls down the fabric off the front of your body. You help him slip you out of your dress and sit there with your white bra and panties left on. He lets out a pleased little groan as he sees you sitting there, trembling with need. He gently touches your exposed skin, leaving little goosebumps behind. He touches your breasts gently, biting his lip as both of his hands cup them and start to play with your nipples through the fabric of your bra. You can’t help but lean into his touch loving every second of this.

He places a soft kiss on top of your breast as he reaches around and unclips your bra. He quickly puts one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks on it, groaning as he does so. Your back arches into his mouth, craving so much more from him. His other hand roams your body but only focuses on the top half of you. Your core was dripping with arousal and aching to be touched by those long fingers. You guide one hand between your legs and have him put pressure there.

You gasp instantly, his touch feeling better than you could have imagined but also realize you’ve soaked through your panties. He takes his mouth off of you and pulls away to look down at his hand.

“Fuck honey, how long have you been soaked like this?” He grumbles, his two fingers sliding up and down through your covered folds and creating the most delicious friction.

“Since I saw you moving on that stage,” you admit weakly.

He chuckles softly, “Oh honey, why didn’t you tell me sooner… this pussy just weepin’ for me?” He asks as his fingers slide the elastic of your panties to the side and expose your leaking core to him.

“Yes,” you moan. He nods his head and slowly pushes a finger inside of you. You both groan together, filling you so nicely. Your hips rock into his hand, needing everything he can give you.

You throw your head back as he adds another finger inside of you.

“Elvis,” you moan, your chest heaving for more. He watches you intently, liking how on edge you are for him. His fingers twist and curl inside of you and you gasp for air. He likes what he’s doing and can’t get enough got you either.

“You feel so nice and wet baby. Can I give you my cock now?” He asks.

“Please, I want you Elvis, please give it to me,” you beg, reaching for his belt and unfastening it. He pulls down your panties and you lift your hips to help him get them off. You then work on the button of his pants and slide down the zipper. He lifts his hips up too to take them off and you watch as his cock comes out. Oh God, you were weak by just looking at it. His pink tip was peeking out from his foreskin and clear precum started to dribble down his length. His hand wraps around his length and spreads some of that slickness around the tip of him, moving his hand up and down slowly. You look back into his intense eyes and don’t know what to say.

“You want to ride me, honey?” He asks. The look on your face must have shown the apprehension you had thinking about taking him like that. He rubs his thumb along your cheek and smirks at you.

“It’ll feel so good baby. You’re so wet for me, you’re going to cover my cock in your sweet honey and make us feel so good,” he groans as you watch him swirl his thumb around the tip of his cock. A pent-up moan escapes your lips and quickly straddle his hips, needing him more than ever.

He rubs his length through your folds, covering him in your arousal and making you both moan with the sensation. You hold onto his shoulders and press kisses to his cheek. You feel him line himself up to your entrance and hold your hips. Elvis looks up at you with need and his eyes are begging you to have him. You felt the heat of him pressed there against your entrance and you can’t wait any longer. You start to sink down on his impressive length, moaning as you take the first few inches. He felt so good, filling you so completely and stretching out your tight entrance. He throws his head back onto the couch and groans as you take him, squeezing your hips tightly.

The sounds he makes when he’s getting pleased goes straight to your head. You love the way he groans as you move slowly on him. You never knew you could be so attracted to the sound of a man getting pleased. You take more of him inside you and cry out his name, overwhelmed it can be feeling this good.

“You feel so good, honey. You like how my cock feels inside you?” He groans into your ear. You gasp as his hips move up into you, stuffing more of his length inside of you.

“Yes, oh fuck yes,” you cry out.

You move faster on him, wanting more of him and feeling your walls fluttering each second. His eyes watch how your breasts bounce as you’re riding him, drunk at the very sight of you. You close your eyes, overwhelmed with all the sensations he’s giving you and those eyes only make it worse and worse.

Your hips grind at the base of his cock and you both whimper. Your clit rubs at the base of him and you feel your walls start to clench around him. You ride him harder, chasing the high of your orgasm. You look back into his eyes, desperate for him to help you.

“E-Elvis… oh please,” you beg.

“Come darlin’, I wanna feel you come for me,” he groans as he snaps his hips into you, causing his cock to get deeper inside you.

You whimper in agony, not being able to hold on much longer. His hands are back on your hips and help you move more. Your breathing is ragged and your vision is blurry, you thrust a few more times on him and you feel your body shudder hard. Your walls squeeze around his length and cry out his name like he’s your saving grace. He groans with you, loving how good you feel around him. He helps you rock your hips into him more, making you come more than you ever have in your life. Your head feels dizzy and your body feels like it’s floating. You never knew a man could make you feel this good.

You keep riding him and don’t want to stop. He was still making these sinful sounds that sent a pulse straight to your pussy as you hear him getting pleased by you. He bites his lower lip as he stares at you, beaded sweat gathering at his temples and his breathing becoming more frantic.

“Ah, honey you feel so damn good. I need to come now,” he says gruffly. He picks you up off of him and has you stand in between his open legs. He grabs his cock in his hand once more and starts to jerk himself off, staring at you with need. You wanted to touch him again, feel the warmth of his length fill your hand. You boldly get on your knees and take his hand off of himself. You wrap your small hand around him and his eyes roll back in his head. Your wetness covered his length and made it easy to move your hand on him. You angle his length toward your chest and he bucks his forward and falls apart. His seed comes out in thick, hot, spurts and lands on your chest. He groans loudly and cusses under his breath with each stroke of your hand.

“Oh yes honey, yes,” he moans.

He’s trying to calm down and regain his normal breathing but your thumb continues to tease his extra sensitive head. He groans in agony, loving and hating how you’re playing with him.

“God honey I-I-I ain’t never felt so good,” he sighs. “Come here,” he says opening his arms to you.

You get up and sit on his thigh, your spilling arousal making a mess on him. You wince when you feel the wetness spread on him and look up at him with an innocent smile.

“Sucha messy lil’ girl hmm?” He teases.

“Mhmm, you’re quite messy too,” you quip, looking down at your chest with him covering it.

He laughs amused, “Well, you felt too good what can I say,” he says cutely, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“I had to say thank you in some way for letting me take some pictures of you,” you say shyly.

“Oh, you didn’t need to, but I’m so thankful you did,” he winks.

You kiss each other more, reveling in this moment together, not wanting it to end so soon. But you knew he had other places to be, you couldn’t keep him in here forever.

“I don’t want to keep you from your day. The whole town is so happy you’re here,” you smile.

“Thanks, honey. It’s nice to be celebrated in sucha nice way,” he says caressing your face, “but this might have been my favorite thing I got today.” He says cutely.

“And what’s that?” You ask smartly.

“You, my new favorite reporter.”

Tagging:

@powerofelvis @burninlovebutler

@neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @loving-elvis @theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith@sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog.@myradiaz@tacozebra051

@thatbanditqueen

@18|kpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog @louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938 @50sexyshadesfashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

#elvis presley #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presely smut #elvis smut #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #elvis x reader #50s elvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis imagine #elvis fic #elvis fluff

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 8 months ago

Text

Co-Stars pt.4

Summary: Y/n post something interesting...

Warning: Sexism/ use of Y/n/ Swearing/

A/n: > Means Y/n's replies

Word count: 890 words

@Official_Y/n

@Official_Y/n: Guess who?

Liked by 78 345

Comments:

@User5710: Mother posting!!!!

@Y/n_fan214: Soft lauch?!

@TimotheChalamet: Ew, there's children on this app. > Okay🙂

@Austin_Butler: 🫣 > Sush Elvis

@User9261: Did she just shushed Austin Butler? > She did 💅

@Dua_Lipa: That back tho! 🫨 > 🏋‍♀️💪💅

After her post, the Internet was like the volcano that flooded Pompei with lava: Smoking hot. Everyone was talking about the guy in the picture and how intimate they looked. Of course, everyone thought about Callum, and they were right, but they didn’t know it. So, when Y/n, Austin, Anthony and Callum went on the Graham Norton show, they were expecting questions about it.

‘’So, Y/n obviously you got a lot of attention this week, because of this’’ Her post appears on the screen. Anthony starts to chuckle. ‘’I know, my back looks great’’ she says, avoiding the question. ‘’You look amazing, but the real question is: Who is the gentleman in the two pictures?’’ Two red arrows pointing at the men in the pictures appears on the screen. ‘’I can’t see him, maybe point it to me’’ she says, sarcastically of course. The publics starts to laugh. ‘’I mean there’s a gentleman in my life, I won’t say who, but yeah. Thought I’d tease the internet a little’’ she says, crossing her legs. ‘’Boys do you know who he is?’’ Graham asked the 3 men. ‘’Yeah, I met him, he’s really nice’’ Anthony says. ‘’He’s amazing, he takes care of my best friend, and that’s all that counts’’ Callum says. Y/n has to bite the inside of her cheek to prevent her from laughing. Hearing Callum talk about himself at the 3rd person almost makes her laugh and blow away the surprise. ‘’Like they said, he’s a really nice guy. Really fun too, we had some great conversations with him. Awesome guy’’ Austin adds. ‘’But what about Callum?’’ Graham asks. ‘’What about him?’’ Y/n asks. ‘’W-w-well you guys. T-t-the internet ships you together!’’ he stutters. Y/n direct answer took him by surprise. ‘’We also have a video of Callum and a mystery lady, let’s take a look’’ What video? Shit?! It showed a video of Callum making out with Y/n, but we couldn’t see her face, it was badly filmed because the only action we could see was between the crack of the door. Y/n tried not to react, and she was hoping that Callum would improvise something. ‘’Graham, I’m sorry, but we’re here to promote our show, Master of the Air, not trying to get to the bottom of the rumors of who’s Y/n dating and Callum’s privacy being invaded’’ Austin said, as calmly as possible. ‘’Austin’s right, plus we have great things to talk about other than Y/n’s dating life.’’ Anthony added the woman smiled to the blonde, who just saved their life. ‘’You’re right, I’m sorry, so Anthony…’’ Graham didn’t talk about relationships that night. When the interview was over and they got backstage, Y/n hugged Austin. ‘’Thank you so freaking much’’ she said. ‘’Thank you, Austin, I really appreciate it’’ Callum said. ‘’Don’t worry we got you’’ Anthony said.

After Austin and Anthony’s intervention, the people calmed down on the question, but the internet could still see their chemistry. Callum and Y/n still liked to tease the internet, but they calmed down too. Until the premier in the U.S.A, they kissed at the final premiere, in London. The one in the United-States was the before last premiere they all did. Y/n came on the carpet with a very reviling designer piece that the fans started to speculate.

She didn’t want to come on the carpet dressed like this, but the designer put a lot of effort into the piece, so she wore it. But she already had a team ready inside the movie theater to change her outfit. When she stepped out the car, she felt very vulnerable, she arrived alone this time, she was already gonna get attention for her outfit, she didn’t more publicity. She walked on the red carpet, until she reached her co-stars. ‘’Y/n here! Show us your tits!’’ a male fan yelled, making her very uncomfortable. Callum, who had seen the scene, felt really bad for his girlfriend. He wanted to help her, but if he gave her his jacket, the rumors would just be unbearable, they like to tease the internet, but not like that. ‘’Austin, can you go give your jacket to Y/n, she’s really uncomfortable’’ he whispered. He nodded than went forward, to give Y/n his jacket. ‘’With your boyfriends’ compliments’’ he said, not wanting to be suspicious. She put the jacket on and continued her way on the carpet. They finally did a group photo, after they could go inside, and Y/n could change. ‘’Come on Y/n, you’re not afraid to be shirtless on Instagram! We want to see the tits!’’ another male fan yelled. The guys were all in shook of what they just heard. But Y/n took all the confidence she had left and stepped forward. ‘’Maybe ask politely’’ she gave the men a fake smile before showing him her middle finger. The flash of the camera doubled; she was certainly going to get attention now. But what she didn’t realise was that the hole cast was flipping the guy off. Callum was the first to follow is girlfriend in giving the middle finger, the rest just followed.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t her outfit that made the front page, it was the picture of the cast giving the finger to the sexist fan. They didn’t talk about the fact that it was disrespectful, they talked about the fact that men were supporting woman and how it should always be like this. The cast of Master of the Air were now icons in the feminist movement. All thanks to Callum…

#callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #callum turner #co star #master of the air #austin butler #anthony boyle

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jhoneybees · 10 days ago

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Your little Muse

Hello lovelies! Coming in with another fic🤭 This one might be a bit all over the place because my brain isn't cooperating with me at the moment but I hope you all like it!

Characters: Late 70s!Elvis X artist!reader

Warnings/triggers: insecurities, nudity, angst, nude art

Tags: @atleastpleasetelephone @theelvisprincess @i-r-i-n-a-a @thelonelyheart @polksaladava @hooked-on-elvis

_____________________________________________

For the past few months, Elvis has been feeling extremely insecure. All the horrible thoughts swirling in his head about his appearance have been taking a big toll on him.

He rarely looks in the mirror, he never feels like dressing up anymore, just putting on tracksuits everyday and he's isolating himself in the bedroom for days on end so he doesn't have to face the newspaper headlines commenting on his growing waistline and he's also not seeing any of his good friends except you, his lover and that's making you terribly worried.

He hates it all and you know he hates it all, he’s told you that he hates himself even more because of it. You try your best to comfort him and help him take care of himself when he's sulking, feeling like a sack of potatoes but you've realised that it all doesn’t seem to last very long so one night you come up with an idea.

“H-Honey, I-I-I don’t know about this-” Elvis stutters nervously as he grips his robe, watching you move back and forth from one side of the bed to the other. Gulping when you turn around and smile.

“Come on, let’s take this off.”

You’ve come up with an idea of how you have this challenge for your art, drawing one thing that you love every single day for a whole month and for today’s thing you’re gonna draw is him. He’s been so hard on himself this week with his self esteem so you hope this might cheer him up.

Show him how beautiful he truly is.

Peeling his hands away from his chest, you carefully begin to unwrap his robe pushing it over his shoulders but he quickly stops you. Looking down at you, almost afraid. “N-No baby, I-I don’t know if w-we should do this…”

You give him a reassuring look, getting up onto your tippy toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Cupping his soft cheek with tenderness. “We should, darling.” smiling when you see his puppy eyes.

Slipping his robe off of his body, you let it fall to the floor and take a moment to admire his beauty. “Oh sweetie…” Carefully smoothing your palms up and down his arms as your eyes scan his naked body, frowning when you see him move his hands to cover himself. “There is no need to do that…”

Your eyebrows furrow looking up at him, carding your fingers through his hair as his eyes avert away from yours.

“This is a lot, Y/n.” He mumbles quietly and you nod in understanding.

“You’re already doing so well, baby…” cupping his left cheek again to bring his pretty blue eyes to face you again, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “My little muse doesn’t need to hide anything.”

He starts to blush and you give him another kiss, making him suck in a breath. Growing courage in his body. “A-Alright…” Slowly pulling himself to climb onto the huge bed and grunting as he sits down in the middle of the massive pile of luxurious cushions. He looks down at himself and quickly rips his stare away, swallowing thickly. Turning his head to look at you as you move closer.

“Get yourself comfortable.” You tell him, softly. Leaning over onto the bed with a knee on the mattress, you guide his arms to rest on the cushions behind him, adjusting a few things here and there and positioning his cross necklace on his chest and fixing his hair, you pull back to observe the picture in front of you and your small grin slowly fades when he tries to cover himself. “Relax, baby…” Gently stopping him.

Elvis groans. Moving his arms back to where they were then you grab the light pink silk scarf from your nightstand and mindfully draping it over his thighs covering his most intimate parts, he sighs a little, bringing him a bit of comfort.

“Oh honey…” You coo with genuine love in your voice, admiring his beautiful body of how he just lays there.

His legs parted with one knee bent slightly, his arms looking soft and cuddly, his perfectly dishevelled hair on top of his head, his baby boy blue eyes watching yours shyly, his chestnut coloured hairs decorating his glorious chest with a bling of a gold cross and his delicious belly laying over your pink scarf.

You sigh, he really is a sight for sore eyes.

“Baby, d-do I really need ta be naked like this?”

Your eyes flick up to his insecure ones and respond with a hum. “Mhm, drawing something that I truly love…and that’s your handsome self, baby.” Picking up your sketchbook and adjusting your art pencil set as you sit down in the armchair you organised right at the foot of the bed. Rolling your stare down his body once more before getting yourself focused.

“...Don’t know what makes ya think that.” He grumbles.

Bringing your gaze up to him again, your eyebrows knit together. “Because I love you…”

“Hmm-”

“That’s what makes me think that.” You finish making him lock his baby blues to yours then shuffling around, you breathe through your nose and quietly lean onto the bed and grab his foot to place a kiss to the bridge. Making sure he knows that you meant every word.

After a while of reassuring Elvis and getting everything organised, you finally get to work. Flicking your focused stare up to specific parts of his body every now and then to get every detail right, you take your time.

You started around 9 PM and as time goes by, it feels like it’s almost morning.

You’re so proud of Elvis. He’s trying his best to stay still, despite how uncomfortable he is. You can see the discomfort on his handsome face.

He’s avoiding looking at his body at all times and the way his lips curl into a frown and his nostrils flare slightly makes your heart break.

He looks like he’s slowly losing himself in the darkness and you can’t let him sink in too deep so you quickly get up and pad over to the side of the bed to place a soft kiss to his temple making him lift his head.

Giving him a loving smile. “Hang in there, honey.”

He nods and his dissociated stare drifts back down to his toes. “Mhm…”

“I’m almost finished.” Placing another peck onto his lips as your finger goes under his chin. He doesn’t say anything and you hesitantly go back to your chair to carry on with your art.

As 2 AM comes around and you add a few finishing touches, you’re finally satisfied to say you’ve completed the drawing.

“It’s done.” You sigh, relieved.

Crawling onto the silky bed sheets towards Elvis and kneeling beside his thighs as you reach over and grab his robe from earlier and lay it over his legs and chest, he notices you holding your sketchbook in front of him and when he sees the picture on the white paper, your heart buzzes with warmth when he carefully takes the book from you.

Hesitantly tracing a finger beside the lines to not ruin the drawing and watching his chest start to shakily rise and fall, your soft smile falters hearing him suck in a weak breath.

“Baby?”

You angle your back to see his face and the sight of his eyes, watery and a couple of tears dropping from his eyelashes, you immediately cup his cheek and lift his chin to inspect him better. “Oh…” Bringing your other hand to wipe the tear from his right cheek. “I’m sorry…”

He shakes his head slightly, gently touching the back of your hand to look back down at the drawing.

“Thank you…”

Your heart thumps at his soft words and as your gaze goes down to your drawing, Elvis moves your hand to rest on his chest. Rubbing it with his thumb as he thinks. Realising that you're showing a different version of him to him.

A version you say he is but he never understood until now.

A version that’s loving, soft and angelic.

A version that you call, little muse.

Your little muse.

“I love it.”

#elvis presley #elvis fans #elvis #i love him #elvis fandom #70s elvis #elvis imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis fluff #elvis angst

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vintagepresley · 1 year ago

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A Helping Hand

Pairing: Bigdaddy!Elvis x reader

Word Count: 1,854

Warnings: None really. Use of the word daddy, but that's it. Fluffy, cute.

Author's Notes: I don't know if this is even good or not especially since there's no smut. But I really wanted to write this and I know a lot of you really wanted it! I did add one of the aliments he had around this time just to add to the story. I hope you like it! Possible spelling errors.

It was 1976 and Elvis was leaving that morning for his tour which was starting in Kansas City, MO. You had spoken with him the night before about how you dreaded him leaving again and how much you’d miss him, that the two of you slept cuddled up together the whole night. Elvis was eventually waking up, his tired eyes fluttering open slowly to see the blurry sight of you curled up against his chest and a warm smile spread across his face and he watched you sleep for a moment before he turned his head over to check the time and he sighed when the clock read ‘9:30AM’. He had to get up and start getting ready, he was grateful that you had helped pack his belongings for him and had everything ready to go. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head before he carefully and slowly slid out of the bed doing his best not to wake you. You made a soft sound when he moved and your arms wrapped around his pillow and you cuddled into it still asleep. He smiled warmly and shook his head before he headed into the bathroom to shower.

After a while you rolled over in your sleep not feeling Elvis beside and your eyes quickly opened and you looked around the room scared that he had left already, but when you heard the sounds of the showering turning off and his soft hums a smile formed on your lips and you slipped out of bed, fixing your nightgown that clung to your curves as you slowly crept over to the bathroom door and you could hear Elvis fumbling around with his things in there. You lightly knocked on the door.

“Elvis.. Can I come in?” you say softly.

Elvis smiles when he hears your voice and he reaches over to open the door as he’s just about to start shaving and the door swung open and he was standing there in his robe shaving cream in his other hand as he stood over the sink that was covered with his things.

“‘Course ya can, little one. Come sit.” he beamed.

You smiled widely at him and a soft giggle escaped you because he was getting ready to shave and he knew how much you loved to watch him do it. You came waltzing in and sitting yourself down on the closed lid of the toilet seat and you stared up at him in awe. He was so handsome, so beautiful. He was not the biggest fan of his own appearance especially nowadays. But you loved how he looked. You loved the roundness and chubbiness of his cheeks and the way his robe hugged around his round belly. Your eyes wandered over every inch of him before finding their way back to his face that he was covering in shaving cream. You always stayed quiet when he did this because you enjoyed this little moment with him but you also didn’t want to distract him. You continued to stare up at him with the biggest smile on your face. He glanced over at you with a slight grin on his face. Elvis equally loved when you would come into his bathroom to just watch him shave. It made him feel special and loved that someone would want to watch him do such a simple task.

You let out a soft content sigh and watched as he grabbed straight edge razor from the counter and you crossed your legs over the other and clasped your hands together as you watched him closely as he began to shave his face and you tilted your head with each movement he made and he peered over at you and flashed you a smile as he shaved close against his skin and using the towel over his shoulder to wipe the excess shaving cream off the blade before continuing to shave his face. The rasping sound of the blade filling the room as you continued to sit in silence and him quite focused on not cutting himself. You smiled when he got one side done and you could see that clean and fresh face of his peeking through the stripes of shaving cream on his face.

Elvis stopped for a moment and he looked over at you and he took in your beauty for a moment. “Look at ya, sittin’ there all pretty just for me..” he grinned.

You let out a soft giggle at his words. “You’re so handsome.” you said softly.

He smiled at your compliment but didn’t respond because he never saw what you saw in him. He resumed shaving but now he was having a bit of trouble with his hands when it came to gripping the handle of the razor because of the arthritis in his hands that would affect things he did sometimes. “Goddamn, arthritis..” he mumbled softly, a little embarrassed that he couldn’t even shave himself.

You noticed what was happening and sometimes you usually didn’t say anything because you knew how embarrassed he felt about his condition, but this was the first time he had struggled to shave and as you watched him put the blade beneath his chin and swiped down he suddenly dropped the blade on the countertop and he hissed softly and quickly looked in the mirror to see he had nicked himself and he was bleeding. You stood up and quickly went to his side and cupped his face a bit in your hands, not caring about getting shaving cream on them as you looked at the tiny cut. “It’s okay, it’s not bad.” you smile at him assuringly.

Elvis nodded slowly and looked up at you as he sighed. “H.. Honey, will ya do me a favor and shave the rest of my face for me?

You smiled at his words and leaned forward to kiss his nose. “Of course I will.. I’d be honored!” Both of them laughed and she picked up the razor from the counter.

“Alright, little one, be careful with that damn razor.. Don’t go cuttin’ me up now.” he said with a soft chuckle.

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“I know what I’m doing, daddy. Now come on.” you said with a soft hum, taking his hand in yours and leading him back out to the bedroom. He smirked at you calling him ‘daddy’ which he always liked. You sat him down on the edge of the bed and then you climbed into his lap, straddling his waist with your thighs and he grinned up at you as you settled into his lap and his hands ran along the soft silk of your nightgown as his ocean blue eyes stared adoringly at you. You smiled at him and raised your left hand to cup his chin in your grasp and you tilted his head further up and slightly to right so you could get a good angle and you slowly, carefully began to shave his face, starting from underneath his chin and slowly making your way up his face. His hands found their way to your hips and grasped them in his large hands, slightly pulling you closer so that your chest was pressed against his as you shaved him. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth and flashed him a smile as the rasping of the blade against his skin filled the quiet room, until he broke the silence.

“Ya sure you know what you’re doin’, little one?” he mumbled out.

“I’m sure.. Don’t you trust me, daddy?” you laughed softly.

“Well yeah, sugar.. ‘Course I do.. But you ain’t ever done this before..” he responded.

“Yeah, but I’ve watched you a dozen times.” you said softly, concentrating on what you were doing.

Elvis nodded and smiled, he had so much admiration and love in his eyes as he kept his eyes on you. Something so mundane like shaving somehow became something so intimate between the two of you that he couldn’t believe just how lucky he was to have someone to take care of him and help him when he needed it.

You catch a glimpse of the smile that formed on his lips as you were finishing up and you smiled back at him. “What?” you whispered.

“Nothin’.. Just thinkin’ ‘bout how lucky I am to be loved by such an incredible woman.” he mumbled under his breath.

You smiled wide at his words and your cheeks grew a bit flush and you got one last spot before wiping the blade on the towel to get the excess shaving cream off. “I’m the lucky one.” you whispered to him, grabbing the towel from his shoulder and wiping off the rest of the shaving cream from his face that remained and you beamed at his new fresh face. “All done, handsome.” you giggled as you climbed off his lap to take the towel and razor into the bathroom and then you grabbed his Brut aftershave and came back to him and got right back into his lap and his hands grabbed your hips again and he just smiled at you.

“Guess ya do know what you’re doin’.” he mumbled.

“I told you I did..” you laughed.

You opened the bottle of brut and put some in your hands and set the bottle down on the bedside table and then you rubbed your hands together and then gently brushed the palm of your hands against his freshly shaved face and he closed his eyes feeling so relaxed as you took care of him like this. You inhaled the musky scent of his aftershave that was your favorite because it always lingered in his room. You pulled your hands away and wrapped your arms back around his shoulders and smiled down at him and then he leaned forward and his lips pressed against yours in a slow, passionate kiss and the scent of his aftershave filled your nasal passage and you couldn’t help but inhale it because you would miss his smell while he was gone. Elvis pulled back just a little from the kiss, but his soft full lips still lingered against your lips as he spoke.

“Thank you, little one.. I don’t know what I’d do without ya. Always tendin’ to me.” he whispered.

You smiled at his words and cupped his face with your right hand and lightly brushed your fingertips along his smooth skin. “You’d have Larry sitting here shaving your face for you.” you laughed. Elvis let out a small chuckle and shook his head.

“Ain’t no way in hell. Besides.. Ya really know how to treat a man.. I may have you do my shavin’ for me from now on.” he grinned, running his hands along your thighs.

“I’d gladly do it. I’d do anything for you, daddy.” you beamed, kissing him once more and the two of you embraced in a deep passionate kiss until you pushed him back against the bed, wanting to give him a little something special before he left for his tour.

Tagging: @whitepontiac @thetaoofzoe @arrolyn1114 @peaceloveelvis @louisejoy86 @ccab @claire-elvisgirl @devilsflowerr @dkayfixates @everythingelvispresley @genetakovicluvr @sillybookmarks @kaiistheguy @landmermaid12 @velvetelvis @jaqueline19997. @lettersfromvenus @kendralavon7

I think I tagged everyone who wanted to be tagged!

#elvis presley #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis fanfic #elvis #elvis fluff #big daddy elvis #big daddy

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be-my-ally · 10 months ago

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I Feel The Earth Move

for the prompt: something weather related. (wow, a genius must have come up with that)

I, I don’t know how or when this turned into 5k (7k now), I truly don’t - take it from me, nothing happens in this fic, it is pure (somewhat domestic) fluff and smut. It’s also - well, this is probably the closest you could get to a peek inside my brain of my current favourite sleep/daydream fantasy - i.e it's just reader and elvis having a chat?

warnings: 18+, smut (of the gentle kind), slight body-negativity (from reader, about herself). Because this is fanfiction, suspend your disbelief and assume Elvis was allowed a day off during his November 1971 tour during which this fic takes place, and that Joyce isn’t available. Red being a bit of a dick. I change tenses about 12 times.

1971!Elvis x fem!reader – soft belly mentioned.

wc: 7.3k - idk enjoy my long descriptions of choosing pjs, and sitting around watching Elvis sit there.

(It's been so long since I posted a non-series fic, that I truly can't remember taglist info so here is a PSA to message me/comment if you want me to tag you in everything!)

Elvis had called you, unexpectedly, just a few days ago, to join him for the rest of the tour and though you’d found the whirlwind of movement and activity exciting you were already tired. You couldn’t imagine how Elvis himself must be feeling. So, you were grateful that you were stopping for a little while, even if it was just for the night. The town you’d ended up in wasn’t anything special, just a convenient stop-off for the brief rest before you all continued to the show the next night. The hours from the show the night before, and the following afternoon weren’t long enough of a break for anyone to go home and relax, but Elvis had been twitchy and anxious to do something else for the day, and you weren’t surprised to be told there was to be a new car delivered to the hotel to play around with.

When the new, shiny, black car had pulled up outside the hotel you’d stood beside him at the window, nodding as he pointed out specific features, ooh and aahing at the right moments, even though, as far as you could tell it looked much the same as the others you’d seen him drive. But it made him happy and that was what mattered. Elvis had grinned at you and curled an arm around your waist, asking you oh so nicely if you wouldn’t like to go out for a ride with him in it. He’d had a long week, it was all getting a bit much - the tour, and the travelling and he just wanted to feel normal for an evening - you get that right? You’d readily agreed once he’d hitched your shirt up to brush his thumb against your skin and whispered he wanted it to just be the two of you. You would have agreed regardless, truthfully you would have agreed to anything he suggested after having had the call, so unexpectedly out of the blue, to come and spend a few days with him; you wanted to make the most out of every second.

You soon live to regret that sentiment, however, as you hurry to the car with your arms wrapped around yourself. It’s freezing and, though it isn’t raining yet, the dark grey sky isn’t looking particularly friendly. Elvis starts to follow you down the motel steps after a few muttered words to the boys, but pauses for a moment - watching you rapidly trot to the car before disappearing back into one of the rooms. You watch, shivering from the passenger seat, hoping he won’t take too long when he appears a minute later, hurrying down the stairs himself, this time carrying a second of his coats - a short but thick suede and shearling jacket that he throws onto your lap before climbing in himself. He’s wearing a red suede coat that falls to his knees, and he’s forced to unbutton it to sit down in the car. He mutters to himself about it, as he stands back up before finally getting in and slamming the door shut. He glances over at you,

“Look - get that on ya now, there we are - I’ll, I’ll turn the heat on in a mo, once we’ve got her running.”

“Thank you,” You shoulder into the jacket gratefully, “I didn’t realise it was so cold.” He hums at you, twisting the ignition and sending the car purring to life. He grins at the engine noise, turning to look at you with boyish delight.

“Alright then, honey, let me show ya what this can do.” You squeal as he takes off, and he laughs as you grab at the handle while he wildly turns the first corner, calming down a little himself once he was on the open road. He sings along to the radio, The Temptations are playing, Just My Imagination, and he hums along to the words he doesn’t know, singing the ones he does. It’s absurdly endearing and you’re momentarily breathless getting to watch and hear him like this. You have no idea where you are, too distracted with watching him than the passing scenery. He’s so pretty in the early evening light, happy and relaxed. He taps his hand on the wheel to the beat, moving his head, turning to sing to you. You smile, overwhelmed but not wanting to scare him off and unsure how to respond, but he clearly understands your facial expression and appreciation, offering his palm up on your thigh for you to hold.

You drive in what feels like an endless combination of loops and “Which way looks exciting baby? You wanna go left or right here?” until, somehow, it’s been almost two hours and you were passing through a small town on the outskirts of the city, gaining more and more distance from the hotel. If you’d started to pay any attention to your surroundings you’d realise you were starting to recognise them.

The storm starts slowly, just a little rain, a grey cloud here and there, and Elvis ignores it as he drives, laughing when he drives through a forming puddle and splashing up the water onto the windows. Simply turning his radio up higher in response to the worsening rain patter. You’re showing him your fully choreographed dance routine to I Feel the Earth Move, and he laughs at your wiggles and shakes while you giggle performing it, signalling to the sky and emphasising the ‘tumbling down’ lyric that matches the downpour picking up.

Almost at once, as the rain increases in tempo, the car starts to slow, sputtering and shuddering to a halt. The radio keeps playing although you immediately reach out to turn it down,

“Uh… what, what’s happened?” You have no clue about cars, but you’re hopeful Elvis might have some idea. Elvis growls, trying to turn the ignition again, the car sputters but refuses to start.

“Fuck, fuck, just fuckin’ great man.” He slams his hands on the wheel in frustration, and you flinch, turning to look wide-eyed out into the rapidly darkening evening sky, stormy and intimidating, the rain falling into flowing streams down the road. Elvis tries again, yanking his glasses off like that might make a difference, but it just won’t start and though you really don’t want to annoy him any further, you have, while peering over at him, noticed something that might be related to your sudden lack of power.

“Um, El, is - is that the gas blinking at you?” Elvis lifts his head up from the wheel, frowning at the fuel indicator. He swears again,

“Fuckin’ piece of junk - it must be broken already! I swear, honey, it had a full tank when we left - didn’t, it gave me no ind’catshun it would do that.” He shakes his head, muttering about a hunk of junk new cars while the E continues to flash. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth,

“Uh, well, at least we know what the problem is,” You rack your brain for a solution, “We’ll just have to get one of the guys to run us some gas!”

“Yeah real smart idea, ‘cept we don’t have a phone.” You whirl around to look into the backseat but sure enough, no phone. “In the goddamn middle of nowhere,” He slaps the wheel again. You look out of the windows, realising with a start exactly where you were. You debate for a second if you should confess but the rain picks up again, hammering down even harder than before, and you realise you don’t have a choice. “Guess our only choice is to go knocking on some people’s doors.” He sighs, putting his head into his crossed arms on top of the wheel,

“We-e-ell, not quite.” He rolls his head to peek at you,

“What d’ya mean?” You blink at him,

“Uh, my house is right around here. Just - just a little past that next corner.” Elvis sits fully upright, mouth agape, with a furrow forming in his brow,

“Your house? Around that corner?” You nod, anxious that he’s about to be mad that you hadn’t told him. He side-eyes you suspiciously,

“Thought you were from…uhhh, wasn’t it, uh, Louisville?”

“Well - yes and no, that’s where I go to college - my parent’s house is right around that corner ‘s only about another, I don’t know - maybe a 20 minute walk?” Elvis looks at you a little strangely again, but after he looks up at the sky, he nods.

“We’ll have to make a break for it I guess. Not quite how I planned the evenin’ - your folks be ok witchyou bringin’ me home?” You nod,

“Course! And, well, they’re visiting my aunt at the moment up in Chicago anyway - she’s just had another baby.” He pauses looking at you questioningly,

“And you didn’t wanna go? Don’t women like babies?” You roll your eyes,

“God, no I didn’t want to go! What can they do at that age anyway?” He frowns like he’d wanted to protest your point, but then realises he can’t deny it’s true, “I’ll go and see her when she can stand and look at me - and, well, I, I, I had plans made by then anyhow.” He grins at you and pleased that he liked your plan you continue,

“I can’t promise the fridge’ll be stocked, but there should be something we can eat in the pantry while we wait for the guys, and obviously we can use the phone -“ Elvis shakes his head, eyes bright,

“Yep, needta tell ‘em where we are, wouldn’t want them sending out a search party but…” He makes a show of peering out of the window, leaning forward, “You know, I wouldn’t want to make any of ‘em come out in this.” You blink at him, it was a bad storm, sure, but it would be a push to call it undriveable, “I s’pose we may as well stay the night.” He pats your thigh and you stare at him for a second, processing, before nodding.

“I suppose that does make an awful lot of sense. It wouldn’t be right for them to get stuck out here too…”

“Be nice to spend the night alone with you, baby.” He winks, nodding at the door, “Whenever you’re ready, hon, lead the way, I’ll follow you.”

You’re both soaked through by the time you reach the little front porch. Although your matching suede jackets had done the job of keeping some of the rain off, you had had still been out in the rain for a little too long - it had been a rapid walk, or slow jog for about fifteen minutes before you’d reached civilisation, frantically picking up the pace as thunder started to rumble overhead, for the last few minutes of dashing to your street. You scramble under the little decorative frog on the top step for the spare key, desperately hoping your mother hadn’t decided to move it while they were away. You hold it up triumphant, oblivious to the way the moonlight was reflecting off your blouse under Elvis’ open jacket, the rain making the white totally see through. Elvis grins at you encouragingly, and you open the door with a flourish, allowing you both to tumble into the empty house. You slam the door shut, leaning against it, dripping wet, to watch Elvis look around curiously and you anxiously begin to fill the silence.

“Um, I don’t know what clothes I have here - but, I definitely have something and I’ll bring down something for you, uh, you’ll probably have to wear my father’s pyjamas, and he’s a touch bit bigger than you, but we have a dryer!”

“Thank you sweetheart, that’s mighty kind of you -“

“So, I can get your clothes dried for you.” Elvis is looking at you with bemusement, and you can feel yourself rambling, and you force yourself to take a breath before continuing, “I’ll have to check if daddy’s left the water on - we might have to make do without a shower, but I’ve got plenty of blankets to warm us up instead.”

“Sounds great - I’m sure that’ll -“

“So if you just -“ you gesture to the kitchen doorway, “-I won’t be a minute, help yourself to anything you like. The phone’s just on the wall there if you wanna call the hotel.” You sprint up the stairs, furious with yourself for the rising panic you were starting to feel - what were you thinking. You were an adult, you could cope with this. You could deal with Elvis Presley. In your house. With nothing prepared.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down, trying to think straight, right. First things first, you head into your parent’s room, quickly finding an inoffensive pair of button down pyjamas for Elvis to wear, and you’re about to take them down the stairs when you’re suddenly made aware of the sticking sensation of your wet skirt to your legs - Elvis must be soaked through too, so you detour to the bathroom to fetch him a towel, shouting down to him,

“El! Here ya go!” He appears at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at you with some amusement, as he tries to catch your particularly terrible throw. Clearly he doesn’t normally have his clothes thrown at him from above and it makes you laugh watching him flounder on the opposite side of his stage scarf dynamic for once.

“ ‘re you not coming down, baby?”

“Um, I’ll be down in just a second! Just leave your stuff on the table and I’ll run it down to the dryer in a bit!”

“Uh, well, sure thing, honey, thank you.” A moment or so later you can hear the clinking of what hopefully wasn’t too many firearms in your house as he gets undressed and then his murmuring voice as he speaks to someone on the phone.

You really didn’t have much by way of clothes still in this house, and even less that you would consider acceptable to wear with Elvis Presley in the room. You stare into your drawer for a little too long, willing for another choice to appear. Such magic powers are, apparently, beyond you however so there’s just the two options; a little chiffon babydoll set you’d left behind because it was now pretty much indecent, or a gingham flannelette set complete with embroidered teddy bear on the pocket. On the one hand the little babydoll set was pretty cute, but you were also freezing and warm cotton sounded appealing to your damp skin - but was being so bundled up really the image you wanted to give off to Elvis? He’d never seen you in anything but your very, very, carefully chosen outfits. You start to unbutton your shirt, determined you’d just have to freeze for the sake of fashion but as soon as the cool breeze hits your damp skin you change your mind, rapidly rubbing yourself down with a towel and changing into the snug flannelette of your winter pyjamas. When you come bouncing down the stairs he’s stood waiting for you, and you pause near the bottom, suddenly uncertain. He grins at you, reaching up to lift you down the last step, placing you right in front of him.

He’s taken his glasses off, tucked them into the breast pocket of the shirt, and clearly had been trying to tame his wet, lightly curling hair, into some semblance of order, the newly long shagginess pushed back against his ears. The borrowed PJs swamp his frame, Elvis is far slimmer than your father, and when you look him over you have to stifle a giggle. The pants ending about two inches too short and stopping far above his delicate ankles and bare feet. He looks down at them himself, following your eyes, and where at home he might have been self-conscious, here he takes it in his stride, smiling back at you with his eyes sparkling.

“Think I oughta wear this on stage?” He points his toes and you giggle, shaking your head, and gesture to the living room.

“I don’t know... I think we’d make a good looking pair.” You pose with your hands on your hips, blowing him a kiss,

“Uh-huh, sure, ‘specially with your lil’ bear there.” He flicks at the pocket on your chest and you blush,

“They’re warm!” He grins, pushing back his hair,

“They sure look it, you look snug as a bug.” He grabs your waist, pulling you into him. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and you melt into his hold for a moment, before he pulls away, peering into the living room. You gesture,

“Feel free to sit anywhere.” Elvis looks around before walking over and settling in the armchair, resting his ankle on his knee. You anxiously consider your options before settling onto the couch, feeling silly for being nervous in your own home. It’s silent for a moment, well, somewhat - Elvis humming to himself as he continues to look around - assessing the bookshelves, before he finally speaks up;

“Don’t suppose you have any smokes ‘round here?” You shake your head apologetically,

“No - My da-” Before you suddenly remember that you do, and go running off up the stairs, hoping you were right. You come sliding back down, socks slipping on the stairs much to Elvis’ amusement as you come racing back in, but he says nothing and gratefully accepts a proffered cigarette from the box you hold out.

“Sorry, daddy doesn’t have any cigars - he doesn’t smoke.” You add on, as if otherwise you might have been embarrassed at not having any to offer. He shrugs,

“S’ok, I don’t mind.” You go to put the box away and he shakes his head,

“Jus leave it there - s’alright? Don’t of’fen smoke ‘em now-a-days but when I do, I uh, I’ll have a few.” He pauses as if remembering his manners, “If that’s alright?”

“Oh of course - by all means.” You hand it back to him, sinking back down into the couch. He leans back, the picture of ease, studying you, a glint in his eye,

“They your mama’s? I’ll replace ‘em.”

“Oh no, she doesn’t either,”

“You forget where you’d hidden them or somethin’?” He says it delicately, and you can feel him teasing you - like he already knows. You inwardly cringe in embarrassment,

“Uh, well, my parents didn’t like me to smoke - neither of them do, they’re not - they’re from before I went away, obviously, they were in my dresser still.” He grins at your bashfulness,

“Sensible. I wouldn’t let my little gal smoke none either.” He offers you the box, and you shake your head at his gall at offering you your own belongings, but still take one, letting him light it for you. You sit for a moment, but the silence drags, and it gets all too much for you all too fast. You get up to turn on the television, but the signal keeps dropping no matter what you try to do, and eventually Elvis says,

“Oh, look honey, just give it up - you gotta have somethin’ else we can put on? Look there’s your records over there,” He points to the player on the sideboard, and you readily agree. He sighs, pushing up to his feet and coming to stand next to you, crouching down to cast a judgemental eye over the collection. He pats your shoulder, pointing to what he wanted on, and you immediately obey.

You sit back down, just for a second, before you realise you were starving. “Are you hungry?” You don’t even give Elvis the possibility to respond before you continue, “Sorry, silly question - I won’t be a minute, I’ll see what I can come up with.” You disappear, rummaging through the cupboards to compile as much of a meal as possible,

“Well, there’s not much…” You bring in the tray, “But there’s pop-tarts!” Elvis looked it over, laughing -

“Jeez honey, you got anything not rolled in sugar?” You blush,

“Well sure but, it’s - I’m not a great cook Elvis,” He laughs, reaching over to grab a handful from the nuts you’d found, “Besides - there’s really not much here.”

“Nah, nah, this is great honey, truly, great.” You hand him a cup of hot cocoa, and he’s just as pleased with that as with his tray of exceedingly random snacks, and you settle on the floor by his feet with a deck of cards. He plays with your hair as you shuffle, swearing as the intimate moment is wrecked by your yelp at the strands catching on his chunky ring.

Once you’re untangled you suggest gin, and you play for a couple of rounds, putting up with Elvis somehow winning every time before he sighs as if bored, picking up a book your father had left on the side. He opens it up, glancing at the pages, nodding in pleasure,

He whistles, “Whoo, boy, your daddy’s got good taste - c’mon up here and I’ll read to you, baby.” You scramble up to clamber onto his lap, squealing as he tugs you onto him more than the chair, tucking your feet into the crease of the cushion and the arm and situating you into a comfortable position. You glance at the cover, internally groaning, it’s a WWII history, and you’d really rather not at this time of the night, but it’s harmless enough to let him drone on above you, his delicate cadence and deepening voice gentle on your ears. You don’t realise you’ve drifted off until he nudges you,

“You’re not paying attention.” You wiggle your toes, yawning,

“Sorry, sorry I am, ‘m just warm.” He snorts,

“You were snoring,” You blush,

“I don’t snore,” Elvis pokes your side as he laughs, nodding his head at you,

“Oh, sure you do.” You frown - about to protest some more but he cuts you off before you can, “I think, I’ve gotta leave for the show in, uh, ‘bout eight hours, so prolly need to get some sleep.” It had gotten quite late, and while you wouldn’t admit to snoring, you had been asleep, so you readily agree.

You hadn’t really thought about the sleeping arrangement past taking him up the stairs with you, just assuming you’d be in together - like you were at Graceland, or in the hotel but stood in the doorway of your bedroom with Elvis now you weren’t so sure. You have no idea what it is about your teenage bedroom making you feel nervous again, you’re an adult - you’ve spent more than enough nights in Elvis’ bed and yet for some reason you feel like you’re sixteen again, nervously sneaking a boy upstairs.

He peers around you to investigate the room, assessing the floral wallpaper and curtains. He brushes past you to take a closer look, turning in a circle. You watch his brow furrow as his eyes land on the glossy magazine pages surrounding your mirror. It’s as if he can’t stop himself, nodding with self satisfaction as he puts the image of George Harrison face down onto your dressing table. He doesn’t seem to have the same issue with the images of his younger self.

“Uh well, here we are. I guess if you have in here, I’ll go downstairs - or, I’ll go into my parents room.” He whirls around at your suggestion,

“No, no, wanna stay with my girl in her bed, y’can’t leave me all on my lonesome inna new place; I might sleepwalk right outta here!” You shake your head, tummy flipping, even as you smile at his vehemence.

“Well sure, but,” You gesture to the bed, “I forgot about this.” He frowns looking over at your pink, ruffled bed.

“Forgot about what? ‘S not got clean sheets or something, honey?”

“No, No, of course they’re clean!” Elvis smirks at your immediate outrage, “It’s just it’ll be uh…cosy. I forgot how small the - well, it’s not quite a full” You brace yourself for a second after you say it, forgetting that you’re not on the road with the boys at the moment, you’re in your home and he knows that. Knows that even if the situation would have normally caused him to pitch a fit he wouldn’t here. Here and now he’ll be on his best behaviour, and if you accuse him of acting any differently he’d deny it with a twinkle in his eye. You imagine how ridiculously polite he would be had your parents been home; “Why, this must be your sister! Thank you for having me over, I know it’s a real impo’sitshun.” and “Yes ma’am, you have a lovely home.” all, “No ma’am I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.” and of course why yes, he is a good southern boy. Although, if they had been, he probably wouldn’t be squeezing into your bed with you. Still that was probably unfair, he really had been on his absolute best behaviour all evening.

“Cozy is a-ok with me, baby, y’don’t mind me getting real close do ya now?” He takes a step closer to the bed, patting the covers.

“No, no but I - you’re used to, god your bed must be four times this - are you going to be able to sleep?” You ask, concerned, and he shrugs,

“Prolly not - truth be told, but I don’t have my med’cation either. Hadn’t expected to be out very long.” Oh, of course. You frown continuing,

“Oh - maybe it would be better then if we split up - it probably is too small for the both of us.” He shakes his head,

“No, no, come sit over here now, listen here and I’ll tell you somethin’.” He pats the bed and you perch onto the side of it, watching him talk, “When I was little - just you know,” he gestures to his knees to indicate his height, “Momma an’ I used to share a bed that I’m pos-i-tive was small’r than this one.” He sits down next to you, leaning back on an arm to better look over it.

“With your Mama?”

“Yeah, yeah, we were - lord, we were poor as anythin’ and we just didn’t have no spare money for beds or, anything- and the like; while daddy was away ‘specially.” You didn’t know any of this,

“Oh. That must have been hard.” It’s hard to imagine him as anything less than the expensive, gaudy, generous man in front of you. But then, it does make sense - no-one who’s that giving comes from money.

“Well, you see, I s’pose I didn’t know any different - and I love my mother, I really do - did. That’s why I bought ma house, well, why I did everythin’ I suppose - it t’was all for her really.”

“Oh - that’s, that’s really lovely Elvis.” He nods, a little sadly, shrugging,

“Yeah, well, never mind. I know ‘s a little weird, but it weren’t anythin-” You interrupt his bashful commentary, hating the idea that this totally natural behaviour might be something he feels bad about.

“I was 12 before I could fall asleep by myself - my mom had to lay with me, or daddy hadta read to me - so you know I don’t think that’s weird at all El, ‘specially if you didn’t have room.”

“Yeah well, I was prolly a little too old by the time we could ‘ford a second bed, but it’s just like what you say - it weren’t anything strange.” You nod, pleased he seems less embarrassed. And wasn’t that just a wild thought - that Elvis might be the one embarrassed in your childhood bedroom.

“Well, in any case, there’s no point being uncomfortable - maybe we should…maybe we should try my parents room?” Elvis shudders,

“Sorry doll nothing ‘gainst your folks, but uh I don’t much like the idea of bein’ uninvited into someone’s bed…” You nod, standing back up and starting to tug down the sheets,

“Well then, let’s give this a go…I’ll just go fetch the spare pillows.” He looks over at you incredulously,

“Honey, you can’t possibly think we need more pillows?” He gestures to the overstuffed bed, “I’m not even sure how you fit in there with all of them!” You giggle,

“I do!” You start to pull off the decorative ones, “Not these ones though - I don’t sleep with these, or those.” You point to the others, and he shakes his head as he joins you in throwing them onto the floor, leaving just the main pillows at the top. It still left five pillows though and Elvis shakes his head,

“You got an itty-bitty bed and enough cushions for ten!” You laugh, defending yourself,

“I just like to be cocooned!” You wriggle, as if imitating being wrapped up, and he laughs back at you, eyes crinkling as he watches you.

“Cocooned! Well, you won’t need them tonight, can just sit’ate your bitty self right by me.” You smile, and he settles the nerves that were starting to swirl in your tummy as you’d continued to prepare the bed for both of you. “Seriously though - how’d you fit all these in?” He stands back, hands on his hips trying to picture your usual sleeping arrangement.

“Well, I normally sleep on that one there, and then those two go on either side, and that one goes ‘tween my legs.” Elvis waggles an eyebrow, before placing the pillow you’d gestured to atop ‘his’ side of the bed.

“Oh! and a friend!” As you tossed another cushion to the floor, the stuffed bunny tucked between the pillows had gone flying, you flush red at the sudden swirl of guilt as you watch Clarissa hit the floor, “Who’s this?” You force yourself to be nonchalant,

“Oh Elvis - don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasin’ honey, you tryin’ tell me it’s not got a name?” He picks her up,

“El, she’s no-one.” You shake your head,

“Aha! A girl bunny!” He holds her aloft, “She’s mighty cute!”

“Really - El, I don’t know how she got there again.” He sighs, tucking her under his own arm, whispering to her,

“She’s gonna let you sleep out in the cold, yeah-huh, you’re right, it’s not right. You jus’ wanna be warm and fuzzy too don’t ya.” Though your tummy clenches at his teasing, the way he continues to have her tucked into his armpit, carefully placing her into the bed when you climb in and tucking her back into his chest makes you feel some soft sort of way. You climb in too, a little tense at first. It’s not like you’re unused to sleeping next to him, but there’s usually just a few minutes of cuddling before he rolls away across the vast expanse of mattress. But today he holds you close, arm wrapped around - your face smushed to his chest, it’s a little strange, the combination of him smelling like your home and him. Not that he has a choice but to hold you close - if either of you tried to roll away, you’d go clear off the side of the bed.

“Goodnight Elvis,” You whisper, and he whispers it back to you, tucking his chin over your head. You try to settle your breathing, anxious to fall asleep as you feel his own breathing deepen as he settles in. He makes a little tutting noise a couple of times, and you worry you’re encroaching on his space, so you inch away, clinging onto the edge of the mattress.

“Where y’going baby?” He mutters into your ear, “C’mon back here.” He rolls you into him,

“Don’t wanna smother you.” He huffs a laugh, smoothing down your hair,

“Wanna be smothered by you.” He settles with a happy hum, kissing your head again, and you relax your breathing, trying to will yourself to sleep.

The way you’re tucked against him means every movement feels exaggerated, so when, a minute later he starts to kick his legs down you’re forced to just put up with the motion for a few moments - until it becomes a bit more vigorous;

“El - stop.” He doesn’t stop, continuing to kick at the bedding. “Elvis! You’re kicking all the blankets off of me.” The motion ceases, but less because of anything you said and more because he’s succeeded in shoving the sheets to the bottom of the bed. He throws himself back, laying there on his back and dramatically panting as if in relief at the temperature change. You shudder in the chilly air, “Elvis! You can’t possibly be too hot, it’s - it’s practically freezing out there!”

“You know I like it cool, hon.” You frown, tucking your knees up,

“Well yeah? But I’m freezing!” He rolls his eyes, but tugs the sheets back over you, leaving one of his legs out.

“There we are see, just cuz ‘m a gentleman.” He tugs you back to him, “Now, stop ya yabberin’ on and let me get some sleep.” You gasp in outrage -

“Stop yabberin’!! It was you! You were the - “ Elvis hushes you, play snoring in your ear, and you snort back at him, settling with your back against his chest. You’re starting to drift off a little, not quite there, but not truly awake either, when his hand, that had been gently stroking your shoulder moves down to your waist. He snuffles a kiss against your shoulder, pushing the collar of your pyjamas down. Your eyes fly open,

“Oh!” He hums behind you, pulling you closer and curling his arm across your abdomen. He mutters against your skin, whispering into your ear,

“You gotta be all riled up, baby - I sure am, can hardly stand it, lying here all close to you.” He’s breathy on the hard consonants, breath tickling your skin,”Just need you, honey, need you real bad.” Whether it was intentional or not it sends shivers of arousal down your spine, tummy flipping as the heat begins to pool. His hand toys with the bow on your waistband, “Bet you’re close unner there, huh? Bet you’re right and ready for me,”

“I’m - I’m…” You can’t think of anything past stuttering at him, but it doesn’t seem to bother him, and he moves his fingers to unbutton your shirt. It falls open, and he leans back just enough to pull it off - you allow him, docile as a doll and he returns to hug you, kissing your now naked back.

“Gonna warm you up now, don’t you go worryin’ bout that, get you all nice and hot.” You wriggle against him, unsure what to do with your hands besides clasp at the sheets, “Mmhmm, that’s right baby, bet you’re all slippery already honey, aren’t you?” You gasp,

“I think - I think so Elvis, god you’ve gotta touch me properly,” He giggles, slipping a hand into your cotton trousers. He brushes over the wiry hair there, gently twisting a curl with his finger. Stroking down, he rubs you with a single fingertip, between the seam of the trousers and your skin, and you rock into him, “El-Elvis, I swear, I’m good to go,” You can feel his smile against your skin,

“Uh-huh, sure are, aren’t you? Feels like satin down here, you got satin skin baby?” You gasp at how his fingers dance over you,

“What-whatever you say!” Elvis’ fingertips aren’t satin smooth against you, a gentle rough edge that cuts through the slipperiness of your slick folds enough to make your eyes flutter closed. He withdraws his other hand from where it had been curled around your shoulder, and a moment later you feel him against your back, tugging down his trousers and letting his already hard cock pop out. He rubs against you, almost as if inadvertently, and you arch your back with a moan, he wiggles himself down to better position himself, the whole while still gently petting you.

Your eyes re-open as he growls, pulling his hand out and away to rapidly tug down your bottoms, letting you kick them off to the bottom of the bed, before clutching at you and tugging you even closer. You lock gaze with the judgemental beads of Clarissa and gasp out a giggle before reaching out to knock her flying to the floor,

“I can’t - not with her watching.” Elvis laughs, the sound mixing into a groan as he presses into you. You’re wet enough for him to slide in, and the angle is gentle enough that you feel just the slightest hint of a stretch while he snugly fits in, rocking into you further and further.

It’s not a position you’re usually in, and though he can’t really see you, you feel more self-conscious than you have with him before. Elvis’ hands rove over your stomach, and you’re unable to pull his arm up like you usually would, and instead his fingers are playing around the little overhang of your belly, brushing a finger on the sensitive skin there. “So soft doll, you’re like a little baby - so goddamn soft, I could, could just sink right into ya.” You gasp, it’s so antithetical to what you expected him to say,

“Oh,” He hushes you, stroking your stomach again,

“Lis’en to me, ‘m so lucky, honey,” You make a noise of agreement, “So lucky, you’re so goddamn pretty, y’hear?” Your leg moves of its own accord, up a little, giving him a little extra wiggle room that he quickly takes advantage of, continuing to rock into you. His hand on your stomach has slid down to stroke the crease of your thigh, reaching around to rub at your clit, and he leans down to kiss your shoulder and neck. You don’t expect it, enjoying the intimacy enough that you didn’t really care if you achieved it, but the feel of his lips on your neck, the speed of his hand, the rocking deep into you is all enough to cause your thighs to clench, fists gripping the sheets as you ride out the shakes of a gentle orgasm.

Elvis follows momentarily later. He stays where he is, curled around you, slowly slipping out his softening cock, breathily heavily against your back, his hand still stroking you even as he moves his arm to rest upon your stomach. His touch briefly disappears for a moment to swipe clumsily at you with your own trousers, and with the motion you find yourself suddenly bursting into overwhelmed tears. He immediately rolls you over to look at him,

“Oh no, baby, what’s’a matter?” His eyes crinkle at you, “C’mon now, ‘nough of that,'' He wipes the tear tracks away with a thumb and you gulp at him, breath hitching as you find yourself unable to stop, “You’re too pretty to make yourself all red,'' He changes tact, attempting the stern tone that sometimes seems to work on the audiences. “C’mon, stop it now, take it easy.” He sighs, pressing a kiss to your cheek when you can’t stop yourself.

“I’m,” Your voice wavers, “sorry - I don’t, don’t know - I’m so-“ He cuts you off, tugging you closer to him,

“Alright, alright, you just stay there, just let it out, that’s it, c’mere, go on, I don’t mind.” He tucks you into his chest, “Shh, shh, didn’t meanta make you cry, honey - it’s alright.” He soothes, large palm stroking your back until you calm down into sniffles. God how embarrassing, you feel stupid for it - how silly can a girl be?

“Oh nah, now, not silly, honey, ‘s just, just the effect I have on the girls I reckon, god knows why, but seems to be the case.” You hadn’t realised you’d said it aloud and you let out a watery giggle against the soft fuzz of his chest. “C’mon now, curl in and let’s go to sleep,” He shifts a little, to make it easier for you to practically lie on top of him, he tugs the covers around you, effectively tucking you in, shushing you when you start to sniffle again, before you drift off to the sound of his steady heartbeat.

You awake with a start, the phone ringing insistently. You quickly realise, though, that it wasn’t the phone that had awoken you, but Elvis shouting on his back for,

“Daddy!! God I swear, Charlie!! I swear to god man, I swear to god. Someone shut that damn phone up ‘fore I shoot the goddamn thing off the wall!” His eyes are still closed even as he roars out the order and you can’t help, now that your heart has stopped racing, but laugh at him. He sits bolt upright at the sound of your giggle, blinking in the daylight,

“El - El, it’s my phone - you can’t go round shooting other people’s houses.” He flops back, just as dramatically as last night, patting at your thigh and back,

“Oh lord… they’ll be wantin’ somethin’ offa me - go on then little’un - go see what they want.” The phone stops for a second, and you look over at the clock on your bedside, 12:04.

“They’re probably going to say we’re late.”

“Late? Nah, barely, barely slept, got plenty of time.” You throw the alarm clock at him as the phone starts up again and, grabbing your robe from the door on the way, you start to head down to answer it, leaving him swearing behind you.

You regret picking it up, almost immediately being shouted at from the guys on the other end of the line. Whoever had been the one calling had been pleasant enough, for the brief “Hello” you’d been allowed before the receiver had been taken over by Red and you were now near tears again at the way you’re being spoken to, told off, and degraded for keeping him out. As if it were entirely your idea, and how you can forget about accompanying him on the rest of the tour. You were, according to Red, a goddamn liability - the monologue had just turned into questioning your motives, suggesting you were heading to the tabloids any minute when the phone was plucked out from your hands. You’d failed to notice, in the haze of trying to absently defend yourself, Elvis coming down the stairs.

“You talk to all my girls like that?” As much as you enjoy his angry tone, you didn’t love being reminded in that moment that you were probably one of many. Still, his furious expression made your heart feel like it was pounding out of your chest, a deep glow emanating. There’s silence, then, “Whatever, man, I’ll talk to you ‘bout it later, not got time right now - ‘s the car ready? Gonna be late for this show else, Colonel’ll have my ass I swear, if that car ain’t out there -“ He pauses, “Well, why the hell not? Thought you’d have been - right, okay, well that’s what it’ll have to be - just get it out here in twenty.” He hangs up the phone without a goodbye, immediately turning to you and cupping your cheeks in his hands as he kisses you. “Pay him no mind, he don’t know what he’s talkin’ ‘bout.” You nod,

“Ok, but Elvis - you know I would never; that’s not what I’m - “ He shakes his head,

“I know, I told you - don’t listen to a word he says.” You do your best, even as it reverberates around your head as you collect up your clothes from the dryer, watching Elvis redress. You wonder if you should go with him, where you’re so clearly unwanted, and though he doesn’t say anything you can tell Elvis thinks you’re being weirdly quiet. It’s barely any time at all before the car outside honks, and it’s time to leave. You make the last minute decision that you’ll see him to the car, but stay behind, but as if he can read your mind, after he climbs into the car Elvis turns to look back at you,

“You’re comin’ too, baby, right?” He holds out an arm, and despite feeling the glare from the guys in the car, you grab onto it - your desire to stay with him outweighing any worries.

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@ellie-24 @vintageshanny @thatbanditquee @lookingforrainbows @whositmcwhatsit @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @peskybedtime @powerofelvis @shakerattlescroll @dkayfixates @18lkpeters @literally-just-elvis-fics

#elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis smut #be-my-ally #elvis x oc #elvis x reader #elvis x you #writing prompt game

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from-memphis-with-love · 13 days ago

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Songbird - Chapter 5 - The Final Curtain

Summary: It's been four weeks. Elvis' residency is coming to a close, but not without a bang. Ann-Margret and Priscilla are in attendance, and Valerie's gotta face some hard truths... and a hard question. Hilarity ensues thanks to Dean Martin and Tom Jones' hijinx.

The phone rang at precisely 7:13 AM, yanking me from dreams where Elvis' hands were finally doing more than just hovering near my skin. I fumbled for the receiver, still half-lost in phantom touches and promises.

"Valerie? Thank Christ." Joe's voice crackled with barely contained panic. "We got a situation."

I sat up, instantly alert. In Vegas, a "situation" could mean anything from Elvis deciding to redecorate his suite at 3 AM to the Colonel having another one of his nuclear meltdowns over seat assignments.

"What kind of situation?"

"Frank's coming."

"Frank who?"

"What do you mean 'Frank who'?" Joe's voice climbed an octave. "Sinatra! Chairman of the Board! Ol' Blue Eyes! He just called to say he's coming to E's last show."

My sleep-addled brain took a moment to process this. I winced, remembering my horrendous audition. "Isn't that... good?"

"Good?" Joe laughed, but it had a slightly hysterical edge. "Yeah, sure, it's good. Like having God show up to critique your prayer technique. Elvis is already doing karate in the suite. He's broken three lamps and Sonny’s about ready to sedate him."

In the background, I heard a crash followed by Elvis' voice: "Goddamn! The energy's all wrong in here! We gotta move everything southeast!"

"Not the piano again, boss," Sonny’s weary voice floated through the line. "Remember what happened last time?"

Another crash. Joe sighed. "Look, just... get up here? Maybe you can talk some sense into him before he rearranges the whole damn hotel."

"On my way." I hung up, already reaching for clothes. That's when my door buzzed.

Standing in the hallway was Tom Jones, looking distinctly un-Tom-Jones-like in a rumpled suit, holding what appeared to be...

"Is that a dove?"

"Peace offering." Tom thrust the cage at me. "For Elvis. Thought it might help smooth things over after... you know." The dove inside cooed mournfully. “He is with you, isn’t he?”

The dove tilted its head, studying me with one beady eye. Its feathers were the exact shade of Elvis's jumpsuit.

"He’s down the hall. And how do you even know my room number?” I sighed. “But Tom," I tried to keep my voice gentle. "Why would Elvis want a dove?"

"Well, peace! Unity! Plus they're very spiritual creatures." He scratched his head, causing a concerning amount of glitter to fall from his hair. "Though this one's a bit snippy. Bit me twice on the way over."

As if to demonstrate, the dove lunged at the cage bars with surprising violence. Tom yanked his hand back.

"Right." I carefully didn't take the cage. "Maybe we should focus on getting you sobered up first?"

"Not drunk!" Tom protested, swaying slightly. "Just... enthusiastic. About peace. And birds." He squinted at me. "Did you know doves mate for life?"

"Fascinating." I glanced down the hallway, where I could hear more crashes from Elvis's suite. "Look, Tom, this is very... thoughtful. But maybe—"

"Mr. Jones!" The Colonel's voice boomed down the corridor like judgment day. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

Tom straightened, attempting dignity while listing noticeably to port. "Bringing a peace offering!" He thrust the cage forward again. The dove made a sound suspiciously like a war cry.

The Colonel's face went through several interesting color changes. "A bird. You brought a bird. To Elvis Presley. On the day all the stars will be here."

"It's a dove!" Tom insisted. "Very spiritual!"

The Colonel's mustache bristled with indignation. "Get that feathered menace out of here before—"

But it was too late. The dove, apparently having picked the lock with its beak (which I wouldn't have believed possible if I hadn't seen it), burst from its cage like a feathered missile. It shot past the Colonel's head, leaving him spinning like a top, and disappeared down the corridor toward the service elevator where Lamar was just stepping in.

"Oh hell," Tom muttered.

The elevator doors closed on Lamar's startled face, the dove now apparently his traveling companion.

"Well." I looked at Tom. "That's one way to make an entrance."

Before anyone could respond, another crash echoed from Elvis's suite, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a karate yell.

The Colonel's face went from red to purple. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go prevent my boy from rearranging furniture according to mystic energy patterns. Again." He jabbed a finger at Tom. "You. Sober up. And find that bird before it decides to redecorate someone important."

As the Colonel stormed off, Tom slumped against the wall. "Thought the dove would be romantic. You know, symbolic." He looked at me hopefully. "Elvis likes symbols, right? All that spiritual stuff?"

"Sure," I patted his arm. "But maybe next time try flowers. Less likely to assault Lamar in an elevator."

That's when the fire alarm went off.

Welcome to Elvis's last day in Vegas. It wasn't even 8 AM.

By early evening, the International's lobby had been transformed into what looked like a military operation. Hotel security had cordoned off the main area with velvet ropes and potted palms, creating an exclusive island in the midst of the usual Vegas chaos. Outside the barriers, tourists pressed their faces against the brass posts, cameras flashing, while inside, some of the biggest names in entertainment moved in their own separate universe.

Four weeks ago, I'd been on the other side of those ropes, just another face in the crowd. Now here I was, watching Dean Martin hold court at the bar while Sammy Davis Jr. sat in deep conversation with his people at a corner table. The Colonel moved between groups like a conductor, orchestrating conversations and photo opportunities with practiced precision.

I couldn't help but remember my failed audition for Sinatra's people earlier in the month - how I'd bombed so spectacularly they'd stopped me halfway through. Back then, I'd thought that was the end of my Vegas story. Funny how life works sometimes.

And then Frank himself arrived.

He didn't make a grand entrance - Frank didn't need to. He simply appeared, flanked by two men in sharp suits, and the energy in our privileged little bubble shifted like someone had flipped a switch. Conversations quieted. Heads turned. Even the slot machines beyond the barrier seemed to ding more softly.

I watched from my spot near the elevator as he crossed the lobby, his shoes clicking against marble with metronomic precision. He moved like a man who had never doubted his right to be anywhere.

"Evening," he said as he passed, those famous blue eyes finding mine. His voice was cool, professional. "Better luck with Elvis than with 'My Funny Valentine,' I take it?"

First, I couldn’t believe he knew who I was. Second, the casual mention of my disaster of an audition made my cheeks burn. But before I could respond, the Colonel materialized at Frank's side, all false charm and calculated deference. "Mr. Sinatra, what an honor. Elvis will be down shortly—"

"I'm sure he will." Frank's attention had already moved on, dismissing me as easily as he'd noticed me. "Tell me, Tom, what's this I hear about a loose bird in the hotel?"

From his spot at the bar, Tom Jones made a sound suspiciously like a whimper.

I leaned against one of the marble pillars, taking in the surreal scene. Through the velvet ropes, I could see regular people - people like I'd been just weeks ago - straining for a glimpse of these legends. Now here I was, on the inside, existing in this rarefied air that still didn't quite feel real.

The Colonel's voice cut through my thoughts: "Everyone, please, if you'll begin making your way to the showroom. Elvis will meet us there directly."

As the celebrities began to migrate toward the elevator banks, I felt that familiar flutter in my stomach. Tonight was Elvis's final show. After this, everything would change. Memphis waited like a promise - or maybe a threat - on the horizon.

"Quite a view from this side of the ropes, isn't it?"

I turned to find Sammy Davis Jr. beside me, his smile knowing. "Different than looking in from the outside."

"That obvious, huh?"

"Only to someone who remembers what it feels like." He gestured at the slowly dispersing crowd of legends. "All this? It's smoke and mirrors, baby. Every single one of them puts their pants on one leg at a time - even Frank." He winked. "Well, maybe not Frank. Pretty sure he has someone for that."

I laughed, grateful for the moment of normalcy in this decidedly abnormal evening. But as we moved toward the elevators with the others, I couldn't help wondering: how long could I keep straddling these two worlds? How long before I had to choose between being on the inside looking out, or the outside looking in?

The answer, though I didn't know it yet, would come sooner than I thought.

The backstage area of the International's showroom had its own hierarchy, as complex and unspoken as any royal court. I'd learned its rules over the past weeks, knew my place in its careful choreography. Tonight, though, everything felt different. The usual pre-show chaos had an edge to it, like a guitar string wound too tight.

"No, no, NO!" The Colonel's voice boomed from the direction of the dressing room. "Those photographers go in the front row, not the back. And where's the seating chart? We need to—" He broke off as he spotted me. "Ah, Miss Pedretti. A word?"

My stomach dropped. The Colonel never wanted "a word" unless something was about to change, and never in my favor.

He drew me aside, mouth twitching with what might have been sympathy. "Slight adjustment to tonight's arrangements. We'll need Elvis's usual booth for some special guests. I'm sure you understand."

I understood, all right. "Of course, Mr. Colonel, sir." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Where would you like me to—"

"Joe will show you to a table. Good view, just... more discrete." He patted my arm, already turning away. "Better for everyone this way."

Better for everyone. Right. I watched him bustle off, barking orders about sight lines and photo angles. In the mirror-lined hallway, my reflection looked small and uncertain, like a girl playing dress-up in someone else's life.

"Don't let him get to you." Mary Lacker of all people appeared at my elbow, his face sympathetic. He was one of the quieter members of the Elvis crew, and I thought he didn’t like me. "Politics, you know? Gotta keep up appearances."

"Sure." I managed a smile that felt like plastic. "Appearances."

Joe, too, materialized. He squeezed my arm. "Look, I know it's not ideal, but—" He stopped, eyes fixing on something over my shoulder. "Well, hell."

I turned to follow his gaze. Down the corridor, a small commotion was building. Security guards appeared from nowhere, earpieces crackling with urgent whispers. The Colonel bent the corner like a ghost, moving faster than I'd ever seen him move.

"What's happening?"

"Change of plans," Joe muttered. "Big ones." He straightened his tie, professional mask sliding into place. "Showtime, kid."

Red appeared, looking harried. "Marty and Joe, we need you. Now." His eyes flicked to me. "You might want to make yourself scarce for a bit, Val. Things are about to get... complicated."

I should have gone. Should have found a new, more discrete table and let the machinery of Elvis world do its work. But something made me hesitate, lingering in the shadows of the hallway.

That's when I heard it. The distinctive click of expensive heels on marble, the rustle of designer fabric, the particular quality of silence that follows real star power. And underneath it all, a woman's laugh, low and knowing, like smoke given voice.

Ann-Margret was coming to Elvis's last show.

And from the urgent whispers now filling the corridor, she wasn't the only surprise guest expected tonight.

I pressed myself against the wall, suddenly very aware of my borrowed confidence. The hierarchy was shifting, and I was about to learn exactly where I stood in it.

Welcome to the real show, where the drama in the audience would rival anything happening on stage.

Ann-Margret breezed into the backstage area like a warm wind off the desert, all red hair and easy grace. She moved differently than the other stars I'd met. There were no calculated gestures or practiced poses, just natural vitality that made everyone else look slightly artificial in comparison.

The Colonel appeared instantly, mustache twitching with barely contained anxiety. "Miss Olsson, what an unexpected pleasure—"

"Oh, stop fussing, Parker." She waved him off with the casual confidence of someone used to getting her way. “It’s Mrs. Smith now, anyway. You know that.”

Her eyes swept the corridor, taking in everything, missing nothing. When they landed on me, something in her expression shifted. Recognition, maybe, though not of my face.

She paused mid-stride, studying me with sudden interest. I couldn't read her expression, but something about the way she tilted her head reminded me of a card player spotting a tell.

"Well," she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. Then, louder: "You're not what I expected to find backstage at an Elvis show."

Before the Colonel could intervene, she'd crossed to where I stood. Up close, her face was more interesting than beautiful - mobile and expressive, with laugh lines that suggested she used her smile often and meant it.

"I'm Ann-Margret," she said, as if I couldn't possibly know. "And you are?"

"Valerie," I managed, trying not to sound as starstruck as I felt.

"Valerie." She tested the name, her eyes never leaving my face. "Not the usual..." She gestured vaguely at the corridor where various showgirls and admirers lingered. Then, surprising me: "Join me for a drink later? After all this circus is done?"

The Colonel cleared his throat. "Miss Ols–Smith, about the seating arrangements—"

"Oh, any front booth will be fine," she said firmly, turning that megawatt smile his way. Then, lower, just to me: "Some things you don't have to give up." She squeezed my hand once, a gesture that felt like both welcome and warning.

She moved off down the corridor, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume and something earthier - motorcycle leather, maybe. The Colonel hurried after her, still fretting about sight lines and photo ops.

A commotion erupted near the main entrance. Ann-Margret paused, her posture changing subtly. Something in the air shifted, like the pressure drop before a storm.

Priscilla Presley had arrived.

I retreated to a shadowy alcove near the stage door, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. Through the gaps between passing bodies, I caught glimpses of her arrival.

Priscilla Presley moved like a queen, each step precisely measured. No wasted motion, no nervous gestures. She wore a white dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, her dark hair swept up in a style that somehow managed to look both elegant and effortless. But it was her face that stopped conversations mid-sentence, turned heads, made the air itself feel different.

God, she was beautiful. Not in the obvious way of showgirls or movie stars, but in some otherworldly manner that made everyone else look slightly unfinished. Every feature seemed carved by an artist with a very particular vision in mind - those huge eyes, that perfect mouth, that jawline that could cut glass.

I touched my own face unconsciously, suddenly aware of my too-wide mouth, my strong nose, my stubbornly unruly hair. Four weeks of living in Elvis's world, and I'd managed to avoid feeling like this - like a sparrow that had wandered into a peacock's garden. But watching Priscilla glide through the corridor, accepting greetings with small, regal nods, I felt every inch the nobody.

She paused to speak with the Colonel, her voice too low to catch. Everything about her was controlled, contained. Even the way she held her cigarette seemed choreographed, the smoke curling up like a question mark. The perfect wife, the perfect picture. Elvis's living doll.

Red appeared at her elbow, murmuring something about her assigned booth - my usual spot, I realized with a twist in my gut. She nodded once, dismissing him with the practiced ease of someone used to managing staff.

From the direction of Elvis's dressing room came the faint sound of gospel music - his pre-show ritual, centering himself with the hymns of his childhood. Did he know she was here yet? Could he feel it, the way everyone else could?

"Quite something, isn't she?"

I startled. Ann-Margret had appeared beside me, her eyes on Priscilla.

"She's..." I struggled to find words that weren't tainted with jealousy or awe.

"Perfect?" Ann-Margret supplied, a hint of something sharp in her voice. "She should be. Took years of careful work to get her that way." She glanced at me. "Makes you wonder what she looked like before. When she still moved like herself."

Before I could respond, Priscilla's head turned our way. I shrank further into the shadows, but her eyes found Ann-Margret anyway. Something passed between the two women - some private communication in a language I couldn't read. Then Priscilla's gaze swept past our hiding spot, cool and assessing, like winter sunlight.

I held my breath until she moved on, following the Colonel toward the showroom. Only then did I realize I'd been gripping Ann-Margret's arm.

"Sorry," I muttered, releasing her.

"Don't be." She rubbed her arm, but she was smiling. "First time I saw her, I hid behind a potted palm. Least you picked a better spot."

Through the stage door, Elvis's voice rose in the chorus of "How Great Thou Art." The sound wrapped around us like smoke, like memory, like all the things we couldn't say.

Somewhere in the showroom, Priscilla was taking her seat in the booth where I'd watched every show for the past three weeks. Soon, Elvis would emerge from his dressing room, would see her sitting there, would have to navigate this minefield of past and present while hundreds - thousands - watched.

And I would be... where, exactly?

The answer to that question suddenly seemed very important indeed.

I ended up with three choices, each worse than the last.

The Colonel's "discrete" table was tucked in an alcove near stage right - the kind of spot reserved for Elvis's backup singers or lesser opening acts. From there I'd be able to see everything: Elvis commanding the stage, Priscilla in my old booth directly center, Ann-Margret holding court stage left. But sitting there felt like accepting defeat, like being officially relegated to the category of "someone who didn't matter anymore."

Then there was the empty seat at Ann-Margret's table. She'd made the offer casually as she'd passed me again: "Plenty of room where I'm sitting, sugar." It was tempting - a sort of subtle rebellion, aligning myself with the woman who'd chosen her own path over Elvis's version of perfect. But even I knew that would be playing with fire. The last thing I needed was to give the Colonel more ammunition.

The third option had come from Sammy Davis Jr., of all people. "Got a spare chair in the wings," he'd said, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "Best view in the house - see everything, everyone sees you, but you're not really part of the show. Know what I mean?"

I did know what he meant. The wings were typically reserved for performers and close friends - people who belonged backstage but needed to watch the show. It was a sort of liminal space, neither fully public nor completely private. From there, I could observe without being obvious about it, stay close to Elvis without making a statement about it.

The crowd was filling in now, their excited chatter rising like steam. In the center booth, Priscilla sat like a photograph waiting to be taken, everything about her arranged just so. Stage left, Ann-Margret lounged with the easy confidence of someone who had nothing to prove. A man who I assume to be her husband sat next to her. They held hands. And somewhere behind me, Elvis was getting ready for his final show in Vegas, probably unaware of the careful choreography being executed in his name.

I had about ten minutes to decide where I belonged in this tableau.

Less than two months ago, I'd been a struggling singer slinging pancakes by day and working the bar circuit by night. I also taught music lessons in my free evenings. Now I was caught in some complex dance between Elvis Presley's past, present, and possible future. The thought almost made me laugh - would've, if my throat wasn't so tight.

The house lights began to dim.

Time to choose.

I found my spot in the wings just as the house lights went down. Sammy was right - you could see everything from here. The angle transformed the showroom into something like a diorama, every table its own small drama waiting to unfold.

"Coffee?" Jerry appeared beside me with two cups, looking grateful to have someone to hide with. "Got a feeling we're gonna want to be alert for this show."

From this vantage point, I could see the subtle shift in Priscilla's posture as the opening acts began - the almost imperceptible straightening of her spine, like armor sliding into place. She sat alone in the booth, a subtle but clear statement. No Memphis friends, no handlers, just her and whatever she'd come to prove.

Ann-Margret, by contrast, had drawn a small court to her table. She threw her head back laughing at something Dean Martin said, the sound carrying even over the warm-up act. But I caught how her eyes kept drifting to that center booth, something almost like sympathy in her expression.

The air changed as Elvis's entrance neared. You could feel it in the crowd, that electric anticipation. Behind me, I heard the familiar sounds of his pre-show routine: the soft murmur of prayer, the rustle of gabardine and silk, the quiet clicks of rings being put on like armor.

"Quite a crowd tonight," his voice came low near my ear. I hadn't heard him approach - he could move like a cat when he wanted to. His hand found the small of my back, warm through the thin fabric of my dress. "You okay back here?"

"Are you?" I kept my voice equally quiet, not turning. From the corner of my eye, I could see him looking out at the audience, taking in the scene I'd been studying.

He was silent for a moment. "Well," he said finally, "ain't this a fine mess."

That startled a laugh out of me. "That's one way to put it."

His hand pressed slightly firmer against my back, and I knew he'd spotted them - both of them. The wife he'd shaped into perfection, and the woman who'd refused to be shaped at all. The air felt suddenly thick with unspoken things.

"Elvis," Red's voice came from behind us, "two minutes."

Elvis's hand slid from my back, but he leaned close first, his breath warm against my ear. "Watch me tonight, okay? Just... watch me."

Then he was gone, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his cologne and what felt like a thousand questions.

The opening bars of "Blue Suede Shoes" began to thunder through the showroom. Elvis's signature entrance music, chosen because the crowd loved it.

From my spot in the wings, I could see everything:

Priscilla, perfect and still as a painting, her face giving away nothing.

Ann-Margret, leaning forward slightly in her chair, a small smile playing at her lips like she knew something no one else did.

And Elvis, about to walk out into what might be the most complicated audience of his career.

The music built towards Elvis’ cue. In the half-dark beside me, Jerry whistled low.

"Well," he murmured, "this ought to be interesting."

That, I thought, was putting it mildly.

Elvis hit the stage like a force of nature, all controlled power and dangerous grace. The screams were deafening, but from my spot in the wings, I caught the subtle tells most people missed - the extra beat before his signature smile, the slight tension in his shoulders.

"Well, well, well." His voice rolled through the room like distant thunder. "Looks like we got ourselves a party tonight."

The audience lost their minds, but I watched his eyes do that careful sweep of the room. They landed first on Priscilla, just for a moment - enough to acknowledge but not linger. Her face remained perfectly composed, though her fingers tightened slightly on her champagne glass.

Then Ann-Margret, who raised her glass in a small salute that somehow managed to be both warm and slightly wicked. The ghost of a real smile touched Elvis's lips before the showman's mask slipped back into place.

He didn't look at me. He didn't need to.

The band struck up "I Got A Woman" and Elvis was off, moving like lightning trapped in human form. But something was different tonight. There was an edge to his performance, a barely contained wildness. When he hit the line "She's there to love me both day and night," it came out almost like a challenge.

"He's showing off," Jerry murmured beside me. "Haven't seen him like this since Ann-Margret used to come watch him film."

When he launched into "Polk Salad Annie," it was with barely controlled violence. His karate moves were sharper, his hip thrusts more deliberate. It wasn't just performance anymore - it was exorcism.

"Jesus," Jerry breathed. "He's really going for it tonight."

He was. Every song felt like a statement, every move loaded with meaning. The audience ate it up, oblivious to the deeper currents moving through the room. They couldn't see what I saw - the way Priscilla's knuckles had gone white around her glass, the knowing look in Ann-Margret's eyes, the slight tremor in Elvis's hands that had nothing to do with withdrawal.

I watched Elvis prowl the stage like a caged panther, all that raw energy focused into something almost dangerous. Later when he went into "Suspicious Minds," the irony wasn't lost on anyone. His voice took on that rough, hungry quality that made the air feel electric.

"We're caught in a trap..."

In the center booth, Priscilla's perfect composure cracked just slightly. Something flickered across her face - memory maybe, or recognition. For just a moment, she looked impossibly young.

"I can't walk out..."

Ann-Margret was no longer smiling. She sat very still, watching Elvis with the focus of someone reading between lines.

"Because I love you too much, baby..."

Elvis dropped to his knees at the edge of the stage, pouring his heart into the microphone like it was confession. Sweat made his skin gleam under the lights, and that ever-present tremor in his hands was more visible now.

During "Can't Help Falling in Love," he finally looked toward the wings. Found me standing there in the shadows. His voice softened on the bridge, became something more intimate.

"Take my hand, take my whole life too..."

Priscilla's followed his gaze. For a moment, our eyes met across the darkness. Something passed between us - understanding maybe, or recognition. Then she looked away, her face once again a perfect mask.

The show built toward its climax, Elvis burning brighter with each song. He was magnificent and terrible, powerful and vulnerable, real and artificial all at once. Everything that made him Elvis Presley was on that stage, raw and exposed.

But watching him perform for this particular audience - his wife, his former flame, and whatever I was becoming to him - I realized something. Elvis wasn't just singing tonight.

He was choosing.

Or trying to.

The real question was: what exactly was he choosing between?

The last notes hung in the air like smoke. Elvis stood center stage, breathing hard, his chest slick with sweat. For a moment, the mask slipped completely. He looked lost, almost surprised to find himself there under the lights.

Then the thunder of applause crashed over him and the showman snapped back into place. He threw his arms wide, accepting the adoration like a benediction. His scarves were gone, given to screaming fans. His rings caught the spotlight as he took his final bow.

"Thank you very much. Thank you very much indeed." His voice was rough, spent. "You've been a beautiful audience. Until we meet again..."

He backed toward the wings, still playing to the crowd. But as soon as he crossed into the shadows where I stood, something changed. The tremors were worse now - he'd pushed himself too hard, gone on too long. His breath came in short gasps.

"Joe," he called softly, urgently. "Need my..."

But it was Red who appeared, pressing something into Elvis's palm. The pills disappeared so quickly I almost missed it. Almost.

"Boss," Red's voice was careful. "Mrs. Presley would like a word. She's heading to your dressing room."

Elvis's jaw tightened. His eyes found mine in the darkness. "Give me five minutes. Need to..." He gestured vaguely at his sweat-soaked state.

"And Miss Ann-Margret?"

"Christ." The word came out like a prayer. "Tell her... tell her I'll see her at the party."

Red nodded and disappeared. Elvis stood very still for a moment, like he was gathering strength. Then, surprisingly, he laughed.

"Some mess, huh?" He touched my cheek briefly, his fingers still trembling slightly. "You okay?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. He studied my face for a moment longer, then straightened his shoulders.

I decided to change the subject. “Elvis, your show was amazing.” And it was true. It really was.

"Well," he said softly, "time to face the music."

He moved off toward his dressing room where Priscilla waited. I watched him go, noting how he seemed to grow with each step, rebuilding his armor as he went. By the time he turned the corner, he was Elvis Presley again.

"Come on," Jerry touched my elbow. "Let's get you somewhere less complicated for a bit."

But as I let him lead me away from the wings, I caught one last glimpse of the room: Priscilla's empty booth, the champagne glass still sitting there like a question mark. Ann-Margret rising from her table, red hair catching the light like fire. And somewhere down that corridor, Elvis preparing to navigate between past and present while his pills kicked in.

The night wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

The International's penthouse suite had been transformed into a living map of 1969's star system. The gathering would have been remarkable enough on its own - Dean Martin, Tina Turner, Johnny Cash, Harry Belafonte, Petula Clark - any one of them could have filled a Vegas showroom by themselves. But they were all here for one man. Only Elvis Presley could pull stars into his orbit like this, could make legends act like fans.

He was the sun around which all these other stars revolved, and everyone knew it. Even Frank, the Chairman himself, had shown up to pay tribute. In Vegas, that meant something.

"Look at this crowd," Jerry murmured, appearing at my elbow with a fresh drink. "The Colonel's about to burst a blood vessel trying to keep track of all the egos in here. And Tom Jones is still apologizing to everyone about that damn dove."

Sure enough, Tom was making his way through the room, slightly rumpled and profusely apologetic, explaining to anyone who'd listen about his "peace offering gone wrong." The bird in question had apparently taken up residence somewhere in the hotel's ventilation system, occasionally making its presence known through well-timed coos during quiet moments.

"Watch this," Jerry murmured as Nancy Sinatra headed for the powder room at the same moment Priscilla stood up. "Three, two, one..."

The Colonel materialized like a mustachioed guardian angel, somehow managing to redirect Nancy's path without seeming to. Crisis averted, at least for now.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"Hoo boy." Lamar's eyes lit up with gossip. "Let’s just say those two hate each other..." He whistled low. "Priscilla found out. How could she not? Every magazine in the country was running pictures of ‘em looking cozy on set."

"The kicker," Jerry cut in, "was Nancy showing up to a movie premiere wearing the exact same dress as Priscilla. Custom-made, mind you. Cost a fortune."

"No accident either," Lamar added. "Nancy knew exactly what she was doing. And Priscilla..." He shook his head admiringly. "Didn't even blink. Just smiled for the cameras and made sure she was photographed from better angles."

Tina Turner commanded attention near the piano, her presence electric even in repose. I was absolutely starstruck. Her laugh carried over the crowd as she worked with Elvis on some new dance moves, showing him how to make his famous hip swivel even more dangerous. "No, baby, it's all in the knees," she called out, demonstrating with characteristic fire. "You're thinking too much!"

Ike hovered nearby, his attention sharp whenever anyone got too close to Tina, though she seemed oblivious to his watchfulness.

"Ain't that something," Jerry muttered. "Tina's been teaching Elvis all week. Driving Ike crazy, but what's he gonna say? It's Elvis."

Glen Campbell and Johnny Cash held court by the bar, both of them looking slightly out of place among the Vegas regulars. Their country-boy authenticity stood in sharp contrast to the Rat Pack's polished performance of casualness. Though even they kept glancing Elvis's way, drawn like moths to his flame.

In one corner, Sammy Davis Jr. and Harry Belafonte were deep in conversation, their heads bent together like conspirators. The Colonel kept casting nervous glances their way - any gathering of stars discussing business made him twitchy.

And then there was Dean Martin. He grew progressively more theatrical with each drink. "So there's Elvis, right? Standing there in nothing but a towel and his guitar, and who walks in but—"

"Dean." Frank's voice carried that special note of warning that could cut through chaos.

"What? It's a great story! The towel fell right off and—"

"Maybe we save that one for later," Sammy suggested, breaking away from his conversation to play peacekeeper.

The Memphis contingent huddled on the terrace like displaced royalty, trying not to look overwhelmed by the Hollywood crowd. Red and Sonny ran interference, making sure no undesirable elements got too close to their territory.

Petula Clark breezed through the space between groups like a diplomat, equally comfortable chatting with the Vegas showgirls or the Memphis wives. She'd just finished a run at Caesars and carried herself with the easy confidence of someone who knew how to navigate these waters.

And then there was Priscilla, holding quiet court in a corner, her beauty making even the most seasoned stars do double-takes. The camera crews the Colonel had let in kept gravitating toward her, drawn by that perfect poise.

Elvis pinballed between groups with the kind of energy that suggested his post-show pills had well and truly kicked in. One moment he was practicing Tina's dance moves in front of an amused Tom Jones, the next deep in conversation with Johnny Cash about gospel music, then vanishing only to resurface telling stories to Harry Belafonte about his movie days.

The night spun on, a kaleidoscope of fame and careful distances. Each star carried their own gravity, but they all orbited Elvis. He was the reason they were here - the King, the star of stars, the center of this glittering universe.

And somewhere in the building's ventilation system, a wayward dove continued to provide inadvertent commentary on the proceedings below.

I tried to watch it all with anthropological detachment. That was safer than feeling.

Elvis moved through the room like quicksilver, but I noticed how he kept circling back to Priscilla. His hand would find the small of her back as he passed. He'd lean in close to whisper something that made her smile despite herself. Once, he even kissed her temple in full view of everyone, casual and possessive.

Each gesture was perfectly calculated for the cameras, yet held a strange intimacy that made my stomach twist. They had a shorthand, these two. A language built from years of shared space and secrets.

"Rough, isn't it?"

Ann-Margret had materialized beside me, a champagne flute dangling from her fingers. Her eyes tracked Elvis as he draped his arm around Priscilla's shoulders, playing the devoted husband for a photographer.

"He's good at that," Ann-Margret continued, her voice low. "Making each woman feel like she's the only one in the room. Even when she isn't."

"I'm just observing," I said, aiming for professional detachment and probably missing by miles.

Her laugh was surprisingly earthy. "Honey, nobody in this room is 'just' anything."

Before I could respond, Elvis's voice carried across the space: "Baby?" He was looking at Priscilla but had shifted slightly, unconsciously, toward where Ann-Margret and I stood. "Remember that night in Cincinnati when we..."

He trailed off, suddenly aware he was straddling worlds. For a moment, the mask slipped. I saw him register all of us - his wife, his ex-lover, whatever I was becoming - and something like panic flickered in his eyes.

The moment passed. Elvis recovered smoothly, finishing his story about Cincinnati. But something had shifted in the air. I watched Priscilla's perfect smile tighten almost imperceptibly. Watched Ann-Margret take a slow sip of champagne. Watched Elvis's hand fall to the small of his wife’s back.

"He loves her, you know." Ann-Margret's voice was gentle now. "Always will, in his way. Just like he loved me. Just like he..." She stopped, reconsidered. "The trouble is, Elvis's heart is like Vegas itself - there's always room for one more bright light, one more chance at hitting the jackpot."

"I'm not trying to hit anything," I said.

"No." She studied me over the rim of her glass. "That's probably why you're the most dangerous one of all."

Across the room, Elvis had moved on to entertaining Johnny Cash with karate moves, but his eyes kept finding me in the crowd. Each glance felt like a match strike against dry paper.

So much for detached observation.

The dove chose that moment to make another appearance, this time directly above Dean Martin, who was mid-story about that infamous towel incident.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean yelped as white feathers drifted down. "Tom! Your bird just..."

"Actually," Tom said with dignity, "I believe it's the hotel's bird now."

And just like that, the tension dissolved into laughter. Even Priscilla cracked a genuine smile. But as the room returned to its careful choreography of fame and friendship, I caught Elvis watching me again. In his eyes I saw everything I was trying not to feel reflected back at me.

As the night wore on, I found myself fascinated by the subtle dance of fame and power playing out before me. Frank Sinatra, who'd spent the evening treating most people with casual indifference, actually stood up when Elvis approached his table. The gesture was small, easy to miss if you weren't watching for it, but in a room full of stars it spoke volumes.

Even more telling was how the others reacted to that tiny show of respect - Johnny Cash's eyebrows rising slightly, Dean Martin pausing mid-story, Petula Clark hiding a smile behind her champagne glass. In Vegas's careful hierarchy, Frank Sinatra standing for anyone was like watching the Pope bow.

"Would you look at that," Jerry murmured, appearing at my elbow. "The Chairman rising for the King."

The two men spoke quietly, heads bent together like old friends rather than rivals. When Elvis laughed at something Frank said, it was his real one - not the practiced one he used for the cameras still circulating the room.

"Never thought I'd see it," Jerry continued. "Few years back, Frank was telling anyone who'd listen that rock and roll was just noise. Now look at them."

The dynamics shifted constantly as the night progressed. When Tina Turner spoke, even the loudest voices quieted. When Harry Belafonte moved through the room, the Memphis contingent tried a little too hard to appear comfortable. And when Ann-Margret laughed, every head turned - some openly, some trying to pretend they weren't looking.

But it all came back to Elvis. He was the center everyone else arranged themselves around, like planets finding their orbit. Even Frank, for all his own gravitational pull, seemed to understand this was Elvis' night.

A burst of laughter drew my attention to where Dean had cornered Tom Jones by the bar. "Listen, you Welsh wonder - the thing about that dove of yours..."

"Oh God," Tom muttered. "Not the bird again."

The party spun on, each star shining in their own way, but all of them - even the brightest - caught in Elvis's light.

Dean Martin's drink seemed to fall in slow motion. One moment he was gesturing wildly, telling some story about Frank and a missing toupee, and the next his martini was arcing through the air like a crystal waterfall. It splashed across Priscilla's white designer dress with devastating precision.

The room didn't exactly go silent, but there was a subtle shift, like everyone simultaneously holding their breath. Priscilla looked down at the spreading stain, her perfect features freezing in a way that made the temperature drop ten degrees.

"Oh God," Dean stammered, suddenly soberer. "Mrs. Presley, I am so..."

"It's quite alright." Her voice could have frosted glass. But her hands - those perfectly manicured hands - shook slightly as she dabbed at the fabric with a cocktail napkin. "This is only a thousand-dollar Givenchy."

The Colonel materialized with fresh napkins and profuse apologies. Priscilla's expression remained fixed in place, a porcelain mask of composure even as her eyes betrayed barely contained fury. A photographer moved in, scenting blood, but Red intercepted him with practiced ease.

"Here, let me—" Dean started forward with more napkins, managing to trip over his own feet in the process. His fresh drink went flying.

Right onto me.

The gin was cold and the olives hit me square in the chest, but something about the sheer absurdity of it all - the tension, the fancy dress, Dean's mortified face - just struck me as hilarious. I burst out laughing.

"Well," I said, plucking an olive from my dress and popping it in my mouth, "at least it's a good vintage."

Dean's face transformed with relief. "God love you, girl." He draped his arm around my shoulders. "See? She gets it! It's just a dress, right? Just a little..." He trailed off, catching Priscilla's arctic stare.

"Just a dress," Priscilla repeated softly. The words could have cut diamonds. She turned on her perfect heel and glided toward the powder room, the crowd parting before her like the Red Sea.

I was still fishing olives out of my cleavage when I caught Elvis watching from across the room. His expression was strange - something between amusement and revelation, like he was seeing something clearly for the first time.

Then Priscilla emerged from the powder room, somehow looking even more immaculate than before, and his face smoothed back into careful neutrality. But I'd seen it - that moment of recognition, of comparison.

"Come on, honey," Dean was saying, steering me toward the bar. "Let me buy you a fresh dress worth of martinis. And maybe one for your cleavage, since it seems to have developed a taste for them."

I laughed and let him lead me away, very aware of Elvis's eyes following us. Let him look. Let him see the difference between porcelain perfection and someone who knew how to roll with life's messier moments.

Behind us, I heard the Colonel trying to soothe Priscilla's ruffled feathers. "Now, Mrs. Presley, about tonight's photos..."

A distant coo from the ventilation system seemed to punctuate the moment with avian commentary.

"Not. One. Word." Tom Jones muttered to no one in particular.

Dean was good as his word, setting me up at the bar with a fresh martini while regaling me with increasingly outrageous stories about cocktail disasters through the years. "So there's Sinatra, right, wearing what's left of the Manhattan, and Ava Gardner just looks at him and says—"

"Dean." Frank's voice carried across the room. "What did I tell you about the Ava stories?"

"Spoilsport," Dean muttered into his glass. Then, brightening: "Say, Pedretti - that's Italian, isn't it?"

"From the old country. On both sides," I confirmed. "My grandparents never let us forget it."

"Ha! I knew it!" Dean's face lit up with ethnic pride. "We Italians, we know how to handle our liquor with style. Well, except maybe Frank over there..." He raised his voice on the last part.

"I heard that, Dino," Frank called back.

"You were meant to!" Dean turned back to me with a wink. "You're alright, kid. Not everyone can take a martini to the chest with such style." He studied me over his glass. "You know something? I get it now. Why he’ been looking at—" Dean's eyes flicked meaningfully toward Elvis, then back to me. "Well. Let's just say some people wear their spirits better than others, and I don't just mean the kind you drink."

From across the room came the sound of Priscilla's carefully modulated voice: "No, Colonel, I don't think another photo will be necessary. I believe we've documented the evening sufficiently."

I glanced over to see her positioned perfectly beside Elvis, not a hair out of place despite the earlier incident. The photographer was getting shots of them with various combinations of stars - Elvis and Frank, Elvis and Priscilla with Tom Jones (who still looked vaguely haunted by the dove incident), Elvis with the Memphis contingent. A careful catalog of approved moments.

But Elvis kept finding excuses to glance my way, his eyes carrying questions I wasn't sure I could answer.

"Know what your problem is?" Dean said suddenly, surprising me with his clarity despite the late hour and numerous martinis.

"What's that?"

"You ain’t fake yet." He said it like it was both a blessing and a curse. "And that’s dangerous in Vegas. Especially around—" He gestured vaguely with his glass toward Elvis.

Before I could respond, a commotion near the piano drew everyone's attention. Tina Turner had finally had enough of Ike's hovering and was telling him exactly where he could stick his "helpful suggestions" about her performance style. Her voice carried over the crowd with characteristic power.

"Now there's a woman who knows how to handle her spirits," Dean observed sagely.

The party's energy was shifting, winding down in that way Vegas parties do - not with a bang but with a series of negotiated retreats. The Memphis crowd was already thinning out, overwhelmed by so much Hollywood. The photographers were packing up their gear. Even Frank looked like he was calculating his exit.

That's when Elvis broke away from the official proceedings and made his way to the bar. He moved differently now - the post-show pills wearing off, that manic energy settling into something more subdued.

"Dean," he nodded. "Mind if I borrow Miss Pedretti for a moment?"

Dean's eyebrows lifted, but he stood with surprising grace. "All yours, amigo. Just... try not to spill anything on her. Girl's had enough dry cleaning bills for one night."

Elvis's hand grazed the small of my waist, still damp from Dean's martini. The touch felt electric even through the wet fabric.

"Come on," he said softly. "Let's find somewhere quiet before the Colonel remembers there's one more combination of stars he hasn't photographed yet."

I let him guide me toward the terrace, very aware of Priscilla's eyes following us. The night air hit my gin-soaked dress, making me shiver. Elvis shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over my shoulders in one smooth motion.

Behind us, Dean's voice drifted out: "So anyway, about that damn bird..."

The terrace offered an illusion of privacy, though the glass doors did little to shield us from curious eyes. Elvis leaned against the railing, his presence slightly dulled by fatigue and fading adrenaline.

"Listen, about tonight..." he started, then stopped. Through the glass, I could see Priscilla talking with the Colonel, both of them stealing glances our way. "Cilla's staying at the hotel. For appearances." He said it carefully, like defusing a bomb. "The Colonel thinks... well, with all the press..."

"Of course." I was proud of how steady my voice sounded. Of course she was staying. She was his wife. I was just... what? The girl in the gin-soaked dress?

A burst of laughter from inside made us both turn. Through the glass, I saw Ann-Margret watching us, something like recognition in her eyes. She'd stood on a terrace once, maybe, having this same conversation. She raised her glass slightly - to me? To Elvis? To the whole damn situation? - before turning back to her husband Roger with a small shake of her head.

"It's just for show," Elvis continued, his hands fidgeting. "You know that, right? Just playing the part, like always."

Like always. I wondered how many women had heard those words on this terrace.

"Elvis." Priscilla's voice came from the doorway, perfectly modulated. "The photographers want one last shot before they go."

She didn't look at me. Didn't need to. Her presence filled the space like expensive perfume, making me acutely aware of my damp dress and smeared mascara.

"Be right there, baby." The endearment slipped out automatically, practiced. But his eyes stayed on me, pleading for understanding.

I nodded once, pulling his jacket closer around my shoulders. He moved toward Priscilla, his posture shifting into performance mode. But at the door he paused, turned back.

"Valerie—"

"Go on." I managed a smile. "Your audience awaits."

I stayed on the terrace long after they'd gone inside, watching Vegas glitter below like a jewelry box full of broken promises. The night air carried the scent of gin and Desert Flower perfume - Priscilla's signature scent, I realized. It clung to Elvis's jacket like a claim.

Inside, I could hear the final photos being orchestrated. The Colonel's voice carried through the glass: "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Presley, if you could just..."

A soft coo from above made me laugh despite everything. Even Tom's wayward dove knew a performance when it saw one.

"One for the papers!" someone called out. "Give us a kiss!"

It was the moment every photographer had been waiting for - the perfect finale to Elvis's triumphant Vegas run. The King and his Queen, wrapped in each other's arms like a fairytale ending.

I turned back toward the party just in time to see it happen. Elvis drew Priscilla close, one hand at her waist, the other cupping her face with practiced tenderness. She tilted her chin up, camera-ready, and their lips met to enthusiastic applause. The kiss lasted exactly long enough for every photographer to get their shot.

"Beautiful!" The Colonel's voice boomed. "Now that's how you end a Vegas engagement!"

The room erupted in congratulations - for the successful run, for the perfect couple, for the whole glittering fantasy. Tom Jones started singing "Love Me Tender," because of course he did. Dean Martin wiped away what might have been real tears, though that could've been the martinis talking.

Through it all, I stayed on my terrace, still wearing Elvis's jacket, clapping softly. How could I not? It was like watching a movie I'd seen before but somehow forgotten the ending to. The way Elvis's thumb stroked Priscilla's cheek. The way her fingers curled possessively into his shirt. The way they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle I'd never be part of.

"Rough stuff, isn't it?"

I hadn't heard Ann-Margret join me. She stood just inside the doorway, holding two fresh drinks.

"I'm fine," I said automatically.

"Honey, nobody's fine watching the man they love kiss his wife in front of God and Frank Sinatra." She handed me one of the drinks. "Trust me on that one."

Inside, Elvis and Priscilla were making their way through the crowd, accepting congratulations like visiting royalty. His hand stayed at the small of her back, proprietary and familiar. She leaned into him exactly the right amount - not too much, not too little. They'd perfected this dance years ago.

"The thing is," Ann-Margret said softly, "he probably means it, in the moment. That's what makes it worse."

A distant coo from above sounded almost sympathetic.

Elvis's eyes found mine through the glass. Just for a moment, his perfect mask slipped. Then Priscilla said something, he laughed, and the moment was gone.

I downed my drink in one go.

Welcome to life with Elvis Presley, where even the hurt looked beautiful under Vegas lights.

The party began its final descent. Stars peeled away in careful order - first the Vegas regulars, then the Hollywood contingent, each exit timed to maintain proper hierarchies. Frank made a point of shaking Elvis's hand again, that small gesture speaking volumes. Dean had to be practically carried out, still trying to teach Tom Jones the "proper" way to sing "Return to Sender."

Tina and Ike left separately, which said everything about their evening.

"Come on, baby." Roger appeared at Ann-Margret's elbow. "Our car's here."

She squeezed my hand before going. "Remember what I didn't say," she murmured, and I nodded, though I wasn't sure which unspoken truth she meant. “I’d still love that drink anytime you want.”

The Memphis crowd lingered, uncertain in this glittering territory. They kept looking to Elvis for cues, but he was busy posing for endless last rounds of photos with Priscilla. The Colonel supervised every angle, every gesture, like a painter touching up his masterpiece.

"You need a ride home, Valley?" Jerry asked quietly.

Home. As if I knew where that was anymore.

"I'm on the same floor, Jerry. I think I can manage."

"That's not what I meant."

Before I could respond, Elvis's voice cut through the thinning crowd. "Nobody leave yet! I want to thank you all..." He was using his stage voice now, fatigue making him a little too loud. Priscilla touched his arm gently, adjusting his volume with practiced ease.

I took that as my cue to slip away. Let him have his moment with his people, his wife, his perfectly orchestrated life. I shrugged off his jacket, meaning to leave it with Red, but Jerry stopped me.

"Keep it," he said softly. "He'll want you to."

The walk down the hall was quiet except for the sound of my heartbeat and - incredibly - one last coo from that damn dove, somehow following me even here. Tom's peace offering had turned into the world's most persistent Greek chorus.

"Oh, shut up," I told it, and immediately felt better.

My key stuck in the lock three times before I realized I was trying to open the wrong door. Maybe Dean's martinis had hit harder than I'd thought. Or maybe it was just that everything looked different now, in the harsh fluorescent light of reality.

When I finally made it into my room, I caught my reflection in the mirror - smeared mascara, gin-stained dress, Elvis's jacket hanging off my shoulders like a question mark. Behind me, through the window, Vegas kept right on glittering, indifferent to the small dramas playing out in its showrooms and suites.

Someone had slipped a note under my door while I was at the party. The Colonel's handwriting was unmistakable: "Meeting tomorrow, 2 PM sharp. Re: Memphis arrangements."

I let it fall to the floor and went to wash off what was left of my makeup. In the bathroom mirror, I could still see the girl I'd been three weeks ago, before Elvis and elevators and doves with bad timing. She looked at me like she knew something I didn't.

"Don't say it," I told her, and turned off the light.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @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 @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

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fans #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis presley fanfic #elvis fic #elvis x oc #songbird 1969

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your-nanas-house · 1 year ago

Note

Can you make a late 70s Elvis x reader in which she's shy to be with him naked despite being together for a long time? Make it smut and thanks

Wow direct 😂 sounds more like an order than a request, dear. (I'm kidding 🥰) I can, sorry for making you wait and thanks for the Elvis' request!!!

Little one

◇ Pairing: 70s!Elvis Presley x fem!reader

◇ Warnings: smut, shyness, age gap (Elvis is in his 40s, they are both adults), insecurities, bathtub

◇ Summary: Elvis wants to take things to the next step but you're too shy. (You already had sex together but you are too shy to show your naked body to him)

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

Elvis wanted to bring things to the next step in your relationship, you've been together since a few years now— since nearly a year after his divorce with Priscilla.

He missed a bit the warm skin of a woman against his even just for in an innocent way like cuddling; reason because he wanted to take things further with you. He needed your young and attractive body against his, just like your momma made you.

He was honestly just waiting for the right moment to act and that night felt like the right time for him, he just needed to find a way to seduce you and not scare you off.

Elvis noticed how shy you were and he respected that but he really wanted to show you that you didn't need to be that shy to show your gorgeous body to him or let him show you some love behind closed doors.

He was thinking at that, sitting in his big bathtub by himself, surrounded by warm water that relaxed his sore muscles.

His need for you in that moment grew and grew and he was 100% sure that he was going to have you just like he was longing you.

"Hey, uh, Satnin—?" He started, raising his voice to make sure that you could hear him

"Got time for a little something later...?"

Elvis asked softly, hoping for one of your usual soft spoken replies or a short yet flirty gesture.

He was a simple man, and in reality was just nervous to initiate the action due to fear of denial or possibly hurting you in someway but his worry vanished as soon as he heard your reply

"Of course, love" you replied sweetly, searching him in the empty bedroom, wondering where he was; your gaze moved all around the room and it quickly stopped towards your shared bathroom when you heard a noise coming from there.

Elvis softly chuckled, moving the bathtub plug a bit to make some noise as his lips curled into a smile once he heard your footsteps approaching the room

"In here, darlin'!"

A soft smile appeared on your face, you were pretty excited to see your Elvis since you had been all day out of Graceland, leaving him all alone.

You walked in with a rushed pace, expecting him to be in front of the mirror busy shaving or brushing his teeth— finding him instead in the tub completely naked and comfortable, an amused smile on his face, his fingers, still adorned by his rings, brushing against his heart-shaped lips as he looked at you with his blue eyes.

A soft gasp escaped your mouth as soon as you registered what was happening, a heavy blush appeared on your cheek as you covered your eyes with your hands, turning your back towards him to leave him some privacy even though he really didn't want that at that moment

"S-Sorry, baby" you apologized quickly, blushing even more as you heard his low laugh

"Don't you be covering up that face, woman. C'mere'" Elvis softened his voice, his own cheeks turning slightly pink as he at your reaction, the smirk still present on his face.

He reached his arm out, wanting to bring you into the tub with him, not really carrying about the fact that you were still dressed, he just wanted or needed you to be close to him.

You moved closer to him, letting him grab your hand and try to pull you on him

"Not so fast, sir" you scolded playfully, stroking softly his wet hair

"Don't want you to get me all wet—" you murmured, slapping his arm softly when you noticed his smirk that made you quickly understand what he was thinking about

"Oh, I intend to, Satnin'!" Elvis said with a sly smile, his hand brushing against yours

"Now, come on—" he murmured, pouting slightly as he tried again to pull you in the bathtub, making you blush even more

"Not that way..." you murmured shyly making him laugh again

"Aw, my little lady being all bashful? I don't believe it. C'mere, I wanna snuggle some bit" Elvis replied as he leaned in to softly kiss your neck to tease and make you agree to his "plan".

You strangely agreed and asked him to close his eyes so you could remove your clothes and join him in the bathtub.

There was a mischievous smirk on Elvis' chubby face, his bottom lip continued to be molested by his teeth, while his eyes remained slightly open even though it looked to you like they were closed.

"No peaking" you warned as you got ride of your dress before climbing carefully in the warm water, exactly in front of your love.

As soon as your body was surrounded by the heat and the few bubbles, you covered your intimate areas as best you could before allowing Elvis to look— your gaze not meeting his lustful eyes, your cheeks a soft blush.

"Look at ya" his low voice murmured as he eyed you slowly, focusing on your hands

"Trying to cover up what's daddy, huh?"

Your face heated up even more, you were blushing harder and harder, expecially when you met his eyes because of his sudden grip on your chin

"Show daddy what he's missing, lil' mama" Elvis growled softly, chuckling softly at your shy self.

You weren't completely sure to want that but you went along with his order, removing slowly your hands to reveal your fully naked (and now wet) body at him.

As minutes passed, you became more and more insecure— but as soon as an animalistic groan escaped the King of Rock'n Roll's mouth and his big hand manhandled you on his lap— you knew that he liked what he was seeing.

Expecially when his right hand started to knead your breasts and his left hand went to your ass, causing your pussy to grind against his hard rock erection.

Elvis' mouth started to abuse the sensitive skin of your neck and jawline, shoulder as well when you moved the tip of his cock at your eager entrance— which swallowed his length completely, clenching and pulsing around it, almost holding it inside of you for dear life.

"Y-Y-Ya're s-so damn p-perfect, Satnin'" he groaned softly, holding you close to his hairy and board chest.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter

#elvis presley fanfiction #70s elvis #elvis the pelvis #elvis presley #elvis fans #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis the king #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x shy!reader #elvis aaron presley

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whatstruthgottodowithit · 10 months ago

Text

Birthday Boy

Fandom: Elvis Presley, American Musician

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader

Characters: Elvis Presley, Reader, Vernon Presley, Gladys Presley

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1248

Summary: The birthday boy gets an unwanted present.

Tags/Warnings: Sickness, Angst, Fluff, Arguing, Birthdays, Established Relationship, Cuddling,

Notes: I said I wasn’t going to write anything for his birthday and here we are. Happy 89th Birthday El x

ELVIS MASTERLIST // TAG LIST

‘Elvis?’ you said quietly as you stuck your head around the door to see what was going on. He was lying in bed, and though the room was almost too dimly lit to make him out properly, you could see the comforter rise and fall with every breath he took. And as you watched the material move, steady and sure, you realised he hadn’t awoken at the intrusion, and knowing it had only been late when the pair of you got back last night you paused, wondering if waking him was the right thing to do, but you’d waited long enough. Besides, his mother was only going to give him so much longer before she came barging in herself, ready to celebrate with the birthday boy.

You moved slowly into the room, careful not to be too loud so as not to wake him crudely rather than the gentle nudge you had planned.

‘Elvis,’ you said again quietly, gently shaking his shoulder as you did so in the hopes he’d disturb. Even in sleep he still looked tired, as evidenced by the heavy bags under his eyes that hadn’t faded with rest and the fact that even upon touch he didn’t disturb.

‘El,’ you said with more force, causing his brow to furrow as he flopped onto his back in between the waking world and whatever dreamland he was in.

‘El honey you gotta wake up,’ you said, words that appeared to break through his sleep-addled haze as his bright blue eyes finally met yours before he closed them again and said croakily, ‘what time is it?’

‘A little after two,’ you said, perching on the bed as he shifted over to allow you to. He didn’t say anything, but his tired sigh was enough to make you long to explain yourself, ‘I tried to leave you as long as I could... any other day I would.’

When he didn’t offer you a reply you sighed. You’d expected this, in fact, after last night you’d expected a whole lot worse. You’d been with Elvis long enough to know he wasn’t so keen about his birthday. The reason why you didn’t know but he’d normally come around with some gentle coaxing. Not this year. This year, he seemed determined to not even acknowledge his birthday. When you’d inquired about gifts he might want he'd told you not to bother because he ‘already had everything he could want.’ When you asked him how he wanted to celebrate he’d shrug and say he didn’t care, though whatever you did suggest was immediately shot down giving you the feeling that he must care a little. It had become exhausting. Not because he didn’t want to celebrate. That you could understand given that a lot of people didn’t really care about their birthdays. It just amazed you how a man who was so loved and adored globally could think no one would want to celebrate him.

If he didn’t want presents, fine. If he didn’t want a big party or a night on the town, you could live with that. But you had refused to let the day go by without even acknowledging that this day meant something. That it should be celebrated.

That was how the pair of you had gotten into a row last night, a simple conversation about dinner plans somehow turning into a full-blown argument that lasted the whole car ride before you’d headed to bed in stony silence, lying beside one another and yet feeling as though you were a million miles away as you waited for sleep to come and take hold, which it failed to do until the wee hours, Elvis snoring heavily beside you seemingly fine. Though given he was still refusing to answer you now you figured he may not be as fine as he had appeared.

‘You know your parents are waiting on you,’ you said. If you weren’t going to shift him, the idea of his mother waiting patiently for him to haul himself out of bed might.

‘Baby please,’ he grumbled.

‘El please don’t be like this,’ you said.

‘M'tired,’ he said croakily.

‘I know but you can't stay here all day and I know last night you said…look if you don’t want to do something big fine but can we at least spend the day together?’ you asked, moving to take his hand in yours only when you did you found it like an iron against your skin, ‘jeez you're boiling.’

‘M’freezing,’ he said.

‘What?’ you said, immediately moving your hand to his cheek only to find it just hot as his hand had been. You moved to turn on a light, causing him to scrunch up his already closed eyes with a wince as you assessed him. He looked deathly pale, those bags under his eyes near black in the lamplight, and there was a definite sheen of sweat on his brow.

‘El you’re burning up,’ you said, ‘do you feel okay?’

‘Feel like hell,’ he said, finally conceding to look at you through squinted eyes.

‘Since when?’ you asked.

‘Few days,’ he said weakly.

‘Why didn’t you say?’ you sighed.

‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged, ‘I thought you might think I was fakin’.’

‘Is this why you’ve been so upset about your birthday? Because you should’ve said something,’ you said as guilt rushed through you.

‘I didn’t want to let you down,’ he said.

‘Let me down? How could you let me down?’ you asked, perplexed that he could even think that.

'Honey, my birthday means more to you that it does to anyone. I think ya got even my mama beat on how much you care and she was there on the day,’ he grinned weakly, ‘an’ normally I can get on board with whatever you have cooked up in that pretty lil head o’yours but this year I just wasn’t feelin’ it.’

‘Because you don’t feel well or something else?’ you asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘I guess this year has just been so crazy it feels like everyone’s wanted a piece of me and don’t get me wrong I’ve loved every second it’s just…’

‘You wanted a bit of normal?’ you asked, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Elvis nodded.

You sighed and gestured for him to shuffle up, allowing you to tuck yourself into the small gap between him and the edge of the bed and your hand fell on his clammy chest.

'Well, how about this?' you said, fiddling with the hairs that had glued themselves to his skin from the sheen of sweat he’d produced from entrapping his fever in the blankets, ‘I go call the doctor and once he’s declared that you’re too unwell to go anywhere or see anyone you spend the day in bed and I’ll spend the day fending off anyone who wants to disturb you.’

‘Sounds good,’ he mumbled, pressing his scalding hot lips to your temple, ‘or…’

‘Or?’ you asked, turning your face to look at him as a smile danced across his lips.

‘Or you could lock the damn door and spend the day in bed with me?’ he countered.

‘What if I get sick?’ you smirked.

‘That’s the risk you gotta take if you wanna be with the birthday boy,’ he sighed, ‘besides think of you sacrificing your health as a gift to me. An act of true love.’

‘And here I was thinkin’ you’d be fine with a new watch,’ you giggled.

ELVIS TAGS

@girlblogger2002 @sania562 @caitlin1996 @literally-just-elvis-fics @notstefaniepresley @artlesson8892 @18lkpeters @velvetelvis @jaqueline19997 @elvispresleyxoxo @amydarcimarie @presleyenterprise @everythingelvispresley @elvispresleywife @lillypink @richardslady121 @lettersfromvenus

#my writing #elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley fic #birthday boy #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fic #elvis fluff

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ssinnerplazahotel · 2 months ago

Text

╭──────────.★..─╮

*Chapter Thirteen*

╰─..★.──────────╯

WC: 6k

Warning: 18+, age gap, smut, fluff, toxic elvis, manipulation, drug use, it’s the 50s/60s, death threat, painful-difficult-devastating-life-changing-extraordinary love

Pairing: elvis x black reader

Disclaimer: full of inaccuracies, inaccurate timeline, inaccurate depictions of Graceland, historically inaccurate themes and items

Masterlist: Prologue, Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

You woke with a start the next morning—not even realizing that you’d fallen asleep at some point throughout the night. You checked the time—Liz would be there by now.

“You’re awake,” Andrea said, appearing from the bathroom. “I thought I’d let you sleep. Since you never do.”

“I’m supposed to be dressed by now,” You said. “Liz is probably waiting for me.”

“You aren’t scheduled to be anywhere, are you?”

“No, why?”

“Why don’t you skip Liz today? I can give you something to wear.”

You didn’t even consider it. “I can’t.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because…” You knew it’d only piss her off to know the reason. “I like the clothes Liz chooses.”

She shrugged. “You should head over then. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Come with me.”

“Why?”

“Because, he might not yell at me if you’re there.”

She rolled her eyes, but agreed to go. “He can yell. I want him to actually. Because if I have to deal with him~”

“You won’t have to. I don’t want you to fight him all the time, Andrea.”

“I do it because you won’t.”

“I know, but I can’t protect you. So I’d like it if you didn’t give me a reason to.”

“Do you think I need you to protect me?”

“No, of course not. Just don’t pick a fight.”

When you got to the bedroom Elvis was there with Liz and Serena. Aside from a brief glance, he didn’t acknowledge you when you walked in. You could always tell when he was on the brink of losing his shit.

“I’m so sorry, Liz,” You said immediately. “I had no idea what time it was.”

“It’s okay,” She said. “We already got everything ready for you.”

“This is gorgeous,” Andrea complimented as she looked at the dress laid out on the bed. “With the headband especially.”

“Oh, I wanted to let you know that the things you sent to the cleaners won’t be back until Monday,” Serena started as Andrea and Liz talked about your outfit. Liz spoke to Andrea more comfortably, you noticed. “I tried to get it back sooner but it’s been so busy because of the holidays.”

“It’s okay,” You reassured her. “I won’t even miss them.”

“Where’d you find the shoes?”

“Uhm, they were actually a wedding gift~”

Elvis stood from the edge of the bed suddenly, effectively ending every conversation happening in the room. “Liz, go show Andrea that thing you wanted to show her. You too, Serena.”

You met Andrea’s eyes—she gave you a look that said she’d stay if you wanted. You shook your head.

“Go ahead,” Elvis encouraged, walking over to open the door. “Shouldn’t take but five minutes. Come back when you’re done.”

Liz nodded and led the way out of the room, Serena following silently behind. Andrea stayed in place, crossing her arms with her eyes set on Elvis. You tried to motion for her to go but she wouldn’t look out at you.

“Andrea,” Elvis sighed.

He was too close to his breaking point and you didn’t want Andrea to be the recipient of his rage.

“Drea, it’s fine.” You stepped forward.

“I’m not leaving her alone with you,” She said directly to Elvis. “Can’t you see that she’s afraid of you?”

“N-No, no,” You said quickly, stepping between them. “Please don’t~”

Elvis snapped. “I’m so fucking sick of you acting like you know her any better than I do~”

“I wouldn’t have to know her at all to see that she’s terrified of you,” Andrea said with an equal amount of anger and distaste behind her words as she stepped towards him. “You’re a control freak.”

“If she’s so terrified, she can leave and take you with her.”

“As if you’d ever let her go.”

“She wouldn’t, Andrea, that’s the thing~”

“Do you see what I mean? You’re a fanatic.”

“You wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t hunt you down for weeks, that’s the kind of friend you are.”

“At least I treat her like a fully functioning adult. The way you run her, I can’t tell if you want a wife or pet.”

“What did your ex-husband want? It wasn’t you—that’s what we all know.”

“You trap one little girl and you think you know how to get and keep a woman?”

“I don’t have to trap anyone, she can fucking leave!”

You were frozen as their screaming match intensified with every dig. Elvis stepped forward until your hands pressed against his chest and the two of them were face to face. You had to force yourself to speak.

“Stop,” You said, too breathlessly and quiet at first. You had to shout over them. “Stop it!”

They fell silent and looked at you, both fuming as you stopped them from taking things too far.

“You’re gonna let her talk to me like that?” Elvis asked, forcing you into a position you never wanted to be in.

“Andrea,” You said, walking to the door. “Can you, please…?”

She heaved a sigh and walked out of the door but stopped short and gave you one last questioning glance. You nodded reassuringly despite the fact that you were so on edge that you could have thrown up.

You shut the door behind her and faced him, he had his arms crossed. You expected him to immediately snap and dig into you, but instead he asked—

“What the hell are you wearing?”

You looked down at the pajama pants and mismatched shirt you had fallen asleep in.

“Andrea gave them to me…”

His expression was furious but you could somehow still see the traces of a distasteful frown. He eyed you silently, watching you squirm in anticipation.

“You look fucking ridiculous.”

He could’ve thrown you across the room and it would’ve hurt less—been less humiliating.

He looked away as if he couldn’t stand the sight of you. “Get dressed before Liz gets back.”

You stood there for a moment before walking over to the dress laid out on the bed. You picked it up to take to the bathroom but he stopped you.

“We’re not done yet.”

You felt ashamed and embarrassed of yourself—you wanted to disappear as he watched you strip.

“Where the hell did you go last night?” He continued. “I sent Red all around the world lookin for you and he said you weren’t with Andrea.”

“I was with Andrea~”

“Do not lie to me right now~”

“I swear.”

“Then why weren’t you there?”

“I was, s-she…lied. I-I don’t know why. It was a joke. I told her~ I said that it wasn’t funny.”

“But you didn’t come to me when I asked you to?”

“I-I just…”

“You just…let her make up your mind for you like a little girl? You just go along with whatever she says? Because you just…can’t make your own decisions?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Tell me what it is. I mean, you act just about dumb as hell when it comes to Andrea, it has to be something.”

“What is your problem?” You didn’t wait for him to answer as you stormed into the bathroom to finish putting your clothes on.

“My problem is that I at least expected you to be in place this morning. Instead you come galavanting in here with Andrea like you didn’t disappear all night.” He followed you.

“I don’t understand why you’re blowing this so out of proportion.”

“Because you need to be reminded of your place. It’s here, with me, when I tell you to be.”

“Go to hell, Elvis.”

“Hey,” He barked, fuming as he caught your arm and made you face him. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

“And you don’t get to treat me like some useless accessory you get to stick your dick in whenever you want to.” You snatched your arm away. “I mean, for the love of god. Calling me dumb and demanding my respect?”

“Do not talk to me like that.” His stern eyes bore into you even after you looked away. “You will lose, every time, I promise.”

There was a knock on the door—it was Liz.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” Elvis said before going to get the door. You tried to put on a neutral expression as Liz and Serena entered the room. “She’s all ready for you.”

You smiled—it was forced but you didn’t think they noticed. He returned when your transformation was complete.

“What’s on the agenda for today, Mr. Presley?” Serena, who had also just returned after slipping out somewhere along the way, asked as Liz finished your hair.

Elvis slipped his arm around Serena’s shoulder and kissed her cheek before continuing. You usually wouldn’t think much of it—but seeing how her hand lingered on his, you couldn’t help but wonder. After the thought crossed your mind it was all you could think about. After they had left the room you couldn’t help yourself, you had to know.

“You’re fucking Serena.”

He fell silent, you were shocked by how stunned he seemed by your knowledge of his situation with your “assistant”—or whatever title he’d given her. His reaction stirred something inside of you. You were angry, and hurt, but you were right. For once, you were right and he couldn’t even process your words fast enough to deny it.

“What?” You asked. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Shut up.” His voice was low and unnerving, but you continued.

“People notice you, Elvis. They watch every little thing you do. When are you going to realize that?”

“I’m telling you right now, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised, you’ve always been that way. You’re a liar and you’re a cheater~”

“Shut up!” He was yelling now but his voice was muffled by the sound of your heart beating in your ears. “Do you really think you have any right to question me or anything I do? After everything I’ve done for you?”

“I never asked for any of this, Elvis. I’m here for you!”

“This is me,” He shouted, gesturing grandly with his arms. With each step he took forward, you stepped back until the back of your legs touched the bed—forcing you to sit as he towered over you. “To hear you so much as utter a complaint after everything I’ve risked for us, everything I’m sacrificing—it’s fucking ludicrous.”

You fell silent for a moment, too frightened to speak. “You said that it would be different this time—no more bullshit, remember? No more fighting, that’s what you said out of your mouth~”

“Whose fault is it that we’re fighting, huh?”

You kept your eyes trained on him but you didn’t speak—you only glared silently.

“You have two options,” He said. “You can either get your shit together, go downstairs with Andrea, and keep your mouth shut so we can enjoy the party. Or you can stay here, out of my sight, for the rest of the night. Pick one. Now or I’ll decide for you.”

You stood and forced past him to the bathroom. You made sure your makeup wasn’t ruined before leaving. As you made to walk past him and out of the door he grabbed your arm, forcing your hand into his.

“Don’t embarrass me in front of my family, they already think I’m insane,” He said, and then you were leaving. The commotion from downstairs could be heard clear as day from the top of the stairs. “You just stick with Andrea tonight. No one here’s gonna bother you, I told them not to.”

You kept your lips pressed firmly together as you met Andrea at the bottom of the stairs. All eyes were on the two of you when you entered the room—you hoped the forced smile on your face was fooling the crowd.

Andrea didn’t acknowledge Elvis but she forced a smile all the same. “Are you okay?”

“Keep an eye on her,” He said, handing you off. “She’s in a mood.”

You forced yourself not to pull away when he kissed your cheek—smiling as he tapped your chin and walked away.

“What’s wrong?” Andrea asked when he was gone. “What’d he do?”

“Did they give them to you?”

“Yeah.”

You took the envelope and turned to go into the kitchen. Andrea followed, keeping as little space between you as possible in the crowded house. You saw Elvis, the center of attention as always, being surrounded by people. They were mostly women, and you wanted to feel something when you saw the way they pawed at him and hung off his every word.

But you felt nothing.

You tried to stay in the least populated areas of the house but everywhere you went there was someone.

“I love your scarf,” A woman with long false lashes said to you. “Where’d you get it?”

You knew she was speaking to you but you didn’t respond. You kept your mouth shut.

“You can find one just like it at that boutique downtown,” Andrea spoke up, filling the awkwardness in the wake of your silence. “You know the one with the red mannequins in the window?”

They spoke for a few minutes before the woman finally walked away.

“Happy holidays. It was nice to meet you,” She said, you knew it wasn’t true but you offered a small smile as she left.

“What was that?”

“What?”

“Why’d you ignore her?”

You avoided her eyes. “Did I ignore her?

Andrea scoffed, stunned. “Yeah, kind of. What? Did he not give you permission to speak tonight?”

Your expression must’ve said what you were hoping Andrea wouldn’t assume.

“Really?”

“It’s not like that.”

She struggled for a moment to grasp what you were saying. “Did he tell you not to speak to these people?”

“Andrea,” You said, forcing a laugh. “It’s fine. Let’s just enjoy the party.”

“Did he?”

“They aren’t supposed to speak to me either.”

Your words had the opposite effect of what you intended and she looked even more bewildered.

“Not now,” You said before she could say anything else. “Let’s hang out down here for a while then we can go upstairs and do something else.”

“We need to talk. Now.”

“Please, can’t we just~”

“Now.”

You shook your head. “I told him I’d be downstairs with you. I want to be with you.”

She followed your gaze to where Elvis was. “I don’t think he’ll notice you’re gone.”

You almost laughed at that. “He’ll notice.”

Andrea’s expression was disbelieving but she didn’t continue to pressure you. You sat at the dining table with her well into the night—until Serena found you and told you that Elvis wanted you to turn in for the night.

“Thanks, Serena,” You said, standing. “He wasn’t screwing you when he said it, was he?”

You didn’t have time to take in her expression but you imagined that she was shocked as you walked away.

“M-Mrs. Presley, I’m so sorry.” She crumbled fast. “It was a-a mistake. I told him~ i-it was a one-time thing. I-I swear.”

You stopped and faced her, trying to calm her down before anyone noticed. You forced a reassuring smile. “God, don’t make a scene in front of all these people.”

“Please don’t fire me.”

“I can’t fire you. You don’t work for me.”

She looked devastatingly guilty, you didn’t care. Andrea followed you when you walked away, eyeing Serena judgmentally.

All you wanted to do was go to bed when you got upstairs, however, Andrea quickly reminded you that you had unfinished business to tend to.

“I guess he did it,” She said as soon as the door clicked shut behind you. “He finally shrunk you down to size.”

You didn’t respond. You sat down on the edge of the bed to remove your shoes. You wanted to say something but you couldn’t. Your throat felt like it was constricting, trapping all the words inside.

“He made you show up tonight in a room full of people he told to ignore you,” She continued. “He told you not to speak to anyone and you actually did it. I mean, god, you actually did it. What kind of program is he running on you? It’s like he changes your batteries every thirty days.”

“Please stop.”

“It must be all the pills he funnels down your throat.” You couldn’t take it anymore but she didn’t relent. “That’s why he does it. To keep you pliant and easy to control. Then he keeps you trapped here like a caged animal. If you were in your right mind for more than a few days at a time you might be able to see how fucked all of this is!”

You screamed in frustration. Not necessarily at Andrea, more outwardly.

“What’s the matter with you?” She asked, startled.

“What do you want me to do?” You sobbed.

She sighed reluctantly and hugged you as you cried. “You’re out of your mind.”

You wanted to argue and say that it wasn’t true—you weren’t out of your mind, not completely.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Andrea said. “You can love him and be your own person at the same time. You shouldn’t need his permission to…exist.”

“It’s my fault,” You said. “I chose this. I deserve it.”

“All you’re good for is throwing pity parties.” She sighed, sitting beside you. “When are you going to stop punishing yourself and start living with your decision?”

“You don’t think I’m living with it?”

“I don’t think you’re living at all. You’re going through the motions and drowning everything out.”

You shook your head in denial but your voice was caught in your throat again.

“I can’t stand to see you living like this.”

The hurt you felt suddenly morphed into anger. You wanted to cry even more now, but you clenched your teeth and held back your tears. You felt bad enough without her looking in and speculating about how sad your life must be.

“Andrea, please,” You said. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t?” She asked. “I’ve been by your side for this long. Have I somehow misinterpreted what I’ve been seeing?”

“I don’t know, have you?” You countered. She released a stunned scoff, staring at you in disbelief. You raised your eyebrow in question, waiting a moment for her to continue. “It’s a simple question.”

She directed her gaze downward. “I’m worried about you. That’s the only reason I’m saying anything.”

“You don’t have to worry. I’m happy.” You didn’t notice the evident catch in your voice. “I’m taken care of and I’m loved. I have everything I want. I have you.”

She met your eyes again, her expression was troubled.

“I know you’re worked up about the party but…Elvis does that kind of thing all the time,” You continued. “He thinks he’s protecting me. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

You couldn’t tell if she was believing anything you were saying. She still had that expression on her face—she was so concerned. You sighed when she didn’t respond, glancing off for a moment.

“I think you should go~”

“Don’t make me leave~”

“I have to,” You said. “Just take a few days~ o-or however long you need. Maybe it’s all too much t-too soon. You just need to get away from me…from us.”

She stood with you and let you take her to the door as you spoke.

“If you spend some time away and your feelings don’t change then…maybe you just shouldn’t come around anymore.”

“What?”

“I don’t know…” You opened the bedroom door.

She had tears in her eyes and you fought to hold back your own. “I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. All I ever wanted was for you to be here for me and to support me. Because I need someone like you in my life.”

“Someone like me?”

“A friend, Andrea. I need a friend.”

She batted away her tears as they fell. You stepped towards her.

“If you can’t be my friend,” You started. “If he makes that too difficult, then you have to go.”

There was a beat of silence before she attempted to dry the last of her tears and left the room. You stood there for a moment. You weren’t shocked, but you had hoped she would have stayed.

You were lying awake, alone in bed when the door crept open. You had no idea what time it was as you stared blankly into the darkness of the room.

“Birdie?”

“Hm?”

“Where’s Andrea?”

“She had to go.”

You felt the bed dip and turned blindly into his arms. You were glad that he couldn’t see your tear ridden face in the dark.

“Why’re you crying?”

“Because she left.”

He tried to comfort you but it felt like he didn’t care. “I’m here.”

“You aren’t going to leave me?”

“Why would I leave you?”

You closed your eyes. “Sometimes, E…it feels like I love you so much and you don’t care about me at all.”

“Everything I do is for you.”

“I know, but still.”

He sighed, tracing patterns into the small of your back. “You’re my heart.”

“Then how could you sleep with Serena?”

“That wasn’t love with Serena.”

“Did you think about how I’d feel?”

“No, because it had nothing to do with you or how I feel about you.”

You didn’t understand.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you,” He said. “You’re my girl. You’re the only girl that has that privilege.”

“So that means you get to go around doing whoever you want?”

“It’s not like that, baby.”

“Then what’s it like?”

He fell silent. You wish you could have seen his expression.

“All I’m saying is…if you’re going to have extracurricular activities I want some liberties of my own.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I want a car and I want to go wherever I want.”

“Ray can take you anywhere~”

“I want to take myself.”

“That’s unreasonable.”

You turned over so that your back was to him. He kissed your shoulder, still holding you.

“What do you think is going to happen?” You asked.

“You’ll run away.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You’ve done it before.”

You fell silent—he was right. “I came back.”

He laughed. “Yeah, after I fucked some sense into you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Maybe I should just knock you up, make sure you don’t go anywhere.”

“I married you. Is that not enough?”

“Nothing will ever be enough. I love you.” His voice was a whisper now. “You’re the only girl I love.”

“Liar.”

“I’ll prove it.”

You didn’t hear from Andrea again for a few days. When you did see her, she was downstairs talking on the phone in the kitchen. Upon first sight, you were relieved that she had come back. But she didn’t speak to you directly when you approached her.

“Here she is,” She said, handing the receiver off to you before walking away.

You watched her go in confusion, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hi, Joel.”

“How are you?”

You hesitated, narrowing your eyes. “I’m okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” He said. “I was just talking to Andrea~”

“Since when do you and Andrea talk?” You asked.

“Only the past few days really.”

“Why?”

“She’s been worried about you.”

“She has?”

“Yeah…I’m worried about you too.”

You laughed. “Why?”

“We’re concerned~”

“‘We’re?’”

“Andrea, Dawn and me.”

“Oh, are you?” You felt ambushed even though it was only Joel on the line. “Dawn hasn’t been here or even picked up the phone to call.”

“She’s worried about you, honest,” Joel said. “Andrea thinks that you’re not coping well with the changes happening in your life~”

“Do you want to talk to my husband about this, Joel?”

“No, I want to talk to you.”

You took the phone from your ear. “Elvis!”

Andrea rushed into the kitchen with a panicked expression.

“Go get Elvis,” You said. “You can’t bombard me like this~”

“We aren’t bombarding you,” She said, trying to deescalate the situation. “Just talk to him.”

“How could you do this to me?”

“I’m doing this because I care. We both do.”

You brought the phone to your ear. “What do you know about how I’m coping?”

“I know exactly how you’re coping,” He said.

“You have no idea what I’m going through~”

“Okay, I’m sorry~”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” You stressed. “I’m happy. Tell Dawn that the next time you talk to her. Since she’d rather hear about me from you.”

“Dawn’s been trying to get to you at Graceland, it’s impossible,” Joel said. “The only reason I even got through is because Andrea’s there.”

“What?”

“It’s like he has you cut off.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I?”

You looked at Andrea. “Why would he do that? He loves Dawn.”

“Dawn’s not the only one trying to get in touch with you,” Joel said. “I’m only saying this because I care about you. I think you have a bigger problem here than you’re willing to admit.”

You leaned against the counter, worrying your lip. You couldn’t get the mental image of Dawn trying to call you out of your mind. She must’ve thought you’d discarded her.

“You have free will,” Joel continued. “You can do whatever you want.”

“Okay?”

“Do you want our help?”

“With what?”

He sighed on the other line, he sounded defeated. Elvis entered the kitchen then, looking confused. “What’s going on?”

Andrea looked at you, her eyes pleading with you. You didn’t know if she wanted you to spare her and Joel or hear them out.

You took the phone from your ear, keeping your eyes trained on her as you handed it to Elvis. You hadn’t noticed it before but it was at that moment that you had felt the true impact of your final decision.

“It’s Joel,” You said—your voice sounded flat and separate from yourself. “He wants to talk to you.”

You didn’t wait to hear what came of the conversation. Nor did you linger to see the look of ultimate betrayal on Andrea’s face as you walked away.

She followed after you—stopping you with tears in her eyes. “I’ll never come back here. I refuse to stand by and watch you lose yourself like this.”

You stalled at the bottom of the stairs but you didn’t face her. You couldn’t.

“If I leave now, you’ll never see me again,” She said. “Please, don’t make me leave you.”

If you had another little piece of your heart to spare you would’ve given it to be crushed as she stood there awaiting your response. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke again.

“Come with me.”

You felt her hand slip into yours and, for a moment, you wanted to go. You turned and hugged her, despite the fury still burning in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m gonna miss you,” You said with tears in your eyes that you didn’t feel like crying. “I love you.”

She hugged you back but only for a moment before you were pulling away. You went upstairs without another word or glance in her direction.

You didn’t want to be bothered when Elvis found you upstairs. “Leave me alone,” You said, before he could say a word. “Just leave me alone.”

He caught the bathroom door before you could shut it, forcing it open. “What the hell was that?”

You rushed to leave the room, but he didn’t let you get far.

“What is it that Andrea’s got going on, huh?” He asked, keeping you in place by your arm. “She’s got Joel calling to talk to you, why?”

“I-I don’t know.”

He let you go, pacing angrily. “There’s no reason he should be calling to talk to you about anything. Let alone some made-up issue that Andrea’s conjured up. This is why I can’t fucking stand her. And you don’t make it any better by falling for everything she says.”

You looked at him, bewildered. “Is this my fault?”

“What’d she tell him?” He asked, fuming.

“I’m as surprised by all of this as you are,” You stressed. “I have no clue what they talked about before.”

“Bullshit~”

“I had nothing to do with this~”

“Bullshit! You’ll never talk to her again.”

“What?”

“I want her gone. I gave you a chance, it’s fucking done.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Excuse me?”

His jaw unclenched as he spoke. “You heard me.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. It’s for your own good.”

“Is it? Or is it for yours?”

He shook his head with a look of disdain. “That’s exactly what the fuck I’m talking about. That’s all her.”

“No, it’s me.” You stepped in front of him, making him face you. “I’m asking you.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“By not taking my aunt’s calls? By keeping me isolated from everyone?”

“Everyone?” He asked. “Dawn, I’m sorry about, honey, I really am. But who else is there?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I haven’t exactly been standing guard by the phone, and, last time I checked, it works both ways. You can call anyone, anytime. What’s stopping you?”

You didn’t meet his eyes but refused to step away when he neared you.

“There is no one else,” He said. “Joel and Dawn. Two people who’s call probably got thrown out with the other hundreds of calls that come through asking for you.”

“So?”

“So, it’s not like you’re locked in a bunker with no communication with the outside world. Don’t be a baby.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t be.”

You met his eyes when he fell silent, trying not to let the hurt show in your expression. “You told Liz not to speak to me.”

Despite your suspicion, you weren’t prepared for his confirmation. Something about his tone made you think that he didn’t want you to find out. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“To protect you.”

“From what, Elvis?”

“…Things you don’t need to hear.”

You turned your back to him, hoping it would stop him from coming any closer. It didn’t.

“I’m not punishing you.” He placed his hands gently on your shoulders.

“Do you want me to be alone?” You asked.

“No, I want you to be with me,” He said. “I can’t risk anyone coming between us and messing with your head.”

You didn’t know what to say. His hands slipped down your shoulders and his arms wrapped around your torso.

“People like Andrea and Joel…they’ll ruin us if you let them, birdie,” He continued. “And I’ll be damned if I let anything or anyone tear us apart again. Do you understand?”

He kissed your shoulder, then your neck—murmuring against your skin. He told you how much he loved and needed you and that nothing could ever come between you. He swore that he’d be there, that you wouldn’t be alone because you’d have him. Always.

“We go together. That means wherever I go, you go.”

He loved doing that—repeating himself until his words became ingrained into the very fiber of your being.

You were supposed to relinquish all control and live within your false sense of bliss, happily. That’s what he expected of you—so that's what you did.

You let him silence your curiosity.

“It’s you, and me. Always.”

Cage up your free will.

“You’re my girl. I’m just making sure you’ll always be my girl.”

However he wanted you—

“Okay, birdie?”

—you’d try your best to be.

“…Okay, E.”

He seemed relieved. He sighed, and some of the tension left his body. He kissed your shoulder once more before pulling away.

“Come on,” He said. “Let’s go downstairs.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to. Liz didn’t get you all dolled up for nothing.”

You nodded—not in agreement exactly. “I’m tired.”

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, no doubt deciding whether or not to force you. “Do you want me to stay?”

“No.” You didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want to be with him either.

“Are you sure?” He hummed suggestively, slipping his arms around your waist again and kissing your neck.

“Stop,” You laughed, pushing him away. “I’m sure.”

“Alright,” He sighed. “I’ll be back up in a few minutes.”

A few minutes turned into a few hours turned into the entire night and some of the next day. You didn’t know what time it was when you finally woke up. When you did, Liz was already there for you.

“How was your day yesterday, Liz?” You asked, even though you knew she wouldn’t give you much of a response.

“Fine, thank you,” She said without elaborating or even glancing up as you did your hair.

“What’d you get up to?” You asked, humoring yourself.

“…Nothing.” She shrugged off the question, showing you yourself in the mirror. “Something for around the house.”

“It’s perfect,” You said, hardly glancing at yourself. “Thank you.”

She smiled bashfully. “Of course.”

Serena entered the room carrying the coffee you requested. You didn’t want it, you just wanted to get rid of her.

You didn’t pay her any mind as she placed the coffee on the table in front of you. Elvis entered after her, meeting your eyes through the vanity.

He always waited until you were fully dressed to come get you. You didn’t know why. There was no mystery to what you’d be wearing or how your hair and makeup would be styled—it was his choice after all.

“You’re gorgeous, doll,” He said, leaning down to kiss your cheek before presenting you with a narrow black box. “Final touch.”

“What is it?” You asked, taking it.

“Open it and see.” He smiled and watched intently as you opened the box.

You offered a smile, hoping you looked pleased with the bracelet.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

“I love it.”

He took the bracelet from the box and carefully secured it around your wrist. You stood when it was done and gave him a hug—thanking him.

He dragged you along with him to the studio that day. You figured you were back to being attached at the hip. You were never sure what they were working on—it happened so fast in those days.

“Stay with Ray and Serena,” He said, taking your face in his hands and examining your expression. You weren’t sure what he was looking for. Was he picking apart your appearance or your expression? You couldn’t tell and it made you feel over-scrutinized. “I’ll come find you when we’re all done here.”

“I’ll be waiting.” What else would you be doing?

Ray showed you to the green room. Him and Serena stood by the door in shifts—they tried to go about switching out and taking guard in a casual manner. They’d pretend to be pacing the space in front of the door rather than posting up in front of it. Ray would do this thing where he’d stand and pretend to stretch his legs before Serena would suddenly decide to rest hers. It was funny, and did nothing to make you feel safe. It made you feel caged in and unable to move freely.

“Serena, can you grab my bag from the studio? I must’ve left it by accident.”

“Of course.”

You smiled as she left, looking at Ray. “Do you think they have water?”

His expression remained indifferent as always. “I’m sure they do.”

“Do you mind?”

You were relieved when they were gone and tried to take in the moment before it was over.

As you were slouched down on the couch a white envelope slipped beneath the crack of the door. You frowned and stood to grab it. You peaked out into the hallway—it was bustling with people. You shut the door and tore open the envelope. You didn’t even need to read it to know what it was.

A death threat.

You felt lightheaded. When you showed it to Ray he tried to take it to Elvis but you told him not to mention it and to get rid of it instead.

“Are you sure?” He asked. “They may still be on the premises.”

“It’s fine. No need to blow things out of proportion.”

He nodded and discarded the letter with a sigh. He stood by awkwardly as you cried and never tried to comfort you.

sorry for the late post! next week is the finale <3

#elvis presley #elvis x you #elvis imagine #elvis smut #black reader #elvis presely smut #elvis fluff #elvis x black reader #austin butler #50s elvis #60s elvis #what year is it #who knows #the bikeriders

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