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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 2 years

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DADDY ISSUES - Part Four: Vegas

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Your new life is amazing, without Elvis. Well, at least until you get a mysterious package in the mail that's about to change your life. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: a friend fight with some harsh words that were painful to write but i don't think anything else!

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 5058

A/N: ahhh it's been AGES i know but i've been working hard so expect lots of updates!! i have several parts already queued. i'll be posting a chapter every tuesday + thursday until the fic is completed!

also just a reminder that there's a playlist if you're interested and i've put the link to the taglist below!

Song Rec: vegas - doja cat

This is Part 4 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

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A year later, you find yourself living in a brand new apartment with Trixie, the girl whom you stood next to during the chaotic filming of the 68 Comeback Special. Apparently, her family is extremely well-off and has absolutely no issue sending her money without question. Although you’ve tried to assure Trixie about a thousand times that you don’t want nor need the money she continues to shovel into your pocket, she insists on supporting you. At first, it was easier to give in because you actually really did need the money, since you were unemployed with no prospects and a scant resume. But now, you’re just starting to feel selfish.

Fortunately, with Steve’s help you’ve managed to secure a job working at KNBC, California’s NBC television station. You might still just be a secretarial worker, but a job is a job. Surprisingly, you find yourself with an unprecedented amount of free time compared to what you had when you were constantly picking up night and weekend shifts every other week at the diner. Not to mention that you make a lot more, too. It’s nothing to brag about by any means, but far more than enough to get you back on your feet. Slowly but surely, your debts dwindle little by little every day.

So far, living with Trixie has been pure bliss. She’s incredibly sweet and very neat and tidy. She doesn’t leave her laundry on the floor, always takes the trash out, and is usually cheerful in the morning. Some days, she even meets you in the kitchen with a carafe of steaming hot coffee already brewed. She never brings home creepy guys who hang around past their welcome and she’s nothing but respectful of your space. She works similar hours to you as a designer at a fashion magazine conveniently located only a couple of blocks down the road from KNBC.

You honestly couldn’t have asked for a better situation and, for the first time in a very long time, you feel safe, happy, and healthy. Little do you know what’s to come when a surprise package shows up on your doorstep.

You’re in the bathroom, elbows deep in water and soap as you wash your face first thing in the morning. Trixie, the early morning bird she is, has been awake for several hours already and is in the kitchen making breakfast. With the bathroom door closed, you can hardly hear anything going on down the hall so it takes you a moment to process Trixie’s shout that you’ve received a delivery. Squinting your eyes to protect them from the soap sliding down your face, you turn toward the door and yell back.

“Who’s it from?”

A few seconds of silence pass before Trixie replies.

“Uh…Y/N, why are you getting a package from E…ley?”

You shake your head. You can barely hear her over the sound of the water and the closed door. Your fingers quickly scramble to turn off the faucet and you grasp for a towel to hurriedly dry your face before rushing out of the bathroom. Sticking your head around the corner, you glance at Trixie with furrowed eyebrows.

“What did you say?” you ask.

“The package,” she responds, holding it up, “it’s from Elvis Presley.”

“I…from who?”

“Can you hear me, honey? Elvis. Elvis Presley? Famous musician and actor? We're both huge fans? We were in the audience while he filmed his comeback special on NBC? Ringing any bells here?” Trixie gestures wildly, her eyes big and wide.

You shake your head and approach her, holding out your hands so she can pass the package along to you. As soon as it touches your fingers, you snatch it up and sit down on the couch in the living room. Sure enough, as you look at the address label on the package, there it is. Elvis Presley.

To be perfectly honest, you’ve all but forgotten about him. With everything going on in your life, you’ve been too busy to pay attention to celebrity gossip or keep track of the music charts. You also have to admit that you might have been more inclined to forget him after suffering the embarrassment of turning down his…offer.

Glancing up at Trixie, you see her biting the nail of her thumb anxiously, a big grin breaking through her face. You shake your head again and sigh a deep breath before your fingers start digging into the wrapping of the package. Once you’ve torn through the wrapping paper and flipped open the cardboard box, your fingers catch onto something soft and silky. Shooting a confused expression at Trixie, you pull out the object and stand to let it unfold. Your breath catches in your throat as it drops down into its full form. Trixie shares the expression, her gasp accompanying yours.

“Oh my god…” she says in awe.

You hold it up to your body and wander over to the floor-length mirror hanging in the entryway. As you press the fabric against your figure, your eyebrows raise. It’s almost the same blue color as your horrible dress from Chadney’s Restaurant, the one you’d been wearing when you officially met Elvis for the first time. Although the color is comparable, the quality is nowhere near the same. This dress is made of silk, softer than any fabric you’ve ever felt before, and definitely a major upgrade from the scratchy cotton of your old work uniform. The dress has a sweetheart neckline with a cut out of the side and a leg slit that rides higher than you’d normally be comfortable with. As you run your fingers over the seams, you feel a few hand-cut jewels. They look like diamonds, although your brain is incapable of believing that.

“Hey, there’s a note with it,” Trixie’s voice knocks you out of your disbelief and you turn toward her.

She hands it over to you and, as you unfold it, two long green strips of paper fall out. Trixie bends to pick them up and examines them as you read the handwritten script of the letter out loud, although the handwriting is atrociously difficult to decipher.

“Cinderella,” you pause and gulp as your brain flashes back to the moment when Elvis had first called you that. When he’d invited you into his dressing room after the special. When he’d pulled your panties from his robe pocket…

“Cinderella,” you clear your throat and continue, “I figured I oughta replace that blue dress you ruined on account of me. I hope you like this one better and that you find the rest of the contents of this package to your taste.”

You pause, your eyes wandering over toward the package which, apparently, has more to give. You reach for it, digging underneath the wrapping paper until your fingers curl onto something lacy. You pull it out and heat immediately floods your face and neck. Trixie’s hand flies onto her mouth as you both stare in silence at an expensive-looking lingerie set hanging from your fingertip. You immediately drop it back into the package and shiver.

“What does the rest of the letter say?” Trixie asks, leaning forward to glance at the note over your shoulder.

“Uh…replace that blue dress, blah, blah, blah…contents of this package…Don’t make me wait until midnight. And don’t forget who-”

You stop abruptly as your brain circles around the last few words of the letter.

“What?” Trixie asks, peering more intensely over your shoulder. “What does it say, Foxie? I can barely read his chicken scratch.”

Foxie is the nickname Trixie had started calling you. Until this point, you’ve never understood why. But as your eyes roam over the contents of the package Elvis sent you, you start to understand that maybe you’re more of a fox than you realized.

“Don’t forget who owns you, princess.”

Trixie’s mouth pops open and she stares at you with wide eyes. You collapse further onto the couch and cover your eyes with your palms. Your heart pounds in your chest as you run through everything you just discovered.

“Wait, I’m sorry…did I miss something?” Trixie asks. “What the hell is all of this, Y/N?”

“It’s nothing,” you reply a little too quickly. “It must be some kind of a joke or something. I don’t know.”

“Some joke! Some expensive joke. These fell out of the letter,” she says, handing over the two green strips of paper.

Your eyes widen as you scan the printed text on the paper. Two tickets to one of Elvis’ concerts at the International Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada. You run a hand over your face and toss the tickets back into the cardboard box they came in. With a building rage, you grab onto the other contents of the package and shove them back in, tucking the wrapping paper back over them like a blanket.

“No, no this is insane. I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is. But no,” you mutter to yourself.

“Y/N, honey…I really don’t think this is a joke. I mean, two front row tickets to an Elvis Presley concert in Las Vegas? Do you know how expensive these are? Who would blow that much money just to get a laugh? I can’t even think of anyone else you know and I certainly didn’t pull this stunt.”

“Look, I don’t know, but I can’t believe that…well, he wouldn’t have any reason to send this to me. I mean, I told him no the last time he offered, so he should-”

“What? What do you mean you ‘told him no?’ Y/N what is going on here that I don’t know about? I’m completely lost.”

Shit. You slipped.

“Oh, no. It’s nothing,” you stutter, waving your hands frantically. “It was…nothing.”

“Well, it was obviously something?” Trixie gestures to the package. You sigh and she places a hand on your shoulder. “Foxie, I’m your best friend in the world. You can tell me anything.”

Your gaze drops down to her brightly painted purple nails and you heave a deep breath before lifting your gaze to hers. Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern and you know that she genuinely does care about your well-being.

“You’re technically my only friend in the world, Trix. But yes, I guess something did happen that I never told you about.”

“Well, what is honey? Now, I really have to know,” she gestures to the package again and you chuckle.

“Well, to start off, the 68 special wasn’t the first time I saw Elvis. I saw him in 1956 at Russwood Park, too.”

“Right. I remember. We’ve talked about it plenty of times. What does that concert have to do with this?”

“Well, I maybe…kind of, sort of…did an embarrassing thing.”

“Like…what?” she quirks an eyebrow and you squeeze your eyes shut to counter the embarrassment you feel rising in your chest.

“I slid my underwear across the stage at that concert,” you blurt, wincing at the memory of your own actions. “And apparently I made an impression because he, Elvis I mean, sent his producer to bring me to the dressing room after we filmed the special. It was several hours after, so you were probably long gone by then. I was staying with my cousin, Steve, you remember him. Anyway, so I wound up in Elvis’ dressing room and it was just the two of us and he just…he just pulled my panties out of his pocket! The ones I’d given him, you know, years and years ago. I mean, I never in my wildest dreams would have expected…do you think he washed them? I mean, ew!”

“Calm, Foxie! Calm and focus. Slow words.”

“Right, sorry,” you laugh painfully and gulp before continuing. “Uh, after he pulled my panties out he sort of asked me if I…like, if I wanted to be his…sugar baby?”

Trixie’s eyes close and reopen wider and she leans forward as if she hasn’t heard you correctly. She blinks in shock.

“Well, what did you say? Did you tell him no?”

“Yeah, I said it was wrong. That I’m not the kind of person who sleeps with married men. Apparently, he didn’t take the hint because…” you gesture again to the infamous package.

“Yeah, I’d say not. What did he offer you? That’s how it works, right? You take care of him and he does something for you?”

“He offered to pay my debts and buy me gifts and stuff. The usual things, I imagine?”

“And he hasn’t contacted you since then until now?”

“Not one time.”

A few moments of silence pass. Trixie settles back into the couch, tapping her finger on her leg, obviously deep in thought. Your eyes just lazily drag around the scattered contents of the package as you contemplate what to do.

“Maybe…” Trixie starts, “you should go see what he wants?”

Your head snaps toward her.

“What?”

“I don’t know, maybe…maybe he has a different offer for you. Or maybe you can finagle your way into an even better arrangement.”

You throw your hands up, motioning for her to stop.

“Trixie, what are you talking about? I can’t do this. It’s wrong.”

“Yeah, I know, but you could use the extra cash and, after all, it is Elvis Presley.”

You just stare at her for a moment, your eyes flicking around her face to see whether she’s joking. Based on what you gather from her expression, she’s being completely serious. You scoff and stand up, grabbing harshly onto the box to take it right to the trash can.

“I can’t believe you would even say that, Trix. I expected better from you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Trixie asks, standing and propping her hands on her hips.

“For God’s sake, Trixie! The man is married with a baby. What would I do to all of that if I said yes? I’m not a homewrecker. All he wants to do is use me anyway. He’ll probably drop me in three days for another woman. No thanks, not gonna happen. I’m not doing this.”

“Well, give it all to me, then,” Trixie shouts back, stalking over toward you and grabbing ahold of the package. You pull back firmly, preventing her from snatching it out of your fingers.

“Excuse me? What are you gonna do? You’re gonna go see him?”

“Maybe I will.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but he doesn’t want you. He wants me!” you shout, ripping the package away from her.

“Oh, that’s very nice of you. If you’re not gonna take him up on it, someone should!” she yells back, reaching for the package again.

“If you didn’t want to support me financially any more you could have just said it!”

“Don’t even!” she holds up her pointer finger. “You know very well that’s not what this is about. I have no problem helping you. You’re the one who’s always complaining about how pathetic it is that you have to mooch off me.”

“And not everyone has the luxury to just leave their lives, you know!” you yell. “I have to work, Trixie. To pay my bills, to keep my car, to avoid going to prison. Not everyone’s mommy and daddy are around to bail them out when they make stupid decisions!”

Right after the words escape your lips, your eyebrows unfurl and grief settles quickly in the depths of your stomach. When you notice a few glinting tears gathering in Trixie’s eyes, the reality of what you’ve said and its consequences are all too clear. Trixie huffs and stares at you for a moment before spinning on her heel and stalking down the hallway to her room. You drop the box on the counter and thrust your face into your hands, jumping at the rigid sound of her bedroom door slamming shut.

“Why don’t you just leave me alone?” you whisper to Elvis’ nonexistent frame as you toy with a piece of the wrapping paper.

You’d lied to Trixie, which you now feel increasingly bad about. You had heard from Elvis. Just a few letters here and there for the first couple of months after you rejected him the first time. You threw them all away without opening a single one. After a while, they just stopped coming and you thought you were in the clear. You were obviously wrong.

You glance around the apartment, thinking about how lucky you are to even be living here in the first place. Guilt racks through your body painfully and you sniff back a couple of tears before reaching across the table to grab the two tickets. As your eyes circle around the words, you sigh and then shuffle down the hall toward Trixie’s room. With a deep breath, you knock quietly on the door and lean against it.

“Trixie? I’m so sorry, Trix. I’m just overwhelmed and frustrated. I didn’t mean to call you stupid or…shame you for your upbringing. And I really shouldn’t dare considering how much you’ve done for me,” you say quietly, resting your forehead against the door. “It just feels so…unreal. This whole Elvis situation. Don’t get me wrong, of course I’m interested but it just…feels so wrong. He’s married with a kid and I…I’m scared.”

You wait a few seconds but hear nothing on the other side of the door. You turn with a dejected sigh and retreat to hide in your room. But as soon as you turn your back, the door clicks open. You whirl back around to see Trixie peeking her head out.

“I’m sorry,” you say but she holds up a hand.

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should be doing that. I have no right telling you what to do with your life. I certainly shouldn’t be mad at you for not accepting. This situation is very…unusual. I guess I just got jealous at the idea that the Elvis Presley wants you so badly that he went to all this trouble. And I hate to see you struggling. I know the money would reduce a lot of stress so I just think you should…I don’t know, consider it.”

“I know, Trix. I could use the money, of course. But I’m scared and embarrassed. What’ll happen if I eventually get old or uninteresting? If he gets bored of me and drops me for someone else? I barely know the man but he feels dangerous to me. Steve said something about him being unfaithful to his wife and…it’s just all so much.”

Trixie nods, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms over her chest. You sigh loudly.

“At the same time, though…” you offer a small smile and pull the two tickets from your back pocket. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take him up on this? It’d be a shame to waste two front row tickets, especially with how expensive they are nowadays. And it would give me the opportunity to tell him off once and for all. What do you think? Another roomie adventure?”

You wiggle the tickets in the air with a suggestive shrug. Trixie laughs and nudges the door open with her hip. She throws her arms around your shoulders and you lean into her touch, closing your eyes and squeezing tightly. When she releases you, you’re greeted by a massive smile on her beautiful face.

“I guess we should get packing, then,” you say, gesturing at the tickets which have tomorrow’s date printed all over them.

“I’ll call the hotel and make reservations!” Trixie shouts, clapping her hands together.

With that, she disappears into her room to start packing. You trudge back into the kitchen to retrieve the package and then disappear into your own room. A few minutes later, you hear Trixie’s favorite Elvis record playing from her room.

You spend most of the day packing and preparing to leave since you’ll need to depart first thing in the morning to make the concert on time. At least one full hour is spent on the phone with your boss at KNBC as you try to explain why you can’t come in tomorrow. Another hour is wasted when you spend it calling everyone you know at the office to see if they’ll fill in for you. Luckily, the last person on your contact list agrees to take your shift. You thank them endlessly and accidentally promise an autograph from Elvis, although you aren’t sure if you plan on being that close to him.

You pass out as soon as your head hits the pillow that night and, even though you’ve both slept in, you and Trixie are groggy as ever in the morning.

As you lift your suitcase from the bed, your eyes land on the package from Elvis, half-unopened and not packed in your case. You pause in the doorway for a moment, staring at it. Last night, it was all too clear why you shouldn’t bring it. The answer to his proposal was and always would be a firm no. But this morning, as your gaze falls frozen on the beautiful things he’d sent you and the haunting words he’d written, your heart thumps with anticipation. Sighing frustratedly, you click open the suitcase and shove both the dress and the lingerie inside.

You and Trixie leave LA around 11 a.m., piled into her blue Jeep Wagoneer. Two hours into the four hour trip, you switch off and take the wheel so Trixie can get some extra rest. She was awake until two in the morning pairing up the perfect outfits. To your surprise, the drive is over in a flash and, the next thing you know, you’re inching through the Vegas Strip, stuck in horrific traffic.

You check your wristwatch as you get caught by yet another red light. You have roughly four hours to get ready for the show. After parking and checking in at the front desk, you take your bags upstairs to get unpacked. Even with exploring the hotel, grabbing dinner, and getting changed for the concert (which includes the forty minutes you spent debating whether or not you should wear the blue dress Elvis sent you), you find yourselves with time to spare. You decide to head down early and see if you can get seated before the rush.

When you arrive outside of the showroom, you’re shocked to see the area relatively deserted. You check the ticket twice to make sure before approaching the security guard standing in front of the doors.

“Hi,” you say cheerily. “We’re here for the Elvis show and were just wondering if it’d be possible for us to be seated a little early? If not, that’s alright, but we figured we’d check.”

“Well,” the guard starts, his eyes tracking not-so-sneakily up and down yours and Trixie’s figures. “We normally don’t allow people in before the scheduled time, but I might be able to make an exception for two ladies as lovely as yourselves.”

He winks and you press your lips together to keep from laughing. You glance at Trixie out of the corner of your eye and see her holding a finger to her mouth to mask her amusement.

“Oh, that’d be awfully sweet of you…Henry,” Trixie says, flashing him her most charming smile.

Your eyes drop down to see his nametag which reads Henry. You bite your tongue as you watch Henry flash Trixie a smile. He glances around the surrounding casino floor to see if anyone else is watching before pushing open the big black door behind him. He gestures with his hand.

“Please come on in, ladies. Will you need help finding your seats today?”

“Oh, you’re too generous, Henry,” you say as you both glide past him into the showroom. “But I think we’ll be alright. If we get lost, we’ll be sure to find you.”

You throw in a wink for good measure and spin on your heel, dragging Trixie into the room. Only a few steps inside and you’re both laughing so hard that you can barely breathe. Your laughs dry up in a couple of seconds, however, when you start to take in the space. You mutter in awe and point around the room, admiring details like the golden curtains pulled over the stage and the ornate statues adorning each column. You pull out the tickets and use them to direct you both toward your seats in the front row.

“Damn, we’re literally right here,” you muse, glancing straight ahead of you onto the front of the stage.

You’re seated at a round table that’s clad with a very fanciful tablecloth, dishes, and wine glasses. A candle, unlit, rests in the middle of the table and there’s a note propped up against the glass. You tilt your head as you reach out to grab it.

“Oh my god,” you mutter as you read the writing on the outside. Princess.

“Ooh, what’s that?” Trixie asks, plopping into one of the chairs next to you. You open the note as you join her.

“Princess, I’m so glad you made it. When you get here, come see me backstage. I have a present for you,” you read, your eyebrows furrowing.

You glance at Trixie but she just raises her eyebrows and shrugs. With a deep breath, you grab onto your purse, still clutching the note in your fingers.

“Alright, well I guess now’s as good a time as any to break the hard news. I’ll be back, I hope. If anything happens to me back there, you get everything in the apartment,” you say with a goofy smile.

Trixie laughs and shoos you away just in time for the showroom doors to open and release a line of audience members into the area. You hurry toward a door on the left side of the stage which you assume leads to the backstage area, considering the security guard who stands in front of it. You clear your throat before announcing yourself.

“Uh, hi! I’m here to see Elvis. Well, everyone is here to do that, I guess, but I have this note and uh…well, here,” you say nervously and hand over the letter. He examines it as you wait and anxiously wring out your fingers.

“Y/N?”

Your head spins as a vaguely familiar voice sounds from behind you. A smile immediately spreads across your face as you recognize Elvis’ producer, Jerry. You give him a wave and a shrug as heat creeps into your face.

“Hi…” you greet him quietly.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, approaching you. He waves off the guard dismissively. “She’s good to go. He’s been expecting her for a long time. Here, I’ll show you back.”

The guard shimmies out of the way so Jerry can open the door. He gestures for you to enter with a smile and you thank him as you step through.

“Changed your mind, huh?” Jerry asks as you follow him through the backstage area.

“Uh, no actually. Not really. I’m just here to tell him to save his postage,” you say, feeling the need to justify yourself although you can’t explain why.

“Can’t blame you. These kinds of situations don’t work for everyone, although this will be a first for him.”

“Do you think he’ll be disappointed?” you ask jokingly.

“Oh I’d bet on it.” Apparently Jerry didn’t take your question as a joke. “Like I said before he’s been waiting for you, specifically, for a long time. I’m sure he’ll be very disappointed, but don’t let that stop you. It is your decision, after all. Good luck.”

Jerry points toward a dressing room door with big black letters which read ELVIS. You clear your throat and thank Jerry. He nods curtly and then spins on his heel to return to the work he probably needs to get done before the show starts. You straighten the hem of the blue dress he’d sent you and clutch firmly onto the strap of your purse, into which you’d also stuffed the lingerie at the last minute. It suddenly occurs to you that perhaps you were supposed to wear the lingerie under the dress…

Oh well, you think to yourself. Too late now.

You take a few deep breaths and smile awkwardly at the cast and crew who pass through the area on their way to get ready for the show. You know it’s ridiculous to think that everyone knows why you’re here but, despite the sheer unlikeliness of it all, you still feel embarrassed and shameful that you actually came. A few times, you debate backing away and returning to your table with Trixie to just enjoy the show. But something stops you every time. Eventually, your desire and curiosity move you forward and your knuckles knock on the door three times.

Ignoring the fight or flight mechanism that triggers in your chest, you wait for the door to open. In a matter of seconds, your wish is granted and he stands before you. He’s wearing an incredibly detailed white jumpsuit with flared pants and a popped collar. It’s unbuttoned all the way down to his waist and you gulp as your eyes immediately fly to the bare skin of his chest. As your gaze flicks back up to his face, you find him smirking down at you, his eyes already hungrily digesting your figure which stands in front of him. His body is elongated and pulled taut as he leans against the doorframe. He still looks good, as healthy and as sexy as ever, although his sideburns and hair are much longer than they had been almost a year ago.

“Princess,” he says in a voice even deeper than you remember. You begin to notice the painful thudding of your heart against your chest as his eyes take you in. “I figured you weren’t comin.”

This is it, the perfect opportunity for you to reject him and explain why you can’t take him up on his offer. But your brain stalls. It’s completely blank as you stare up at him with helpless doe eyes. He examines your figure once more before pushing the door open to create a space underneath his armpit for you to enter. You glance up at him, waiting for further instructions as if you need a translation. He flips his head toward the room.

“Inside.”

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