#i belong to you elvis

[mistresslrigtar]

AO3 Wrapped early edition!

Are you looking for something to read over the holidays? Here are my top four stories (of all time) ranked by hits and kudos.

Multi-Chapter stories:

Third Time's a Charm - Hits: 5,867 Kudos: 234 (can you help it reach 6k by the end of 2024? I'd ask for help reaching 300 kudos, but that's asking a lot 😅 Rated: G

Summary:

A written montage of snapshot moments between Link and Zelda post-TotK, as they come to terms with the traumatic events of the Upheaval and slowly rediscover each other and their love. How many times can two people be forced to start their lives over?

Each chapter will be under 1k, so easy to read. Enjoy!

I Belong to You - Hits: 7,304 Kudos: 211 (can you help it reach 8k?) Rated: E 😳

Summary: As graduation approaches, Zelda’s best friend, Mipha, encourages her to take a night off to see a local college alt-rock band. That’s when Zelda sees Link, the band’s bass guitarist for the first time and falls hard. When her insecurity and Link’s best friend Ganondorf's drug addiction threatens their budding relationship, Zelda must learn to trust Link, and more importantly herself.

One-Shots:

Coming Undone - Hits: 1,505 Kudos: 59 Rated: E

Summary: Link returns home from cleaning up with the Monster Control Crew and Zelda gives him a welcome home he won't soon forget.

Enjoy the Silence - Hits: 1,758 Kudos: 145 Rated: G

Summary: Zelda vows to stand up for Link the next time Revali is disrespectful, which leads to her having a small breakdown. Link comforts her, and Zelda realizes how much she enjoys the silence (that maybe isn't so quiet, depending on how you look at it) Link brings to her life.

[septembersghost]

remembering Elvis' last performance; June 26th, 1977 💛💛💛

(via, x ✨)

[fortheloveoflatinum]

I Found God...

I found God in a book I was reading, so I gently closed the pages and slowly backed away while chanting the pagan song of my people.

It all worked out in the end because it was a library book.

The moral of the story: If you find God, return to sender.

Caption for all the Captains out there who can't see the GIF: Elvis singing and dancing to his song, "Return to Sender," looking entirely too happy about the fact that, as subbed, the mailman came: "Bright and early next morning, he brought my letter back."

[moronwithoutmo]

You inspired me haha

Sorry it’s Terzo, but he’s my favorite 👉👈

Manifesting a drawing of one of the Papas (any one as long as its Young Nihil) in Elvis's leather getup 🙏

I may have to do it myself but hnggggg I am not very confident at rendering sexy ppl

[lolab4t]

her night nurse - fluff

pairing: thunderbolt!yelena belova x f!reader summary: when yelena shows up at your apartment at 2 am, bleeding and sarcastic as ever, it’s not the first time... and probably won’t be the last. you’re just a civilian with a quiet life and no medical training, but somehow, you’ve become her nurse and the place she escapes to. tonight, the injuries are worse. the banter is softer. and maybe, just maybe, something’s shifting between you. word count: 7k warning(s): thunderbolts* mentioned, WLW, some angst, fluff, injury and blood, medical terms, mild language, mutual pining a/n: i am aware that canonically, yelena is meant to be ace. this is just a fun little story! i really hope you enjoy :) and if you do, please feel free to like, comment, or reblog! <3 also, requests are open!

love me - elvis presley

it was around 2 am when you heard a knock at your apartment door. you crawled out of bed, twisting the door handle open. you already knew who it was.

yelena stood before you, scratched up, bleeding, holding her side.

"well, you look like shit." you uttered, moving to let her inside.

"that's no way to greet a guest." she answered as she entered, her accent thick.

your relationship was strange. you were just a normal civilian with a quiet life, stable job, and a boring apartment. yelena was a trained russian assassin and a new avenger. on paper, you didn't exactly have much in common.

you’ve known her for a few months now and while you wouldn’t call her a friend, she appears at your door a few times a week: hungry, sarcastic, full of cryptic jokes. she once admitted to you that your place felt like an escape… from the thunderbolts, her job, her past. it was the only place she felt halfway normal.

ironically, the way you had met was far from normal. yelena was bleeding then too. she had kicked open your door, thinking it belonged to a criminal. instead, you stood before her: a stunned civilian holding a spatula.

her voice was smooth like honey, and her accent caught you off-guard. "this isn't 3B is it?"

"uhm, no… it's 3D." you had laughed nervously in response, which earned a chuckle out of her. you both felt weirdly at ease for a moment.

that's when you noticed the stab wound in her thigh. after recognizing her as a thunderbolt, you invited her in and patched her up with your cheap first-aid kit... the one you hadn't looked at since you moved in. and from then on, you became her медсестра (nurse), as she liked to call you.

you would never admit it, but you liked when she called you that. you liked the way it sounded coming out of her mouth.

she would come to you when she had so much as a scrape. you weren't exactly qualified or an expert, so you always scolded her about going to a hospital instead. she never listened. she never seemed to care about your lack of expertise. that wasn't the reason she came to see you.

now, you find yourself closing your door, turning to the girl in question, "lena, it's 2 in the morning."

"медсестра (nurse), i need some patching up here." she faked a pout, sitting on your couch in a laidback manner.

you could never deny her. not when she spoke in that teasing tone, or sat back in that maddeningly hot pose.

you groaned, noticing the trail of blood she had left, "you're leaking all over my ikea rug, again. i just steam cleaned that."

"you own a steam cleaner?"

you rolled your eyes, gesturing for her to take a seat at your kitchen table while you retrieved your first-aid kit.

she obliged, sitting back in it comfortably, like she had done so many times before.

you kneeled before her, instructing her to raise her shirt a bit so you could see the wound on her side. you grimaced at the sight of it, noticing it was deeper than her usual wounds. "lena, you should really go to a hospital for this one."

she shook her head, "i don't trust them. you know that, глупый (silly)."

another nickname. you never complained.

you scoffed, grabbing the antiseptic. you began to clean the wound gently. you felt her wince slightly as it hit her skin, but she covered it quickly. she watched you work in silence for a few moments, the air seeming to buzz around you.

"hold still," you muttered, focused, as you carefully cleaned closer to the wound.

"you are very bossy." she smirked, her accent still thick as ever.

you just scoffed in response, leaning back on your heels to survey the wound again.

“this one’s gonna need stitches,” you murmured, shaking your head. “i can’t do those. not properly.”

“i trust you,” yelena said, too fast. too confidently.

you froze for a second, then looked up. she was already watching you, eyes more serious than before. guarded, but open just enough.

did she know what she was doing to you?

“you shouldn’t,” you said, laughing softly, trying to hide how flustered she was making you.

“but i do.” she said again, more firm this time.

she had to know. she had to know what she was doing to you. she had to be aware that she was torturing you.

you didn’t respond. instead, you reached for the superglue and bandages, trying to ignore the way your hands were shaking just slightly. trying not to think about the way she was looking at you.

you did the best you could when it came to closing the wound. you dressed it in gauze and bandages carefully, standing up with a sigh of contentment when you finished.

"you wanna stay the night again?" you asked casually, as you began cleaning up.

she nodded slowly, "if it's not too much."

yelena had stayed over a few times now. you always offered her your bed, but she never accepted. she would usually just stay on your couch.

you hummed, "it's not. you can take the bed." you offered it to her as you always did, expecting her to decline.

"only if you're in it too, властная девушка (bossy girl)."

your breath caught. you couldn't tell if she was joking. neither could she.

this was the answer you had always wished for, but you never expected it.

then she stood up. slowly, carefully, like she was testing something. then she stepped in front of you.

“come to bed. i know you're tired,” she said, not teasing. just asking.

you blinked. “you’re bleeding.”

“then stay close. make sure I don’t die.”

you scoffed out a laugh, giving her a tired look, “that's not funny... but alright. fine.”

she didn’t smile… not exactly. but something eased in her shoulders. you followed her into the bedroom, flipping the light off on your way. the quiet felt heavy, but not uncomfortable.

she lied back in the bed carefully, wincing just a little as she adjusted.

you grabbed an extra blanket and went to hand it to her, but she caught your wrist instead.

“stay,” she looked up at you, this time softer. not a tease. a plea.

you hesitated for just a second, staring down at her fingers wrapped around your wrist. it felt like your heart had stopped.

then, slowly, you nodded. “okay.”

yelena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. you lied down beside her under the sheets, facing her with your head on your pillow. it was quiet for a few moments as you looked at one another.

then she smiled. god, her smile was beautiful.

“this is nice,” she mumbled.

you huffed a quiet laugh. “bleeding on my sheets is nice?”

she shrugged lightly, smirking. “you make it nice.”

your heart fluttered at that.

hoping she couldn't see the blush creeping up on your cheeks in the darkness, you let out a light scoff. “you gonna get all sentimental on me now, belova?”

yelena smirked, her eyelids getting heavy, “never.”

a second of silence, filled only with both of your breathing. then she whispered...

“…maybe a little.” her eyes were fully closed now.

“goodnight, lena,” you whispered back, closing your own eyes.

her voice was barely audible. “goodnight, моя любовь (my love).”

thanks so much for reading <3

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: Song lyrics that describe your future relationship

Hello and welcome to this reading! Here I will give you song lyrics that describe your future relationship. I hope you enjoy this reading!

masterpost > paid readings > patreon masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here the 18+ version is here

Pile 1:

“You’re still the one I run to, the one that I belong to / You’re still the one I want for life.” – Still the One – Shania Twain

“I’ve loved you for a thousand years / I’ll love you for a thousand more.” – A Thousand Years – Christina Perri

“I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets / To carry love, to carry children of our own.” – Perfect – Ed Sheeran

“I never thought I'd be in love with you / But I guess that it was meant to be.” – You and Me – Lifehouse

“You are the one, I will love forever / You are the one, I will never leave.” – I Will Always Love You – Whitney Houston

“And I can't help falling in love with you.” – Can't Help Falling in Love – Elvis Presley

“The more I think about it, the more I think about you / I just want to be with you.” – Everything – Michael Bublé

“You are my best friend, but I also love you / I love the way you look at me.” – I’m Yours – Jason Mraz

“When I look in your eyes, I see forever / And I know I don’t have to go anywhere.” – All of Me – John Legend

“I knew I loved you before I met you / I think I dreamed you into life.” – I Knew I Loved You – Savage Garden

extended reading > 18+ version > paid readings

Pile 2:

“And I’ll be your friend / I’ll help you carry on / For it won’t be long / ‘Til I’m gonna need somebody to lean on.” – Lean on Me – Bill Withers

“When I fall in love, it will be forever / Or I’ll never fall in love.” – When I Fall in Love – Nat King Cole

“You’re the one that I want / You are the one I want / Ooh, ooh, ooh, honey.” – You're the One That I Want – John Travolta & Olivia Newton-John

“And I can’t help but wonder, how much you love me.” – I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You – Elvis Presley

“The way you look at me / The way you touch me / The way you love me / It feels so good.” – I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing – Aerosmith

“I’ll be your shelter / I’ll be your armor / I’ll be your strength / I’ll be your love.” – I’ll Be Your Shelter – Taylor Dayn

“No one ever loved me like you do, / Oh, you’re the only one I see / You’ve got to keep me by your side.” – Only One – The Chainsmokers

“I’ll be right here / I’ll be right here waiting for you.” – Right Here Waiting – Richard Marx

“You're my only reason, you're my only truth / I was born to love you.” – I Was Born to Love You – Queen

“I don’t need a lot of things / I can get by with nothing / But all I need is you.” – I Don’t Need Anything But You – From Annie

extended reading > 18+ version > paid readings

Pile 3:

“We don’t have to talk, it’s alright / Just be my woman tonight / We don’t have to talk, it’s alright / Just be my woman tonight.” – Let's Stay Together – Al Green

“Love is all around me, and so the feeling grows / It’s written on the wind, it’s everywhere I go.” – Love is All Around – Wet Wet Wet

“The harder I try to forget / The harder it gets / I will be here.” – I Will Be Here – Steven Curtis Chapman

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve been, I’ll make it right / I’m sorry for the times I haven’t been the one you need.” – Sorry – Beyoncé

“And if you’re feeling scared, you can take my hand / And we’ll fight through it together, you and me.” – Fighter – Christina Aguilera

“We fight, we laugh, we make up / We cry, we laugh, we fall apart / But we’re still standing here.” – You’re Still the One – Shania Twain

“There’s no place like home, you’re where I want to be / So don’t fight it, baby, just be with me.” – Home – Michael Bublé

“I’ll be the one to hold you tight / The one to make things right / After all the times we’ve tried.” – Make It Right – Backstreet Boys

“I’ll never give up on us / I’ll never give up on love.” – Never Give Up On Us – David Soul

“We’re not perfect, but we’re perfect for each other.” – Perfect – Pink

extended reading > 18+ version > paid readings

[caracalla-dondus]

Suspicious Minds

Pairing: Emperor Geta/wife!reader

Summary: A senator informs Geta about the rumors surrounding his wife

Author's Note: This fic consists of pieces I took out from a much longer fic I had written. After reading what I originally wrote I didn't really vibe with the whole thing and so I took out parts I liked best to create this fic. Idk if it's better or worse because things feel a bit rushed in this fic now and not as cohesive as before but it's good enough I think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I was partly inspired by Fire & Blood where it says that some in court found Queen Rhaenys Targaryen suspicious because she spent time with bards and singers and they were sure she must be having an affair on Aegon I. Also the title is from the Elvis song of the same name because it popped into my head while writing this because it's similar to the plot lol.

~~~

The late afternoon sun streamed through the marble arches of the palace, casting shadows across the floor of the Emperor’s private chamber. Emperor Geta paced restlessly, his jaw clenched tight, his fingers twitching. The rumors had come to him this morning, carried by a senator whose words had been carefully chosen, yet laced with venom.

“She is often seen in the company of poets and bards, my Emperor. Some say perhaps too often.”

The words echoed in Geta’s mind as he strode to the balcony. Below him, others strolled about, oblivious to the storm brewing in his heart. He had always known that his wife had a fondness for the arts. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her. The way her eyes lit up when she heard the verses of a poem she thought was interesting, the soft smile that graced her lips during the final notes of a ballad. She was a woman of intelligence and charm. Perfect qualities to be his empress.

But now those very same qualities and interests had become the source of his unrest.

~

Geta finds his wife out in the garden. “I had hoped to speak with you my wife,” he said, his tone polite but firm. 

“What troubles you, my love?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she stepped closer to him.

Geta studied her, his gaze lingering on her face, searching for some sign of guilt. But she looked as she always did, serene, composed, and beautiful. “There are whispers in the court,” he began slowly, “that your affection for music and poetry has extended beyond mere appreciation.”

His wife’s eyes widened, and then she laughed softly, a sound like the chiming of bells. “Surely you don’t believe such nonsense.”

“I don’t want to,” Geta admitted, his voice low. “But the court is not kind to a woman who spends her days surrounded by other men, no matter how innocent her intentions.”

Her smile faded, and she placed a hand on his arm. “Geta, these men are poets, musicians and artists. They speak to me about the soul, not the flesh. My heart belongs to you, and only you.”

He wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her. But the thought of her laughter, her attention, her admiration being bestowed on another man gnawed at him. “Then why do others speak of you so?” he demanded, his voice rising slightly. “Why do they say you adore Bacchus so much that you have embraced his indulgences?”

His wife stiffened, her hand falling away. “Do you question my virtue?” she asked, insulted that her husband would believe such nonsense about her.

“I question the company you keep!” he snapped, the words sharper than he intended.

She took a step back, her expression conveying her hurt and frustration. “You have always known who I am Geta. I am not a woman content to sit idly in the palace, just simply gossiping my day away. I find joy in the divine chaos of creation. If that makes me suspicious in the eyes of our court then so be it. But I will not apologize for things I did not do.”

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy with emotion. Geta clenched his fists, his anger warring with his love for her. Finally he spoke, his voice softer. “I do not wish to stifle you. But I cannot bear the thought of others questioning your loyalty or your love for me.”

His wife stepped closer, her gaze steady. “Then let me reassure you, my emperor. I am as sure of my love for you as I am about Sol bringing us the sun each morning. But if you doubt me, then tell me what must I do to prove myself?”

He sighed, reaching out to cup her face in his hands. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “Let the poets and bards sing their songs without you for once. Let Bacchus have his revelry elsewhere.”

She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. “If it will ease your mind, my dear husband then I will stay.”

Geta pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if to shield her from the whispers that sought to undermine them. But even as he held her, a shadow of doubt lingered, refusing to be banished entirely.

~

The grand halls of the palace echoed with the click of her delicate sandals against the marble floor. The weight of her husband’s arm on her shoulder was both reassuring and suffocating. For the past three days, Geta had not let her out of his sight. Where she went, he followed. Where he could not follow, he sent his guards to watch her every step. It was unlike him, and though his paranoia was silent, she could feel it in the way his fingers tightened around her arm, in the watchful, almost desperate glint in his eyes.

She had tried to comfort him, tried to reassure him of her loyalty, but it seemed no words could pierce through the suspicion that had taken hold of him.

During a feast, Geta watched his wife like a hawk as she entertained a visiting nobleman whose son had written a collection of poems. His wife listened to the man intently, her soft smile never wavering as the man recited a verse.

But Geta saw something else. He saw how the man’s eyes lingered on her, how her laughter seemed to light up the room. His fingers dug into the armrests of his chair, his jaw tightening. Was it admiration? Was it mere courtesy? Or was there something more? The thoughts churned in his mind like a storm, dark and unrelenting.

When the man left, Geta wasted no time. He rose abruptly, crossing the room to where his wife stood.

“You enjoyed his company,” he said, his voice low but laced with accusation.

His wife blinked, startled by his tone. “He was reciting his son’s poetry, my dear husband. That’s all it was.”

“You smiled at him,” Geta pressed, his eyes narrowing. “You laughed.”

“Am I not allowed to smile and laugh?” she asked softly, though there was a tinge of frustration in her voice. “Must I always wear a sour expression to please you?”

His hand shot out, gripping her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “You are mine,” he said, his voice trembling - not with anger, but with something deeper, something more fragile. “Your smiles, your laughter, they belong to me and no one else.”

Her eyes softened as she saw the flicker of insecurity behind his harsh words. She reached up, covering his hand with her own. “And they are yours, Geta,” she murmured. “Only yours.”

His grip loosened, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she might vanish. “I will not lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I cannot.”

~

For the next several days, Geta’s wife’s world shrank. Where she once wandered the gardens freely, now her husband walked beside her, his hand resting possessively on her waist. When she visited the library, he went with her. Her gatherings with poets and musicians were no more, replaced by dinners where Geta sat her beside him, his eyes never leaving her.

She tried to be understanding, but his constant scrutiny weighed heavily on her. One evening, as they sat together in their chambers, she finally spoke.

“Geta,” she began, her voice tentative. “Do you not trust me?”

He looked up from the goblet of wine in his hand, his expression guarded. “Of course I trust you, you are my wife,” he said after a long pause. “It is everyone else I do not trust.”

“You cannot keep watch over me forever,” she said.

His jaw tightened. “You are my wife,” he said firmly. “My empress. And I will not risk anyone else taking you from me.”

“Even if it means suffocating me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Geta flinched, as if her words had struck him. He set the goblet down and rose to his feet, pacing the room. “You do not understand,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I have enemies everywhere. We have enemies everywhere. They would use you against me. They would take you from me. Take your love away from me”

“Who could take me when I am yours in both heart and soul?” she asked, rising to stand before him.

He stopped, his gaze meeting hers. For a moment, he looked like a man on the edge of breaking, his carefully constructed armor of intimidation cracking to reveal the fear beneath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “But the thought of losing you terrifies me.”

She reached out, cupping his face in her hands. “Geta,” she said softly, “you will not lose me. I love you.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise me you will never leave me.”

“I promise,” she said, though her heart ached at the desperation in his voice.

He pulled her into his arms again, holding her as if his life depended on it. She sighed softly, resting her head against his chest. She understood that his possessiveness was not born of cruelty, nor out of a need to stifle her but it was of a fear he could not truly voice, a fear he could not truly reconcile with, and it had consumed him.

And so she stayed, tethered to him by her love for him, hoping that soon his insecurities would ease and he would see that she was his, not because he demanded it, but because she chose it. But she was not sure how much she could take of this suffocating behavior. Of every move of hers and every interaction being heavily watched.

~

She rarely let her frustrations boil to the surface, but this time was different. As she sat across from her husband in their private chambers, the weight of the senator’s venomous words and their impact on her marriage gnawed at her patience. For days and days now, Geta’s suffocating possessiveness had taken over every aspect of her life, and she could no longer bear the thought that this rift between them had been instigated by a man seeking to undermine her, a man seeking to replace her.

She set down her goblet with a sharp clink, her hands trembling, not with fear, but with barely restrained annoyance and anger. “I’ve been thinking, my dear husband,” she began, her voice calm but carrying an obvious edge to it.

Geta glanced up from his seat, his brow furrowing slightly at her tone. “What is it?”

She met his gaze, her eyes blazing with uncharacteristic determination. “The senator who came to you with these baseless rumors. I believe he must be punished.”

Geta blinked, clearly surprised. “Punished? For what?”

“For daring to speak against me,” she replied, her voice firm, slightly exasperated that he did not already know what she spoke of. “For poisoning your mind with lies and causing this… this chaos between us. He sought to undermine your confidence in me, to cast doubt on my loyalty, to possibly destroy my reputation. That is not something we should let go unanswered.”

Geta leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. “You surprise me, wife. I thought you were above petty revenge. You have always counseled me against such rash decisions before”

“This is not petty, nor is it rash!” she shot back, her tone sharpening. “He sought to disgrace me, your wife, your empress. By doing so, he has disgraced you as well. How can you tolerate such audacity?”

Her words struck a nerve. Geta’s insecurities flared, his mind racing as he considered her argument. She was right. The senator’s insinuations had not only called his wife’s loyalty into question but had also implied that Geta was a weak ruler, unable to control his own household. The thought made his blood boil.

“What would you have me do?” he asked, his voice low.

“Demote him. Remove him from his position. Let it be known that you will not tolerate slander against your Empress.”

Geta narrowed his eyes. “And if others see this as an act of weakness? A sign that I am blinded by my love for you?”

“Let them see it as a warning,” she countered. “Let them know that your loyalty to your wife is unwavering and that you will not allow anyone to sow baseless discord in your court.”

Her words appealed to Geta’s pride, and she could see the gears turning in his mind. After a long silence, he nodded slowly. “Very well. The senator will be dealt with. I’ll ensure his removal will be public and soon.”

Relief washed over her, though a part of her felt dissatisfied about simply just having the senator removed from his position. The senator had meddled in her marriage, made her husband watch every move she made for days now, and he deserved to face more severe consequences for it. The senator has a daughter around her age, she felt certain the senator was likely hoping to get her pushed aside to potentially make way for his daughter to get close to Geta, for her to be the next Empress of Rome. Geta’s wife seethed silently at the thought of someone replacing her, of someone attempting to steal her position. She thought about paying Caracalla a visit and informing him of the treacherous senator in their midst. He would certainly give her the dramatic reaction she wants.

Geta rose from his seat, crossing the room to stand before her. He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze softening. “You are right. I should never have allowed his words to poison my mind. You are my empress, my wife. No one will come between us again”

She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch and calming for a moment. “And I will always stand by your side Geta. But we must stand together, against anyone who seeks to divide us.”

Geta kissed her then, fierce and possessive, as if to reaffirm their bond. She let herself melt into the embrace, even as a small voice in the back of her mind wondered if she should push for more to be done about the senator. 

~~~~

reader can't take out her frustrations on Geta so she will take it out on the senator who started all of this instead lol

[elvis-official]

you know how you love taking songs from Black music artists and covering them, and then not giving any credit to the writers or original performers?

https://www.usatoday.com/story/entertainment/music/2022/06/30/elvis-presley-complicated-relationship-black-music/7746069001/

you also didn’t stand up for black rights during the civil rights movement and you didn’t give the original songwriters/singers credit or their fair share of the millions of dollars you earned.

i’m glad your white ass died on the toilet. i hope big mama thornton is beatin your ass with a big metal baseball bat in the afterlife. i bet when you were born everyone was like “woah mama that’s a big piece of shit” and i hope they all laughed when you died in the place you always belonged. the toilet.

(yeah. i had some anger to work out towards elvis presley. he didn’t do shit but profit off us. fuck him. would appreciate if you posted this for the info. only article i found that actually talked about how the all of the performers really felt. some supported him but mostly they wanted their money back cause it was THEIR SONGS that made him rich.)

Yeah... The real Elvis wasn't the best person ever, and unfortunately that was the standard of the time

At least you can revel in the fact that some native american tranny is desecrating his legacy like this

[twobitsblade]

Hi!!! I saw your poll and I was wondering if you could write a 60s!Elvis X Reader fic, where Reader is having a hard time at work because they can't seem to keep up with everything and Elvis finds them crying outside their work place? Comforting them and asking why they can't just let him take care of them?

Take all the time you need!❤️

(hello, thank you so much for requesting this! it was slightly difficult to write since this is my first time writing smut, but i hope you all enjoy it. i’d love to see more requests featuring elvis in my inbox!)

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ MY HEART BELONGS TO DADDY !

a work of fiction written by @twobitsblade and inspired by @atleastpleasetelephone, @jhoneybees, @wanderingelvis, @lustnhim, and @theelvisprincess !

contains: smut (obviously), reader and elvis are married, elvis is a cocky know-it-all with hints of the 1960s male mindset !

you and elvis had been together for a while now; around three years of loving, fighting, and arguing, but you knew that at the end of the day he’d always be there for you. and you knew that even when you took up a new job at your aunt’s boutique—something which elvis discouraged multiple times (“oh m’baby, you ain’t needuh do these stupid ol’ jobs, m’the one providin’”)—while you were very thankful for him, your aunt desperately needed your help, and who were you to turn her down?

but it turns out that perhaps elvis was right—this job began to be a lot more than you’d signed up for. originally, the deal was you’d wear a cute dress, get your hair done all nice (for free, mind you), and greet the customers, but then more and more duties started being asked of you.

“oh dear, can you go bring the boxes from the basement?” “can you go downtown and pick up some new hair dyes? we’re all out, and the shipment won’t be on time?” “can you give her a little trim? it’s not too complicated.”

while you don’t like to think of yourself as spoilt, you’re not very used to working these types of jobs. i mean, you and elvis have been together for years, and you’d gotten used to the comfy lifestyle he provided you.

one day, it just became too much—you were turning around like a dog, fulfilling one task after the other, and it didn’t help that you barely slept last night. it’s not like you could tell elvis about this because it’d prove him right, and you can’t handle that damn cocky smirk on his face as he tells you how he knows his little one wasn’t made for such hard work.

you sigh, placing your things down—the sound a bit louder than intended, causing you to flinch. you toss off your high heels, lazily running up the stairs of graceland and into the bedroom you and elvis shared—grand, beautiful, and decorated by both of you as a visual representation of your love for the other—but now all it felt was suffocating.

you plopped down on the bed, not bothering to change out of your outdoor clothes, and laid your head facing the ceiling when suddenly you heard rustling and groaning, causing you to turn your head as you saw the back of elvis’s head. he slowly turns around to face you, clearly still half asleep.

“mmm, hey m’baby, how’s work?” he says drowsily, grabbing you by the collar of your dress and pulling you close, wrapping his leg around your waist.

“it was fine, el—fine as usual,” you say, though he wasn’t stupid; even half asleep, he could tell. he groaned, rubbed his eyes, and sat up.

he looked you up and down before smirking—god damn it—“well, what’s the matter, huh, little ’un?” you rolled your eyes and weakly shoved him, the shove barely moving him.

“i said it was nothing, didn’t i?” you groaned, but he doesn’t care.

“ah, f’god’s sakes, just let me take care of my babygirl…” he groaned, grabbing you and laying you on top of him. you tried to pull away to no avail, causing you to let out a mewl which made him chuckle—everything about him was irritating you in that moment: his baby blue eyes, his tan skin, his perfectly, oh so disgustingly perfect smile, and the softness with which he looked at you, his girl. you sighed, resting your head on his chest and stifling a sob, and he noticed, tangling his fingers in your hair, “shh, m’girl, tell daddy what happened.” you did, and even though it all came out as incomprehensible high-pitched, whiny rambles, he nodded as though he understood you—not just your words, but the language of your soul.

you eventually felt content, done venting. you sighed, wiped your tears, and looked up at him, and suddenly you chuckled. it wasn’t quite wry but not quite from happiness; you felt good—elvis always had a way of making you feel good.

and in your exhausted state, you needed him, needed him badly, and he could see that; after all, he knew you inside and out. his hand went down to your back, then to your hip, then to your butt, then to your thigh, causing you to feel slight tingles coursing through you—you hated that, you hated how easily he could get you in such a vulnerable state.

“baby, come on, you need to open up for me. how else can i keep you safe, huh, lil ’un?”—ah, the typical elvis double entendre.

you nodded slowly, turning around on his lap so he could unzip your dress, the slight friction causing him to groan, “fuckin’ tease, you are…” he said, unzipping your dress slowly but surely, “ah, m’girls wearin’ somethin’ fancy, hmm?” he said, observing your baby pink bra with lace detailing. your face heated up at his words as you expected him to unbuckle your bra, but he didn’t.

he linked his fingers underneath the clasp and pulled you backwards so that your back rested on his chest, as his hands, in a painfully slow manner, slid down from your cleavage to your ribs, to your belly, down to your pelvic bone, and under your skirt—and you arched into him, causing a giggle to escape him. “hmm, needy, ain’t ya?” he said, his fingers rubbing circles on your clothed cunt as you squirmed into his touch. he slipped one finger underneath the fabric and then inside you, causing you to let out a loud, high-pitched moan—and god knows he wasn’t going to be the one to silence those sounds—then another finger, then a third and final one, as he slowly began pumping them in and out of you. you lost yourself in his touch; incomprehensible words mixed with moans left your mouth drowned by his groans—the sounds almost pornographic.

he pulled his fingers out and wiped them on your dress, causing you to whine at the sudden emptiness you felt and at the vulgarity of the action.

he rolled around so that you were now under him, and a surge of excitement crossed you.

he removed his pants, then his boxers, his erect cock springing out from them. he grinned, “y’ready m’baby?” you nodded, preparing yourself as he aligned his tip with your entrance, your wetness working as the perfect lube, and slowly—painfully slowly—he entered you, moans leaving your mouth as your mind became dazed, hungry for the man you loved so much.

slowly, he began thrusting in and out repeatedly, causing you to let out a strange sound—a mix of a scream and a yowl—with his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of your hips. “mm, take it for me like a good little girl.” you nodded, continuing, and as you felt your climax approaching, he nodded, a silent signal that you could release yourself, and so you did—all over him—and soon after, he followed.

you both plopped down onto the bed with a sigh. he looked at your tired frame with admiration, the sweat glistening off your body and making you look like an angel. he hugged you slowly, “m’girl, you gotta be honest with me; i’m always gonna be takin’ care of you, aight?” you nodded, letting out a gentle mix between a whimper and a sigh as his body embraced yours.

[lucifers-favorite-child]

kon would have so many feelings about lilo & stitch here's my evidence:

Stitch is a genetic experiment who's punished for being made

Stitch doesn't have a name at first and is instead called Experiment 626 like Kon was project 13

feral little beast (affectionate) associated with blue and red 💙❤️💙

he's fluffy

lives in Hawai'i

his best friend is a little human who's clearly neurodivergent (adhd & austistic bestfriendism)

"What must it be like to have nothing? Not even memories to visit in the middle of the night?"

everything about the ugly duckling

"he's sad because he's all alone and nobody wants him. but on this page his family hears him crying and they find him. then the ugly duckling was happy because he knows where he belongs."

I think Kon would listen to Elvis

Stitch's guilt after causing mayhem and destruction while trying to fit in

I'd bet money Kon surfs. $2.

Stitch seeing Lilo and Nani and David as a family and desperately trying to be a part of it even if he gets hurt. looking on the outside in on the connection you desperately want and knowing you weren't made for that.

"you can be our baby and we'd raise you to be good"

lilo saying "I'll remember you though. I remember everyone who leaves" gives me tim feels

Stitch waiting for his family, but ... "You don't have one."

unrelated, but david was out here on the job search FOR NANI! there has never been another man

"You're VILE, you're FOUL, you're FLAWED!" "Also cute and fluffy ����😘😘"

Stitch claiming the name his family gave him instead of experiment 626!

"This is my family. I found it all on my own. It's little, and broken, but still good."

You can't tell me Kon doesn't cry hysterically watching this movie for the first time.

[tarotofhope]

PAC: ♡ Channelled Love Songs from your Current/Future Romantic Partner ♡

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

🎶 All dividers on this blog are provided by @uzmacchiato 🎶

Masterlist | Paid Services

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

(You can find all the songs mentioned in the Piles on SPOTIFY. Unfortunately Tumblr only allows 10 audio links per post🥲)

Pile 1

Songs - Aaya Jado Da by Asees Kaur

Screen Time by Epik High ft. Hoshi

Don't Forget To Breathe by Aaryan Shah

Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. First of all, lot of green ink occured in your pile. Your partner seems very caring, nurturing and protective of you. They might be a very caring and loving person themselves, very protective of their belongings and loved ones. They like to have a quick check on you(like not in a toxic or negative way). They want to know you better and your little quirks. They genuinely care about your well being. They might be very cautious, structured, organised individual, a fitness freak as well. They seem kind of very picky, they don't open up to just anybody, they might have very few close friends. They're mostly not interested in flings and one-night stands. They take relationships seriously so they'll only jump into it when they see some real value in it. This person is like a 'husband/wife material' person or atleast a long term partner. This also seems like a long distance relationship to me or getting into a relationship after a series of personal hardships when you've become very mature either age-wise or experience-wise.

So, that's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.

Hope you're with this person or find this person soon 😉

Hope, light, love and peace to you..🌸🌼🌻

Pile 2

Songs - Talk About Love by Callum Beattie

Seven- Clean Version by Jungkook

Tenu Khabar Nahi by Arijit Singh

Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. Have you guys currently been in separation or broken up with your partner? This could be a recent past energy as well. See, now this also looks like an ex's energy(I don't like to go into this topic because it creates unnecessary confusion but it appeared in the reading so I had to) and whether ex or not, if you strictly don't want this person back into your life, you must then very well know that you've ended up for good and you don't need to allow this person back or this pile totally isn't for you, you should select another pile. One thing is prominent though, one of you has done something bad to the another person..and that was the main reason for your guys' separation. I'm nobody to judge you guys, you know yourselves better. Well, whoever this person is, they want to reconcile with you or you're currently reconciling already. It could be a different case for everyone choosing this pile. It could be so that this person or both of you might still have feelings for each other. This person wants to make things better or do things right. There is a promise of not making the same mistakes again. This person is asking for another chance. Now, you need to decide for yourselves, what's good for you and what's not. It's totally up to you.

That's all I see in the cards for you, my dear Pile 2.

Hope, light, love and peace to you..🌸🌼🌻

Pile 3

Songs - Tera Mera Hai Pyar Amar by Ahmed Jahanzeb

I'm Gonna Love You by D.O. ft. Wonstein

Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley

Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. This person looks so in love. But more so, this person is very sure of you, there feelings are very intense, too. As they are saying, that it's so easy to fall in love with you, either it's a love at first sight situation or there is a certain clarity about choosing you/about wanting to continue further with you. Nothing can change their mind about you. They are giving me strong future spouse energy because they just want to take you away as soon as possible. So, they'll be very assertive in their approach towards you in the courtship period itself. I also think that they'll be the first one to approach you if you've not met this person already. They'll make sure that you know they are not just fooling around, that you're in for a very long ride. They'll also want to make sure that you too, feel the same way for them before going very far because they want it all or nothing. They'll definitely try to win your heart over, Pile 3.

That's all I got for you, dear Pile 3.

Hope, light, love and peace to you..🌼🌸🌻

Pile 4

Songs - Young And Beautiful by Lana Del Rey

Every Second by Baekhyun from EXO (Record of

Youth OST- 3)

Aadat Se Majboor by Benny Dayal

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4. This person might be a heart-throb. Popular person energy(for their work or looks). Everybody swoons over them. Their energy is quite charming and charismatic. They are bold, fun loving and outgoing, life of the party kind of person. You both might be quite the opposite of each other. They will be very confident in their approach. They might just be nervous about how to woo you because you are different from others and they don't want to make any mistake. They don't want to look like a creep. If you've already met this person or in a relationship, you know. They are someone who'll totally make a fool out of themselves to make you laugh. They love to see you smile and laugh but also, you don't laugh a lot, it seems. There seems to be a lot of people who are sexually attracted to them, but they choose you because you are special to them, you're not like the others according to them. They might've got their heart broken a couple times earlier due to which they're afraid of losing you but that's not going to be the case because they're sure of one thing that you're very firm in your decisions, rock solid and you won't run away when life gets bad. You guys are going to be like a power couple, each helping the other person where they are lacking, each completing the other.

So, that's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.

Hope, light, love and peace to you..🌻🌼🌸

Pile 5

Pile 5

Songs - Lover by Taylor Swift

Spider By Hoshi

Tere Mast Mast Do Nain by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5. Your person seems very Venusian(very lovey-dovey, full of charm, likes fine art) and Neptunian(very dreamy) to me, a hopeless romantic even. Some of you might also be attracted to Pile 4, because this pile has got some similar vibes. They are magnetic, could also be popular for something that they do, something that only they create. They have a good taste in music as well, could be a musician or they like to play musical instruments. Dancing and singing could be their hobby or talent. They are also someone who knows flirting like the back of their hand. It comes naturally to them, sometimes they don't even know that they're flirting. They might also like good food and fine-dining, might also love to cook. You might not like this person in the beginning because you think they're a flirt and they don't look serious, but you'll eventually start liking them because they're not what they seem from the outside. It is giving me the vibes of 'One fell in love first, but the other one fell harder.' Their heart is so pure and innocent. They'll woo you with their heart, Pile 5. You seem like a tough nut to crack to them, someone who's hard to get. I also think you've got pretty eyes and a resting b**** face. They love it. There's going to be a playful banter between you guys. Everything will be worth it in the end.

So, that's all I've got for you, my dear Pile 5.

Hope, light, love and peace to you..🌻🌼🌸

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

——————————— ♡ ♡ ♡ ———————————

[rottenherbs]

Can’t Help It

Pairing: F.W x Reader Request: Hello! I recently listened to Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley, and I really loved it. So can I please request a Fred Weasley x Reader story inspired by this song? Something fluffy and cozy, maybe? Thank you in advance :) W/C: 1.3k A/N: BEAUTIFUL sweet stupid sappy bullshit. Love this kind of stuff to write. Thank u for the request! PLS anyone give me writing ideas i love the stories <3 [masterlist] Much Love, Saige

The thing about you and Fred Weasley was that it had always been almost.

Almost brushing hands under the table in the Great Hall.

Almost kissing goodnight after late-night study sessions.

Almost admitting something real when he teased you a little too gently, or when you lingered a little too long by his side at Quidditch matches.

It had built slowly — a thousand tiny moments stitched together into something neither of you dared name. You had both been so good at hiding it. Or maybe just too scared of ruining something that already felt too rare, too important.

Because Fred wasn’t just jokes and bright eyes and daring smiles. Not with you. With you, he was full of soft-spoken confessions. Half-finished letters tucked into pockets. Unsaid things floating between you like half-caught stars.

You weren’t sure when it had changed from friendship to something more.

But maybe it had always been something more. Maybe you’d just finally gathered the courage to see it

———

The castle seemed to exhale around you — a deep, gentle sigh of warmth and magic after a long, cold day.

The common room was nearly empty, save for a few first-years huddled near the fire and the soft clatter of chess pieces from a forgotten board in the corner. The world outside the windows was a frozen painting: thick flakes of snow falling slow as feathers.

Fred Weasley, in his usual easy way, had found you curled up on the couch by the fire and simply… settled beside you like he belonged there.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. You and Fred had always existed in some quiet orbit of each other — joking, teasing, lingering longer than necessary after study groups or meals. But lately, things felt different.

Lately, sitting beside him made your heart ache in a way you didn’t fully understand.

Fred stretched, the hem of his worn Gryffindor jumper riding up just enough to show a sliver of pale skin before he slumped back, cocoa balanced precariously in one hand. His other hand — the one closest to you — rested on the back of the couch, fingers barely brushing your shoulder in a way that felt dangerous and intentional.

You tried not to look at him.

You failed miserably.

Fred caught you staring and smirked, tilting his head just slightly, curls falling into his eyes. “You thinking about running away from me, love?”

You flushed and ducked your head, hiding your smile behind your mug. “Maybe,” you said softly. “Maybe I’m thinking about staying.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too heavy, too true.

The fire snapped in the hearth. Fred’s smirk faded into something softer, something achingly gentle.

He set his mug down, moving slowly, like he was afraid one sudden movement might scare you off. You felt him shift closer, the side of his thigh pressing into yours, his warmth seeping through every layer of your clothes.

“Good,” Fred murmured, voice rough at the edges. “Because I’m bloody tired of pretending I don’t care if you stay or go.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you placed your cocoa aside. You didn’t trust yourself to speak — not when he was looking at you like that, like you were something rare and precious he’d stumbled upon and wasn’t quite sure he deserved.

You shifted, clutching your cocoa a little tighter between your hands. The fire’s warmth seeped into your skin, but your heart still fluttered unevenly, too aware of how close Fred was, how easy it would be to lean into him.

You needed something — anything — to ground you.

“So,” you said, your voice a little too bright, “what kind of trouble did you get into today?”

Fred chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest, and you felt it more than heard it.

“Me? Trouble?” He pressed a hand to his heart, looking scandalized. “I’m wounded, love.”

You raised an eyebrow, grinning into your cup. “I seem to remember George covered in green paint at breakfast. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Fred leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a mock whisper. “Pure coincidence. Might’ve been a tiny experiment gone a bit sideways.” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “George always said he wanted to see the world through a different lens. Thought I’d give him a head start.”

You laughed, feeling some of the nervous energy bleed out of you.

Fred smiled at you — really smiled, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your stomach flip — and for a moment, everything else melted away.

It was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth and stolen glances and words that meant more than they should.

Instead, you did the only thing you could: you hummed. Not sure if it was out of anxiety to fill the space or something cosmic pushing you towards something magical. 

It was quiet, almost instinctive — a song your mother used to sing when the world was too big, too loud.

“Wise men say…” you hummed the tune, the words finding themselves slipping through your lips.  

You felt Fred’s breath hitch beside you; trying to quiet his breath in any attempt to listen harder to your tune. 

“Only fools rush in…” 

The words floated between you, fragile and tender. Quiet as can be, but enough to make Fred’s heart race. 

Fred reached out — slowly, so slowly — and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek. 

Your eyes fluttered closed at the touch. You held your breath, not sure if you were brave enough to finish the song. Almost as fate decided, Fred started mumbling the tune for you. 

“But I can’t help…” He spoke softly, almost fretting the words as a speech, a solid, tangible truth to you.  

Fred’s hand lingered at the curve of your jaw, tracing the line there as if memorizing you by just touch alone.

“Falling in love… with you.” You finished the line, almost astonished Fred knew the song at all. 

The last words were little more than a whisper, but you could feel them vibrate in the space between you — real, solid, irreversible.

When you opened your eyes, Fred was already looking at you, wonder and longing and hope all tangled up in his expression.

“I love you,” he said, like a confession, like a prayer. “I have for a while now.” His fingers tapped against your skin, almost to keep you in the moment, keep you looking at him. 

Your chest tightened painfully.

“Fred…” you breathed, barely getting his name out before emotion swamped you.

He gave you a shaky smile, like he was two seconds from bolting — or kissing you senseless.

You made the decision for both of you.

You leaned in — heart pounding, hands trembling — and kissed him.

It was soft at first, so soft it barely counted as a kiss. Just the brush of your lips against his, a tentative question.

Fred answered immediately, cupping your face with both hands and pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, no doubts, no fears — just this.

You lost yourself in the warmth of him, the way he tasted like chocolate and winter air, the way his hands trembled against your skin like he couldn’t believe you were real.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, Fred laughed — a breathless, disbelieving sound that made your heart swell to bursting.

“I’m done for,” he said, grinning so wide it was almost boyish. “Absolutely, utterly done for.”

You giggled, feeling drunk on happiness.

“Me too,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his.

He pulled you into his arms then, tucking you against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. You buried your face in the worn wool of his jumper, breathing him in.

The fire crackled low, casting golden light over both of you. Snow fell thick against the windows, muffling the outside world.

And there, in that quiet, perfect cocoon, Fred Weasley kissed your forehead and whispered again — so soft you almost missed it:

“I can’t help it…

I’ll keep falling for you every single day.”

And you knew — you knew — he meant it.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Elvis Presley - Can't Help Falling in Love 1961

Blue Hawaii is the fourth soundtrack album by the American singer Elvis Presley, belonging to the 1961 film of the same name starring Presley. In the US, the album spent 20 weeks at the number one slot and 39 weeks in the Top 10 on Billboard's Top Pop LPs chart.

The songs "Can't Help Falling in Love" and "Rock-A-Hula Baby" were pulled off the album for two sides of a single. The A-side "Can't Help Falling in Love," which became the standard closer for a Presley concert in the 1970s, went to number 2 on the Billboard Hot 100, and it topped the British charts in 1962, spending four weeks at number 1.

The melody to "Can't Help Falling in Love" is based on "Plaisir d'amour", a popular French love song composed in 1784 by Jean-Paul-Égide Martini. The song was initially written from the perspective of a woman as "Can't Help Falling in Love with Him", which explains the first and third line ending on "in" and "sin" rather than words rhyming with "you".

The song has been recorded by many other artists, including the British reggae group UB40, whose 1993 version topped the US and UK charts.

"Can't Help Falling in Love" received a total of 84,5% yes votes!

[foxybrownsugababe]

𝐋𝐚 𝐍𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠�� - Aaron Pierre x Black!OC & Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In which this random chilly summer night, where two young women sneak their way into the most famous club in town, leads to connection they’ve never thought would happen. The Night Awaits.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Flirting, tension, slight suggestiveness, strong language

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I don’t have much to say besides that this idea came to me after watching MLK/X and seeing how fine Aaron look and Kelvin in the Elvis movie. The rest of it sort of just came together.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 6,112+

𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟏𝟐, 𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟐

The moon hung high over Baldwin Hills, bathing the neighborhood in silver light, but inside The Greer household, tucked in the well sized room near the back of the homes, the only glow came from the dim lamp on a nightstand. The room was quiet—too quiet. If the girls parents heard even the faintest giggle or shuffle, the night would be over before it even started.

On the other side of the room, a brown skinned woman stood in front of the mirror, twisting side to side, admiring herself in a sleek black dress she had swiped from her mother’s closet. She grinned at her reflection, running her hands over the smooth and tight fabric, letting out a quiet ooh as she posed dramatically.

“Girl, would you just look at me?” She whispered excitedly, swaying her hips. “I swear I look just like Diahann Carroll.” She grinned as she waved around the small ascot the that was attached to the he her when she took the dress.

The other girl, Loretta, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed in nothing but her plain day clothes, lifted a skeptical brow as she brought down the magazine from her face. “Diahann Carroll? Where?”

“Right here, baby.” Effie twirled, her curls bouncing as she turned to face her friend. “Tell me I ain’t the finest thing this side of California?” She said, placing her hands on her hips and looking at the girl. Before she could even make a smart quip that she knew Claudette would laugh at, she had a stern finger pointed at her. “See, ya can’t.” She said with a large smile.

Loretta huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “You stole that from your mama, Effie. Wouldn’t that make her the finest thing on this side of California?” She asked, tilting her head at the girl.

Effie waved a dismissive hand. “Borrowed.” She clarified as she rolled her eyes. “And I’d say she wouldn’t miss it, but you know she’d notice in a heartbeat. That woman checks her closet like a bank vault. You know, six sisters and all.” She shrugged as she smoothed the dress over her hips again, then turned back to the mirror with a dreamy sigh. “But it’s worth it. When I step into La Nuit Rouge tonight, I’m gon’ look like I belong there.” She gushed as she fixed her hair and posed some more in front of the mirror.

Loretta didn’t say anything. She only stared at her best friend before her eyes drifted off to the dress laid out at the foot of her bed—the moving navy blue with a pop of red near the collar, one her mother’s favorite. It didn’t necessarily fit the vibe of the establishment she could possibly sneaking off to, but out of all her church going mother’s clothing, this was probably the most risqué. She had taken it out hours ago, even held it up in front of the mirror, but now she couldn’t bring herself to put it on.

Effie must have noticed her hesitation because she stopped admiring herself long enough to glance over. “What’s the matter, Retta? You ain’t got cold feet now, have you?”

Loretta eyes met hers briefly as she bit the inside of her cheek. “I just…” She trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. “I don’t know if I should go.” She mumbled with a shrug, but able to meet her best friend gaze.

Effie’s eyes went wide with exaggerated disbelief. She quickly crossed the room, dropping onto the bed next to Loretta, nearly bouncing them both. “Girl! We done spent the past two weeks plannin’ this night, and you talkin’ ‘bout staying home?” She said rather loudly considering they were trying to be discreet.

“I am home,” Loretta mumbled tensely, signaling for her to lower her voice. She then looked toward the closed bedroom door, her ears tuned to the soft murmur of her parents’ voices in the other room.

Effie rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. We are finally of age, Ruby Mae. We got the hookup at the best club in town, and all you gotta do is put on that dress and walk out the door.” She nudged her with an elbow. “Come on now. You think I’d let anything happen to you?” She asked the girl softly, budding her a bit.

Loretta hesitated, her fingers tracing patterns over her duvet. Truthfully, it wasn’t safety she was worried about. It was the unknown. She wasn’t like Claudette—bold, fearless, always looking for the next thrill. She preferred quiet places, familiar things. But La Nuit Rouge? That place was legendary. It had history, secrets, and sometimes even scandalous rumors. It was the kind of club where people made memories that lasted a lifetime.

And yet, here she was, sitting in plain clothes, scared to even step into it. The strict way she was raised had scared her off from anything that wasn’t the library and Bible study.

Effie must have sensed her doubt because her voice softened. “Loretta Mae.” She said, reaching over and reassuringly squeezing her friend’s hand. “You only get one life, girl. One. And you gon’ spend it sittin’ up in this room forever?” She questioned, tilting her head down to meet the her eyes.

Her words caused Loretta to sigh, staring at the blue dress again. She imagined herself wearing it, imagined the way it would flow around her legs when she walked. She imagined stepping into La Nuit Rouge, seeing all those beautiful, glamorous people, hearing the music that made the walls hum.

And then she imagined letting Effie go without her.

With a slow breath, she nodded. “Alright.” She whispered.

Effie grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. “That’s my girl!” She jumped up, grabbing the dress from the bed and shoving it into Loretta’s hands. “Hurry up and get dressed. I want to be in that club before they run out of all the good liquor.”

Loretta let out a small gasp. “Liquor?” She questioned as she threw the dress from her arms.” You didn’t say nothing about drinking!” She whisper-shouted, standing up stood from the bed.

Effie stifled a laugh, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, hush, it ain’t like I said we gotta get drunk. But come on now, you think folks go to La Nuit Rouge for just the music? This ain’t no Sunday service, Retta.”

Loretta folded her arms, narrowing her eyes. “You better not try to get me in no trouble.”

Effie clutched her chest like she’d been wounded. “Trouble? Me?” She mockingly questioned but Loretta just gave her a look, causing her to sigh. “Alright, alright,” Effie relented, still grinning. “We’ll go, have us a good time, and if—and that’s a big if—you feel like takin’ a little sip, well… I won’t stop you.” She shrugged carelessly.

Loretta shook her head, exhaling as she placed a hand over her heart. “Lord, what am I getting myself into?” She whispered to herself, glancing up at the ceiling as if she was speaking to the man in the heavens.

Effie squealed, grabbing her friend’s hands and bouncing on her toes. “The best night of our lives, that’s what.” She turned toward the small vanity mirror and gave herself one last look, adjusting her curls and making sure her makeup was correct. Then she twirled around dramatically, striking a pose. “Alright, darling, time to be somebody.”

Loretta still had her doubts, but as she watched Effie’s excitement, she couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a mistake. Maybe La Nuit Rouge would be more than just a place—they’d walk in as two ordinary girls and come out as something bigger. “Let’s go.” She finally said, moving near her door to slip on her shoes.

Effie turned just as Loretta was reaching for her shoes and let out an exaggerated gasp. “Now hold on just a minute, miss girl—what do you think you’re doin’?” She questioned with a dramatically arched brow.

Loretta froze, eyes darting up to her friend. “…Puttin’ on my shoes?” She mumbled as she stood up straight.

“In that?” Effie pointed at Loretta’s plain blouse and skirt like it was an offense to her very being. “Oh, no, ma’am. You are not steppin’ foot in La Nuit Rouge dressed like you just came from grocery shopping with your mama.” She sassed, folding her arms as she looked at the girl.

Loretta shifted with her arms crossed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Ain’t nobody gonna be lookin’ at me no how.” She shrugged.

Effie clutched her temples dramatically. “Retta, I swear, you ‘bout to make me pass out right here.” She muttered. Then, before Loretta could react, Effie swooped down, grabbed the dress from the foot of the bed, and marched over to her. “You stole it from your mama’s closet for a reason,” Effie insisted, shaking the dress at her. “Now you better put it on before I do it for you.”

Loretta huffed, throwing her head back. “It’s too much.” She whined softly.

“It’s actually not enough, but this is the only thing your mother had.” Effie corrected. “Now put. It. On.” She expressed, slapping the dress into the girls chest.

Loretta bit her lip, hesitating. The dress was simple but beautiful—soft, sleek, a deep blue with delicate trimming. It was a woman’s dress, not something a quiet, stay-at-home girl like her wore. “I don’t know, Effie…” She mumbled.

Effie groaned, then placed her hands on her hips. “You scared?”

Loretta snapped her head up, frowning. “No.” She said firmly.

Effie smirked with a tilt of her head. “Then prove it.”

Loretta glared at her friend for a moment longer before snatching the dress out of her hands with a sharp exhale. “Turn around.” She hissed softly. Effie grinned in victory and spun on her heels, humming to herself as Loretta quickly changed. When she finally turned back around, her eyes went wide.

“Ohhh, Ruby Mae,” Effie breathed, stepping forward and grabbing Loretta’s hands as she eyed the favorite that hugged the woman. “You look so good.” She gushed, smiling at her best friend.

Loretta shifted awkwardly. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Effie grinned before spinning her toward the small mirror on the vanity. “Look at you. A proper lady of the night.” She whispered.

“What?” Loretta’s asked with a scrunched face, snapping her head over to her friend due to her choice of words. Claudette waved the girl off, shaking her head. “Not like that, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t.” Loretta responded before looking back town the mirror. She took in her own reflection and, for the first time, saw someone else staring back. Someone… different.

Maybe even a somebody. Someday.

Effie squeezed her shoulders as she placed her head next to Loretta’s, cheesing at her through the mirror. “Alright now, sugar. Let’s go knock ‘em dead.” She grinned.

And this time, when Loretta slipped on her shoes, she felt a little taller.

➽───────────────❥

The night air was thick with the scent of California jasmine and the lingering warmth of the day’s sun, but the closer they got to La Nuit Rouge, the more the air seemed to shift—thickening with the electricity of possibility.

Claudette, or Effie as she preferred, walked with a pep in her step, practically bouncing as she clung to Loretta’s arm. The streetlights flickered above them, casting a soft glow over their path, but it was nothing compared to the distant haze of La Nuit Rouge glowing like a beacon in the Baldwin Hills night.

Loretta, on the other hand, was tense. She clutched her small purse tightly, glancing around as they approached the alleyway leading to the back entrance. “Are you sure Rodney’s working tonight?” She whispered, wrapping her coat around herself tightly.

Effie scoffed. “Would I have us sneakin’ out just to get turned away? Of course he’s workin’. And if he ain’t, well…” She paused briefly before turning to flash a grin at Loretta. “We’ll figure somethin’ out.” She shrugged.

Loretta wasn’t sure if that was comforting or terrifying. Especially knowing Claudette.

They turned the corner, and there it was—La Nuit Rouge. It wasn’t like the grand, flashy establishments downtown, but it had its own kind of magic. The deep red glow of its sign hummed against the brick, casting long shadows on the pavement. A velvet rope stretched in front of the entrance, guarded by two large men in sharp suits, while clusters of sharply dressed folks whispered and waited for their turn to get in, others sitting around in nice cars, just wanting to see who entered and if they could hear nothing from the inside. The low thrum of a bass leaked from inside, promising music, movement, life.

Effie squeezed Loretta’s arm. “Lord, would you look at it.” She whispered, her voice practically dripping with excitement.

Loretta swallowed, taking in the scene. The men wore fine suits with crisp pocket squares, their shoes shined so well they caught the light. The women dripped elegance—silk and satin hugging their curves, lips painted deep reds and plums.

Effie turned to her, eyes shining. “You ready?” She grinned.

Loretta exhaled. “…No.” She swallowed.

Effie cackled and tugged her forward. “Come on, scaredy cat.” And Loretta had no room to protest.

They approached the door, and sure enough, there was Rodney—tall, lean, and with a smug expression that said he knew he had the power to make or break someone’s night. “Well, well.” He drawled, arms crossed over his suit covered chest they stepped up. “Look who snuck out the house.” He smirked, leaned against the stair railing.

“Boy, hush,” Effie said, rolling her eyes. “You lettin’ us in or not?” She asked.

Rodney eyed them both, his gaze lingering on Loretta, who suddenly felt like shrinking. “Didn’t think you had it in you, little Loretta.” He teased, but there was something close to approval in his tone, and admiration as his eyes drifted over her covered figure.

Loretta avoided his eyes but straightened her shoulders. “Well, I do.” She said with a small nod.

Rodney chuckled, then stepped aside, unhooking the rope. “Don’t cause no trouble.” He said. “And don’t tell your folks.

Effie grinned, pulling Loretta through the entrance. “Of, you know that won’t be happening.” She as they passed him.

The moment they stepped inside, it hit them. The scent of whiskey and perfume, the smoke curling toward the ceiling, the sound of laughter and music weaving together in a melody of indulgence. The air was alive.

A jazz band played on a stage in the corner, the pianist’s fingers dancing over the keys while the trumpet wailed. The dance floor was filled with couples moving in sync, bodies swaying, spinning, sweating. Waitresses in form-fitting dresses weaved through the crowd with trays of drinks, their heels clicking against the floor. And at the bar, men sat with their hats tipped low, speaking in hushed voices or watching the scene unfold before them.

Effie let out a low whistle. “Lord have mercy.”

Loretta, a little overwhelmed, just stood there, drinking it all in. Effie then squeezed her hand with her signature large smile. “Welcome to La Nuit Rouge, sugar.” She said. And welcomes they were, because La Nuit Rouge was alive. The walls of the club seemed to pulse with energy, the air thick with the scent of perfume, whiskey, and the lingering wisp of cigarette smoke. The smooth, rolling rhythm of live jive music filled the space, but it was the voice on the stage that commanded the room.

On the other side of the club, a man with neatly waved hair crooned into the microphone, his voice dripping with raw emotion as he belted out Please, Please, Please by James Brown.

“I love you… I love you so…”

His voice dripped with emotion, his body swaying as if the weight of the words physically pulled at him. A deep crease settled between his brows, eyes squeezed shut as he reached into the depths of his soul.

“I love you… Honey, I love you so…”

He clutched the mic stand as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, his body moving in time with the music—hips rolling, shoulders jerking, sweat beading at his brow as he poured his soul into every note.

The crowd near the stage was utterly entranced. Women leaned forward with wide, hungry eyes, hands clutched over their hearts or pressed against their flushed cheeks. Men either watched in admiration or attempted to match his effortless charm, pulling their dance partners in close, moving to the deep, yearning rhythm of his voice.

Loretta had never seen anything like it. She was rooted in place, staring, unable to look away from the spectacle before her. The way he moved—commanding and uninhibited—made something curl tight in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was excitement or nerves.

“I’ll take your coats.” Rodney spoke up behind them. Effie made quick work to shuffle the thick fabric down her shoulders while Loretta reluctantly came up out of hers. She handed her black coat on her go him, while Rodney eyed her figure in the navy blue dress. “Wow, Loretta, you look nice.” He said, looking up at the girls face. Loretta glanced him a small smile, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Rodney. Means a lot.” She said softly.

“No problem, dew drop.” He smirked down at her, loving her shy nature. His eyes then drifted over to Claudette, who eyed him at his unsubtle flirting with her homegirl. “And you look aight, Effie.” He mumbled, taking her cat from her hands and walking away before the gaping girl could say anything.

“Rude!” Effie called out after him. She then turned back to Loretta, whose eyes drifted back to the stage behind the gyrating crowd. “Come on,” Effie murmured, pulling the girl toward the bar. And Loretta let herself be led as her gaze lingered on the man on stage, her heart pounding in her chest, her fingers tightening around her purse strap.

Effie approached the bar with her usual confidence, slipping into a seat like she belonged there. The counter was polished to a gleam, reflecting the dim glow of the overhead lights. Behind it, a tall, light-skinned man stood wiping out a glass, his ginger hair catching the warm light. His face was sharp, freckled, and partially obscured by the glasses perched on his nose.

“Two whiskey sours, please,” Effie said smoothly, resting her arms on the counter as she gazed up at him. The man—Pierre, judging by the neatly printed name tag on his vest—pushed his glasses up with one finger and looked at her with a blank expression.

“ID, please,” He said.

Effie scoffed softly, almost like a humorless chuckle. “Really? You need my ID? I got in, didn’t I?” She asked, attempting to play it cool, but something about the way he looked at her made it clear—he saw right through her.

He blinked, unimpressed. “ID?” He repeated, his voice as flat as his expression. Effie rolled her eyes, shifting in her seat. “I don’t have my ID.” She admitted, crossing her arms.

Aaron hummed, nodding to himself as he wiped down another glass. “How old are you?” He asked, his tone still unreadable, like he was conducting an interrogation rather than a casual conversation, his eye not even on her.

Effie sighed. “I’m twenty, okay? Only a year off.” She stated defensively.

Aaron gave another slow, noncommittal hum before stiffly nodding. “So no drink.” He said, not even glancing her way before he turned to place the tray of glasses on the shelf behind him.

Effie let out a short laugh, tilting her head as she gave him a once-over. She hadn’t really looked at him before, but now that she did, she took in the details—the lean but solid frame beneath his heavy coat, the sharp angles of his jaw, the serious way he carried himself. It struck her as odd that he was wearing such a thick coat indoors, especially if he was tending bar, but maybe he had just come in.

Her eyes flicked back up to his face when he turned around, catching the faint glint of his glasses in the low light. “You’re not gonna kick me out?” She asked, though a bit hesitantly, raising an eyebrow.

He finally met her gaze, setting a glass down and resting his hands on the counter. “Like you said,”He murmured. “Only a year off.”

Effie smirked at that. Oh, I like you,” she grinned, poring at him. He simply blinked at her, then simply went back to cleaning the glass cups before him.

Loretta, meanwhile, was still entirely fixated on the performance happening just across the room as she took her place at the bar my Claudette. The singer had dropped to his knees now, his voice cracking with desperation, his hands gripping the hem of his shirt as if he might tear it right off his body. “Who is that?” She asked out loud. The man at the bar next to her glanced over, his eyes running over her figure as he sipped at his brown liquor. “That’s King.” He said, and Loretta’s eyes snapped over to him at his close voice over the loud music. “Huh?” She asked, it knowing that she asked the question aloud.

“That’s King Harrison. Best thing to come out of New Orleans song gumbo!” He grinned before downing the rest of the straight liquor and then slamming the glass on the counter. Pierre’s head snapped over to him, his face stoic as he eyed the man. “I done told you bout slamming the glasses, Henry. One more time and you’re out of here.” His deep baritone stated, causing the older man to grumble. Loretta jumped at the sound, blinking at the man that she could now see was obviously tipsy. Her eyes then made their way back to the man on stage. “He’s…something.” She mumbled.

King, as they call him, let out a ragged breath, opening his eyes and dragging a hand through his dampened waves. His white dress shirt clung to his body, a thin sheen of sweat making it shimmer under the dim, golden lights. He stepped forward, gripping the mic stand with both hands, his knuckles turning white as his voice cracked with desperation.

“I’m begging you, please… Please don’t go…”

He dropped to one knee, the intensity in his voice making the women in the crowd clutch their chests. Some of them reached toward him as if they could hold him together with their hands alone.

“Please, please, don’t go!”

His head tilted back, neck taut as he let the words bleed out of him. The deep tremble in his voice, the rasp at the edges—it all sent shivers through the room.

Loretta had never seen anything like it.

She was rooted in place, staring, unable to look away from the spectacle before her. The way he moved—commanding and uninhibited—made something curl tight in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was excitement or nerves.

Kelvin was moving again, dragging himself up from his knees, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His fingers curled around the microphone as he stared out at the audience, his gaze heated, lips still parted as the last note trembled in the air.

“I need you… I need you so…”

His voice was softer now, full of longing, drawing the crowd even closer. The crowd was eating it up.

Loretta swallowed hard.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when Effie nudged her. “Girl, you’re starin’.” She mumbled into Loretta’s ear. Loretta blinked rapidly, finally tearing her eyes away to look at her friend. “I—” She started, but her words died on her tongue when she realized something.

The man on stage was looking right at her.

Her breath hitched as she made eye contact with him. Even with the haze of cigarette smoke and the shifting, swaying bodies between them, she could feel his gaze settle on her like a warm, slow drag of honey. She gulped before the drunk man next to her began speaking again.

“King’s got the city in a chokehold. Women want him. Men wanna be him.” He stated. Loretta glanced at the man—he was older, maybe mid-thirties, dressed sharp but relaxed, the kind of man who had seen a few things and come out wiser for it. He tipped his glass toward the stage. “He came outta nowhere, you know. Used to just be some country bumpkin kid runnin’ deliveries for the elderly. Then one day, Cisco gave him the opportunity to step on stage, and bam—King was born.” He explained.

Loretta’s brows lifted in surprise. “Just like that?”

The man nodded, smirking. “Just like that.”

Effie leaned in, having caught the conversation. “So, what’s the deal with him?” She asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. “He got a girl?” She asked with a quirked brow.

Henry snorted, swirling his drink. “If he does, she’s got the patience of a saint, ‘cause that man don’t belong to nobody but the music…and any woman he wants.”

Sounds like trouble.” Effie grinned before nudging Loretta. “Some trouble you should get into.” She smirked at her friend. Loretta rolled her eyes but felt warmth creep up her neck. “Oh, hush.” She hissed at her before looking back at the stage. But just as she did, his eyes landed on her.

His grip on the microphone loosened as he leaned in, tilting his head just slightly, as if he were considering her. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it. Maybe it was the thrill of being somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be, the way the music wrapped around her, the heady energy of La Nuit Rouge—but it felt like something inside of her had been plucked like a guitar string, left vibrating.

He licked his plump lips, drawing the mic close once more. His voice was velvet and fire, dipping into the final pleading notes of the song.

“I want you so, I just want to be your man…”

It was only a second—maybe less—but Loretta felt it like a slow drag of a matchstick against its box. A spark. A flicker of heat that curled in her stomach, making her fingers twitch against the bar. King’s lips parted slightly, as if he, too, felt the moment hit. Then, just as quickly, he was back in the music, closing his eyes as he let the final note of the song spill from his lips, rich and aching. The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, some of the women practically melting against their partners as they swayed to the last few notes. He flashed them a slow, knowing grin, letting the mic dangle from his fingertips before handing it off to the house band.

And just like that, the spell was broken. Loretta blinked, remembering how tot think all of a sudden.

Effie, who was watching her, eyebrows raised with amusement. “Oh, honey,” She teased. “You are in trouble. That man just sang to you.” She grinned, nudging Loretta.

“He most certainly did not,” Loretta instantly shot back, though her voice betrayed her nerves. “Don’t say such a thing, Effie.” She said, giving her best friend a small shove.

Effie smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “He did, Ruby Mae! And he looked at you while he did it. And look at you, you’re all flushed.” The woman gushed, bringing her hand up to Loretta’s face. Loretta swatted her hand away before she pressed a hand to her cheek, feeling the warmth there. She shook her head. “I’m always flushed. And it was just a performance.”

Effie snorted. “Mm-hmm. We’ll see about that.”

Before Loretta could argue, a sudden shift in the room caught their attention. King had stepped off the stage, his presence causing a ripple through the crowd as he made his way toward the bar. People patted him on the back, some women grabbed at his hands and anything else they could get their hands on, but he maneuvered through them with ease, flashing grins and winks as he went.

Loretta stiffened and Effie, of course, was delighted.

The moment he got close enough, Effie turned to the bar and rapped her knuckles on the counter. “Two drinks after all, bartender.” She said smugly as she smirked up at the good looking ginger man. “Our friend here owes my girl a word or two.” She said before nodding over to the man that walked up to them.

Pierre simply raised an eyebrow at her, unmoved. “I’m not a bartender.” He stated flatly as his eyes drifted to King as he walked up. Effie’s face fell as she looked at the man, dropping her shoulders. “Then why are you being the bar?” She questioned. “Cleaning cups?” She continued, but before the small situation could be solved, King was next to Loretta.

He came to a stop beside them, close enough that Loretta could smell the faint trace of his cologne beneath the sweat from his performance that he was wiping away with a rag. His presence was magnetic, and even though she told herself she wouldn’t look at him, she couldn’t help it. His smile was easy, teasing, but there was something behind it—an interest, a curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, gaze flickering over her face as if committing it to memory.

“Hi.” He smirked.

“Hi.” Loretta said softly.

“The names King.” He said smoothly as he reached for her hand and gently took it into his own. “But you, my doe eyed beauty, can call me Kelvin.” He said before bringing her hand to his lips and placing a soft against her skin. Loretta gulped at the feeling of his plump lips against her, but tried her best not to freak out. She gulped again when his eyes raised, looking up at her through his lashes. “Well, Kelvin, my names Loretta.” She said softly. “Loretta Mae Greer, but my friend here calls me Ruby Mae.” She nervously explained, softly pulling her hand way from his grip and getting over to Effie.

Claudette flashed the man a small smile, ignoring her best friend’s usual nervous nature. Kelvin let out a small laugh at Loretta before he gave a polite smile to woman behind her.

“Well, did you enjoy the show, Loretta Mae Greer?” he asked, his voice smooth as whiskey as he leaned against the counter in available space next to her, and his movements made the woman realize that the drunk man, Henry, was now gone.

She blocked at that before her eyes connect with the awaiting ones of Kelvin. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her purse. She should say something—anything—but her tongue felt stuck.

Effie nudged her, and that was all the push she needed.

She licked her lips before she straightened her spine, meeting his eyes head-on. “I suppose it was alright.” She said with a subtle nod, hoping she sounded more composed than she felt. Kelvin let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Just alright?”

“I’ve never seen anyone move around so much while singing.” She admitted, lifting her chin slightly. “Must take..a lot of energy.” She stated, inwardly cringing at how awkward she sounded. But he grinned, flashing white teeth. “You saying I worked too hard up there?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

Loretta shrugged, her eyes taking a break from his stare as they moved around the club that was still live as ever. “I’m saying I’ve seen less dramatic performances at the church revival.” She stated.

Effie let out a choked laugh, stopping up on the water Pierre had given her, but Kelvin only looked more amused. “Oh, is that right?”

Loretta nodded, feigning innocence. “Mm-hmm.”

Kelvin tapped his fingers against the counter, considering her as his eyes drifted over her figure and his tongue poked at his cheek. Then, to her absolute shock, he reached out, taking her hand in his. “Well, if I worked too hard up there.”He murmured, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down her spine, “Maybe you oughta give me a reason to take it slow.”

Loretta’s breath caught in her throat and her eyes widen slightly while Effie’s grin could not have been wider.

Pierre, completely unfazed, simply placed a glass of water in front of her. “Hydrate.” He said flatly and Kelvin threw his head back and laughed. “Come on, Aaron. Again?” He asked, but Aaron just gave him a look. “Quit preying in the customers. We have a business to run.” He said.

“I’m not preying.” Kelvin stated before his eye made their way back to Loretta, who was eyeing the talking men. “I’m promising this lovely lady a wonderful night.” He smirked. And that was all it took for Loretta’s face to quickly morph into one of disgust. She scoffed as she turns her lip up at him and snatched her hand from his grasp. “I am not some floozy, lady of the night, that you can just walk up to and seduce, Mister.” She hissed, before looking the man up and down. “Next time, have some self respect for you and me.” She spat before clutching her purse and shocks past him.

Kelvin blinked, momentarily stunned, as Loretta stormed past him. His smirk faltered, but only for a second before it curved into something even more intrigued. He let out a low whistle, watching her retreating form as she wove through the crowd, her posture rigid with irritation. “Damn,” He muttered under his breath, running a hand over his jaw.

Effie, meanwhile, was completely shocked, mouth agape as she looked at the man. “Oh my! I am so sorry about that.” She apologized as she stood up from her seat and stepping over to the man. “I have never seen her act that way before. She’s a real shy girl.” She reassured.

Pierre—the now calm, steady Aaron—simply grabbed another glass from behind the counter, shaking his head. “That’s what you get.” He said dryly. “I told you to quit preying on the customers.”

Kelvin let out an incredulous laugh, running a hand through his hair before placing both hands on his hips. “Preying? Come on now, Aaron, you act like I’m out here breakin’ hearts for sport.”

Aaron stopped what he was doing and gave him a flat look.

That caused Kelvin to sigh dramatically, throwing up his hands. “Alright, fine. But you gotta admit—she’s something else.” His gaze flickered toward the crowd Loretta had disappeared through. “I don’t think I’ve ever been turned down quite like that before.” He muttered. “Or ever this turned on.” He mucked to himself. His grin then widened, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Now,” He said, drumming his fingers against the bar, “that only makes me wanna try harder.”

Aaron exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Try harder to leave her alone.” He stated. But Kelvin ignored him, eyes still fixed on the crowd, looking for the rebound bow in the sea of black bodies dancing to the music. “She’s got fire.”He murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Then he glanced at Effie. “What do I gotta do to get back in her good graces?”

Effie, still gaping at her friend’s outburst, blinked before snapping back into reality. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe start by not treating her like every other woman who throws themselves at you?” She suggested sarcastically:

Kelvin scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I do have manners, you know.”

“Not the ones she’s looking for,” Aaron and Effie stated at the same time, causing the pair to eye one another.

Kelvin shot them a look before turning back to Effie. “Come on, help a brotha out here.”

Effie crossed her arms, tapping her foot as if in deep thought. “Hmm… well, Loretta does love a man who can admit when he’s wrong.” She said.

Kelvin raised a brow. “I wasn’t wrong.” He blinked.

Effie face slowly morphed into the same look Loretta gave him, which caused Kelvin sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. I was wrong, I can admit that. I don’t approach her like a gentleman should. I’ll apologize.” He stated, though none of the three knew if he was genuine or not. Effie just shook her head. “Lord, you’re gonna have to work real hard for this one.” She said before grabbing her cloth and finally walking off to find her friend.

Kelvin simply grinned, already planning his next move. “Good. I like a challenge.”

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[sissylittlefeather]

Daddy Needs His Baby

A/N: Didn't even mean to write this. But uh, it just came to me (pun intended) and I had to do it. This one goes with Daddy Likes His Coat, Daddy Likes His Football, and Daddy Loves His Baby. Turns out I made this some kind of vignette series? Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, a gratuitous public blowjob and Elvis being moody about getting older.

Word count: 1.3k

For his 38th birthday, Elvis fills the house in Los Angeles to the brim with people. He's leaving for Hawaii the next day, but he really doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts tonight. Even with you there, he's afraid of the silence.

So instead he fills the house with his mafia guys, their women, and just about anyone else he can find. You're there too in a scandalously short dress, flitting around the room socializing. You love it when Elvis throws parties. It feeds a part of you that goes ignored when he's in one of his hermit phases. He watches the way you work the room and sighs from his place on the couch. Even with the house full, the thoughts creep up and swirl around his brain.

38.

Almost 40. And what has he done that anyone might remember? Not any of those stupid movies. Maybe a few things in the ‘50s. But what does he have to look forward to? This satellite concert might be a big deal, but he'd much rather do a world tour. Just about the only thing he has going for him is you. But as the thought crosses his mind, he looks up and catches you flirting with a group of three men. You're so young and pretty. He should let you go be young and leave him in the dust where he belongs. That thought is the one that pushes him to get up off the couch and walk over to the bar.

You're flirting with these guys for a reason, hoping that Elvis will get all possessive and punish you tonight. But when you look for him, you see him behind the bar pouring whiskey in a glass and know something is wrong.

Elvis doesn't drink.

“Excuse me, fellas. I'll be right back.” You leave the guys mid-sentence and walk up to the u-shaped bar that he's standing behind. “Pour me a drink, cowboy?”

He looks up at you and gives you a sad smile. You're sweet to try to come talk to him, but there's nothing you can do to change this mood. “S’okay, baby. Go have fun.”

“Daddy, this is your birthday party. What kind of baby would I be if I left you all alone?” You push your bottom lip out and give him your best wide-eyed pout. He throws back the whiskey and starts to pour a second one, refusing to make eye contact.

“Please, honey.”

“Please, honey what?” You ask, your voice low and honey-smooth. He finally looks up at you and purses his lips.

“I'm no good for you. Too old.” You blink once and then let a slow, seductive smile spread across your face.

“Good thing I like old men.” You're trying to keep him playful, it usually works when he's in one of these moods, but the second you say it you know it was the wrong move. He looks down at his glass and swallows hard. “Elvis, I'm kidding. You're not old.”

He looks up at you, his eyes wet. You never call him Elvis. Your hand instinctively reaches for him and he takes it and kisses it softly.

“Sure feel like I am, baby.” This is the lowest you've ever seen him and your heart skips with concern. You wrack your brain for what you can do to cheer him up. As you think, he throws back the second glass of whiskey and cringes, coughing. He starts to pour another one.

“Elvis, you don't drink. What are you doing?”

“Why not? Fuck it.” That's it. Enough. You stand up and walk around the bar to be with him behind it. You grab the glass of whiskey and throw it back yourself. Then, you take his face in your hands and make him look at you.

“Listen to me. You are not old. You are Elvis fucking Presley. My daddy. And I'll be damned if I let you think you're gonna fade away on my watch.”

“Baby, I–”

“Hush.” You kiss him deeply and then sink down to your knees under the bar. Because of the shape of it, you're hidden from view. Your hands immediately go to his belt and he hisses.

“Baby! What’re you doin’?!” You look up at him as you pull his soft cock out of his pants and it twitches against his will, starting to harden in your hand.

“I'm reminding you who the fuck you are.” You pump him slowly and he gets harder and harder. He looks around the party to see if anyone can tell, but it looks like no one has noticed. When you wrap your mouth around him, he growls deep in his throat and looks down at you.

“You're a fuckin’ menace, baby.” You pull off and lick the sensitive head of his now-rock-hard cock.

“You want me to stop, daddy?” You bat your eyelashes as he leaks precum on your tongue and he groans. “Didn't think so.”

Just as you start to really work him, Joe walks up to the bar and starts up a conversation. You hear Elvis answer, his voice strained.

“You okay, EP?” Joe asks and you suppress a giggle. The vibration makes him damn-near double over.

“Yep. I'm fine. You want a drink?” You can tell he's trying to distract Joe. His hands shake, but he manages to pour a glass of whiskey and hand it over. He grips the edge of the bar so hard his knuckles are white. Joe looks at him curiously, but decides not to press it any further when Elvis gives him a pained, obviously-fake smile. He turns to walk away just as you reach in and take Elvis's balls in your hand, squeezing gently.

“Jesus– fuck– baby…” His hand tangles in your hair as you lick up his shaft and bob your mouth on him.

Some girl walks up and starts to flirt with him and you pull him deep into your throat, pressing your nose into the patch of hair at the base of him. His hand tightens in your hair until it almost hurts and you feel his legs start to shake. He responds to the girl with short, protracted grunts and single words. His hands tremble as he pours her a screwdriver and you run your hands back to squeeze his ass while you bounce your hot, wet little mouth on his dick. The girl walks away awkwardly and he looks down at you. The sight of you with your pretty lips wrapped around him, eyes closed like it's the most pleasurable thing you've ever experienced, pushes him so close to the edge he moans audibly. You pull back, his cock sloppy with spit, and whisper up at him.

“Cum for baby, daddy.” He slams his fist on the bar and you take him in fully, letting him hit the back of your throat. You feel his dick pulse and he leans his head back, groaning as he lets go and cums hard in your mouth. Once you've swallowed everything he gives you, you giggle up at him, kissing his sensitive tip gently. He looks around the party and realizes a good number of people are looking at him, but he no longer cares.

He's Elvis fucking Presley.

As soon as you get him put away, he drags you up from under the bar and throws you over his shoulder, panties on full display under your short skirt. The gasps and whispers start when people figure out where you were, but he just carries you across the room. In the doorway, he turns back to the crowd who are mostly standing with their mouths hanging open.

“I'm about to make this little girl scream. If you don't wanna hear it, ya better clear out.” You laugh loudly as he turns and carries you into the bedroom.

Needless to say, the house is empty in less than 2 minutes flat.

******

The End

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Taglist:

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[rockahulababyy]

Do you do imagine posts? Id like to hear what being Elvis wife would be like

Hii angel !! Thanks for your request <33 I just wanted to clarify that since you didn't give a specific era like 50s, 60s or so, I chose late 70s Elvis (my baby) but you can totally imagine whatever era you want or ask for another era. also this the first imagine i've ever wrote so y'all tell me if it's good !! xx

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐒' 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 ?

It’s not what people think.

It’s not rhinestones and flashbulbs and screaming crowds.

It’s soft lamps at 3AM.

It’s his fingers brushing against your spine while he hums something you can’t place, lying awake beside you while the world sleeps.

Elvis doesn’t sleep at night—he never has, not really. His world comes alive under dim lighting, when the air is quiet and everything feels suspended. He’ll wake up after dark, hair messy, voice raspy, moving slow as honey while he finds you. Always looking for you first. Doesn’t matter who’s in the house. Doesn’t matter what the schedule says. His day starts when he sees you.

Some nights, you find him in the den, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with his nose in a book about chakras or ancient prophecies, incense burning low beside him. Other times, he’s pacing. Deep in thought. Rambling about something he read, or a dream he had, or how everything’s connected. He’ll talk until his voice gets hoarse, then just sit with you in silence, letting his hand fall into yours like it belongs there.

You’ve learned to follow his rhythm. Late-night peanut butter and banana sandwiches in the kitchen. Midnight drives. Curtains drawn during the day so he can sleep peacefully, your body curled against his under the heavy sheets. You’re his peace. His anchor. You didn’t ask to be, but he gave you that place without question. Like he just knew.

Some days are harder than others. You see it in his hands when they shake just a little trying to open a bottle. In the way he leans on you more than he lets anyone else see. The meds slow him down. Some of them make him tired, foggy, forgetful. But he tries—for you. He tries to take less, or take them later, or ask the doctor about changing things up. Because he sees the worry in your eyes, and it kills him. He says it doesn’t bother him, but you know it does. He doesn’t feel like himself sometimes, and that makes him feel like less of a man.

In the beginning, he was scared. Scared you’d want someone younger, stronger, someone who didn’t flinch at mirrors or dread mornings. He couldn’t touch you the way he used to touch women in his younger years. He couldn’t always feel what he used to feel. He cried once, thinking you were asleep—held your hand to his chest and whispered that he was sorry he wasn’t enough.

But you stayed. You didn’t need him to be the man the world saw. You just needed him to be yours. So now he kisses you softer, slower. He holds you longer. He asks if you’re happy and believes you when you say yes. Because happiness here looks like coffee at midnight. It looks like his head in your lap while you play with his hair. It looks like soft pajamas and gospel records and half-finished conversations at sunrise.

The boys—the Memphis Mafia—thank God for you more than once.

They don’t say it outright at first, not when it’s new and Elvis is still pretending everything’s fine. But over time, you catch it in the way Jerry’s voice softens when he says, “He’s been lookin’ better lately.” Or how Joe gives you that knowing nod when Elvis eats a real meal or skips a pill because you asked him to. Red jokes that he used to have to drag Elvis outta bed, but now? He gets up for you.

They see the way he tries. The way he holds himself a little straighter when you walk into the room. The way he reaches for water instead of another handful of pills. He still struggles, of course. Still has those days where the weight of everything gets too heavy. But they’ve seen what he was before you—how he let himself slip deeper into the dark. And they see now: he wants to stay in the light, if only to be the man you deserve.

Some nights are soft and sacred. You don’t need fireworks or grand gestures. Just him. Just the two of you. Sometimes, the world feels far away—shut out by blackout curtains and whispered “I love you”s under breath. You’ll make love slow and quiet, like you’re trying not to wake the house. Like time’s frozen around you. And afterward, he’ll tuck you against his chest, bury his face in your hair, and sleep through the whole day with your body wrapped in his arms. It's not just passion—it's safety. It's home.

Other nights, he’s all wide-eyed and playful, coming into the room with a sly grin and that little bounce in his step that only means one thing: he’s got a plan.

“C’mon, baby. Get dressed. We’re goin’ out.”

Out means he's rented out an entire movie theater in the middle of the night just so you and the boys can watch some old western or kung fu flick. Popcorn for everybody. Blankets just for you. He watches you more than the movie—smiles every time you laugh, kisses your temple during the boring parts. For him, your joy is the main event.

And then there are the quiet, thoughtful things he does that no one else sees.

Like the time he went into a little church while he was away—just wandered in after a long day. He found a rosary in the gift shop, held it in his hand for the longest time. Later that night, he gave it to you, eyes low like he wasn’t sure if it was silly or not.

“I figured… when I ain’t here, you could hold it while you pray. Think ‘bout me. That way I’m always with you, baby.”

You cried, soft and quiet, and he held you like the world could end right there and he’d still be content, as long as you were in his arms.

Being his wife means learning how to love a man who's seen too much and felt too deeply. It means patience when he's quiet, comfort when he's overwhelmed, and laughter when he forgets how to smile.

But in return?

You get a kind of love that’s rare. The kind that fights for you, even when he's tired. The kind that shows up at 2AM with a peanut butter sandwich and a kiss. The kind that holds your hand during gospel songs and stares at you like you’re something holy.

He’s not perfect. But he loves you like it’s the only thing he’s ever done right.

And maybe, in a way, it is.

Being Elvis’ wife means living in a world that turns upside down—where night is day, and love is whispered in the quiet hours.

It means seeing the man behind the myth: soft-hearted, haunted, trying his best. It’s devotion wrapped in silk sheets, gospel records at dawn, and a hand reaching for yours even in sleep.

It’s not always easy. But it’s real. Raw. Sacred.

And in the end, it’s this:

Loving him in the dark, and being the light he always comes home to.