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suraemoon · 11 months ago

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It Couldn’t Be Better

Elvis x Reader - snippets of Elvis’ first Christmas with your family

Warnings: None really, just fluff and flirting

WC: 3.8k (was supposed to a blurb idk what happened)

A/N: Look, I’m aware that this isn’t good and is all over the place. I’d spend a few more days on it if I could but today is Christmas (yay!) and it would make no sense to post it any other day. I put in my masterlist that this would hopefully be out by the 25th and here it is. It’s based on the prompts “It could be worse” and something along the lines of “a character’s parent makes them tacky christmas sweaters” Merry Christmas y’all!!!!! I LOVE YOU.

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“It could be worse.” Your voice radiates fake optimism as your manicured nails pick a piece of lint from the homemade, bright red knitted sweater on your upper half.

You look up from your quick maintenance to be met with Elvis’ scrunched nose and concentrated eyes as his hand pulls on his sweater's borderline turtleneck collar, a bright “Christmas tree” green to complement yours festively.

The sweaters were beautifully knit with white stripes going back in forth in turn with the chosen festive color. Glued on the knit were an array of tinseled pompoms and ironed on were different designs of patches. Smiles, hearts, stars, animals, santa’s, snowflakes, etc; they all looked like they’d be better suited on a girl’s poodle skirt. “Eh..I guess.”

Your mama had sent you two up to your bedroom to get ready in time for Christmas dinner with your whole extended family.

From her spot next to the stove in the kitchen, one that seemed permanent for her during the holiday season, Mama was cooking up her signature feast and the scent of food filled the air teasingly. The smell enveloped everyone and only built up anticipation for later in the day.

Earlier in the day, when the cold wind flowed in anticipation and the white snowflakes made themselves home, you and your boyfriend had been tasked with cleaning the whole house from top to bottom.

One of the most famous men in the country having his first Christmas at your house? Mama was quick to put a broom in his hand for she had the elder generational quality to not spend her time focusing on pop culture and society but instead what needed to be done in order to keep her home running smoothly, especially during the holidays.

“You need to wash my windows, clean my counters, sweep and mop the floors…”

You couldn’t stop a huff from leaving your lips at the housekeeping task for this was the first year that you desired to be in the kitchen, observant to her methods and helping when you can.

Your mother was easily the best cook you knew, she knew the kitchen like the back of her hand, and with your growing relationship with Elvis starting to become more and more serious, you started thinking about your own cooking skills…well the lack of.

One day you will be handed the baton of Thanksgiving and Christmas meals and there’s no harm in trying to learn the ins and outs of it now.

“You need to give the dog a bath, make sure every bedroom in the house looks neat…”

The urge to be a housewife never striked upon your young ambitious mind until you met Mr. Elvis Presley. He unknowingly had the ability to cooking, cleaning, and raising children seemed so much more desirable. A life centered around being his subservient, supportive wife seemed delicious when his hand was intertwined in yours. A few years ago, a younger and singler you would’ve called yourself crazy. Nowadays you just call yourself in love.

“You got it, ma’am.”

Elvis met this list of chores as long as Santa Claus’ list with a smile for he was a restless person always looking for something to do, always searching for an excuse to move, and you knew deep down that he missed his own mama telling him to do stuff.

Now, a few hours later, that genuine go-with-the-flow grin was replaced with the tug of his lip genuinely trying its best to exude politeness as his hand tugged on the collar of his christmas sweater again, the top of his pale collarbone teasing you in the process.

The sun was now lower in the sky but the clouds did not tire from dropping snowflakes anywhere they could. The warm light of your lamp illuminated your freshly tidied room.

It fit the comfort of the holiday spirit better than the sunshine of the early day where brightness flowed through every window as you cleaned them with a rag, the circular motion of your hand mirrored the making of a snowball. Now the view out of the window was a grayish storm of flurries, weather in which a warm sweater would come in handy.

To make light of an awkward situation, you decide to embrace it and do a quick spin in front of him, showing off your full festive outfit. The cranberry red of your oversized sweater is paired with a black leather mini skirt and black leather boots to match.

It’s an outfit that you wouldn’t usually ever wear for a family event like this. But your boyfriend's overwhelming presence: fingers that you knew would always intertwine with yours as if meant to be, an arm that would never fail to wrap around your waist, feet that would always gravitate towards being around you, it all filled you with an indescribable sense of confidence.

The pure sex appeal Elvis exuded 24/7, seemingly effortless as if the attraction comes with his nature, always inclined you to put your all into matching it’s magnetic energy. The spin stops and your feet go to tippy toes to reach up and kiss his sugar plum lips. “What do ya think?”

Elvis wets his lips as if your lipstick had a flavor and his eyes look you over your figure fully as he takes your hand to give you a quick little twirl. Instead of a full 360 it was more of two 180’s since he stopped a second to take a quick look at your back side.

A low whistle was the background music to the rest of your orbit and his cheeky little smile seemed to glow when in the presence of your maroon red lipstick. “I think I gotta see what’s under it. Gonna let me do a little inspection? Wanna make sure everything’s sitting right…working the way it’s sposed ta.”

“Elvis! It’s Christmas…gotta be family friendly.”

He chuckles as a response comes too quickly to brain, “I wanna get real friendly with you, honey.”

You hit his shoulder playfully, “Stop that.”

“Hey! It’s Christmas, honey. Thought we had to be family friendly and that hitting ain’t very holly jolly of ya. I’m surprised Santa didn’t give ya coal this year.”

“Oh please. I don’t think Santa would mind me putting ya in line for naughty thoughts.”

“I don’t think Santa would mind me bending ya over my knee for a smart mouth but…” He shrugs, putting his sleeves in his pants pockets.

You stick out your tongue at him and he laughs his beautiful laugh. Gliding as if on ice back to the mirror of your vanity, you apply some more blush to your cheeks. Getting a little too warm and secretly having the cheeky desire to show more skin, you subconsciously fold the ribbed collar of your sweater down a little bit.

When met with the black and purple of a hickey on the side of your neck, immediately the collar is put back in its original place, the fabric willing to revert back to how it was supposed to be worn and mocking you in the process as if saying “told you so”.

A whisper escapes your lip, “Jesus…”

Elvis perks up from the seat he has taken on your bed in response, for he loves an opportunity to talk to (and tease) his favorite girl, “Lord’s name in vain on his birthday?”

Your eyes, framed by black liner and an eyeshadowed lid, meet his through the mirror of the vanity, “Elvis what’d ya do to my neck? It ain’t ever been this much before.”

“Hmm…” His arms are at his sides, stabilizing himself against the plush of the comforter, and he looks simply adorable with his false pout as if thinking of a smart remark to respond with.

“Hm indeed.”

He chuckles, “Today about love ain’t it? You don’t wanna put ya collar down and show everyone how much I love ya?”

“Elvis…”

As if automatic, your eyes roll playfully and he decides to continue, “Not gonna show off that pretty little neck, huh? You always look pretty but you look even prettier when you’re all marked up…all claimed.”

“You’re too much.” You shake your head, trying to cool off the influx of red that has awoken on your cheeks.

“People wanna know which one’s E.P.’s girl? Oh, they’ll know. She got the love marks to prove it. She’s the only girl I wanna love on.”

Your soft hands go up to cover your face but they make sure to keep a safe distance in order to not mess up the canvas of progress you have made at the vanity. “Shoo…you’re too distracting. I gotta finish my makeup.”

“So…?”

“So…they’re staying covered.”

A few minutes later, he speaks again from a spot on your bed as you apply the finishing touches of your makeup. “No offense to your mama, honey, but…I don't think homemade holiday sweaters are really in trend. Not these ones at least.”

His slight frown gives way to a bright laugh, a sound prettier than the jingle bells adorning the sleeves of his sweeter.

“Everyone’s gonna be wearing one so we’re all gonna be weird together.”

“Mm.”

“Last year was polka dots…polka dots. So count yourself lucky you weren’t around for that.”

Your mother’s homemade knitted wool Christmas sweaters have been a longstanding tradition in your family since….forever. When asked, it was your great-great grandmother that started it years ago. Or was it your great-great-great grandma? No one would be surprised if the family’s Christmas sweater fascination started way back in the simple days of the cavemen when your neanderthal ancestors were in need of warmth and for some odd reason in addition to fire and sharpened sticks, they had the supplies to create tacky garments of clothing.

You and Elvis started dating in January, so this year was full of firsts with this cold December wrapping it up lovingly in a snug little bow.

When dinner was served at Elvis’ first Thanksgiving with your family, the unusual but warmly content silence around the large, wooden dinner table was interrupted abruptly by your mother’s sudden thought. A soft gasp called for hungry heads to look up from their plates.

You would think there was a lightbulb above her head or that an epiphany to solve world hunger was in her thoughts. Your mama looked at Elvis with a gleeful smile, “I’ve gotta ‘nother Christmas sweater to make this year!” You remember the way Elvis’ smile was apprehension coating in politeness, wondering what the hell she was talking about. Your mama made clothes? How has that never come up?

His blue eyes widened for a full second about two weeks later when he was sat quickly by your mother on the couch with a gift box practically shoved in his hands. “Sit, sit ,sit!” Your mama said as if a little kid again.

The same eagerness did not translate to when you sat down, as by now you knew the routine by heart. You got practically the same gift two weeks before Christmas every single year. Just different designs, patterns, and decor but in its essence the same gift filled with the same love. This was always around the time when mama gave everyone there sweaters either in person or by mail.

Now that you think about it…this giftbox looks suspiciously similar to the same one you opened last year. Is that why your mama made sure you were careful not to break it?

The ornaments on the tree, a brand new one from last year right next to one you crafted out of popsicle sticks and cardboard in kindergarten. The nostalgia and newness blended seamlessly on the forest green branches.

The opening of boxes takes attention away from the tree, a happy presence willing to blend into the background the best it can. Your perfectly wrapped and ribboned rectangle has not even been touched but you watch intently as Elvis tries to carefully peel the tape off the side of the box. Your mother wouldn’t have minded if he tore it to shreds. She would’ve told you off if you had dared, but with Elvis it would’ve been alright.

“Y-you really didn’t hafta get me anything, ma’am. It’s real kind of you.”

Your mother replies matter of factly, “Are you kidding? It’s Christmas! Of course I had to give my son-in-law something.” You and Elvis weren’t married. Not yet. But the law of the heart doesn’t care about physical papers. In the minds of your welcoming family, new people were accepted with open arms and once their hearts got on Elvis they never want him to go.

Elvis brings his attention to you for the first time in a while, lifting your chin up gently with his hands as he admires your face. “You already blessed me with your beautiful daughter. She’s better than any gift, no doubt.” A shade of pink flushes over your face as Elvis gives you a quick, soft kiss.

“Awww. My two little turtle doves. Well, I’m allowed to give ya more than one gift so go ‘head.”

When the top of the box is lifted off, a tiny sweet sounding gasp escapes Elvis’ lips as his eyes fall on the christmas sweater. “O-oh…wow, ma’am. It’s, it’s really somethin’.”

Mama watches intently, “Do ya like it?”

He could pass for a deer in headlights. “More than like it. I can’t wait to wear it for um..Christmas.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the false enthusiasm and at this noise mom’s attention turns straight to you and the box on your lap, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms, “Are you too cool in front of your boyfriend to open yours?”

Shaking your head, the faint sound of Christmas radio sings in your ears as you open your first gift of Christmas. It’s red to go with Elvis’ green. Youthful to contrast with a growing daughter, homey and nostalgic to compete with a fast, changing lifestyle.

Your smile is genuine as you reply, “Thanks mama. It’s really nice.”

All three of you share the most comfortable of silences. It wasn’t silent really, music flowed through the room and firewood crackled; the background ambience that makes any December day anymore special.

The memories of your mother and her cute interactions with your boyfriend (all of which showing she approved of him greatly) was interrupted by the voice of the man himself. All of sudden you were brought back where you were: in your room getting ready with the person you love the most on the 25th of December.

“You ready to go down, honey? I think I heard some people walk in.”

“Oh..yeah! Let’s go.” Taking his hand, you walk over to the door.

“Wait a second…” Your mind immediately goes to the lamp you left on but his mind is somewhere else completely. He leans down to kiss you, long and hard. The unexpected passion takes you back but your heels stay steady on the ground, all of your attention on kissing him back with the same fervidity. His calloused hand is on your soft cheek and your fingers flow through his black hair. You want the moment to never end but like all things in life it inevitably does.

“Now we can go.” His smirk is teasing and playful. He knows the effect he has on you. He knows by your red cheeks and wide eyes how weak he can make you.

“I-” Practically speechless you just nod and take his hand, walking shakily out of the door. He laughs at the sudden urgency, slapping your behind playfully as you walk in front of him.

When your face, your whole body for that matter, started to become less warm and all of the many happy greetings to family and friends were finished, the evening was going splendidly. Laughs and cheer filled the space and joy at being back together radiated off of everyone in the room.

This year, you started to become more aware of not only yourself but your surroundings. What would this look like to a fly on the wall? What would it look like to a man attending his first Christmas with the loved ones that you have grown up being accustomed to? The Christmas tree shined brightly, decorated with a mismatched array of ornaments that went together perfectly. Every seat had a person and the garlands that Elvis hung up on the walls looked down at everyone adoringly.

From your spot standing in the open arched doorway connecting the dining room and living room you are a true wall flower for a moment. You notice how the group of younger teenage cousins brought their friends over for dinner for the first time ever and it just so happened to be the year where Elvis Presley started to attend the gathering. Giggles and whispers came from the corners of the living room, juveniles no longer embarrassed by matching tacky sweaters.

Looking away, your knowing smirk turns into a wide, adoring smile as you turn your attention to Elvis playing with your littlest cousins on the fluffy rug.

Unlike their older counterparts, their innocent smiles are refreshing for they are oblivious to the fact that it is the Elvis Presley playing with them.

To the little ones, he’s just Mr. Elvis, a friend to play with. He’s cradling the youngest baby gently in his arms while sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor. A toddler in two pigtails and a bright pink knit sweater plays in his gelled hair as if on an oblivious mission to mess it up.

Little Jane managed to get her hand on a brush and was trying to play make-believe hair salon with your boyfriend. “Sit still, Mr. Elvis!”

“Oops.” Elvis winces as the hard brush hits him on the side of the head. “I’m trying, honey, I really am. Hard when you’re trying ta pull my hair out.”

“I’m tryna make ya look pretty! If you wanna look a mess just say it.”

“Maybe sometimes I wanna look a mess.”

She groans, “You hardly got a lotta hair anyway. It’s all shiny and too hard ta make ponies.” And just like that, with an attention span the size of her tiny legs, she abandons both Elvis and the brush to go play with a group of older kids about older elementary age.

Elvis chuckles lightly and focuses on the small baby still in his lap, trying to grab at him with chubby hands. His plush lashes flutter gently as he looks down and gives the little cherub all of his pretty attention and you swear right then and there, your heart was about to escape from your chest.

“Ain’t you the cutest? You’re the cutest, ain’t ya?” The baby giggles an infectious giggle and Elvis’ smirk is just as adorable.

“I gotta get myself one of ya. A cute little baby. A littlun just like you.”

“I gotta get myself one of ya.” He’s talking to a baby, and you’re his girlfriend, the only one who can help him with that wish. Stuck in place, your legs feel weak as you lean on the wall next to you for support and your stomach can be easily compared to a snow globe filled with a flurry of snowflakes. If hearts can do somersaults, yours has many times since you’ve met Elvis.

His hand envelops one of the baby’s white socks gently. “Tiny little sooties too.”

The baby’s gummy grin gets wider as he kicks his feet, fascinated with Elvis’ hand like a new toy. Your boyfriend moves up from the itty bitty feet to tickle the tiny belly lying in front of him, then his palm relaxes, moving up and down in a soothing motion over the little one’s soft sweater. By the way Elvis’ pink lips move you can tell he has started to sing a song. It’s a quiet melody just between him and the baby he's holding. The most beautiful, adorable secrets.

When you remember that you are an actual person in the room and your legs feel less like jello, in your head you decide to walk over to the spot on the rug where Elvis is sitting but before your heels could move a second step, the ringing of a bell fills the room.

“Dinner everyone!” The voice of your mother is a saving grace to every hungry soul in the house.

Elvis stands up, holding the baby securely as if he has been a professional at holding infants his whole life. The mother, your eldest cousin, walks over shyly with a blush on her face as she carefully takes the baby from Elvis’ arms so he could go eat.

“You’ve got a really cute daughter, honey…well her mama’s cute so I know where she got it from.”

Flustered, her mouth parts a little as she adjusts the smiley baby on her hip. “O-oh. Um..thank you. Thank you very much.”

He had a way of speaking, a beautiful charm, that could make any woman he comes across blush. No matter how long the sparkly wedding ring has been on their ring finger. By the way she looked at Elvis, you wouldn’t know that the young mother has been married to her actual husband for two years. You’d think the baby in her hands was Elvis’.

Elvis smirked his “I know what I’m doing” cheeky grin and kissed the baby’s cheek before walking away.

Suddenly, You and Elvis start to walk to each other simultaneously as if all that time apart wore you out and you needed another dose, attracting like the opposite sides of the strongest magnet, the two of you meet in the middle of the room.

You’re the next to get your cheek kissed and he whispers to you, “Remember when ya said earlier that things could be worse when I was grumbling ‘bout the sweater.”

“Oh, I remember.”

He holds your hand and begins to lead you to the kitchen as he finishes his thought. “I’ll tell ya. Today couldn’t get better, honey. It really couldn’t.”

As you walk, the voices of tiny children ring out suddenly, “Mistletoe! Mistletoe!” It took Elvis tapping your shoulder and pointing up to notice that the audience was addressing you and him. Through long lashes you look up and indeed a piece of green hangs above in the archway that you and Elvis stand in. To any on-looker the image of you two could’ve been a painting. You indeed felt frozen in time.

“It’s the mistletoe! That’s your boyfriend, you gotta kiss!” The tiny voices continued their protesting.

Elvis smiles at you, “Well, I guess it could get a little better. It’s bad luck to ignore the mistletoe. Need to feel ya on me…been too long.”

“Merry Christmas, Elvis.” Just like that, you reach up and kiss him, your thumb moving back and forth on his cheek as you tilt your head to the side. He starts kissing you back immediately and an eruption of tiny cheers fills the room.