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robinismywife · 10 months

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Best thing I've read in a while! The imagery is incredible and the vibes are immaculate! I love the way you write (and especially the way you write for Elvis!). I'm obsessed hun <33 !!!

First things first, in love with your writing style! Have a little request for you: teenage!Elvis taking a bubbly!bookworm! reader to a high school dance at Humes. The reader lives at Lauderdale Courts as well and he often spots her reading on the grass in front of the building. The two bond increasingly over books (he could listen to her enthusing over novels for hours) and this led to his asking. A very cute, softhearted romance overall. Thank you, let me know what you think! 💜

i love this request sm, it was meant to be short but i got carried away and now it's the longest request i've written! 🧚

🧚🏻 Masterlist 🧚🏻

word count: 4,762

pairing: 50s elvis x bubbly, bookworm female! reader

Oh Lord, Elvis adored you. You were practically the human version of a golden retriever and he thought you were awful sweet.

Elvis had a tough time at high school, he was a bit different, he liked to style his hair differently and enjoyed different music to most of the folks at school. Girls loved him, but finding friends was a challenge.

It meant that Elvis was fairly reserved, which was often mistaken for stand-offish and intimidating, when actually, Elvis just wanted to make sure he was surrounded by kind people.

Your mother and father had warned you about the boy from Lauderdale Courts, the one that looked "rebellious" and sinful, even if they actually quite liked Gladys and Vernon Presley. But you knew that Elvis wasn't a mean spirited person, he'd never made fun of you at school like some other people had, when he'd had every opportunity to do so.

You didn't let mean comments from school get to you. You knew that it was just a reflection of the whoever had said the nasty words and that they'd learn better eventually. That's what your book had told you, all the characters that had been the subject of harsh words never let it get to them and you decided that you wouldn't let the words get to you either.

You loved books, they were your passion and you would rarely be found without a book in your hands. Between classes, at the breakfast table, on the lawn in front of Lauderdale Courts, you always managed to find time to start reading your latest favourite novel.

And that's how Elvis first approached you, on the lawn of Lauderdale Courts, under your favourite tree with your nose buried in a book. You hadn't even noticed him standing over you until he coughed to get your attention.

Elvis had been through a rough day, he was graduating high school along with you, but he'd started talks with a record label and there was a possibility of even touring and performing some songs. It was exciting albeit stressful and there were a lot of people applying a lot of pressure onto the young star.

Elvis just wanted to relax when he arrived home after some meetings, to unwind and calm down a little, and when he spotted you basking in the warm, golden sunlight, giggling adorably at the book, he figured that whatever happiness you held was infectious - and he walked over straight to you.

He'd always noticed you but you'd never exactly paid him much attention as your stories were your top priority.

"Hello darlin'," Elvis said, crouching down by you as you peered up at him, squinting a little to avoid the blinding evening sun. "Mind if I join ya?" He asked.

You were a little taken aback at first, no-one ever approached you, especially when you were reading and you knew that Elvis was popular with the girls at school, so you wondered why he wanted to spend time with you. Nevertheless, you didn't question it too much, he was friendly enough.

"Sure!" You smiled, turning your head back to your book in your hands, it was Little Women, a book you'd read before but you really couldn't get enough of it, this must've been the fourth, no, fifth time you've read it?

"You're Y/N right?" Elvis interrupted, making you turn your attention back to him.

"Yup. You're Elvis Presley." You said softly.

"You know who I am?"

"Sure, you're in my History class, you sit next to Jonny Albright. You live on the floor above me!" You said gently.

"And you're the girl who loves books ain't ya?" Elvis pointed out, not in a mean way, just observatory as he laid down on the grass, propping his upper body up by leaning on his elbows as you sat with your back leaning against your favourite tree.

"Guess I am." You giggled. "Do you like books?" You asked after realising that Elvis was wanting a conversation.

"Sure I do, maybe not as much as you do, but I like 'em, I see you a lot out here readin' y'know." Elvis said, making you feel an odd sensation for the first time and you blushed a little at him admitting to noticing your habits.

"I love books and stories, my Momma and Papa, they say that it's good to read but I gotta try to make some friends more and I know they're right but I just can't help it, I start readin' a book and I can't put it down until I know what happens at the end!" You said with a soft smile, you did want some more friends but you felt like you found friends in the characters of all the stories you were reading and you didn't actually mind if they weren't exactly real. You looked up at Elvis who was just watching you with sheer interest and intrigue. "You know, my Papa even put me on a ban from buyin' any new books the other week. I just been readin' all my old ones all over again." You confessed.

"So that one ya got there, that ain't a new story?" Elvis chuckled, you were very sweet, he was starting to regret not having approached you sooner. His thoughts about his meetings were already slipping away.

"Nope, this is my favourite book, it's Little Women, have you read it?" You asked.

"No, but I'd like to, when I got some more time maybe." Elvis said, he wasn't exactly sure if he would like to read it, he didn't really know what it was about truthfully, but he was starting to like you a little already, and when your face lit up with a smile at him suggesting he might read your favourite book, he knew he'd said the right thing.

"Oh wow!" You said, excited at the prospect of sharing your love of books with someone. "Well, I'd let ya borrow this copy but my little dog, Basil, he tore out a few bits of a few pages, it's not too bad because I've read this maybe five times or somethin' like that, so I can understand the missin' bits, but it might not make sense otherwise. But maybe, um, maybe you could try the school library! I could even look for you tomorrow at school if ya wanted me to! I really wouldn't mind!" You said, beginning to ramble, but you were just so excited.

"That copy is sure lookin' worse for wear sweetheart." Elvis chuckled, the spine was torn and chunks of pages were missing and you'd sure like a new one but your Papa was right, you couldn't be spending anymore money on new books.

"I know, but it's my favourite story." You said fondly. "The main character, Jo, well she wants to be a writer ya see, and that's kinda what I wanna do when I grow up, maybe." You confessed.

"A writer say?" Elvis said, raising an eyebrow, impressed.

"Uh-huh! A writer! I ain't written much yet but I got dreams and I got ideas and I think maybe, one day, other people would like to read what I got to write." You told him eagerly.

"I'd read anything you wrote darlin'." Elvis said, being simultaneously flirtatious and sincere.

You blushed at the words, no boy had ever said such kind words to you, let alone one as handsome as the one laid out in front of you.

You babbled on some more in the sticky summer air, explaining why you loved certain books, giving Elvis recommendations and answering all the questions he had - which were a lot. It was only when your mother hollered at you from your window that you had to bid Elvis goodbye and scurry in for your dinner. Elvis watched you dash away, turning back whilst running to give him a wave, knowing he was smitten with you.

You were adorable in every sense of the word, cheery, chatty and charming. It didn't hurt that you were awful cute looking too.

After spending all night thinking about your amazing evening with Elvis, you decided to make a beeline for the library during school the next day. You loved the library and librarians and whilst you wanted to be a writer, you sure did want to be a librarian too. The idea of looking after so many books and being surrounded by like-minded bookworms was such an exciting idea for you.

It didn't take you long to find a copy of Little Women and you took it out straight away. You didn't really know where Elvis would hang out but you decided to wander around the hallways looking for him.

You eventually found him, standing next to what you assumed was his locker. He was chatting to some friends who you would later come to know were Billy and George. Tentatively, you approached him, tapping his arm to get his attention. He turned around, looking down at you with a smile when he realised who it was.

Standing next to him, you couldn't help but notice how tall he was compared to you, you felt so little and the way he spoke to you sometimes made you feel that way too.

"M'sorry, I don't wanna interrupt," You said as you realised he was in the middle of a conversation.

"Not interrupting anythin' important sweet thing," Elvis said, making you blush at the pet name. "Billy, George, I'll meet ya at gym." He said, dismissing them before turning his attention back to you.

"I just went to the library, they had a copy of Little Women, well actually they had three copies, can you believe it!?" You enthused, making Elvis chuckle at how cute you were. "Well, um, anyways, I got one for ya, I figured you might be busy, my Momma said last night that your Momma told her that you got a lotta meetin's and stuff so I thought I'd get ya this! You don't gotta read it but it's real good!" You explained, trying to catch your breath from speaking so quickly.

You were a little nervous in front of him and you weren't sure why, he was very attentive in the short time you'd spoken to him, he didn't make you feel bad for being a bookworm, so you were a little confused at your feelings. You supposed you just didn't want to bore him.

"Slow down lil' mama, you gotta catch some air honey." Elvis laughed at your rambling and you giggled. "But that's awful thoughtful of ya honey. Y'know what I'm gonna do?" Elvis said, as you shook your head, waiting to find out. "I'm gonna come join ya after school by your favourite lil' tree and read some of this with ya, if that's okay of course, I know it's ya favourite lil' spot." Elvis said, as you placed the copy in Elvis' large hands.

"Of course it's okay Elvis! I'd really like that y'know! Oh! It will be like a mini book club, kinda! I always wanted to go t'one of them! We could talk about our favourite characters! I mean ya already know that mines Jo, but you might have a different favourite, I like Laurie a lot too, actually, I kinda like all the characters in a way!" You babbled, beside your little self with joy at the prospect of Elvis reading with you.

"This is awful kind of ya, baby." Elvis acknowledged.

He really was taken aback at your gesture. Lately, he'd been in many situations where people were looking to see what they could get out of him and he was finding it difficult to trust people and accomodate everyones expectations of him. It seemed like you were something of a little guardian angel, finding him at just the right time, with no bad intentions, just a whole lotta love.

"S'okay! You got three weeks until I gotta give it back or renew it but Barbara, the librarian, she's real nice and she lets me keep 'em for longer sometimes, especially when they're my favourites, so, um, so you don't gotta read it right away or nothin'!" You insisted, not wanting to pressure him.

"Thank you, Y/N, I mean it, this is awful kind. I gotta get t'gym, but I'll catch ya by your tree?" Elvis checked, he really wanted to spend his time with you. You were oh so bright and bubbly and it just radiated off you, onto him.

"Sure! Bye Elvis!" You beamed, waving at him again cutely, dashing off, not wanting to waste any of your recess time away from your books.

Elvis watched you leave once again and he shook his head, he was falling and falling hard.

Like clockwork Elvis met you by your tree. You were dressed in your little linen white dress, a smock scarf around your hair, protecting your head from the beaming sun and your bare feet with rested on the cool grass as the sprinklers would dust you with droplets of water, instantly cooling you down from the heat. You were practically in heaven, but the heat was a little much for you, even though you usually loved it. It had just been a tough day of classes, you were finding them a little harder as they went on, so you'd concentrate extra hard, giving you a bit of a headache. Mixed with the head, you were finding the words on the page a bit challenging to focus your attention onto.

"Hey darlin, how's ya book comin' along? Think you can guess the ending yet?" Elvis teased, knowing you'd read the book a million times over already.

"Can't really focus, my head kinda hurts." You admitted, feeling kinda frustrated. All you'd been looking forward to during those difficult classes was coming to your tree to read and now your head wasn't letting you.

Instantly, Elvis' protective and attentive attitude kicked in, he was already feeling attached to you and he just wanted to make you feel better.

"Shit honey, can I make you feel better? Can I get ya anythin'? You want some lemonade doll? My Momma just made a whole jug, it's real nice, a bit sweet but you'd like it." Elvis said, suddenly quite worried about you.

You couldn't help but softly giggle at his reaction. You hadn't actually heard anyone you knew curse before, you'd heard strangers do it but never someone you were friends with. "It's okay Elvis, just a little headache from school and the sun s'all. I just wish I could focus on my book, I'd been looking forward to it all day." You said, gazing up at him, admiring the golden glow the sun was giving him.

Elvis instantly removed the light jacket he had on, he didn't need it in this heat anyway. You watched him curiously as he draped it over one of the branches of the tree, offering you a decent sized patch of shade near where you were sitting. Elvis moved to sit down by you, taking the copy of Little Women that you'd got him earlier in the day, with the patch of shade covering his lap.

"Here, lie down honey, it'll help stop the headache if ya rest, you can put ya head on my lap like it's a pillow or somethin', so it's in the shade. Y'know if it's a bit cooler, it'll help stop the pain?" Elvis cooed. "And I can read the story to ya, as long as ya don't mind me startin' from the beginning?" He quizzed.

You felt those funny feelings coming back into your body again, making you feel happy, fuzzy and confused all at the same time. You obediently laid down, resting your head in Elvis' lap as he smiled lovingly down at you. You'd never been so intimate with a boy before, but you felt like you'd known Elvis so much longer than just a mere 24 hours, and Elvis felt the same way too.

The pair of you had such a kinship already that it was hard not to feel utterly relaxed in each others company.

"See? Not so bad is it?" Elvis said, tenderly brushing some hair away from your face that had clung to your temples from the summer air.

"It's nice." You said quietly.

You turned your head to look out at the lawn, watching as the sprinklers periodically spun around, hydrating the surrounding area. It was relaxing to watch as you listened to Elvis' deep voice reading you your favourite story.

You never wanted the moment to end, you finally found a friend who wanted to love everything you loved, and you were in nothing short of paradise.

It was near the end of Chapter 2 that you dozed off in the golden, evening sun, the droplets from the sprinklers hitting your exposed, tanned legs as well as the white little dress you had on, making your thighs appear through the damp wet fabric.

Elvis stumbled on his words after his eyes caught the sight, you were everything he wanted and he wanted all of you.

He paused, noticing the way that your chest rise and fell peacefully as you slept, completely relaxed and headache-free after everything Elvis had done for you. Elvis continued reading the book in silence, enjoying the story and realising why you loved it so much.

It wasn't until a while later that your Momma hollered for you yet again, signalling that your supper was ready, that Elvis pried you awake, your cute little whines making him smile.

"Aw, I'm sorry lil' mama, but you gotta go feed that belly of yours." Elvis chuckled softly, as you pushed yourself up from his lap, a grumpy yet adorable little pout plastered on your face from being woken.

"I gotta go already?" You mumbled sadly, realising you'd drifted off during your time with Elvis.

"Afraid so baby, but we can do this again tomorrow, we can do it whenever you like, kid." Elvis insisted, hoping that you'd ask him to spend every waking second with you.

You nodded, rubbing your eyes.

"You feelin' better now darlin'?" Elvis checked and you gave him another sleepy nod of confirmation.

"Uh-huh. Wanna stay with you." You said shyly.

"I know doll, I wanna stay with you too, you gotta go get your food though, otherwise you won't have any energy to read all your stories." Elvis said and you nodded, knowing he was right. "C'mere." Elvis said gently, opening his arms, indicating for you to let him give you a cuddle - one that you needed right now.

Despite being hesitant, you'd never actually given a boy your age a cuddle, you molded yourself into his arms, relaxing with a soft sight, inhaling his scent of Old Spice aftershave.

"Catch ya later, kiddo." Elvis smiled, kissing the top of your head, making those funny little feelings escalate.

"Ba-bye Elvis." You said, adorably, making Elvis' heart flutter. You were just precious.

Days turned into weeks, and every day after that you and Elvis would meet outside Lauderdale Courts, reading and chatting. He wouldn't often say much, he just loved listening to you enthusiastically babbling away at the current book you were reading. He was impressed at the speed of your reading, you could put away a short novel in an afternoon sometimes and Elvis would try to keep up with you but you'd read more than anyone else he knew.

He loved listening to you every day until you were called in for your dinner. His feelings for you were growing stronger with every word that came out of your mouth and the same went for you, you figured you maybe had a crush on Elvis and you really did hope that he liked you back. He'd never made you feel like a weirdo for being a bookworm, in fact he tried to emulate your passion, just to be able to spend time with you which you thought was awful sweet of him.

You would both look forward to seeing each other in the late afternoons every day, watching the clocks go by in the classroom and counting down until you saw each other. You'd even started walking home together, sometimes Elvis would even drive you if he'd gone for another meeting, which was a special treat for you.

It wasn't until a couple of months later in mid-July that Elvis finally mustered up the courage to ask you a question that had been on his mind after your head hit his lap on that second day, all those weeks ago.

"Y/N?" Elvis said, taking the book that you were reading out of your hands and placing it down on the grass. Elvis was sat against the tree, with his legs opened wide so you could sit in between them and rest your back against his chest.

"Hey!" You said at him taking away your book, you were just getting to the good part.

"I gotta question for you, it's serious now, I'll give you your book back in a minute but you gotta listen to me carefully honey." Elvis said as you sat up and turned around so you could look directly at him, curiosity painting your face.

"What's wrong? Did I give ya a bad book? I can replace it if ya want? Or are you sick? That can happen with the heat remember! I can try and make some shade if you are, or get you some water! You shouldn't be out here if ya-"

"Baby, I'm okay, you just gotta listen, okay?" Elvis said, taking your little hands in his large ones as you watched him intently. Elvis sighed deeply, his nerves getting a little better of him. "Here goes nothin'" He said, partially to himself. "Y/N, I wanna take you to the dance next week. What do ya say?" Elvis said, watching for your reaction.

You felt your heart skip a beat. You had decided you weren't going to go, even if secretly you'd wanted to. You knew it'd be filled with couples and you hadn't really wanted to surround yourself with that if you were going to be on your lonesome.

"Can I bring my book?" You asked shyly and Elvis beamed.

"Of course ya can, sweet thing. Can I take that as a yes?" Elvis chuckled, petting your soft hair.

"Uh-huh!" You giggled, biting your lip excitedly. "Oh boy, I've never been to a dance, I know there was a Spring one last year, but I just didn't have anyone t'go with, and I kinda, actually, no I wanted to go real bad to this one! And I didn't really wanna go with just anyone either ya see, but I just would've thought you would've had loads a girls to ask, I see girls tryna talk to you all the time at school! Especially Sue-Ellen, she sure does like you, sometimes it makes me feel-" You paused, realising you were rambling and maybe saying just a little too much.

"Makes you feel like what, little un'?" Elvis asked curiously. He thought Sue-Ellen was nice, sure, but he and her only talked so much because the pair of you were partners for a Lab test.

"No, it's silly, forget it." You said, brushing it aside.

"No, I wanna know Y/N. How does it make you feel when you see me talkin' to other girls, tell me." Elvis insisted, starting to enjoy seeing you wriggle around. He knew what your answer would be, he just really needed to hear it.

"It makes me, I don't know, I guess, it just makes me sorta wish that, sorta wish that it was me that you were talkin' to," You said gently, looking down at your lap as your sun-kissed cheeks started turning a little pink. "It makes me sorta, maybe, jealous." You practically whispered, but Elvis heard every word.

Elvis took your cheeks in his large hands, lifting your head so you would look directly at him.

"You know you're my number one girl, don't ya?" Elvis grinned, making your tummy do somersaults. You recoiled with giggles at the words, you were just putty in his hands at this point.

You ended up chatting away as the evening drew on, telling Elvis about the perfect dress that your Momma wore to her own dance, you'd actually tailored it a little so it would fit you and be able to attach a corsage onto it.

When your Momma called for you at the same time as usual, you gave Elvis a hug, telling him that you couldn't wait to go the dance with him and you thanked him for asking you.

You glanced at him momentarily before pushing yourself forward and placing your pink lips on his cheek, giving him a gentle kiss. It was the most forward thing you'd ever done but you felt so comfortable around Elvis that you didn't mind.

Elvis was a little stunned, he watched you as you giggled and crawled off his lap, running towards your Momma with bare feet on the grass and your dress flying up every now and again, exposing your thighs as usual.

Elvis would be the first to admit that he'd never experienced love in a romantic way but after today, he was sure that had changed.

When the dance finally came around, you were naturally a little anxious, even skittish, constantly fiddling with the corsage that Elvis had given you, as well as the lilac tulle of your dress. Elvis kept reassuring you throughout the evening that not only did you look completely beautiful but that you were both going to have a great time and that there was nothing to worry your pretty little head over.

"Y/N, I wanted to give ya somethin, it's nothing big or anythin' but I wanted you to have it." Elvis said before the pair of you arrived at the dance.

He placed a familiar shaped item in your hands, wrapped up in brown paper with a wonky bow on it. You glanced up at him, looking for him to give the go-ahead to open it, which he did. You didn't waste any time in taking off the wrapping, only for a gasp to leave your pink lips.

"Elvis..." You said, little tears pooling in your eyes, touched at the gift. It was a brand new, latest edition of Little Women, one that didn't have half of the pages ripped out.

"Is it the right one? The lady in the store said it was the best one they had, and I know you love that raggedy old one ya got but I thought my little girl should have one that at least has all the pages intact." Elvis said, hoping that you'd love it.

You'd never had anyone do anything so thoughtful for you before. You looked up at him with your glassy eyes and he immediately cooed. "Oh baby, don't cry now, it's just a book." Elvis said, thumbing away the tears.

"It's more than a book, Elvis, it's the nicest thing anyones ever done for me." You told him with a wobbly voice. Elvis leaned over and kissed your cheek, making you blush. Little did you know, that Elvis went to the store the day after he'd met you and bought that book for you, all those weeks ago. "And I can fit it in my purse!" You said with pride, showing Elvis who laughed at how adorable you were, as you looked forward to taking it to the dance.

The pair of you began to make your way to the dance, with Elvis holding your hand tightly, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand soothingly as you entered the dance hall. Your eyes lit up as you looked around, admiring how beautiful and pretty everyone looked as well as all of the pretty decorations.

"Wow..." You gasped as Elvis chuckled, looking down at you and watching your reaction. "I feel like a real grown up Elvis." You whispered to him.

"Not quite lil' mama, the fruit punch ain't got no alcohol in it just yet." Elvis laughed. "Wanna dance with me?" Elvis offered, leading you to the little dancefloor.

The pair of you slow danced to the music, Elvis occasionally pulling a funny face to make you do that giggle that he would now hear in his dreams, he loved it so much. You felt your spine tingle as he wrapped his arm around your waist.

Neither of you noticed all the eyes on you, the odd pairing of the up and coming rock 'n' roll star student and his little, bubbly, bookworm, but as the night went on, everyone got a little more used to it and no-one even noticed when you two headed off in search of the library in your party dress and Elvis' smart jacket, desperate to curl up together with that sparkly new copy of Little Women that you'd stashed in your bag.

#elvis x y/n #elvis imagine #elvis fluff #elvis x reader #pennyisobsessed

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robinismywife · 1 year

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sooo would it be totally insane if i were to announce that I'm preparing like a 20k angsty warren rojas x fem!reader fic...lol.

#daisy jones fanfic #daisy jones and the six #daisy jones #billy dunne #warren rojas #eddie roundtree #karen sirko #graham dunne #warren rojas imagine #warren rojas x reader #warren rojas x you #warren rhodes

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robinismywife · 1 year

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can't wait for more!!!

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐀 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬?—𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐣𝐚𝐬/𝐑𝐡𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐬

hola bitches <3 haven’t updated in a year and this is nikolai unrelated so here’s me in my djats era.

also planning on reading the book after i finish the show bc im incredibly late to the fandom. warren is so hot that it’s driving me to write a fanfic about him.

This chapter: Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

(maybe??) epilogue

NO COPYING THANK YEW

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timeline: according to show (by the end of eps. 2 - beginning of eps. 3)

disclaimer: THE READER AND WARREN MEET DURING THE BAND’S HIATUS. I HAVE NOT READ THE BOOK (BUT I AM PLANNING TO). I HAVE NO IDEA HOW THE STORY IS GOING TO GO. THIS IS JUST A CUTE LITTLE IMAGINE I VIVIDLY CAME UP W BC IM WATCHING THE SHOW AND I AM THIRSTY FOR THIS MAN + BC I AM MENTALLY ILL <3.

warnings (in this chapter): sexual tension, warren being horny, mentions of STDs (as a joke), smoking, angst, cursing, drugs. Let me know if there are more but im pretty sure this is it.

summary (3rd person narrative): reader is an up-and-coming fashion designer. she’s gained popularity quickly by keeping up with the latest trends and for her lovable persona. she’s brought herself a yacht to celebrate her self success and invited her friends, and one of her newest friends in the Hollywood Industry, Karen Sirko, extended the invite to her band members and unintentionally played matchmaker with her womanizer of a bandmate and her work-focused friend.

had too much fun with this, so here u go :3

fic cover by me (made in canva, inspired by the tv show intro (guys im actually kinda good at something??))

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Keep reading

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robinismywife · 1 year

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[ 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 ] (p.3)

PAIRING: Elvis Presley x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Elvis makes an announcement.

WARNINGS: Mentions of food/eating, Y/n's father being scary fr. if you find anything else inform me in the comments!!

A/N: this is how I imagined the red dress*Y/n is wearing but you can imagine it however you like!! Also I'd like to add that this chapter is not as juicy but it's for transition purposes mostly. However, be prepared for the drama in the next one ;))

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: PART 2

(the gif is not mine!!!)

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟏𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟎

Y/n was still in shock by the turn of events. Not only had Elvis finally picked her but they were also sneaking out every night for the past week.

After what happend at the studio, they decided that it would be best if they kept it a secret from her parents. Y/n knew that her father and mother were growing suspicious of her nights out but they had no proof to accuse her of anything. Thus, at 8 o'clock sharp Elvis would show up every night with his bright pink cadillac. Obviously, he didn't pick her up from her house but from the recording studio. That way if anyone caught them meeting there they had an excuse ready.

"Oh we just finished recording! Elvis is taking me home!"

It was brilliant, and it was all her idea. Y/n couldn't hide the fact that she was so proud of herself. She had always been a goody-goody, the golden girl, she had grown sick of it though. This felt like the opportunity to rebel out a little bit, and what better way to do it than to sneak out with the king of rebellion himself.

At the moment, her and her mother were preparing dinner in the kitchen. It felt kind of weird keeping a secret from her mother, however, she knew that it would be for the best. Y/n didn't want to scare her mother because she would absolutely freak out. She was always protective over her one and only daughter.

"Pass me the salt, sweetie" Her mother told her, mixing up the salad

"Mum, can I ask ya somethin'" Y/n asked as she placed the dirty dishes in the sink.

"Whatever you want" her mothers comforting smile gave her the assurance she needed to keep going

"Well, I was wondering- How did you know that daddy was the one?"

"Why, hun, have you met someone?" Y/n's mother looked at her with excitment in her eyes, leaving the salad to the side

"No!" Y/n said a little too defensively but covered it with an awkward chuckle "No, just curious, in case I do- you know?"

"Okay, well, I-I don't know, sweetie pie, I guess I just knew deep inside," Her mother started mixing the salad once again. It didn't need mixing anymore but her hands looked desperate for something to do "Everything he did felt right, it wasn't uncomfortable or forced, it was-"

"Natural?" Y/n continued for her mother, but before the pregnant silence could get even more suffocating the phone started ringing.

The girl walked up to it and picked it up "Hello?"

"Oh hiya angel, i-i-it's me Elvis!" The thick southern accent was heard from the other side of the line

"Elvis!" Y/n was feeling hot all of a sudden. She didn't know if it was the warm breeze coming from the open kitchen window, or the fact that he called her angel.

"Why are ya calling?"

"Well, your father invited me for dinn-"

"For dinner?!"

"Yeah, baby, why are ya so surprised?" He chuckled light-heartedly "Anyway, I-I-I was just thinking of bringing some dessert or somethin'-"

"Oh lordie, doncha worry anything will do!" Y/n didn't care about the dessert. Elvis was having dinner with them tonight, and she couldn't wait to wear her best dress just for him.

"Ya sure, baby? You're not allergic to nothin'?"

"Absolutely nothing" Y/n smiled giddily, as if he was right in front of her

"Alright then, baby, I'll see ya in about an hour"

"see ya" She put the phone back on the hook and walked back to where her mother was now washing the dirty cookware.

"You didn't tell me Elvis was coming for dinner" Y/n told her mother, trying to tone down her enthusiasm

"Must have slipped your father's mind" She replied looking at her with a skeptical expression

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing- You should go get ready, sweetie, we don't have much time"

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Y/n was convinced that taking that hot steamy shower was the best decision she had ever made. When she jumped out her hot rollers were all heated up and ready to be wrapped up in her strawberry scented hair.

She wasn't quite sure why she was getting so glamed up for this simple dinner, they saw each other every day anyway, but something in her told her that it would be worth it. Therefore, after spending most of her time on perfecting her hair, she got dressed.

A red dress* immidiately caught her eye the moment she opened her closet, a great match to her new red pumps her father bought her as a present for her birthday. It felt as if the stars were aligning for her, and even though that dress was mostly saved for special occasions, she would make an exception just for tonight. Just for him.

The second she pulled out the last hair curler, she heard knocking on her bedroom door. After quickly fluffing up her hair and touching up her red lipstick, she answered the door out of breath.

"Sweetie, Elvis is here- I told him I'd come up here and get you" Her mother smiled animatedly at her daughter. Y/n didn't waste a moment, following her down the stairs.

When they entered the dining area of their home, she was met with the kind face of Elvis. The man got up from his place on the table where he was chatting with her father, giving the her a thorough look: from her hair to her shiny heels. He must have been staring for a little too long, because her father coughed loudly in order to gain their attention.

"Hm, how about you help your mother bring the food in, sunshine?" Her father said, and by the tone of his voice Y/n understood that he wanted to stay alone with Elvis. She just hoped they hadn't exposed themselves. So, she lead her mother to the kitchen and said a silent prayer under her breath as she closed the door behind her.

"Ya want one, son?" The man offered Elvis a cigar and when he denied the offer, he gestured for him to seat back down "I don't bite, you know me" he chuckled. Elvis usually felt comfort with the man in front of him but right now he was surprised he hadn't fainted yet. He desperately needed a drink right now.

Then the smile faded and the man looked at him dead in the eye "Sonny, I'll ask you nicely and I expect an answer," Elvis visibly gulped

"What are your intentions with my daughter?"

Elvis was glad that the table was covering his bouncing leg "I have no intentions, sir"

"Is that right?" Mr. Y/l/n puffed smoke right in his face. If this was his way of intimidating Elvis, then he was definetly succeeding at it. Now, the boy understood why Y/n mustn't have had many boys around the house. They probably ran away the moment her father started the interogation. In spite of that, Elvis wanted to be the first and only one to pass the test.

So, he just nodded eagerly "Cross my heart, sir"

"How stupid do you think I am, kid? I see the way you look at her and-"

Before Y/n's father could continue, the two women, luckily for Elvis, walked in, bringing the food with them. The girl placed the roast chicken on the table and looked between the two men, who seemed to be having a staring contest.

"Why so serious?" She giggled a little, feeing deeply uneasy at the situation at hand

"Nothing, sunshine, just talking business with Mr. Presley here" Mr. Y/l/n said light-heartedly, patting Elvis on the shoulder. This was going to be a long night.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Just like Y/n was expecting the dinner was going exceptionally well. Elvis fit right into her family, and it got her thinking of their future together. They were having their fun now but what if it turned more serious. Y/n wouldn't mind it, she found herself actually liking him much more than she had planned.

Obviously, being the 20-year-old woman that she was, marriage was a constant thought on her mind. She would secretly buy wedding magazines and stare at the white, long dresses for hours on end. Y/n wanted a huge wedding, somewhere wild- wilder than Tennessee. Someplace like Las Vegas.

"Sunshine? Are you feeling alright?" Y/n was brought back to reality, staring right at her father's concerned features.

"I'm just fine, daddy" Y/n chuckled and waved him off "Now, Elvis wouldn't you say this is the right time to tell 'em?" She looked excitedly at the man sitting next to her. Elvis smirked back at her and squeezed her knee under the table. It was an unconscious gesture, but one that made her face burn with content.

Elvis had told Y/n about a huge opportunity he had been given on one of their secret dates. He was traveling to Miami for a TV special with Frank Sinatra. Y/n couldn't help but be happy for him as he spoke of it with such excitement. This was his chance to finally be viewed as the good guy for once. He could be accepted by everyone for who he really was and not the vilified version of him.

"What is it, son? You're not leaving my record label are ya?" Mr. Y/l/n joked around, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

"I- I- I wouldn't dare, sir- um- No, I just thought I oughta tell y'all cause I- I- I wont be able to record for a couple of-"

"Go on, Elvis, we ain't the ones to judge" Y/n's mother spoke comfortingly, acknowledging Elvis' nerves.

"Well, I'm gonna be on a TV special with Frank Sinatra" Elvis blurted it out, a mixture of excitment and anxiety in his voice. Y/n knew this was scary for him. He loved working and recording but he was also well aware that RCA was fully depending on him for their income. Thus, leaving them hanging for a week didn't sit right with him.

"Oh that's just incredible- Sunshine we gotta crack open the champagne!" Her father got up and walked over to their liquor cabinet, picking their best champagne.

"You don't mind, sir?" Elvis spoke worriedly, his icy blue eyes following Mr. Y/l/n around the room.

"Mind? Are ya crazy? That's one hell of an opportunity- It would be absolutely foolish of you to turn it down just for me" Mr. Y/l/n placed champagne flutes in front of everyone.

"But the sales will drop and everythin' and I-I-I-"

"I say when the sales drop, son" The man spoke with an austere tone, as if talking to a son of his "Now, go do somethin' for yourself already"

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

After eating dinner and the dessert Elvis had brought with him, Y/n and Elvis decided to go on a walk. Despite the fact that his secret was finally revealed, Elvis still looked tense. Y/n couldn't pinpoint the reason why, since they've been going out for a week now and they are comfortable with each other. What if he wanted to break up with her? What was she even thinking. They weren't together anyways, there was nothing to 'break up'. Now she felt stupid.

They walked silently for a while, until Elvis reached for her hand. She didn't refuse the offer and squized his hand reassuringly.

"Elvis, is somethin' wrong?" Y/n spoke carefully "You seem awfully quiet"

Elvis stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing himself to look her in the eye. He seemed as if he was embarassed- Or rather scared of her.

"There's s-something I-I-I would like to ask ya-" He rubbed circles on the back of her hand, a way for him to release his pent up energy "You can say no if ya want, baby- No pressure, ya know?"

"I don't bite, hun, you can ask me anythin'" Elvis looked like he was about to explode, gulping nervously

"Well, I've been thinkin' and everythin' a-a-and I-I know it's a crazy idea but-"

"Tell me!" Y/n chuckled impatiently like a child, hanging onto every single word that came out of his mouth.

"Sweet jesus-" He sighed then blurted it out once and for all "Do ya wanna come to Miami with me?"

"what?!" Her smile disappeared and was replaced by the pure shock that painted her face. The Elvis Presley wanted to take her to Miami?!

"shit-" Elvis dropped her hand and rubbed his face fiercely "I knew this was too weird- I-I-I'm so sorry, angel"

Y/n couldn't help the boisterous laugh that suddenly erupted from her throat. Obviously, she was going to say yes but Elvis didn't know that. He just stared at her with a mix of shock and sadness.

"What's so funny Y/n?"

"I'm so sorry! Oh lord, Elvis I-I do- I wanna come with ya!"

"Ya do?!" Elvis picked her up and spinned her around, giving her a kiss that Y/n had been longing for all night. She could surely get used to his arms around her waist and his lips on hers. And now, he had asked her to accompany him to Miami! Maybe her fantasies were all coming true after all.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"Call me when you land, sunshine, ya hear me?" Mr. Y/l/n hugged his daughter, kissing her forehead tenderly. She was a 20-year-old woman, though her father was still having a hard time getting used to it. Y/n was at last fleeing the nest and it felt amazing.

"Daddy I'll only be like 3 hours away," Y/n whined at her fathers overprotectiveness but caught a glimpse of sadness in his eyes, making her sigh "I'll call ya, dontcha worry yourselves to death, alright?"

"That's my girl- Now go get seated, Elvis will be right there in a minute, isn't that right sonny?" Elvis nodded with fake enthusiasm, his heart now beating a little faster. He thought that they were past the interrogation stage. Perhaps he was wrong.

However, Y/n and him weren't a thing. It could never happen, Y/n didn't like him in that way. He was just a famous singer that gave her the attention she wanted. Y/n would never see him for who he really was, and he couldn't blame her. She wasn't the first one.

Y/n hugged her parents once more, blowing them kisses as she walked up the stairs to the plane.

"Honey, ya wouldn't mind leaving me alone with Elvis for a bit, would ya?" Elvis looked at Mrs. Y/l/n desperate for her help, when she gave him a sympathetic smile and shrug, he knew he was doomed.

"Can I-I-I help ya with something, sir?" The boy gulped, trying to relax. This man was like a father to him. Mr. Y/l/n would never harm him...would he?

"Son, I'm gon' be straight with you. If she comes back to me crying and hurt- I don't care why- I will kill ya, you understand?" Oh so he would harm him. Lovely.

"Sir, I would never do anythin' to-"

"Tell me you understand me, boy, and you're free to go"

"I-I-I undestand ya, sir" His voice quivered slightly but Elvis had a huge ego, he wouldn't let himself look even remotely scared.

"Atta boy" Mr. Y/l/n patted the boy's cheek playfully "See, I knew I could trust ya- Have fun!" The austere look dissapeared from the man's face. He was now smiling wide just like before, like he had never threatend Elvis's life.

Elvis smiled back tightly and made sure to get away from the man as fast as possible. When he got onto the plane he greeted the flight attendant in a hurry and sat next to Y/n. She looked at him skeptically, furrowing her neat eyebrows.

"Hun, you're really pale- Are ya scared of heights or somethin'? I can get ya a paper bag in case ya feel sick-"

"Nah, I'm just fine, angel" He finally relaxed for the first time that day and smiled at her reassuringly "Thank ya for asking"

"Oh!" Y/n raised her eyebrows but smiled back "Alrighty then"

After a moment's silence, Elvis placed a hand on her knee "I want ya to have fun, baby"

"What's got ya thinking I wont?" She chukled light-heartedly, placing her hand on top of his

"I dunno, just worried I guess"

"Well, dontcha worry, it'll be fun. I promise"

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

#elvis songs #elvis the pelvis #elvis and priscilla #elvis fans #elvis presley #elvis the king #elvis x reader #elvis presley fic #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis aaron presley #elvis movie #elvis 2022 #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x reader

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robinismywife · 1 year

Text

This is my version of Multiverse of madness- I freakin' loved this!!

Take Me Home

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 9,2K

Summary: After finding out the masked hero you've been crushing on is your best friend, you realise it was never Spiderman that you've been in love with.

Warning(s): spiderman!Elvis, modern!Elvis, lil bit of angst, two idiots in love, mutual pining, best friends to lovers, fluff, both reader and El are in college, Spidey kiss!, smut; sex pollen (kind of dub!con), vaginal penetration, unprotected sex. probably missed a few warnings, so lmk!

A/N: based on mostly tobey's and andrew's spiderman, but it's not necessary to be familiar with the movies to read this or whatsoever. anyways, tits out for spidey! sksksk bye. enjoy my luvs 🕷

masterlist

“No one can win every battle. But, no man should fall without a struggle.”

“Let me walk you home. It’s not safe out there this time of night,”

You knew your friends were right. New York wasn’t safe, but you were stubborn and eager to get home after a long day of classes and a shift at the coffee shop you worked at.

You were too much of a social butterfly to turn down your group of friends when they suggested go out for drinks – hence the reason why you still weren’t home after midnight.

“Joe, I’ll be fine. It’s only a short walk and I’ll call you as soon as I get home,” you told one of your closest friends, giving him your most convincing smile before you hugged him.

Joe knew how independent you were and that you were able to stand up for yourself if needed, so he nodded and let you go after you said goodbye to everyone.

“Tell Elvis to call me!” your friend yelled after you, to which you responded with a quick wave and nod. He probably needed your roommate slash best friend for the project they were working on for one of their classes, which Elvis had only participated in once.

You always had a big mouth, not afraid to use it in times of injustice and in the presence of assholes, but when walking the streets of Brooklyn after the sun went down, you had a pep in your step.

Your quickened footsteps unfortunately didn’t go unnoticed by a pair of guys who were jogging after you, whistling and calling out to get your attention. Wounding your hand firmly around the strap of your purse, you kept your head down and kept walking, hoping you’d lose them when you rounded the corner.

You were close to your apartment but you were too fearful to go into the building, not wanting the duo to know where you lived. Before you could continue walking, one of the guys appeared in front of you with a wide grin on his face.

He reeked of liquor.

“Hey beautiful, what’s the hurry?” he taunted as he took a step closer to you, making you scrunch up your nose at the smell. You tried to take a step back, but walked right into the chest of the other guy who grabbed onto your shoulders to keep you in place.

Fear settled in your chest, causing you to freeze on the spot as the guy in front of you twirled a lock of your hair around his finger. He was getting closer and you squeezed your eyes shut as he grabbed onto your hips, his breath hot on your face as his lips were only inches away from yours.

You braced yourself for the disgusting feeling of having a kiss forced on your lips, but instead the guy in front of you was ripped away, making the one that stood behind you gasp out loud.

Opening your eyes, you couldn’t help but gasp as well as one of your assaulters was planted against the wall trapped by white webs.

Spider webs.

You weren’t a complete fool – you were very aware who those webs belonged to and what this meant. Everyone knew who Spiderman was, just not who was behind the mask and whole get up.

You always loved reading about the city’s own personal hero in the papers, but there were enough people who weren’t such big fans. Who ever was hidden underneath the spandex bodysuit seemed rather young and sometimes even a bit unexperienced – often times, New York’s superhero found himself at the wrong place at the wrong time, which made it easy for people to judge and put the blame on him.

“Now that’s no way to treat a lady,” the aforementioned masked man chirped happily as he stepped forward, tilting his head to you and the guy behind you. You were quick to step aside, allowing him to trap the other guy as well as he shot his web out to him, pretty much mummifying him aside from his eyes and nose.

“You can’t do this, crawler asshole!” the guy at the wall yelled, trying to free his way out of the webs as he rubbed his shoulders against it but it didn’t seem to do anything for him. The other guy tried to jump away, but fell to the ground with a loud groan instead.

“I just did,” Spiderman shrugged, letting out a laugh as he walked over to you to grab your purse from the pavement and hand it to you. He grabbed your hand and waved at the guys before he tugged you along.

Flabbergasted, you followed.

You’d be lying if you’d say you hadn’t fantasized about this once or twice. Despite having no idea what he really looked like, you had a bit of a crush on the local hero. He was brave enough to go into burning buildings, kind enough to help cats out of trees and now that you had the chance to look at him from up close, the suit did great things for his ass.

“Are you okay?” he asked as you stopped running when you were far away enough, letting go of your hand. He turned to look at you, having to remind himself that you had no idea who he really was.

And that you could never find out.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine.. Thank you,”

There was no way for you to see through the fabric of his suit, but when you stared at him with wide eyes, he couldn’t help but get a little nervous. In reality, you were admiring the details on his mask.

“You shouldn’t be out on the streets alone at this time. It’s dangerous, you know?” he spoke up, snapping you out of your staring spell as he rocked back and forth on his feet.

You nodded, hoping he didn’t see the flush on your face. Clearing your throat a little, you looked back at the cat-like eyes that were sewn on his mask.

“How did you know where I was?”

It didn’t matter if he’d be in the wrong place at the wrong time on some occassions, he was still there. And he was still helping people, saving lives even.

Maybe some situations weren’t as spectacular as others–you were sure he didn’t get an adrenaline kick out of saving helpless girls that were too stubborn to let themselves be walked home by a friend–but he always seemed to know whenever something was going on.

“Eh..” he scratched the back of his head, letting out a soft laugh. He tried to raise his voice a little as he spoke, hoping he didn’t sound the same as he did when he was out of his suit. “I have the ability to sense.. danger, I guess,”

He shrugged his shoulders once before he gave you a quick wave, turning around to walk away from you.

You weren’t giving up so easily, running after him. He knew you’d follow – and he didn’t need to use his senses for that.

“Like a sixth sense kind of thing?”

“Something like that,” he nodded, crossing the street in the direction of your apartment building when you pointed him the way. He tried to let you lead, making you think he had no idea where you lived.

“Did that come with the suit?” you blurted out, pushing him on questions he didn’t want to give an answer to. Things he couldn’t give an answer to – he had only been crowned with the title Spiderman for a few months and he was still trying to figure this whole thing out himself.

The suit was a design he made himself. He couldn’t exactly fly through the air as himself during the day, because none of the powers he possessed came with the suit. The webs came from his own wrists.

“No.. it didn’t,” he stopped walking as you did, looking at the door that led into the building’s lobby. “Is this where you live?”

You nodded, smiling brightly at him as he turned his head to look at you. You couldn’t even make eye contact with the guy, you didn’t even know who he was but you had already jumped forward to wrap your arms around him.

He was taken back by your actions for a second, but as you squeezed him in your embrace, he chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around you.

“Thank you again, Spiderman,” you sighed happily as you let him go, walking toward the door. He coughed a little, thanking God that you weren’t able to see how red his face was.

“Any time! Just… try to stay out of trouble,” he joked, saluting you with a soft laugh before he ran across the street and flung a web against the fire escape of one of the apartment buildings, flying up into the dark sky and disappearing out of your sight.

You had been talking about your meeting with Spiderman for weeks now. And while Elvis found it flattering at first, it was driving him absolutely nuts at this point.

If only you would replace the name Spiderman with his own…

“Will you ever stop talking about this dude? You don’t even know what he looks like,” your raven haired best friend mumbled from the couch he was laying on, zapping through the channels on the TV.

You stopped dancing around the room, falling onto your knees next to the couch to look at him with an angry glare. “When you love someone, it doesn’t matter what they look like, Elvis,”

He turned his attention to you instead of the TV and raised his eyebrows, trying not to blush at your words.

Love?

You loved him?

Well, you loved Spiderman, but seeing he was your masked crush, it got his heart jumping for joy.

“He helped you from a bunch of drunkards once and you love him? You’re such a child,” he laughed, hoping he didn’t sound too obvious as he flicked his finger against your forehead.

He earned a slap from you immediately before you rubbed your forehead and got up, placing your hands on your hips.

“I get it,” you grinned at him, sticking your hip out. “You’re just jealous that he has girls all over the city swooning over him and you can’t keep a girlfriend for longer than two weeks,”

Your words were true – he never lasted longer in a relationship than a few weeks. But it wasn’t because he wasn’t able to be a good boyfriend, he could be a perfect one, it was just that he didn’t have time. He was falling extremely behind on his school work, he definitely didn’t have time to go on dates and remember anniversaries.

It was one of the reasons why he hadn’t confessed his feelings to you and he probably never would. Not only would he barely have time for you, he also did not want to put you in any danger. He wasn’t only just helping people from petty store robberies during the day, but he was helping the police with more serious stuff as well.

Just because he was living two lives didn’t mean you had to. He didn’t want to burden you with carrying his secret around.

“He’s not as cool as people think, you know?” Elvis huffed as he folded his arms against his chest, looking back at the TV to avoid eye contact. Once again, you blocked his view as you sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing him.

“Do you think it’s true what people are saying about him? The.. the bad things?”

You didn’t believe the papers, especially not the Daily Bugle, when they’d publish anything negative about Spiderman.

Elvis threw the remote to the other side of the couch and sat up, facing you as he leaned forward with his arms on his knees. “No, I don’t. He might be a fool in a mask, but he’s not a bad guy,”

“But you don’t think he’s cool either,” you teased with a smile on your face, making him roll his eyes as he chuckled.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. You’re the one who’s in love with him,”

“Not in love!”

“But you just said-“

“I have a.. crush.. maybe, argh, I don’t know!” you laughed as you slapped his arm, hiding your face in your hands. “You probably think I’m an idiot.. but.. I can’t forget about that night. He doesn’t even know me, but he.. he saved me,”

Elvis wanted to tell you that that was his job, that Spiderman was supposed to save and help people but he didn’t want to jinx himself or whatsoever.

If he’d talk badly about himself, about himself as Spiderman, the possibility to drive you away could be big. He knew that once you had your mind set on something or someone, there was no way to talk you out of it.

He sighed softly as he slipped his hands in yours, squeezing them softly as he smiled at you. “I was messing with you, Y/N. I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he whispered, looking down at your hands as he entertwined your fingers together. “Just promise me you won’t do anything reckless to get his attention, okay? If you finish late shifts, call me and we’ll walk home together,”

You met his eyes when he looked back up at you, nodding your head. You gave him your promise, but he should’ve known you weren’t going to stick by your word this time.

Elvis wasn’t just fighting crime anymore, he had officially become your own personal saviour as well. You’d get yourself in trouble and dangerous situations any chance you got and he knew you were doing it on purpose.

Ever since he was bitten by a genetically engineered “super spider” during a project he was working on in the genetics lab of Columbia, he obviously gained the inhuman strength and skills that made it possible for him to do what he did. But he also gained a certain… third eye.

A sixth sense, of sorts.

A spider sense – he could sense danger coming before it even happened and when it came to you, it seemed to grow stronger.

He didn’t know if it was because he had known you for years already or because his feelings for you were so strong, but he couldn’t ignore it.

Couldn’t ignore the tingle he felt every time you needed his help.

The time it happened again, he was laying in a hammock created out of his own webs, swaying from side to side on top of the Empire State building. It had been a quiet night so far which was rare for New York and while he could be using this free time to help Joe on their still on-going project, he’d much rather be lazy with a great view of the city.

He didn’t have much time to relax, though. As soon as he sensed that something was up with you again, rain started trickling onto his skintight suit and he quickly made his way down.

Following his instinct, it didn’t take him long to find you.

The soft drizzle had turned into a harsh downpour as you were making your way home from the coffee shop you just ended a late shift at. Once more, you heard multiple footsteps following you but this time, you didn’t freak out.

This is what you wanted – even though you had no idea if Spiderman was even close, you knew he’d show up.

He always did.

Four men were behind you, calling out to you but instead of running and losing them, you wandered into an alley with a dead end.

“You seem willing,” one of the men grinned, nudging the one next to him.

“Means she’ll be easy,” the other one laughed and you laughed along with them, kicking the man in front of you in the balls before you swung your purse at the other. You were about to have a go at the third and fourth one as well, but as they pushed you against the wall and ripped your coat off, all four of them were thrown across the alley.

In the darkness and due to the heavy rain, you could only make out the silhouette of your hero that was hanging sideways on the wall by just his feet, but you knew exactly who it was.

Your heart skipped in excitement as you watched him fight off the trouble makers, knocking them unconscious in just a matter of seconds.

Elvis stood and looked at you, completely forgetting about the fact his mask was up to his forehead. You couldn’t make out his face but as you came closer, he quickly jumped in the shadows and you completely lost him.

Before you had time to be disappointed or the chance to call out his name, he appeared behind you – face covered by his mask now, hanging upside down from a string of web.

“You have a knack for gettin’ in trouble,” he spoke up, making you turn around with a laugh.

He forced himself to keep looking at your face, rather than at your soaked t-shirt which left absolutely nothing to the imagination since you weren’t wearing a bra.

“You have a knack for saving my life,” you countered back, grinning at him proudly. “I think I have a superhero stalker,”

“I was in the neighborhood,”

You smiled softly, sighing dreamily as you looked at his mask’s eyes with hearts basically popping out of yours. “You are… amazing,”

“Some people don’t think so,” he sighed, his heart clenching in his chest.

“But I do,”

“It’s nice.. to have a fan,” he whispered, but despite his face being covered and the sound of rain falling down on you two, you could hear him perfectly clear. You laughed softly at his words, biting your lip.

“Let me thank you properly this time,”

He gasped softly as you reached your hands out to his neck, your fingertips slipping underneath the hem of his mask. “W-Wait..”

You ignored him and he didn’t stop you when you pulled the fabric down the lower half of his face, keeping his nose and eyes covered. He inhaled a breath of air as you leaned in and although it wouldn’t matter, his eyes fluttered shut nonetheless.

With your hands placed on his cheeks, you tilted your head a little and deepened the kiss as soon as you felt his tongue against yours. The position wasn’t the most comfortable for him and it felt rather weird to kiss someone like this, but you didn’t care. Finally, you got what you wanted.

Still, you wanted more but ofcourse, you weren’t foolish enough to think you were going to get it. The kiss only made your little crush on the hero grow tenfold, but it could never work.

Despite you not caring much about someone’s appearance, you had no idea what he looked like. You had no idea what his personality was like, but you knew in your heart he wasn’t a bad person.

Still, being in a relationship with a hero… it sounded like a dream, and you figured that was all it was and ever would be.

Pulling back from the kiss, you smiled brightly and pulled his mask back up. He shivered once at the feeling of your fingertips caressing the side of his face – reaching his hand that he wasn’t hanging from out to your face, he gently tapped the tip of your nose before he pulled himself up and as always, disappeared into the night.

At this rate, you were never going to get in Spiderman’s pants. Or rather, suit.

But maybe that was for the best. Even though you liked to believe that you could get everything you wanted in life, it was time for you to get back to reality.

While you were still very much interested in Spiderman, you figured it’d be best to stop talking about him every five minutes to the people around you. You were starting to look like a lovesick teenager, a very foolish one.

Elvis didn’t know if he should be happy about this or not. Part of him knew it was for the best for you to stop crushing on Spiderman, but the other part of him wanted you to keep gushing about his masked version.

He decided not to bring up the topic, trying to think with the rational part of his brain.

Elvis had no idea that you were getting suspicious of him. He should’ve known he couldn’t keep something big like this a secret forever, especially not to someone who he was living with.

Due to you having more free time than Elvis, because for some reason he was gone most hours of the day, you took the task of keeping the apartment clean upon you. You had been friends with him for so long that neither of you cared about you going into his room to tidy up the place or about you doing his laundry, including his underwear.

He’d usually wear his suit under his clothing or keep it stashed in his bag that he took to class–whenever he did go to class–but he had completely forgotten about laundry day.

Laundry day.

To say you you were surprised or shocked when you saw the red and blue suit and mask in his laundry basket, would be an understatement. You were close to losing your damn mind, the realisation that you kissed your best friend settling in.

The realisation that you were in love with your best friend settling in.

Elvis was Spiderman.

After asking yourself a million questions and talking to yourself while pacing through the entire apartment, you washed the suit before neatly hanging it in his closet.

You knew the truth and Elvis knew that you knew, but neither of you ever spoke about it.

Movie nights were rare for you and Elvis ever since he became pretty much the most important person in the city. For once, he decided to stay home with you rather than swinging from building to building because despite having stamina for days, he too got tired every once in a while.

And he missed his best friend.

Other than feeling a little awkward around each other after the laundry incident, things went back to normal pretty fast. You both figured that if you wouldn’t speak of it, it never happened.

But neither of you could get it out of your head.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that your best friend and roommate was Spiderman and that you had been looking at him differently ever since.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you knew his biggest secret and what kind of risks that could come with it, but also about how you kissed him and you now knew it was him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Elvis questioned after you had turned your head for the 6th time, looking at him with concetration written over your features.

You were sat in the arm chair to his right as he was laying on his side on the couch, elbow propped up to hold his head in his hand. He couldn’t focus on the movie at all because you were anything but slick with your actions, shamelessly staring at him whenever his eyes were on the TV across from you.

“I want to test something,” you spoke determinedly as if you had finally made a decision on whatever you had been cooking up in that head of yours.

“T-Test... something?”

You nodded once, sitting up straight in yours seat before you got on the floor, waddling closer to him on your knees. “Just.. just put your head back,”

There really was no need for you to kiss your best friend to test if he really was Spiderman, because you were already certain about it, but he was already doing what you told him to do and backing out now would make you regret it later. Besides, Elvis had really pretty lips that you had always wanted to kiss but never had the chance to.

At least, not without a mask.

“Close your eyes,” you whispered as he laid his head against the arm rest of the couch, looking up at you as you hovered above him from where you were still on your knees behind him.

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes before he had rolled them playfully at you.

He had no idea what you were up to, until he felt your gentle hands finding their place on his cheeks and your lips against his.

Just like that one rainy night, the two of you were sharing another upside down kiss but this time he reached his hand up to place it on the back of your head, pushing you down further against him to deepen the kiss.

You ignored the funny feeling of your nose rubbing against his chin and moved one hand down to his jaw, caressing his skin with your nails.

Perhaps you were imagining it, but you could’ve sworn you were brought right back to that night in the alley. A tingle of electricity traveled down your spine, nearly making you shiver and although you did not want to pull back, you did at the realisation of what you were doing and with who.

Your eyes met as he looked up at you, his fingers slowly letting go of your hair as he moved his hand back down. “Did you find the answer you were looking for?”

The answer was so obvious. This whole thing was so obvious, but both you and Elvis were idiots.

Two idiots who were scared and in love.

“I think I did,” you whispered, removing your hands from his face as you sat back on your knees. He slowly turned around to lay on his stomach, making proper eye contact with you this time.

The tension in the room was so thick it was nearly palpable and it thickened even more as he reached out his hand to your face, letting his fingertips follow your jawline. You could see he wanted to open his mouth and speak, but a siren wailing somewhere outside got his ears perking up.

“I… I have to go,”

You nodded your head, watching him get up and disappear into his room after he pressed a firm kiss on your forehead.

When you climbed out of the window in the living room and stepped onto the fire escape, you watched your best friend fling himself down the street – his cheerful hollering echoeing through the air.

Elvis wasn’t just fighting small crimes or returning lost bikes anymore. The Daily Bugle’s publisher Jameson wasn’t his only ‘enemy’ anymore he realised as he was face to face with a creature that was tearing his city down that same night you and him shared another kiss.

He didn’t even have time to daydream about you as he’d fly through the air, having to go in full fight mode. He was just praying you wouldn’t turn on the TV.

He had no idea where his opponent came from or what he even was, but he had some nasty tricks up his sleeve that Elvis wasn’t prepared for. This definitely was something else than what he usually did, but thanks to his senses, he was able to dodge most objects that were thrown at him.

Though as a pink beaming grenade was tossed his way, he caught it in a reflex. Raising an eyebrow at his beaten down enemy, he tilted his head as he threw the grenade that was beeping up in the air before catching it again.

“What’s this, princess? Fairy dust?”

The mutated guy on the ground laugh – you know, the typical evil laugh. Elvis wasn’t phased by it.

“Something like that,”

Elvis watched the guy saluting him before disappearing into thin air.

Civilians and the police were surrounding him, cheering him on as they chanted his name. One of the officers nodded at him thankfully, but the grenade started ticking more frantically and instead of destroying it before it could explode, Elvis shot out a web toward the New York Times tower and got himself and the grenade away from the crowd.

As he got to the top of the building, the grenade exploded like clock work. Clouds of pink fog surrounded him, seeping through the material of his suit and making him fall into a coughing fit. With no one around to see him, he ripped his mask off his face and stumbled backwards a little, dropping the now empty grenade to his feet as he waved his arms around to open the thick fog.

Shit.

He knew exactly what this was. As a science major, and one that was not just a regular human anymore, he had done plenty of research on things that weren’t even supposed to exist.

This was one of those things he considered to be a weapon against him.

Freaking sex pollen.

It came in a lot of different shapes and forms and while he had always thought the most common form was a plant, he was greatly mistaken. The whole thing and its side effects could be somewhat compared to viagra, but this was so much more intense.

It came with a fever, hallucinations, extreme pain and death.

So, way more intense than a tiny blue pill.

He cursed as he could already feel his blood rushing through his veins, making its way to his lower region as his skin heated up underneath his suit. He pulled down his mask, jumping down the building – he let himself fall down for a few seconds, hoping the pressure of the fall would somehow help him get rid of the boner that was starting to come on.

It didn’t.

He shot out a web against the next building, swinging his way home.

He was close to your shared apartment until the hallucinations started. Ones that all involved you.

He could hear your voice in his head, moaning and whining as he pictured you arching your back for him underneath him while tangled up in his sheets. At one point, he could’ve sworn he saw you standing in the middle of the street butt naked when he looked down, calling out his name.

It made him completely forget to shoot out another web as he was flying through the air and he was too late to catch himself, landing loudly on top of a parked car which he immediately rolled off of, falling face, and hips, first onto the pavement.

He groaned in pain, rolling on his back as he put his legs up, covering the vicious bulge in his suit with his hands.

“Yo, Spidey! Are you okay, man?” A pedestrian called out to him, having stopped walking.

Elvis shot up from the ground, trying not to cry out at the quick movements. He put his hands on top of the car he just landed on, his body luckily hidden by the vehicle as the guy who called out to him was on the other side of the street.

“Y-Yeah, man! I’m good!” he nodded, putting his thumb up. The guy hesitated for a second but then gave him a smile and continued on his way. Elvis banged his fist against the vehicle, accidentally triggering the alarm this time.

Before the civilian could turn around to see what was happening once more, Elvis had already disappeared.

You were pacing in the living room, nervously listening to the reporter talking on the TV that was filling the people in on what happened at Times Square tonight. Now that you actually knew who was hidden behind the red mask, you were scared for your best friend’s life.

You literally saw him swinging away with a grenade in his hand – what if it exploded in his face? What if he was dead?

No no no, he couldn’t be dead. Elvis couldn’t be dead.

There was a loud bang coming from his room, making you let out a little shriek. You immediately ran to the door, but as you tried to open it, Elvis’ desk that he pushed in front of the door blocked it.

“Elvis!” you yelled, banging your fists on the door like a maniac. “Let me in! Now!”

He groaned as he pulled his mask off his face to fling it across the room. Reaching his arms behind his back, he struggled as he was trying to pull the fabric off his sweaty skin.

“G-Go away, Y/N!” he grunted as he stumbled against the wall, his vision blocked by his clothing as it got stuck in the process of being removed.

He was heating up, his cock throbbing in the confinements of his tight suit – and it hurt. It hurt so much that tears were burning in his eyes.

“I swear I will break down this door,” you threatened in a panic as you were shaking the doorknob now, pushing your shoulder against the door.

He realised you were stronger than you looked, making the desk rumble a little bit with your force.

He managed to get the top half of his suit off, throwing it to the floor. When you managed to push the desk back far enough to create an entrance wide enough for you to squirm through, you stepped into his very messy but very empty room.

You looked around, rubbing your arm you had used to force the door open with. You could sense he was in the room and when you decided to look up, you met the panicked blues of your best friend as he was stuck against the wall by his hands and feet.

He jumped down, landing easily on his feet but you didn’t miss the way he winced at the movement. As your eyes traveled down his chest and down his hips, you could see the outline of his cock in the skintight fabric.

“You… are you… Elvis, you have a…”

“I know!” he groaned as he walked by you, letting himself fall on his bed. He turned his back to you and if you didn’t see the sweat on his back and the way he was shivering, you would’ve laughed at him.

Maybe he got off on being the hero. Maybe danger got him horny, but then again, he shouldn’t be having this kind of reaction.

Slowly making your way over to him, you placed your hand on his shoulder to turn him around and gasped softly as you felt his skin was unusually hot.

He could feel his blood boiling, a feeling that was very foreign to him and it scared him to death. And if he wouldn’t do something about this boner, he would die.

Like, really die – unless he fucked someone.

But he couldn’t ask that of you. You kissed him twice by now, but that didn’t mean you had the same feelings he did. It didn’t mean that you wanted to sleep with him.

“Can you go away, please?” he was dying to get out of the pants part of his suit, which were becoming tighter by the second.

“No,” you said, placing both hands on his arm now to turn him around. As you succeeded and he laid on his back, he looked at you with a trembling lower lip and tears in his eyes. The sight broke your heart. “What happened out there, Elvis? You’re fighting this.. monster and the next second you’re flying away with a grenade in your hand. I thought you were dead!”

“And I will be soon!” he exclaimed in frustration as he shot up, whining as he did so. He crawled away from you, leaning his back against the wall his bed was perched up against. He stretched his legs, putting his hands on his crotch.

“W-what? What are you talking about? Please, will you just explain what the fuck is going on?!” you yelled back at him, equally as frustrated.

“I’m Spiderman,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes as he looked away from you.

“Well, duh. I meant with that freaky bomb, you idiot,”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his head still turned away from you as he leaned it against the wall.

“It wasn’t.. w-wasn’t just a normal bomb,” he grunted softly, trying to steady his breathing but he couldn’t stop his chest from heaving up and down rapidly. “It’s this… this thing. S-sex pollen.. it causes..” he slowly turned his head back to you, removing his hands as he pointed at himself. “this,”

“O-okay… that looks.. uncomfortable. But why would you die? Can’t you just jerk it off in the shower?”

“I wish,” he scoffed, shaking his head. He winced as you sat on the other side of his bed, the dipping of the mattress alerting his senses. “I have.. h-have to, God I can’t believe I’m about to say this… I have to fuck someone,”

You froze in your spot as silence lingered between the two of you aside from the sounds of his erratic breathing.

Here he was, your best friend that you definitely did not see as just a friend anymore. And Spiderman, the hero that you had been crushing on for months like a lovesick school girl.

You cared about Elvis. Loved him. You couldn’t just sit back and watch him die, knowing that you could quite literally save his life.

“I’ll do it,” you blurted out.

He widened his eyes as he looked at you, his heartbeat quickening even more.

“N-No, Y/N. I can’t ask that of you,” he swallowed as he shook his head, slowly getting up from the bed. He could barely stand on his feet, the very uncomfortable erection he was sporting making it hard for him to walk and his body felt heavy as if he was being pulled down by a ton of bricks. “I might hurt you,”

You watched him stumble over to his desk, leaning over it with his ass sticking out into your direction.

That suit really did do wonders for his figure.

Shaking that thought away, you got up from the bed and walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “El, I can’t let you die,” you whispered, taking a step closer to try and look at him. “You saved me so many times. Let me be the hero this time,”

He laughed softly at your words, head hanging low as he squeezed his eyes shut. If only he had been giving other girls around him some more attention – then he’d have someone else to call and solve this problem right now.

But then again, he wouldn’t want anyone else in his bed. Sure, he dated around a little and had sex before, but he had been in love with you ever since he laid eyes on you.

His friends called him an idiot, telling him that you didn’t feel the same and he was aware of that. He was aware of the guys you’d bring over when you thought he was sleeping, he was the one who’d have to sit on the couch with your dates while you were still getting ready.

Maybe he was an idiot for hoping, wishing and waiting around, but he didn’t care. He loved you.

And because he loved you, he was about to open his mouth and reject your offer once more – until he suddenly felt your lips pressed against his shoulder.

The feeling got the hairs on the back of his neck standing up right, making him open his eyes and stand up straight. He stumbled backwards, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“Elvis, please! I hate seeing you in pain,” your voice was soft and gentle, but he could hear the hint of frustration lingering on the back of your tongue. “I’m not going to let you die. I love you and I-“

As soon as you told him you loved him, his cock twitched in his suit, goosebumps covering his arms.

Fuck it.

Striding forward, he grabbed your face and harshly crashed his lips onto yours, ready to get the relief you were offering him.

Elvis was laying on his back, the rest of his suit discarded somewhere on the floor, hands clawing at the sheets. With your naked body pressed against his side and your hand wrapped firmly around his cock, he could barely keep himself from writhing on the bed.

“P-Please,” he whimpered, turning his head to look at you, his lips desperately pressing against your cheek as you were looking at his weeping cock in your hand, admiring the view. “A-Another t-time, baby, please. I need you,”

You looked at him, your cheeks flushed slightly as you nodded. You wanted to take your time, admire and explore every inch of his body, but you realised the situation wasn’t exactly ideal for that.

“Sorry,” you whispered with a soft chuckle, allowing him to push you back on the mattress by your shoulders. You looked up at him as he hovered above you now, biting your lip as he reached a hand in between your bodies to run his digits through your folds.

As he felt how wet you were, his lips curled up in a grin.

“You’re so sick,” he hummed as he caressed your parted lips with his own, speaking his next words into your mouth. “You like seeing your best friend in pain, huh?”

You laughed softly, responding to him by sneaking your tongue in his mouth and kissing him sloppily which he happily went along with.

Even in the state he was in, he still wanted this to be enjoyable for you as well but you knew he was struggling. You could hear it in the way he was breathing hard in your mouth and feel it in the way his hips bucked forward every time you moaned.

“Elvis,” you breathed as you pulled back from the kiss, wiping a tear from his cheek with your thumb. “Please fuck me already,”

You gave him a nod, confirming once more that you were more than okay with this when he was about to ask if you were sure. He sighed deeply and removed his hand from your pussy, wrapping it around his cock instead – he groaned deeply as his fingers that were covered in your arousal slipped over his cock so easily, only adding fuel to the fire in his bones.

Tonight you learned that Spiderman didn’t wear any underwear underneath his suit and you made a mental reminder to tease him about it later, but as soon as Elvis situated himself at your entrance and pushed his hips forward, the thought was long forgotten.

Gasping, you looked up at him as you grabbed onto his shoulders, walls spasming firmly around him because of the sudden intrusion.

“Oh my fucking God,” his eyes rolled in the back of his head, his arms that he was holding himself up with trembling as he squeezed the sheets in his palms. “So tight.. Jesus.. I won’t.. w-won’t be able to last long,”

You were aware that this had little to do with equal pleasure and everything with him just needing to spill his load.

He was keeping still when he bottomed out inside of you, still thinking about you, but as soon as you wrapped your legs around him and hooked your ankles together to trap him, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

He couldn’t stop the beast from coming out.

His thrusts were never gentle because at the first stroke of your velvety walls, he was an absolute goner.

You couldn’t keep quiet even if you tried. With the way he was pounding into you and making the bed creak forcefully underneath your bodies, he was unknowingly to himself hitting the right spot every single time. Running your hands through his hair, you looked up at him with your face contorted in pleasure, breasts bouncing with every thrust.

He was losing his mind. He was losing his fucking mind and control. But you didn’t stop him as he moved one hand to your neck, squeezing softly and stealing your breath away.

“Look at you,” he grinned, his hips never faltering as he looked down at you with wild eyes. “So fucking ready to be fucked. You’re a little slut, aren’t you?”

You gasped as he moved his fingers up, holding onto your jaw to keep your head from moving and you let him. Both you and him were surprised by the words leaving his mouth, but they made you clench around him harshly.

“My little slut. Spiderman’s little slut,” he growled in your mouth as he forced his tongue into your mouth, which you gladly allowed. Your nails were digging into his flesh, breaking skin and drawing blood and it only motivated him to thrust harder.

You wanted to keep kissing him, but with the way his hand around your throat was squeezing harder and his weight he put on you, it was getting hard to breathe properly. You managed to slightly turn your head and he moved his hand up to your hair, tangling his fingers in it as he kissed his way down to your neck, sucking on your soft skin to create several hickeys.

Tears stung in your eyes and you were putting pornstars to shame with the sounds that left you, feeding his ego.

While Elvis enjoyed your cries and screams, your neighbors most certainly didn’t. Banging came from the other side of his wall, but Elvis never stopped. Instead, he quickly reached for the red fabric of his mask that he noticed laying on the ground next to the bed. Without warning, he shoved it in your mouth and you widened your eyes at him, whining.

Right now, the Elvis that you had always known was nowhere to be seen. He was always your goofy best friend, sticking his nose into books and science researches or hiding behind his camera.

The boy next door type of guy.

You wondered if it was because of the sex pollen that made him act like this, but you weren’t complaining. You’d be a fool to. You had slept with plenty of other people, but this was the best fuck you had ever had in your life.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you bit down on the mask, holding onto his upper arms while he was grunting and growling above you. His fever was going down more and more, but even in the delirious state he was in, he was smart enough to pull out of you as he felt his climax nearing. You quickly opened your eyes to look at him as jerked himself off with a quick hand, warm spurts of cum landing on your stomach and in between your breasts.

It took him a few seconds to empty himself completely thanks to those evil pollen and you were sure it was the hottest thing you had ever seen.

Truly a sight for sore eyes.

A chill trickled down his spine and it made him visibly shiver, hips stuttering a little as he looked down at you with dazed eyes. He looked completely fucked out with his raven locks messy and sticking up and it made your heart skip. Never in a million years had you expected to fuck your best friend tonight–or ever for that matter.

You were happy it happened and you didn’t want this to be the last time, but you had no idea where his mind was at.

You weren’t actually aware that he was madly in love with you and you realised that what you just did was needed in order for him to make it until tomorrow. Still, an uncomfortable knot found its way in your tummy – you felt used.

Maybe this had been a mistake.

As he let himself fall next to you in his small bed, you took his mask out of your mouth and dropped it to the floor, the both of you staring up at the ceiling.

“At least your sperm is… normal,” you broke the silence, letting out an awkward laugh as you tried to swallow the lump that was forming in your throat.

He turned his head to look at you, noticing the flush that was still on your cheeks, traveling down to your neck. Although he had never seen you after sex, he knew it wasn’t because of what they just did. He knew you longer than today.

“Are you.. are you crying?” he whispered, propping himself up on his elbow to have a better look at your face. You immediately turned away, quickly wiping a stray tear that managed to roll down your cheek away.

“No,” you immediately said, sitting up as you grasped your clothes from the floor. Not caring about his cum still on your skin, you quickly got dressed and walked to his bedroom door.

He should stop you. He needed to stop you, but he didn’t. Instead, he said something that made it impossible for you to look at him as tears blurred your vision.

“T-Thank you… for helping me,”

You left the room, leaving Elvis behind with the same knot in his stomach.

Elvis lost you.

He lost you and it was all his own goddamn fault.

After that night, he should’ve just come clean about his feelings. He should’ve told you that he had been in love with you for years and that you belong with him… but he didn’t.

The world got more dangerous every day and he was afraid of the consequences of you and him being together. He was starting to get enemies, real bad people with real bad intentions, and once they’d found out about you.. that would mean he had a weak spot.

You were his weak spot.

He would never forgive himself if anything happened to you but he also couldn’t handle when you started getting more and more distant. And when he came home after class one afternoon and saw half of your wardrobe empty, he nearly trashed the entire house.

Enemies be damned, he couldn’t let you walk out of his life. Not like this.

He didn’t want you to become the biggest ‘what if’ in his life.

He immediately interrogated Joe, knowing that he was one of the people you were closest with among your mutual friends, and when Elvis found out you were planning on leaving New York, he didn’t hesitate to go after you.

He didn’t care if he had to search the whole city.

You were still in New York, stuck in traffic with a very chatty taxi driver, next to the East River.

After what happened the night you slept with Elvis, you were hurt. You were finally realising you were in love with him, but the harsh reality of him not feeling the same was something you couldn’t accept. It was safe to say you didn’t take rejection very well.

Ofcourse you weren’t planning on simply ghosting your best friend, but you needed some time away from New York and spend some time back home with your family to lick your wounds.

“Hey, it’s Spiderman!” the taxi driver exclaimed happily, pointing at the Brooklyn Bridge on your left. You frowned, leaning forward in your seat to have a better look at the huge webbed letters on the side of the bridge.

Those three words he had always been afraid to say.

I love you.

You were smiling like a fool, tapping the driver’s shoulder.

“Stop the cab,”

“Lady, I ain’t even driving,” the driver laughed as you got out of the car, manoeuvring your way through the other vehicles that were stuck in traffic.

As you stood on the side walk by the river, tears were stinging in your eyes. You could hear people chanting on your right and when you turned your head, you saw Spiderman himself swinging at you in full force.

You couldn’t do anything but reach your arms out, clinging onto him for dear life as he wrapped an arm around your waist and literally swept you off of your feet.

“Hi,” he breathed as the two of you stood on the very top of the Brooklyn Bridge, his arms firmly wrapped around your waist.

“Hi,” you laughed as you pulled his mask off, clenching it in your hand as your arms were wrapped around his neck.

“Did you get my message?”

“What message?”

He laughed, pressing his forehead against yours as you giggled. “That was you? I couldn’t make it out,” you teased, staring into his eyes instead of looking down at the ground.

“I’ll tell you what it says,” he smiled, pushing you closer against his chest. “It says I love you. Because I love you,”

A tear rolled down your cheek, but you were too afraid to let him go and wipe it away. He did it for you, not caring about slightly salty taste as he kissed it away.

“I was wrong… I’ve been.. stupid to think we can’t be together, to think we’re on different paths. But you are my path and you’re always gonna be my path,” he closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours, smiling softly.

He was out of breath, his heart racing with nerves but he came too far to back out now.

“I know there’s a million reasons why we shouldn’t be together, but I’m tired of ‘em. I’m tired of every single one of ‘em. We all gotta make a choice… and I choose you,”

His eyes were open again, looking right into yours as his lips curled up into smile. It felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders and God, it felt so damn good.

“I love you, Elvis,” you told him, laughing softly through your tears. “And not because of this suit.. not because you’re Spiderman. But because you are you and I love you, Elvis Presley,”

His cheeks were aching with how broad he was smiling and he relished in the feeling.

The two of you moved closer at the same time, lips crashing on each other’s. This time, you knew he wasn’t just kissing you because of an unfortunate case caused by any kind of pollen.

This time, you knew it was because he loved you.

“Are you still leaving?” he asked, his voice a whisper after he gently pulled back from the kiss. You sighed deeply, shaking your head with a smile on your face.

“I’m not,” you told him, pulling your face back from his as you pulled his mask over his face. He laughed as he fixed it to sit properly with one hand, his other arm wrapping firmer around your waist. “Take me home, Spidey,”

“Hold on tight, little one,” he grinned and as you were suddenly swinging through the air and away from the bridge, you were nearly screaming his ears off.

But you trusted Elvis. He’d never ever let you fall and you finally managed to open your eyes after a few minutes, mesmerized by the view of the city from so far above.

Perhaps your life would never be the same anymore, perhaps things would get harder, more dangerous.

But if it meant you’d finally have your happy ending with the man you loved, it was worth the risk.

196 notes · View notes

robinismywife · 1 year

Text

[ 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 ] (p.2)

PAIRING: Elvis Presley x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Y/n invites Elvis to her 20th birthday party in hopes to gain his attention. However, it leads to bigger things than she could even dream of...

WARNINGS: mentions of drinking / vomiting, kissing, Elvis being a flirt ;)) If I missed any inform me!!

A/N: Hi!! Thank you so much for the support you showed to my idea! I can't believe you keep showing me so much love every day and especially to one of my favourite things I've ever written Young and Beautiful!! It means the world to me truly! I apologize for taking so long but this whole series needs a lot of planning! I hope you like this as much as I do and get ready for the rollercoaster that's to come <33

WORD COUNT: 3k

[Young and beautiful] (p.1)

(the gif isn't mine!!)

The party was booming, yet Y/n couldn't help but feel a little dissapointed deep down. She should have known this would happen, her friends told her that this would be a risk but she did it anyway. Now she felt truly stupid, to think that she had any effect whatsoever on the biggest star in America: Elvis presley.

After meeting him a week prior in the studio, she was falling faster for him than she thought. So, her overly eager 19-year-old self took it upon herself to invite the man to her huge birthday party.

Her father was very much against it in the beginning, thinking that Elvis would be a bad influence on his young daughter. Y/n knew he wasn't entirely wrong- Elvis was indeed a couple years older and much wilder, being a celebrity and such. Perhaps it could be very easy for Y/n, an almost 20-year-old that's studying Music theory at college, to stray away from the right path- or at least the path her family expected her to stay on.

In spite of all that Y/n couldn't actually care less. She desperately wanted to be with Elvis and she was going to do anything to win him over. Now that she was thinking about it, this was a very bratty mindset but it's merely the product of her parents great affections and wealth. She wasn't responsible for it, thus she didn't dwell on it much.

"Girls do you think he's coming? Be honest?" Y/n frowned deeply, her hands fidgeting with the red reusable cup in her hands. If it wasn't for the thriving party around her, she would be vomiting in the toilet right now.

"Y/n I can't believe you're still hung up on that guy-" Daphne started, holding a beer can that she'd stolen from the fridge. Y/n was sure her father would be pissed about the fact that most of his precious beer had been stolen by a bunch of sweaty 20-year-olds.

"He's not just some guy, Daph?!" Lily cried out dramatically "He is the Elvis Presley and our Y/n has the chance to win his affections!"

"All I'm saying is that she should be grounded and- " Daphne paused for a second and her jaw dropped the moment she looked behind Y/n "Holy moly, hun.."

"What? What is it?" Y/n turned around and her eyes found him. He was right there, pouring himself a cup of spiked punch. He looked ethereal standing there with his perfectly styled jet black hair and expensive watch adorning his wrist. She could do nothing but turn back around and face her friends with a shocked expression.

"Oh my goodness! What do I do?!" Y/n whisper-yelled at her friends who looked back at her with great enthusiasm.

"What you're going to do is talk to him-" Daphne grabbed Y/n's shoulders viciously

"And you're going to ask him for an autograph- I need it in my collection- " Lily and Daphne smiled at y/n encouragingly, making her sigh in preparation for the possible humiliation.

Y/n patted down her velvety dress and made her way to the bouffee. This could either be a cruel joke on her or Elvis was actually interested in seeing her again. She definetly preffered the latter.

She gathered up the courage and poked him in the back a couple of times. Elvis turned around in surprise looking even more beautiful up close. Y/n could have fainted then and there.

"Hi" She smiled gently, trying desperately to hide the nerves and her extreme enthusiasm

"Hiya doll," He smirked back then clinked his plastic cup against hers "Happy birthday and everythin', hope you're having fun" Y/n really couldn't understand how this man could be so confident and cocky but so awkward at the same time.

"Now that you're here I am" She stated boldly. Y/n might as well jump head first into this, she has absolutely nothing to lose but her dignity at worst.

"Really?" Elvis' brow quirked and he chuckled in amusement "Well, I'm glad to be of service, baby"

Baby. Baby!? Oh Y/n could cry. This was the best birthday gift by far. Not even the hair rollers Lily got her could compete with this.

"So, Elvis, are ya enjoying your time at the studio?" Y/n asked not wanting the conversation to die out. That would be embarassing.

"Yeah, it's good to be back, ya know? Making music and all that- It feels exciting" Elvis spoke looking down at the drink in his hand. He looked absolutely adorable smiling at his drink all shy. Y/n had to fight the urge to smother him in kisses.

"I hope my daddy ain't giving you much trouble, he's always been such a perfectionist" Y/n casually took a sip from her drink

Elvis laughed slightly "Nah, he's great. I'm thrilled to be working with him really- He's a very charismatic man, has an ear for music"

"well, don't you ever tell him that, he won't believe ya" She found herself finally relaxing under his piercing gaze. It just felt so natural to talk with him. "He's too humble, that man"

"Believe me I know" Elvis raised his eyebrows in agreement "if you were in the studio you'd know how many compliments he brushes off"

"I keep having to remind him to take a compliment once in a while- Every Saturday that I'm there it's always the same thing" Y/n grinned, recalling her fathers flustered face.

"You're there on Saturdays?" Elvis' face lit up suddenly

"Yeah, don't ya remember? We met on a Saturday" She stiffled a laugh at his shocked features

"Right- right- I-I-I forgot about that," Elvis cleared his throat a bit and the confident look appeared on his face again "Well, do you sing or somethin', honey?"

"I don't know if I'm any good, but I do a bit of singing, yeah- Why do you ask Elvis?"

"Just wondering," He took a sip of his drink and resumed his sentence "Wouldn't mind a duet with ya"

"Me?! A duet with you?! You're insane Elvis!" Y/n laughed incredulously

"Why not?" He chuckled warmly "I have a bunch of songs that are in need of a voice like yours"

"You haven't even heard me once Elvis! I could be absolutely useless!"

"I'm prepared to take that risk, hun'"

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

And he did take that risk. The very next day Elvis had invited Y/n to the studio to check out some new songs. Now, Y/n and her father had just arrived, parking right in front of the entrance of the huge building. She took a deep breath before they both got out and walked in.

The space immidiately brought a sense of comfort to her. Y/n had been accompanying her father to the studio for at least a decade now. Therefore, some of her fondest memories with her father had been made there.

The two of them greeted the secretery and she waved back hastily in the midst of making phonecalls.

"Are you nervous, sunshine?" Y/n's father smiled sympathetically as he filled some cups with warm coffee.

"Can you blame me?" She chuckled, however, the butterflies in her stomach were still intense

"Well, ya shouldn't worry sweetheart, Mr.Presley is indeed a gentleman"

Y/n smiled at that, recalling the previous night they spent together, talking and laughing. Before she knew it, her father had filled the cups with the warm beverage and they'd reached the studio.

"Good morning boys!" Her father spoke loudly as they entered the spacious room.

There they all were, sitting around the coffee table on comfortable armchairs. On the table a bunch of papers were spread, not leaving much room for the coffee Y/n and her father had brought with them.

The rest of the boys didn't lift their heads, only Elvis did. His eyes landed on Y/n and lit up. For all she knew she could have been a stack of gold by the way his face was covered with admiration. Obviously, she didn't know that Elvis was admiring her and how the morning sun hit her just right as it bled into the room. Y/n looked even prettier than the night before.

"Good morning" She spoke, a lump forming in her throat, as the two other men shifted their focus to her.

Elvis finally leaped up from his chair "Y/n's singin' with me today, boys" then he faced her with a comforting smile "That's Scotty and Bill, you've seen 'em before"

"Yes, I certainly have, pleasure" Y/n shook hands with both of them and the session began.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Y/n was already aware that today she would be surrounded with individuals much more talented and professional than she could ever be. Now, everybody knew that Elvis sang like an angel but when Scotty and Bill picked up their instruments, Y/n swore that she was in heaven. The three of them were magical.

At the moment, they were preparing for a song that seemed to make Elvis unusually nervous. However, he was trying to cover it up by making small talk with The Jordanaires, his background singers.

"Y/n? Y/n?" Y/n's vision was blocked by Scotty's hand waving in front of her face "You're distracted" Scotty told her knowingly, a smirk appearing on his face. He was a very sweet boy but also very disciplined when it came to work. Although, Y/n liked that about him, right now all she wanted to do was stare at Elvis.

"I know, I'm sorry, it's just-" Y/n leaned closer to the guitarist to whisper " Elvis seems nervous- I mean look at how he's jittering"

"He's always jittering, Y/n" Scotty told her as if he was trying to avoid saying anything

"Scotty look at him" Y/n said seriously

"Well, if you pay attention to the sheet music you'll understand" Scotty looked at her expectantly as she examined the paper and Y/n suddenly felt grateful for her ability to read sheet music. Her eyes widened when they landed on the last chord progression.

"Scotty that's a really high note" Y/n spoke in shock

"Yeah, no shit," Scotty sighed "He's been practicing all week"

"Well, a vocal coach could-"

"Help? Nah, he's too stubborn- Says he wants to do it by himself"

"That's stupid"

"Tell me about it," The man shrugged and got up, ready to record "Boys are y'all ready?"

And they began recording. Y/n stood next to The Jordanaires once again to sing the background vocals. The song was going particularly well until Elvis stopped singing mid-verse.

"EP you good, man?" Bill asked, side-eyeing Scotty who shrugged

"Nah, I-I-I just um-" Elvis' eyes wandered anxiously around him until they landed on her and finally seemed to relax "Y/n come 'ere, baby"

"Next to you?" Y/n was getting nervous too now. She was not prepared for this. Doing the background vocals was a piece of cake, but doing a duet with America's best singer was taking it too far. Elvis obviously had faith in her, however, knowing herself Y/n was very likely to ruin the whole session.

"Yeah, we're sharing the microphone," Elvis spoke with his hands resting on his hips and a playful grin "Don't feel right without ya"

"But-"

"Just do me the favor, doll," He pleeded with his eyes, just like a little kid would "I promise this will turn out so good"

Thus, Y/n obeyed. She walked next to him, placing her sheet music on the stand before them. Her hands were shaking quite a bit, making her even more self consious than before. Why was she finding it so hard to be a professional for once? If she actually wanted to follow this profession, she would have to stop looking and acting so mortified.

When Elvis noticed her fidgeting and shaking, he couldn't help but feel the need to comfort her. That's why his large and warm hands found themselves on top of her own cold ones. Something he didn't expect is how well they fit together, just like puzzle pieces. Usually these kind of situations made Elvis want to run away and not look back, but for the first time he felt as if he was doing the right thing.

"You know how to sight read?" He asked her quietly, trying to take her mind off of the singing.

"Yeah, I was in my church's choir when I was younger" Y/n answered, very much aware of her hands being engulfed by his. Not that she minded it, it was just surprising and a bit overwhelming.

"Gospel, huh? Gotta listen to ya sing some of those tunes one day, baby" She didn't miss the enthusiasm in his voice at the thought of Gospel music. Elvis was a very spiritual person.

Before Y/n could answer, the instruments had already started playing the upbeat tune of Now or never.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"Thank ya fellas- We'll make it big with this record" Elvis chatted with the men around him.

"You're already big, E" Chuckled Bill, taking the last sip of his now cold coffee.

"Nah, I tell ya, boys- I can feel it- This record we're cuttin' will be the start of something big" Elvis' eyes were filled with hope. Now, that he was out of the army he felt unstoppable.

Y/n kept quiet as she picked up her things and shoved them in her bag. Elvis has been praising his friends for at least five minutes, but didn't even look at her after the recording stopped. She couldn't understand what his problem was. He had been so sweet to her, so gentle, and now he's ignoring her. Y/n felt used. Used for the perfect recording and then thrown away. What if she becomes just a name on a list of all the girls the king of rock and roll dated? What if she becomes a bitter old woman sometime in the future writing a book about the "real" Elvis Presley? What if she hates him soon? She should stop spiraling.

Elvis was waving goodbye to his friends as they left the studio, their laughter echoing off the walls. They were alone and Y/n hadn't even noticed how quickly that came to be. So, she picked up her bag awkwardly and headed to the door without a word, as he watched her with confusion.

"Where you going?" He grabbed her wrist with a frown

"Home. I'm sure my daddy's waiting for me outside" She spoke coldly, trying to rip her hand from his grasp. Y/n still had some dignity left and she wasn't going to give in to his tactics.

"Don't treat me like that baby, what did I do?" His frown now deepend as he walked closer to her

"Don't call me baby, Elvis" He was making it extremely hard being mad at him when these nicknames sounded so good rolling off his tongue.

"Why? You don't like it?" Elvis smirked as if he could read her thoughts "You're squirming under my touch, honey" and thats when he held her face with his one hand, as the other snaked around her waist. Y/n hated to admit it but everything that he was doing felt so right.

After a bit of silence and looking at each others lips, Y/n couldn't handle it anymore, she had to say something. "Say something sweet to me, Elvis"

"Hmm," He chuckled lightly "You wanna hear it, don't ya? How good you were, singing your little heart out?" And she couldn't help but nod, all common sense was thrown out the window from the moment he touched her anyways.

"You were good, baby, so so good for me," His lips were now almost on hers, and she was so eager for him to close that gap "You're my muse" and he kissed her.

He was eager, yet gentle. Y/n had been kissed before but this could not compete with the unexperienced and lanky boys from college. Elvis was skilled with his hands as they roamed her body in a way that she had never been touched before. He made her feel beautiful, like he was a sculptor and she was a statue of a greek godess. His touch brought her to life.

"Elvis- Elvis stop-" Y/n pulled away suddenly

"D-Did I do something wro-?"

"Someone's coming" They both quieted down and the sound of a man's laughter reached their ears. Y/n could recognise that laugh anywhere "My daddy's coming!" she whisper-yelled.

They both jumped off of each other, adjusting their clothes, just in time. Her father marched in still chuckling to himself as the two stood in front of the door uncomfortably.

"Hiya kids," Y/n's dad lifted his head and looked between the two of them, now looking uncomfortable himself. The tension was so thick Y/n could cut it with a knife.

"Everything alright, Elvis?"

"Yes, sir" Elvis nodded a little too aggresively

"Ready to leave, sunshine?" Y/n nodded now as well. After waving goodbye at an overwhelmed Elvis, she grabbed her fathers hand and they walked out of the studio.

When the both of them finally got in the car Y/n sighed, looking through her bag for her compact mirror. She prayed her makeup wasn't too messed up. They were almost caught, but there was something thrilling about the whole situation.

"You know you can talk to me right, sweetie?" Her father looked at her with a frown, and when she nodded in return he continued talking.

"Cause, if Mr.Presley is not acting appropriately- If he's being weird- You know boys, at his age, want different things-"

"Daddy!" Y/n looked up at him with shock written all over her face "I got the message- Can ya just drive us home please?"

"Sorry sweetheart"

Actually, Elvis was being quite inappropiate, but she liked it. It would be their secret. After that kiss Y/n felt like a whole different person, like something had awakened in her. She wasn't sure how to stop it, not that she wanted to. Elvis helped her feel so wild and alive. She felt as if she had spent her life living under some rock, and he took her out of that monotony. Y/n couldn't wait until the next time she would see him.

#elvis the pelvis #elvis and priscilla #elvis songs #elvis fans #elvis presley #elvis 2022 #elvis photos #elvis film #elvis music #50s elvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley history #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis presley edit

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robinismywife · 1 year

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𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 (p2)

PAIRING: A!Elvis or (real)Elvis x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Elvis was done with making movies. However, when his manager approached him with another movie contract he couldn't resist. Especially, since Y/n Y/l/n is involved...

WARNINGS: Mentions of vomit, smoking cigarettes, eating. If I missed any plz inform me!!

A/N: Omg I hope you like this!! Writer's block has hit me like a truck these days and I can't seem to write anything I'm actually proud of. I know this is very short so I'm sorry if this dissapoints you, I'm trying my very best!! <3

(the gif is not mine! Found it on pinterest!)

Elvis found himself waking up excited to go to work for the first time in years. Even though, as he got ready, he tried to convince himself it was because filming was fun, deep down he knew why. Y/n. She was truly fascinating, not to mention a sight for sore eyes. She truly lit up the set when she walked in.

The entirety of the cast and crew stayed at the same hotel. Therefore, Elvis felt that he needed to get a little more dressed up and show everyone how professional he was. Honestly, he didn't really know what he was doing. Every movie he made felt like the first.

Elvis never felt comfort in the movie-making process. The only times he felt like he was in his element were short lived, since it only took a couple of weeks to record the songs in the studio. He hated these songs- The lyrics were repetitive and very stupid. It was embarassing having to sing these songs for everyone to hear.

After taking a last look in the mirror, he nodded to himself and walked out of his hotel room. The elevator reached his level and the steel doors opened, revealing the woman he had been thinking of all morning.

"Morning" Elvis mumbled, standing next to her

"It is indeed morning, Mr. Presley" She spoke coldly. Elvis's blank face turned into a dissapointed frown. It seemed as if he was the only one willing to be friendly.

"No- I- I meant good-"

"I know what you meant" Y/n stated stifly and the doors opened once again. After a long awkward pause the two had finally reached the hotel's cafeteria that was filled with people.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Elvis spoke irritably, trying to catch up with her quick steps.

"Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't" She told him casually grabbing a plate and filling it up with breakfast goods from the buffet.

"Lord, you're insane, woman" Elvis sighed in defeat. This was not going to end well.

"I've heard that one before- For someone who's all about novelty, your insults are predictably average" Y/n put down a spatula she had been holding and made her way through the crowded room. Elvis couldn't keep up with her pace and witty remarks. Even so, he jogged after the woman, who had already started talking to some of their castmates.

Y/n placed her plate down on the table, greeting her new coworkers. She sat down sighing, as the conversation around her became more lively by the minute. Deciding to focus on eating her breakfast, she didn't partucipate in the discussion much. Elvis, of course, found the opportunity to keep talking to her. He pulled out the chair next to her and made himself comfortable, not caring that Y/n was obviously startled, thinking that she had gotten rid of him.

"Don't ya run away from me like that" He spoke a little out of breath, trying not to be heard by their colleagues.

"I do what I please, Mr.Presley- Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me alone"

"We were talking-"

"There is nothing left to say" She picked up her fork and played around with the bacon on her plate, that was slowly getting cooler and cooler.

"Isn't there? Don't ya wan't to tell me all about how much ya hate me?"

"I don't hate you. I wish I could but I can't-"

"You can't?"

"Are you deaf, Mr.Presley?"

"No-"

"Well, then I think I've made myself pretty clear" She finally shoved a small piece of bacon in her mouth, signaling the end of the conversation. The irony of their chat was that Elvis was even more confused now. Y/n was saying so much but yet so little. He never heard exactly the answer he needed and that pissed him off. She wasn't making any sense- At least to him.

"Elvis, aren't ya getting any breakfast?" Nancy, one of the cast members, asked, mouth full of toast.

Elvis audibly groaned, realising how wipped he was by a woman that wasn't even his. Looking right at her he shook his head in dissapointment. He truly hoped she wasn't enjoying this whole situation, but the devilish look in her eyes told a different story.

"Well, aren't ya, Mr.Presley?" She asked him playfully. Damnit, she was indeed enjoying his suffering.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

"She hates me Ron, I tell ya" Elvis frowned as he spoke to his costar Ronald Winters.

"Son, you're making things a lot more confusing than they actually are" Ronald filled both of their mugs with coffee. They were both waiting for the director to show up to their last-minute meeting. Y/n hadn't arrived to the office yet so Elvis had time to talk to Ron about everything.

"Nah, she's the one making things confusing and everything- I-I-I'm just trynin' to be friendly, ya know?"

"Maybe she doesn't want to be your friend, Elvis" Ron spoke with a weird look in his eye that Elvis couldn't quite place.

"Well, that's what I've been telling ya, Ron!"

"You misunderstand me, sonny, what I-"

"Good morning" The conversation died down instantly, making Y/n's entrance in the waiting room extremely awkward "Do you want me to leave?"

"Oh no, dear girl, me and mr.Presley were merely talking about this meeting- Unexpected, isn't it?" Ronald changed the topic quickly, trying to make Y/n feel welcome.

"It's probably a last-minute script change, nothing to worry about" Y/n spoke casually, pulling out a cigarette and putting it between her scarlet lips "Want one gentlemen?" she pointed at it.

"Ahh no, no I-I-I'm trying to give it up- Bad habit, bad.." Ronald mumbled and cleared his throat. Excusing himself he walked to the bathroom down the hall.

Y/n then walked towards Elvis, closing the distance between them "Sorry Ι scared your pal away, Elvis" She took a puff from her cigarette. Elvis couldn't help but stare at her lips as they produced the gray smoke. This whole situation was making it very hard to hate her, especially when the urge to kiss her face off was that intense. He needed to play it cool, just like she was doing.

However, Y/n saw right through the act and continued talking "Wanna take a puff, love?"

"N-N-No, I prefer not to smoke, if I can help it" He played with his rings, stressfully. This was going so wrong, he could actually vomit.

"Really? Wouldn't have guessed it," She spoke aware of her effect on him "Men such as yourself always love to indulge in a little puff here and there"

"Well, they ain't going to last long" Elvis shrugged, daring to look her in the eyes.

"What makes you say that?" She was intrigued.

"Trust me, honey, smoking a packet a day don't help with the rockabilly business"

"So, you're telling me you've never smoked a cigarette in your life, Mr.presley?" She smiled challegingly while her own cigarette was slowly burning up in between her digits.

"No, I'm sayin' that I used to but I don't no more- My mama hated it, stopped just for her, ya know?"

"I know," Suddenly her stare softened and she put out her cigarette in the ashtray "I bet she was a wonderful woman, Elvis".

Her gentle smile and quick shift in demeanor caught him off guard, but before he could form a coherent sentence the crew and director had appeared. It was time for the meeting and as Elvis' eyes searched the waiting room around him, he realised that Y/n was already in the meeting room. There goes his chance to get to know her better, to have an actual conversation with her.

Nonetheless, he felt somewhat proud of himself. She had let her guard down for him, even for a second. The ice queen was slowly melting and he was there to watch it happen. Perhaps Ronald was right, she didn't hate him. Y/n hated herself for not hating him. Now, Elvis had to find a way to gain her trust. This wasn't even close to love, he had to assure himself, just a challenge. A fun one at that.

#elvis music #elvis songs #elvis presley #elvis the pelvis #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley imagine #elvis aaron presley #elvis 2022 #austin butler elvis #baz luhrmann elvis #elvis the king #elvis fans

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robinismywife · 1 year

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How many books do you read in a year is a debatable question

For real though big love to @missmaywemeetagain

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robinismywife · 1 year

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The end of an era y'all..I'm not crying u are!!

Pink Scarf - Part 20 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXXXXXXX. Dom/sub stuff. Angst (as always). Fluff (finally)? Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 15.2k (CUZ Y'ALL DESERVE IT)

A/N: 🎶And now, the end is near/And so I face the final curtain🎶

Babies, we are at the end. I don't know what to say other than thank you all so very much, thank you for you patience, and I'm gonna miss the hell out of Reader and Elvis and their stupid, mutual pining asses. (I'm not crying, you are!) 😭 Oh, and I highly recommend listening to Without Love (I Have Nothing) (1969) before reading the middle section here. I've included the first takes to the final master version because the first takes are stripped down & give more of the intimate feel I was getting at, but the final master is excellent, so I wanted to give you listening options! It'll really give you an idea of what the moment feels and sounds like! (I'm such a nerd, I know. Also, only Elvis could nail a song like this in a few takes, lord have mercy.)

I will write a short Epilogue sometime soon, so stay tuned! Also, I am very seriously thinking about publishing a physical book of Pink Scarf (and a Kindle version, too) BUT ONLY IF people are wanting and willing to buy it! It would likely include new bonus chapters/material. Please let me know in the comments, asks, or DMs if this is something you want! Like I said, I don't wanna do it if no one wants it, so let me know!

I sincerely hope y'all will stick around for my next projects as I try to get my writing career off the ground. Y'all are the OG's and the best fans a girl could ask for! 💗

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

Finally, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY! I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

Stop her, stop her, stop her…

The words echo in his head, but Elvis is frozen to the spot, watching your back as you walk out the door and possibly out of his life, feeling so raw he fears his heart might liquify and pour out of his mouth. The way you look so angry, more angry than he’s ever seen you, and so disappointed in him—it breaks his goddamn heart. Your vitriol paralyzes him, drying up the words that he can’t seem to tell you.

But he’s done it all for you, every stupid decision he made, he did in the name of love—and of keeping you safe and keeping you sane (you fuckin’ liar, you know that ain’t true, he lambasts himself).

“You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit…” Your words cut like daggers into his skin. He wants those words to be utterly untrue, outright lies, but he knows—he knows—that you are not entirely off base.

And perhaps that’s been the problem all along: he doesn’t truly believe he deserves you. For all the reasons you spit at him and for the fact that he has ruined you in more ways than one.

But the one crucial thing you are dead wrong about is that he didn’t care, that he’d just fucked you and wanted to pretend it never happened. He may be many of the things you said—egotistical, manipulative, stupid for lying to you—but he loves you, more than he has ever been able to express.

If anything, he’s cared too much.

But you are convinced of the opposite and, stupidly, he didn’t tell you any different.

This is the thing that finally gets him moving. His heart thrums in his chest as he races out the door, desperate to catch up to you. He looks around frantically for you, barely processing the confused and pitied looks of the men around him and flies out the main door of the penthouse suite.

“Y/n!” he shouts, hoping he can salvage this because he needs you more than he needs air to breathe.

I love you, I love you, I love you! screams in his mind but not out of his mouth, for reasons he can’t entirely explain. He arrives in the hallway just in time to see the elevator doors close behind you.

He’s too late.

“Fuck!!” he screams, and without thinking turns and plunges his fist into the wall. Plaster and paint flake around the new divot and burning pain radiates up his arm.

He nearly collapses from the way his heart tears in two, the gravity of the situation hitting him all at once. He’s barely slept in days, what with taking care of you in the hospital, being wracked with worry, and then having to come back and give high quality performances as if life was normal. His heart is beating too fast and his limbs feel weak.

Suddenly, everything feels much too heavy.

His legs threaten to give way and he leans against the wall, furious at you for making him feel these things. But he is more furious at himself.

You didn’t even say you were sorry, you stupid fucker, a little voice berates him.

I have nothing to be sorry for, the stubborn part of him, the one driven by his ego, replies.

The inner voice laughs sardonically. You have everything to be sorry for.

“EP!” he hears Jerry’s alarmed voice from far away. But he’s beyond caring.

I’ve lost her, is all he can think as his vision blurs and narrows, After all this, I’ve still lost her.

Jerry rushes to his side, but the despair and fury within Elvis drives him back into the penthouse, causing destruction along the way. He barely registers tearing the rest of his room apart, only knowing that he needs some outlet, some release of these horrible feelings trapped inside of him. To purge himself of the fact that even with all he tried to do to prevent it, his worst fears had still come to pass. Distantly, he’s aware of the breaking glass and the ripping of fabric and the roaring sound coming from his mouth, but everything is unfocused and red in his mind.

Elvis does this until finally his body gives out and he collapses on the bed. As he comes back into himself, his heart is beating so hard and so fast that he’s actually a little afraid he will give himself a heart attack. Trying to steady his breathing, he looks up, and seeing himself in the mirror above the bed, he hardly recognizes the man lying there.

Self-pity descends rapidly. There’s no way she’ll ever love me after this. How could she?

Early in his life, he’d thought June had been his last hope of ever having a woman love him for who he truly is, stripped of fame, warts and all, but he’s long since realized that you are that woman. You are his last chance at having that kind of true love in his life. And now those dreams are dying right in front of him because of his own stupidity.

I’ll always be alone.

And with that thought, he closes his eyes and wishes he were anyone else but Elvis Presley.

The commotion outside his bedroom door has Elvis lifting his chin expectantly yet not hopefully. He’s spent the last three hours faking his way through his midnight show trying to push the horrified and angry look on your face out of his mind. Trying to forget that he let you walk out his door.

Needless to say, it wasn’t his best show, though bellowing out his feelings through the music was cathartic in its own way.

He’s not sure why he had frozen like he did. It certainly wasn’t like him to cow-tow in the midst of a fight, but he had promised himself in the hospital that he’d be gentler with you. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing you so completely furious. Maybe it was that you’d finally remembered what happened after so many years, unearthing his deepest, darkest secrets and mirroring them back to him in the worst of ways. Or maybe it was that so many of your words rang with truth, even though you’d misunderstood the core reasons behind his actions.

Either way, he feels like his heart was ripped out of his chest. Part of him yearns to do more self-destructive things, but instead he sits still on the edge of his giant bed, the one you should be in right now, trying to understand just how completely he managed to screw this up.

“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything.”

Your words ring through his head again and again, like a broken record. What did you mean by that exactly? Because the crushed look on your face when you said it made it seem like you had feelings for him back then that if realized would’ve changed your relationship, and that sends a wave of heartache through him so strong that he feels like he might vomit.

“Jerry, I swear to God, if you don’t let me in there, you’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future!” He hears Sandy’s voice through the door and closes his eyes, trying to prepare himself for what he thinks is coming.

The door bursts open and he opens his eyes to see Sandy storm in, Jerry looking incredibly apologetic and a bit mortified that he was unable (or unwilling) to stop his wife.

Elvis waves Jerry off. He knows he can’t stop the onslaught. Jerry raises his eyebrows in an, “Are you sure?” way, and Elvis sends him out with a look.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Presley,” Sandy seethes, pointing at him once the door is closed behind her.

“Nice to see you, too, Sandra,” he responds wearily.

“Oh, don’t you ‘Sandra’ me,” she spits, then looks him over carefully, as if really seeing him. She surveys the disaster of the room, which he had completely torn to shreds after you left, then looks back at him. “You look like shit,” she adds matter-of-factly, almost as if she’s glad of it.

He can’t help shooting her a withering glare, but Sandy’s blood is up and does not falter under his gaze like most would.

“How is she?” he finally asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, let’s see…in the last three days her husband beat her up, her life imploded, and she just found out that her lover has been hiding some pretty crucial shit from her for over a decade. She sobbed for two hours straight and has been near catatonic since, so she’s just peachy, Elvis,” Sandy says sarcastically.

“Watch your tone, Sandra,” he warns, feeling his temper threaten.

“No, I don’t think I will, Elvis. Not when y/n is absolutely miserable and you are sitting up here doing nothing about it,” Sandy shoots back.

“This ain’t none of your business,” he says, vexed, standing and pointing a ring-clad finger at her. He likes Sandy, but he sure as hell doesn’t like her calling him out like this, not when he’s already been beating himself up about it.

Sandy laughs wickedly, “You made it my business the moment you let her tell me and started using me as cover for your lies.”

He can’t argue with that. Deflated, he runs his hand over his face. He is utterly miserable.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sandy says, and this time, her voice is quieter, gentler. “How could you keep something like that a secret for this long?”

He doesn’t want to say and certainly doesn’t want to appear vulnerable, but the ache in him is so bad, he can’t hide it. And he knows for a fact Sandy won’t let this go. Finally, he relents.

“I-I-I was trying to protect her, to protect our friendship… I w-was terrified I’d hurt her, that I’d…taken her against her will, and I-I-I could barely live with myself. I couldn’t burden her with the enormity of what we’d done” he says.

“And what about pushing her and Jack together, all the interfering? How exactly does that line up, E?” Sandy asks pointedly.

Elvis clears his throat and looks down. That is not something he is proud of. He wants to say he didn’t mean for it to go that way, but it would be a lie.

“It wasn’t like that, not at first. By the time I realized how I really felt about her, Jack had already swooped in and asked her out. I had nothin’ to do with it,” he says defensively.

Sandy crosses her arms, not accepting that and waits for him to continue.

“Well, then…then I-I realized she’d be better off with a man who could give her the stability and the family she wanted. I couldn’t be there for her, not the way she deserved. My career was just takin’ off and I—well, hell, it didn’t even matter until that day at Graceland, and I was ready to throw it all out the window when I’d thought she felt the same way about me that I felt for her, but-but then she…the overdose, she didn’t even remember…How was I supposed to explain that to her, Sandra? How? How was I gonna look her in the eyes and tell her she came on to me and we made love on the floor and that it completely changed everything? Who was gonna believe that? You know as well as I that it would’ve ruined her!” he says, his heart pounding, voice quavering, and his blood up.

Sandy looks at him carefully. “You were afraid she didn’t feel the same way. And that she doesn’t now,” she states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and caught like a deer in headlights.

“I had to protect her. And I had to set her up so she’d always be taken care of. And if she was with Jack, I could do that for her, for them. They could be happy. I wanted them to be happy, I-I swear. I thought they’d be happy!” he yells, back off the rails, pacing the room like a caged tiger.“I-I-I could…w-w-well, if she wasn’t with me, at least with him I would always know she was okay, and I could see her and it wouldn’t be some random-ass man that I didn’t know or trust takin’ her away from me forever!”

Sandy stays quiet, her gaze intense and knowing, and just waits for him to continue.

“I-I-I needed her to still be in my life, Sandra. I didn’t know Jack would fall so deep into the hole that he’d throw everything away. I didn’t think he would ever, ever hurt her!”

The words of his confession ring out and then die. Silence sits heavy for a moment.

“Wow. I have to say, that’s some masterful denial there,” Sandy finally says harshly. “Did you really think it was gonna be good for their marriage to take him away for months at a time? To feed him women and drugs and then be like, ‘Ooops! I didn’t know! It’s not my fault!’? Really?” she adds cuttingly, but steadily.

She’s right and he knows it. And she’s pushing him to admit the one thing he’s not sure he can.

He wants to get angry. He wants to scream and throw her out for her audacity. Instead, he just feels a rock in the pit of his stomach, realizing the truth of what she’s getting at:

That he’d knowingly sabotaged your marriage and then, when it was really bad, he’d taken advantage of the situation.

“You need to own up to what you did and apologize, and then you need to tell her what you’re so afraid of, Elvis. I can’t emphasize enough how much she needs to know that you love her,” Sandy continues with conviction.

His mouth pops open and then closes again, wordlessly, at hearing his feelings shared out loud so easily when he’s been harboring them alone for so many years. “You didn’t see how angry she was with me, how betrayed she looked…There’s no way she feels how I do, not after this,” he shakes his head.

Sandy rolls her eyes and mutters something unintelligible under her breath. “Listen, I have a pretty good idea how pissed and betrayed she’s feeling. And I’m not gonna speak for her, but…” she worries her lip a little, “you two of you really need to talk about how you truly feel about each other. Without all the other shit in the way.”

Something in the way she says it gives him hope.

“You need to fix this, Elvis.”

“I-I-I don’t think I can,” he states, defeated.

“Oh, please. We both know you can do anything when you want it bad enough,” she smiles slyly.

Once again, she’s right. “Why are you helping me?” he asks.

“Because I love her, too, and she deserves to be happy. She deserves the best,” she says knowingly, “That and this mess has everyone on pins and needles. We all just wanna fucking relax.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe he can salvage this. Just not right now. He is too exhausted and things feel too raw.

"Just...wait a little bit," Sandy adds carefully, as if reading his mind. “I think you both need a little breather.”

He nods.

“But don’t wait too long,” she says on her way out the door, her voice warning him of his worst fear: if he waits too long, he will lose her.

The door clicks shut behind her and silence falls once again. He glances at the bottles on the bedside table. As exhausted as he is, he’s still keyed up too much to sleep.

He doesn’t want to rely on the sleeping pills, in fact, he hadn’t needed them at all when you were in his bed, but his body craves them and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to resist at the moment. So, he pops a few down and waits for the drowsy effect to take hold of him.

When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.

You are itching to play, yearning to feel the white and black ivories under your fingertips. It feels like it might be the only thing keeping you sane these past few days—this need to pour your entire heart into something beyond yourself.

Unfortunately for you, the only pianos you know of are in Elvis’ suite, on his stage, and in the rehearsal room. Two of those aren’t even options at this point. It’s bad enough that anywhere you go in the hotel, all you see is his visage, all you hear is his music feeding through the speakers. An ever-constant reminder of how stupid you are to have ever thought you’d be more to him than just a friend.

You can’t seem to escape him.

You are able, with little effort, to convince Sandy to talk Jerry into letting you into the rehearsal space. Both of them keep looking at you with kind yet sad eyes, as they’ve been witness to all your special humiliations these past few weeks. You suppose it’s good that you are not alone with this, but sometimes all you want is to scream bloody murder and get as far away as possible from Vegas, from Jack, from Elvis.

But you can’t go home, not right now. You learned that Elvis sent Jack back to Memphis to “get himself together” and that Red is his babysitter. But that means you can’t go back to Tennessee, not yet. You can’t face him with all this still up in the air.

So, you are stuck in the limbo that is Las Vegas. You have nothing of your own, no money, no way to get home even if you wanted to. You are exactly where you feared you would be: Alone and heartbroken and stuck.

You hadn’t counted on also being beat to hell, both physically and emotionally.

Which is why you are so desperate to get to a piano. It’s the only way you can get these awful feelings out of your system. You just need to lose yourself in music, in creating it.

But when Jerry lets you in to the large rehearsal space, you are not alone. Someone is already at the piano, their back to you, playing a mournful gospel-style ballad. Someone is already leaning into the keys and singing.

I awakened this morning, I was filled with despair All my dreams turned to ashes and gone, oh yeah

You frantically backpedal and look at Jerry in a panic, but he shakes his head only somewhat apologetically and will barely look you in the eyes as he closes the door, shutting you in with the very person you are trying to escape.

Damn him and Sandy both.

As I looked at my life it was barren and bare Without love I've had nothing at all

You lean your forehead against the door and close your eyes, not wanting to turn around and face him. Instead, you breathe shaking breaths and press your palms into the cool door in order

to not to let the intense waves of anger and sadness that are crashing over you drown you.

You’re not even sure that he knows you are here, his voice ricocheting and echoing throughout the large space. He sounds so consumed by the music that your presence may have gone unnoticed. You aren’t sure if you want him to know you are here or not, but either way, you are swept up into the music with him, your soul clamoring for any part of him despite your mind’s warnings.

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing at all

You don’t want to hear him, not at all (liar), but his melodic voice is hypnotizing, drawing you in with its rich baritone and crying tenor notes and possessed vibrato. And whatever headspace he is currently in has his voice sounding absolutely hauntingly beautiful. It makes you shiver. You are forced to listen, to hear the meaning behind the words.

Once I had a sweetheart who loved only me There was nothing, oh that she would not give, oh no

It's unfair, just how good his voice is at making you listen to it, more than just his words alone, making you hear his soul through the sound. You suppose that is his true talent: being able to pour emotion into a song in such a way that it transcends the music itself. With your eyes shut, it threads through your mind, simultaneously lulling you and making you want to weep. You know you are getting a window into his heart by listening, and it is telling you what you want to hear the most but are terrified to accept.

But I was blind to her goodness and I could not see That a heart without love cannot live

Oh god, oh god, oh god, your inner voice cries because you are suddenly and all at once bombarded with memories. His voice strips you bare, cutting through all the anger and fear and heartache, finally let yourself realize what your subconscious has been trying to tell you for a long time.

Echoes from both the near and distant past trigger inside your mind, your head aching with the residuals of the concussion. First, it’s your own voice, calling back to that moment on the lawn so many years ago, telling Elvis about how you knew Jack was the one: He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be…

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all

Then, Elvis’ words flood your mind, flashing from one moment to the next:

“I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

“You were made for me.”

“You belong here with me.”

“It’s meant to be…”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, making it hard to breathe. It’s like he’s been telling you all along, yet you’ve been too blinded by fear and guilt and the sheer impossibility of it all to truly see.

I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing

At all

The final phrase is nearly a wail in the most beautiful of ways, the last run falling away and leaving a hollow silence in the room.

The memories come quickly now, a barrage of feelings and images: A boy backstage nervous as hell and his smile as you made him laugh. His eyes searching yours oh-so-closely in a diner booth as you tried to get over Ted. His melancholy the night you got engaged. Dancing, no, clinging onto you at the wedding before his world changed completely, and then again that mournful Christmas he’d returned, when you swore that Elvis wanted you more than anything in the world.

It’s the same way he looked when you climbed into his lap and rode him that fateful, forgotten day at Graceland.

His words from the other day, the ones that felt so possessive and manipulative take on different meaning as the puzzle pieces finally click into place, one by one:

“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.”

“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.”

“Let me take care of you. Let me be your everything.”

“I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”

“I need you.”

You are nearly brought to your knees with overwhelm, breathing too fast as you cling to the wall, anything, to ground you.

Then, like a freight train, it finally hits you, finally clicks, the thing he’s still hiding from you.

You suddenly remember the blanket of Elvis’ warmth surrounding you as you turned cold, bleeding out in his arms. The way his crystalline blues were terrified and beautiful and pleading. He rocked you in his arms, begging you not to leave him.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go…”

Your heart stops. And you finally remember.

“…I-I love you, y/n, please, I love you.”

He’s loved you all along.

All of his cagey behavior, his deceit, the manipulations, it wasn’t to mess with you. It wasn’t because he didn’t care. It was because he loves you.

Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you turn around to face him. And as always, he’s right there, right where you need him.

“I…I…” is all you can manage to eek out.

He grabs your tear-stained cheeks in his big hands, his azure eyes deep and soulful, looking at you imploringly, and he whispers, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you more than anything in this life. I think I loved you the moment you steamrolled me in the hallway at school.”

Shock courses through you at hearing the words come out of his mouth, right here, in the present. You let out a choked, tearful laugh. It cuts through the anger you still feel and banishes your heartache, letting a swell of warmth overtake you. Despite all your feelings for him, you hadn’t even let yourself truly hope that he could feel the same way about you that you do about him. And to learn he’d felt this way for so long without your knowing…it feels inconceivable.

“I-I-I…and I’m so sorry, y/n.”

Elvis Presley doesn’t apologize. He buys obscenely lavish gifts. He skirts around the subject and gets really nice with those puppy dog eyes, but he doesn’t apologize, so this in itself floors you.

“I-I-I shoulda told you…but I thought…,” he steels himself against the emotions that are so obviously plaguing him before continuing, “that I’d taken advantage of you when you weren’t yourself, that I’d hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself, y/n. The guilt was eatin’ me alive and goddamn if I was gonna subject you to that pain. And I figured God wanted me to take on that burden for you, that there had to be a reason you didn’t remember. You wouldn’t have to face your betrayal of Jack or your regret for bein’ with me. I thought I was protectin’ you, protectin’ us.” He stops there, voice trembling, eyes open and honest, and you know then that while it had been wrong of him to hide this from you, he had truly believed that he was doing what was best for you. As mad as you are, part of you hurts for him because he’d gone through it all alone.

“I knew I couldn’t give you what you deserved, so I went meddlin’ in your life in the selfish need t’keep ya close to me, t’have some part of you as mine,” he rambles, racing through the words, utterly focused on getting out what he needs to say.

“I just needed you in my life. And I-I-I need you now. I needja more than anythin’,” he keeps going, his voice still shaking and the pads of his thumbs caressing your cheeks before trailing down your neck and your arms. You can feel them shaking, too, a sweaty heat emanating from them as he grabs your hands in his. His eyes are stormy and grey and deep with emotion, pulling you in, forcing you to accept his words.

He takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “It w-was wrong of me to-to sabotage what you had with Jack. And then to swoop in when you were vulnerable—it’s unforgivable. And if ya can’t forgive me…well, I-I’m gonna hafta understand. But I-I-I hope you do, that you can. I know I ain’t always a good man, y/n. I try to be, but bein’ with me—well, you already know it ain’t easy, the way my life is…” he trails off.

Part of you wants to interrupt him, to shout your love for him to the heavens, but frankly, his words have you speechless. And you know by his demeanor that he needs to get this out.

Tears pool in his eyes as he struggles to go on. “I know it’s been hard on you, all this. And if you can forgive me, if you wanna be with me, I promise I’ll do better t’make this work for ya. You make me a better man, y/n. You keep me on the ground, and God knows I need that more than anythin’,” he chuckles a little at that before his face drops into something much more serious.

“Come back to me, y/n. Please, come back to me. I love you,” he whispers, eyes imploring you. He is so used to demanding, but this he begs of you.

You are outwardly quiet, though your blood rushes in your ears. You want more than anything to concede to him with these revelations, to fall haplessly into his arms, and any other woman might. Honestly, you would have, just a few days ago, but Elvis cannot erase the harm he caused you with these welcome words or soulful singing or puppy dog eyes. You cannot escape the feelings of betrayal that have permeated through you these past few days.

“Elvis, I…I want to trust you again. I really do,” you finally get out, “because…because I love you, too. I think I have for a long, long time.”

Saying the words aloud lifts a weight from your shoulders, making you feel almost lightheaded. You were so scared to say them, to reveal this hidden part of you, and the way his face lights up in such a hopeful way, it almost makes you start crying again. He squeezes your hands so hard that it hurts. But you have more to say and can’t let this distract you.

“But my mind it—it made me forget. I don’t know exactly why or how. I think I was so afraid that I could never have you, that there was no way you’d ever in a million years have those kinds of feelings for me…I think I had to protect myself,” you explain.

An inner strength you didn’t know you had until this very moment allows you to keep going. You take a deep breath. “Elvis, I want to forgive you, and I want to be with you, I do. But I am exhausted. I am weary. And I am still angry at you, and at Jack, and at myself. I need a little time to figure out what my world is now, without the oppressiveness of Vegas pushing in on me.”

You look up at him, hoping he understands, hoping he is willing to give you what you so desperately need.

He blinks as if coming out of a trance, surprise and confusion and dismay playing out on his features so quickly. You know he expected something different from you, and as much as you want to give it to him immediately, you know you cannot.

“I need to leave Vegas, E. I need space. I want to forgive you, but I need to heal,” you say firmly, looking into his eyes, holding back the sob that wants to break through. You can only hope that he sees and hears the truth in you. “I can’t start a life with you like this, bruised and broken.”

He shakes his head, small at first and then in outright protest. “No, no, baby, please, I need you here. I love you,” he says with a mixture of frustration and pleading and hurt, grabbing your cheeks again.

Tears pool and fall freely now, but you stay resolute, grabbing his wrists. “No, right now you need to be Elvis Presley and finish this engagement strong. You need to show the world that you are back and to spread that joy of music and performing as only you can.”

“None of that matters, baby. No, I need to be with you. I’ll cancel the rest of the performances,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting you every step of the way.

“The hell you will, Elvis Aron Presley. That’s not what I want, not for me or for you,” you say fervently, pulling away to look at him, bringing your hands to his face this time. “You need this. Seeing you up there…you are more alive now than you’ve been in years. I know how much you love this and your fans—”

“I love you more,” he interrupts, and it both makes your heart soar and breaks it at the same time. You close your eyes briefly to center yourself before looking back at him.

“And I love you. But I need space, and you have to finish this. Once it’s done, once I’ve had time to heal and forgive, then you come back to me, you hear?” you say, unable to keep the emotion from your voice but keeping it resolute all the same.

You watch him struggle. You can see how young he looks all of a sudden and you know he’s afraid you’re abandoning him. You’re afraid, too, but if the two of you have made it this long, you can stand it a while longer. Ultimately, you know if you fall back into him now, you’ll always hold resentment and that will poison you both over time, and you can’t have that.

Elvis closes his eyes and nods once. “Okay,” he whispers, so quietly you can barely hear it. A lone tear streaks down his cheek.

“Okay,” you whisper back.

He kisses you then, so softly, so gently, that you can’t help but lean into it. The chaste kiss is mournful and longing and hopeful all at once. It’s a kiss that is laced with the possibility that it could be the last one. You desperately hope that isn’t true, but only time will tell.

When you both pull away, you can feel the tether between you, the one that has always been there, tighten.

“Will you go to Hillcrest?” he asks, raising his eyes to yours hopefully, but it is more an offer than a question. The house in Beverly Hills is his home away from home.

You consider this and realize, other than going home to your parents (who you don’t quite feel ready to face yet, either), it’s your only option. It’s also a concession that will keep you connected to him, and you are comfortable giving him that. With its gorgeous views and serene setting, it will be a perfect solace.

“Yes,” you respond, and he seems sated by that. “Thank you,” you add quietly, then before you can second guess yourself, you tear yourself gently from his grasp and walk out the door.

Graciously and swiftly, he has Jerry take care of all the arrangements. Sandy is set to join you, and once you are both packed and ready, Jerry takes you to the airport and sees you both off.

Before he leaves, Jerry stops you. “He wanted me to give you this,” he says quietly, then opens your hand and places something soft in it.

Surprised, you look down, and see the familiar pink silk scarf folded there. You haven’t seen it since Jack ripped it from your neck that horrible night. Your fingers close around it. The message is clear: The ball is in your court.

“Send it when you’re ready for him,” Jerry adds with a knowing look.

You nod. You put the scarf in your purse.

Elvis Presley loves me, you think as you sit on the plane, but that feels trite, knowing other women have been able to say the same at some point or another.

Elvis has loved me since we were teenagers. He’s in love with me and has been all this time.

Now that is something that sends a thrill right through you.

You reach into your purse and run the silk between your fingers.

When it’s time, I’ll know.

Four Weeks Later

The hot California morning sun beats down on the umbrella that shades you. You had been reading and wanted to get some fresh air, the cold of the air conditioning giving you a bit of a chill in your white sundress but you cannot help but close your eyes drowsily as the heat swallows you like a blanket.

The last month was restorative, to say the least. It had been such a relief to get out of the stifling cacophony of Vegas, and it had allowed your brain to rest and recover from your concussion. Your bruises healed, and Sandy was there to both listen and have a good time when you needed it. You talked and thought through all your memories, working to understand both your reasons and Elvis’ for the way things had gone for your entire relationship.

You hadn’t heard from Elvis, as he was taking your need for space seriously, but Elvis’ lawyer had visited a few times, drawing up divorce papers that surprisingly took you a few days to sign. Not because you didn’t want to, of course, but because you had to fully process all that had happened and what it all meant to you. Sandy sat through your crying and guilt and shame like a champ, supporting you wholeheartedly once you finally picked up the pen and signed away your destructive marriage.

Once the lawyer had called back a week later saying that Jack had signed the papers, you felt like a new woman. Like you could finally start anew. Part of you had expected more of a fight out of Jack, but you did not dwell on the reasons he might have signed so willingly.

Sandy had headed home to Memphis to join Jerry once the Vegas engagement and resulting celebrations were over. You sent the pink scarf with her, with instructions to give it to Elvis only once you called her to do so, once you were finally ready. She’d smirked and rolled her eyes but was happy to do it all the same.

“Whatever I can do to finally get you two idiots on the same page,” she’d said lovingly.

You’d called her last night.

You can’t help but feel nervous. Even though a month was certainly not the longest you two had gone without speaking, this time it felt poignant and heavy in another way entirely. Your thoughts ran away from you at times: What if he’s changed his mind? What if he met someone else in Vegas?

It was possible and even probable that he’d been with other women since you left. You know how he is, and a man like him is not liable to change overnight. But you’ve spent most of your relationship with other people, and he still loved you after all this time, so even if he had been with someone else, you doubted it meant anything at all.

Of course, it still sends a red heat of jealously through you all the same. You push the thought as far away as you can, swinging your legs off the lounge chair, puttering back inside.

The cool air hits you like a wall of ice, and you close the sliding glass door quickly, goosebumps raising on your skin.

“Y/n.”

The familiar drawling baritone freezes you in your tracks. As your eyes adjust to the darkness inside the house, his tall frame becomes apparent across the living room and goosebumps rise over your skin for an entirely different reason than the cool air.

He looks incredible, magnificent even, wearing a silky white button up, the buttons undone at the top to reveal his tan chest, a pair of perfectly tailored black pants flattering him in all the right ways. But most significantly, the pink and black scarf is draped around his neck.

“Elvis,” you whisper, your heart fluttering in your chest.

That tether that you’ve learned has always been subconsciously tying you two together yanks you towards him. Your book drops to the floor and your bare feet run for him before your brain can catch up to you.

He meets you halfway and you throw yourself into his open, waiting arms. Your lips crash together with fervor, thirsty for each other after such a long drought. Soft, sweet, pillowy lips drink you in as your heart races and he pulls you in tighter. His familiar scent and warmth engulf you in such a comforting way that it brings tears to your eyes.

When your kiss finally slows and you both come up for air, you whisper, “You came.”

“Of course, I came.” As if there was ever any doubt.

Elvis pulls you to the couch, cradling you in his lap as he showers you with gentle but intense kisses. The heat between you builds but unlike in Vegas, it is more patient—openly full of love and admiration.

“I missed you,” he says into your mouth, his statuesquely perfect nose nuzzling into yours.

“I missed you, too,” you admit with a smile.

“Good,” he smiles, that lip of his curling up almost shyly.

His lips find your cheek, then placing soft kisses over your nose and eyelids and your forehead, as if committing your bone structure to memory with his mouth. It is unhurried because, for once, you have all the time and privacy in the world. You sigh underneath the reverence of his kisses as they trail down your jaw.

“Baby,” you say, stopping him, “as much as I want to continue this, I have things I need to say before that happens.”

He gives you one last kiss before bringing his attention to you. His gorgeous azure eyes fix in on you in such a way that you feel overwhelmed. It’s amazing to you how, even after all these years, he still has the ability to completely render you speechless with his magnetism and beauty.

“Yes?” he says, steeling himself for what may or may not be coming.

You tear your gaze from him enough to refocus. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I need you to know that I forgive you, for all of it. I forgive you, and more than anything, I love you. I want to be with you, though I know we need to figure out what that looks like. I mean, if that’s what you still want, of course,” you fumble, looking away, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Oh, it’s very much what I want, lil’ mama,” he purrs happily and seductively, using his pointer finger under your chin to turn your head, bringing his lips once more to yours. Fire blooms in your chest and radiates down into your belly as his tongue dips into your mouth. “I love you. I want you to be with me. Always have, baby.”

“I signed the divorce papers, and so did Jack,” you blurt out, needing to make sure he knows and understands.

Elvis chuckles, the low rumbling vibrating under your hand on his chest. “I know, Satnin,” he drawls, his bedroom eyes sharp underneath the haze of lust you see in them.

“Of course, you do,” you laugh, shaking your head, taking the moment to run your fingers through his coiffed dark hair.

He looks at you deeply, firmly but gently grabbing your chin in his hand. “Let me be your everything,” he whispers. It is somehow both a question and a command.

Your stomach drops, but not out of fear this time. No, it is a tingling anticipation that wafts over you and makes your breath catch. You run your finger over his lips, pulling down on that full bottom one.

“Yes,” you nod. You unfurl from his arms and stand, reaching for his hand.

Elvis looks up at you through those long, dark lashes with something between wonder and eagerness. You pull him off the couch wordlessly, his fingers intertwining with yours as you lead him through the house to the master bedroom.

When you finally arrive, you look up at him almost bashfully. “I was wondering if we could try something new?” you ask. You’d been thinking about this for weeks now, all the different ways you want him, but this one thing had stuck in your mind after all you’d been through.

His eyes sparkle almost gleefully with curiosity and lust. “What’re you thinkin’, baby?” he purrs.

You take a deep breath before speaking. You’re not sure if he’ll go for it, but you figure it won’t hurt to ask. “I want to be in charge,” you finally say, matter-of-factly.

His dazed look at your request quickly turns to interest as his brow furrows with consideration. He doesn’t mull long, however, much to your pleasure, before uttering, “Hmm, why not, baby? Let’s try it.” He smiles coyly before bringing you in for a long kiss.

Your heart begins to thump in your chest. You’ve never done this, and you bite your lip, knowing that you have to change your attitude for him to take you seriously. You draw on the strength you’ve gained over these past weeks and take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“On your knees,” you command.

Elvis looks at you with amused surprise at the order. “What?”

“Did I stutter?”

His left eyebrow shoots up so far you think it may try to escape his pretty face and his brilliant blues go wide.

“No, ma’am,” he says, his voice getting breathy and quiet. His eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly sinks, his knees finally touching the floor.

A thrill shoots through you seeing him like this, humbled before you. This man who commands and dominates every room he walks into, brought to his knees for you. You doubt anyone in his adult life has truly had him like this. You relish in the way it makes your heart race in your ribcage.

“Say it again,” you whisper. He seems to know what you mean.

“I love you,” he replies quietly, his eyes open and shining up at you. There is an innocent and boyish quality to them.

With everything that has happened, you have a renewed sense of purpose and confidence which makes you bold.

You lean down and grab his chin in your hand firmly, feeling the light scratch of dark stubble under your fingers.

“Show me,” you command.

He nods furiously in compliance, that look of innocence tempered by sparks of lust in the depths of his oceanic blues. He is more than willing and up for the challenge, and the look sends a shiver of anticipation through you so strong that you can already feel warmth gathering low in your belly. It’s been over a month now since you had him last and each day felt like torture.

Elvis runs his hands up the backs of your calves, caressing your bare legs and resting on the backs of your thighs, his eagerness and yearning evident in his speed. He wants you, too, and he is oh so used to getting what he wants that it gives you pleasure to stop him.

“Uh uh,” you tsk, grabbing his chin again, “you’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby boy, and then maybe, if you’re really good, then you’ll get what you want.” It comes out like a purr, dangerous but alluring, surprising even you. But the look on his face is worth it, the way he nearly crumbles when you call him baby boy, the way his pouty mouth falls open slightly, the way he squirms on his knees, itching to take you but following your lead instead.

“Now, are you gonna be a good boy and do what I tell you?” you coo with an edge of warning. You’ve never in your life have done anything like this before, and you hadn’t planned this, but the control, the power just comes naturally, his responses fueling you forward.

He nods again, unconsciously wetting his plump lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Use your words,” you order.

“Uh-um, y-yeah, yes, I-I-I promise…mama,” he stutters out, picking up your cues and nodding, eyes are wide and becoming more yielding as he begins to submit to you.

Something about the way he does it has that warmth surging in your belly yet again.

“Good,” you say, running your nails up and through his raven locks, scraping his scalp and making his eyes roll back at your touch. You pull back quickly, leaving him a little breathless.

“No hands. Use your mouth,” you order with a smirk.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob with a gulp. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, faster this time. He’s adapting quickly to your game, and the way he bows down to your feet, kissing the bare skin so softly as he makes his way slowly up your ankle to your calf has a thrill shivering through you. His pillowy lips and the tip of his tongue brush and lick their way up your legs, as he alternates one to the other. The sensation, especially after being deprived of his touch for so long, has you sighing softly, and his eyes roll up to yours, framed deliciously by those impossibly long and dark lashes. The blue of them has darkened with lust, but they remain compliant and eager to please.

That alone has the coil in your belly rapidly tightening, and you feel wetness begin to seep into your panties the closer his mouth comes to the place you want him the most.

Your breathing speeds up with this teasing when he meanders under your dress, peppering kisses along your panty line until his hot breath ghosts over the thin cotton of your panties. It puffs over your clit, and you pull your dress up with one hand to watch. His hands fly up to your ass of their own accord, squeezing and clutching at your panties to bring them down.

Using your other hand, you fist it tightly in his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look at you. “What did I say about hands, baby boy? I thought you were gonna be good for mama,” you tsk, shaking your head.

It’s a test. You relish in watching him quell the dominant urges he’s having by biting back a smirk of insolence, his lip sandwiched between his teeth so hard he could break the skin. The fire in his eyes almost dares you until he sees the serious look in your own and you tighten your grip in his hair. He winces a little and you watch him consider his options. You don’t let up during this battle of wills, unyielding and unbreaking of the eye contact that might usually level you.

No, after the last six weeks, this time you are going to get what you want.

Finally, he gets it, letting his arms drop to his sides. His face smooths, that innocence returning, and he submits completely to you.

“Good boy,” you breathe, releasing the grip on his hair and running your thumb over his lush bottom lip. His mouth opens and you push your thumb in, scraping at his teeth, then pushing into the soft warmth of his pink tongue. A low moan escapes him as his eyelashes flutter, and you allow him to suck it in, rolling his tongue over your thumb. A pleasured hum escapes your lips at the sensual sensation, and you feel it tingle straight down into your pussy.

“Try again,” you say, looking down at him, pulling out your thumb. You pull up your dress once more.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers eagerly, and you see the wheels turning for a moment before he continues. This time, he sits on his hands before he kisses directly over your sensitive nub, wetting the fabric with his tongue before kissing upwards. Then, he snaps the elastic between his teeth and slowly but surely pulls your panties down your legs. Your slick is already evident in the fabric, leaving little trails down your thighs. Gravity takes hold once they reach your knees, and they drop to the floor.

“There’s my clever boy,” you praise him, stepping out of your underwear, running your thumb over his high cheekbone. This causes that signature crooked, boyish smile to spread across his features, reminding you just how incredibly beautiful he is.

And he’s all yours.

As he lathes his tongue back up your thighs, cleaning the slick from them on the way back up to your core, your body shudders with delight and you feel him smiling against your skin. Looking down you see it is not a smirk, but genuine pleasure at making you feel good, and that sends warmth through your chest in addition to the heat rapidly building in your core.

You cannot help the moan of pleasure that escapes you when he finally reaches the apex between your legs and flattens his tongue over your folds. He drags it slowly, deliberately, ending with little flicks on your clit. Heat rolls over you, setting every nerve aflame, and this time when you grab his hair, it is to pull him encouragingly closer into your wet curls.

“Yes, good boy, just like that,” you sigh breathlessly as he begins to shower your pussy with attention, going slowly as you requested. He is soft and persistent, swathing gently through your folds, parting your labia with his tongue before rolling back to your clit. Oh, lord, he is so very versed in this, you remember quickly, as he suckles and presses soft kisses to that most sensitive place.

Your eyes fall shut as you grip his head and shoulder for balance. You cannot help the keening and panting that begins to emanate through you as the coil in your pelvis tightens. Even after only a short amount of time together, he somehow knows exactly how to play you for the most pleasure.

In a daze, your eyes open and you look down at him, his dark hair messy from your hands. That’s when you notice it: he is not touching you with his hands, as promised, but you see how he’s somehow undone his trousers without your knowing. You watch silently for a moment as one of his ring clad hands fondles and tugs at his cock, and it sends a thrill of arousal through you to catch a glimpse of him pleasuring himself like this when he doesn’t know you’re watching. Battling the swell of ecstasy that rockets through you, you curiously watch how his hand slides up and down over his length, pulling at the foreskin that mostly envelops his red tip, how his long thumb glides effortlessly over it, swirling the slick of precum around and over and down. It’s a well-practiced motion and it almost seems unconscious considering the way he is utterly focused on your pussy.

You gasp with pleasure as he massages your clit deftly with his tongue, and coupled with watching him jack off, you feel a desperation for more friction, more of him, building until you realize that it is you who is in control of this moment, not him. With a swell of need you push him back abruptly, his eyes bewildered, and lips shining with your arousal, hand still on his cock, wondering what he did wrong.

“Oh, what a naughty little boy you are. I didn’t say you could touch yourself. I didn’t say you could get yourself off, did I?” you say in a chastising tone.

And, oh god, the bashful look he gives you, dropping his cock, and how his cheeks redden at being caught as he looks down, those lashes fanning out, has you biting back a smile and more heat swelling under your dress.

“No, ma’am,” he says mournfully, shaking his head slightly. And then he’s blinking up at you with those deep blues, waiting for what you are going to do next, what his “punishment” might be, you realize.

“I guess I’m gonna need to teach you a lesson then,” you sigh with exasperation. But his disobeying you only serves to make you more aroused. You put your foot on his chest and push him down and backwards with a low growl. It’s like something primal has come over you, not only your need to dominate him, but also this flaming heat consuming your body and needing his mouth on you more definitively.

“Get on your back,” you demand.

Elvis scrambles backwards quickly and you are grateful for his flexibility as he easily untangles his legs from underneath him and falls back onto the thick shag carpeting. You step over him, sliding your dress up and over your head as you do so, leaving you in only your bra. When you look down, you see his blissed-out eyes wandering over your body with something akin to awe.

You lower yourself down to your knees, straddling his chest, which is already heaving from his arousal. He’s wearing the pink silk scarf, the one from your first night together, and it feels fitting, you think, as you lord over him and unravel it from around his neck. He watches you so intently in any other circumstance you might falter under his gaze, but while blown with lust, you can see by that bashful look in his eyes that he is committed to following your lead here.

“Hands above your head, baby boy,” you coo, running your hands up the underside of his arms, guiding them over his head. “Since you can’t seem to keep from doing naughty things with them, I’ll have to make you stop,” you admonish.

You sit fully on his chest then, feeling as the wetness of your cunt stains the front of his lovely silky shirt, and then you lean over, fully aware that it puts your breasts temptingly over his face. You hear him whimper, knowing he can’t touch you, and you smile as you use the black and pink scarf to tie his wrists together above his head.

You intertwine your fingers with his as you slowly pull back over his body, scooting your hips back as you go until your face is hovering just above his. He’s panting now, little puffs of breath coming from his lips as you ghost your own over his face. Tipping his chin up to try and capture a kiss, you pull back a bit.

“Nuh uh, baby boy. You have work to do first,” you shake your head, kissing the tip of his nose. Then you tempt him by flicking the tip of your tongue over the beautifully perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip, and he fully whines and squirms under you.

You laugh at that, the fact that you are able to put him in this position, to make him want you enough to be vulnerable and needy like this. Then you become more serious, looking him in the eyes.

“Now use that wicked little mouth of yours to make me come,” you say in a low, sultry, daring tone. “And no touching unless I say so!”

“Y-y-yes, ma’am,” Elvis moans as you maneuver your body up and over his head, bracketing it in with your thighs. Your need for him is quite evident as you lower your already-soaking pussy onto his face and as his pouty mouth kisses your most sensitive areas, you know you are so wound already from this little game of yours that you fear you might come undone too soon.

You’ve never done this before and while part of you is a little worried about the mechanics and fears smothering him, that primal, instinctual part of you starts rocking your hips over his mouth.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly, unable and unwilling to contain the soft moans that his lips and tongue begin drawing out of you as you begin to ride his mouth. When he fully groans against you, the vibrations send a shockwave through your core, nearly snapping that coil inside you already. You steady yourself, finding a comfortable rhythm, and experimentally run your hands up your torso, using them to grope your breasts. You feel him moan again and look down to see him carefully watching you, his eyes blown black.

Sensing how it’s driving him wild, you lift your hips a little to give him air and reach down under the lace of your bra, using the pads of your fingers to lightly drag against the sensitive areola, taunting him and pinching your nipples to attention with a moan of your own.

“Fuckkkk,” he breathes out, the air tickling your labia.

“Language!” you hush him and plant back down on his face. His arms fight to come down and grab you, but between being tied and the way your weight is, he cannot, and groans against you again instead. He works you tirelessly now as you writhe over him and you feel that telltale tightening begin in earnest. You are nearly desperate as his tongue lathes against your folds again and again, dipping in and out of your hole, circling your clit and back again. He eats you expertly, willingly, and you ache for him.

“Good boy, there’s my good baby,” you pant quietly as your heart flutters and your breathing starts to hitch.

But when his tongue slips daringly lower, perhaps accidentally, perhaps not, you careen forward with a shocked gasp as it grazes your other hole.

“Elvis!” you gulp, clasping his hands with your own to steady yourself, stilling your hips. You aren’t quite sure how you feel about that slip yet, only knowing that it’s a place that has been forbidden before now. Your heart pounds so hard you hear the blood in your ears, your body on high alert.

“Hmmm?” is his only response before he tests you again, gently, letting his tongue circle that illicit spot lightly.

“Elvissss…” The moan escapes you before you can stop it because the unfamiliar feeling of his tongue there has your already aroused body teeming with the new sensation and you know you shouldn’t like it, you’re not supposed to like it…

“Yes? You like that mama?” he replies surprisingly bashful, submissively, compared to the sensual dominance that you are used to from him.

“I-I-I’m not sure, baby boy,” you finally stammer out honestly.

You feel him nod underneath you, as if understanding, and he goes back to suckle your clit, making you jump a little and roll your hips. And when his tongue travels back through your swollen folds and he goes a little farther to include that little secret spot, you can’t help but cry out in pleasure this time.

He smiles against you, and you respond by rolling harder on his face, effectively shutting him up. The carnality that flows through you banishes your prudishness and you let him kiss and eat you fully now, from hole to clit, letting the sensations consume you completely.

You fuck his face wildly. You don’t try to stop the keening noises crying from your lips, you just grip his hands for dear life as the coil inside you constricts, your body flooded with fire, desperate for the blast of release his talented mouth promises you. Frantic now, chasing that high, your body tenses over him and he groans loudly into your cunt, his tongue deep inside you, as your thighs squeeze his head.

The peak hits you incredibly hard and you cry out as you shatter above him. White stars flash behind your eyes followed by inky blackness. You can barely breathe for the way it hits you. He continues to lick and suck you through your orgasm, coaxing you, moaning into you in order to continue your pleasure for as long as possible. He devours every drop of your arousal. Shaking and shuddering and oversensitive, you finally scoot your hips back, allowing him to come up for air with his own gasp.

“Did I do good, mama?” he puffs, looking pleased, his face covered in your slick.

“You did perfect, baby boy,” you breathe out, kissing his cheeks, then his swollen lips, tasting your tangy sweetness there. Your body shivers with aftershocks as you come back into yourself, your mind concocting all the ways you want him tonight, all the ways in which you can show him your love and vice versa.

You look down at him, enjoying the sight of pussy-drunk lust on his boyish features, the vulnerability of his hands restrained above his head, the way his bedroom blues dreamily follow your gaze and your lead.

Your need for him feels insatiable. You want to wreck him, ruin him, in the best way possible. Biting your lip you roll your hips into his waist, feeling the cold of his belt sear into your bare core and Elvis’ eyes roll back a little as you drag your nails down over the part of his chest that is exposed above his shirt.

“You gonna continue to be good for mama, baby boy?” you lean down to coo in his ear, scootching your hips back just enough to feel the tip of his rock-hard length through his pants, and you can feel the shudder that ripples through him.

He nods furiously. “Y-yes, mama, oh yes, I’ll be good.”

“I’m so glad, baby,” you whisper, “Mama’s got somethin’ special in store for you.”

Elvis whimpers at that, and you can tell it is taking every ounce of self-control he has to keep from taking you right there and then, but he stays good and still and relatively quiet for you. You kiss down the shell of his ear, nibbling on the perfect lobe, and then you focus your attention on the divot just behind it where his jaw meets his skull. Lapping there for a minute, you take your time as he hums and tenses beneath you, turning his head the opposite direction to give you the access you want. You make your way agonizingly slowly down his neck, using your lips and teeth and tongue in all the ways you’ve learned he likes. By the time you reach his collarbone, he is practically writhing under you.

His breath is beginning to heave and become labored when you start down his tanned chest, the course hair there tickling your lips as you go. One by one, you pop the remaining buttons open, and with each, a pretty little huff escapes his pouting lips. Oh, how beautiful he looks with his cheeks all flushed and his hair mussed, those eyes alternating between peering down at you and looking up to the heavens.

Once again you move your hips back, this time hovering just above the erection raging in his pants. It’s enough that he can feel your heat, but you give him no friction whatsoever, and this is what finally has him bucking his hips up desperately, but you are prepared, dodging well out of the way before he finds any sort of relief.

“Now, now, that’s not how good boys behave,” you tsk at him, earning a huff in response. You use your nails to scratch down his now-exposed treasure trail, your lips following close behind and he fully whines by the time you reach the belt line.

“Please, please, mama,” he mewls at you, raising his head to look at you with begging eyes.

“All in good time,” you muse quietly, shooting him a soft smile.

You take your time with his heavy belt and zipper, causing him to spring forth, his cock hard and veiny, precum already oozing a sticky string between his tip and his abdomen, but you leave him there, untouched. Moving lower, you slowly, deftly, remove one shoe, then the other, doing the same with his socks. Then you pull his pants down his long legs, letting your fingers ghost over his sensitive skin. It’s torture, based on the way he squirms and sighs, and you find yourself full of emotions.

A small part of you relishes in making him squirm after finding out what he’d kept from you all these years, for all the time you may have lost with him because of his self-righteous ego. But a much larger part of you wants this with him, for him, because you know he’s likely not given himself to anyone like this. Not the great Elvis Presley, the man who strives for excellence and control in all things. You cannot imagine him letting just any woman bring him to his knees, tying him up, letting her have her way with him. At least you hope not.

But perhaps that is your own ego talking.

But a sense of unease, jealously perhaps, wafts over you, diminishing your confidence slightly.

“Baby boy?” you hum pensively at him, running your finger softly up the sole of his foot, causing him to jump and giggle a little.

“Yes, mama?” he responds softly, tilting his chin down to look at you.

You frown, worrying your lip a little, wanting to approach this skillfully as not to ruin the mood, but you have to know. Now that the thought is there, you must know.

“Have you ever let anyone else do this? Touch and tease you like this?” you ask, trying to keep your voice sultry and light, running your fingers up the underside of his arm, dragging across the pink silk that binds his wrists.

His brow furrows for a moment as he tries to interpret what’s going on underneath the bravado you’re showing, trying to glean your true meaning, and then his face softens and smooths with realization, his eyes wide and open for you. “Not like this, mama. Just for you. Only you,” he says genuinely, and you know it’s true, that he’s not just giving you lip service within the game you are playing.

“Good,” you nod, more moved by this than you want to show right now, your heart swelling with this new knowledge. You kiss him gently and softly on the lips.

“Do you trust me?” you add more mischievously, your confidence returning.

“Completely,” he nods back.

“Then it’s time to get on the bed, baby boy,” you purr.

He brings his arms down in front of his abdomen, the scarf still taut at his wrists and his shirt open and flowing behind him, and you help him to standing. His eyes sparkle a little with what you think is anticipation. Once to the bed, he snakes his long, beautiful body backwards until he is lying up against the dark pillows.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him lying there, vulnerable and all yours. Getting between his legs, you start at his feet, massaging the ropey muscles with your hands, and alternately kissing your way over the arches, his ankles, and up his calves, up every perfect part of him. You pay attention closely to these spots you’ve never really explored before, listening and watching him carefully. When his breath catches, or he hisses in through his teeth, you know it’s extra sensitive, and of course, when his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back you know you’ve hit the jackpot.

You take your sweet time working up his muscled legs, bringing up and opening his knees to give you more access to what you are finding is the highly sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Warmth rolls through you when you nip there, very close to his balls and he nearly jumps off the bed.

“Stay still and be good, baby boy,” you purr at him with a sly smile against his leg, and he whines in protest but stills himself. You think it’s high time you give him some well garnered attention to his large, heavy testicles. His musky scent fills your nostrils, setting your biological need for him on fire. You wiggle a little on your knees with anticipation but since you aren’t sure exactly what he likes or what his boundaries are yet, you want to make sure he has an out.

“Baby,” you say seriously, looking into his eyes, “if you really want me to stop, like really, I need you to tell me, okay? Say…” You stop, looking around for inspiration, something he would never say in the heat of the moment, and then your eyes land. Perfect.

“Say ‘pink scarf’ if you really want me to stop baby, okay?” you urge.

Elvis nods, looking excited and also a little concerned at the prospect of what you might do to him to require him to use such a phrase. “Pink scarf, got it,” he breathes.

With that, you feel better, and return your attentions down in between his legs. His cock is hard and buoyant against his pelvis, precum glistening the angry red tip that is peeking out from his lighter foreskin, but that is not what you’re going to focus on, not yet.

Using your thumbs, you apply gentle pressure to the insides of his thighs, massaging slow circles up, up, up, closer to his most sensitive areas. Lying on your stomach between his open legs, you test the waters by running your nails softly over the darkened, wrinkly skin of his ball sac.

He hisses in at that, his lower half tensing as you gently continue, using your thumb, pointer, and middle fingers to explore the area. In his arousal, his balls are pulled up tight to him, but it doesn’t detract from the fact they are still rather large compared to what you’re used to. His breathing becomes more labored as you roll his testes between your fingers, cupping them, then pulling gently.

His hips roll and wiggle. You love the effect you are having on him, the way he responds so readily under your touch, and you wonder if this is what it’s like for him when he plays with you. It sends heat of a different kind rolling through your body each time he jolts or gasps.

Which is exactly what he does when you nuzzle his sac with your nose before flattening your tongue against the seam and licking a long stripe from back to front. His hips rise off the mattress and running your hands over the crease of where his legs meet his torso, you push those famous narrow hips back down to the bed.

“Oh mama, oh mama,” he whispers quietly, almost like a begging prayer, as you continue lathing your tongue back and forth and up and down over his balls. He begins to writhe in earnest, despite your hands holding him, his legs pulling up and boxing you in.

“Be still,” you command, lifting your head, pushing his bent legs back open.

He obeys instantly, looking down at you with wild, shining eyes, nodding almost unconsciously in reply, as if preparing himself for whatever you deem to do next.

You use your hands again, one to push his legs up, tilting him towards you, the other rolling him like dice, before lifting his sac enough to lick the underside completely. Taking inspiration from his playbook, you then flick down over his taint, applying pressure with your tongue, his musky scent consuming you.

He moans long and loud at that, unable to contain himself as you shower this newly found spot with all your attention. As you lick and press and roll, he mewls and begins to shudder. Your heart beats faster against your ribcage at his reactions, how he pants above you, and you wonder what will happen if you press your thumb to that softer spot right above his puckered hole.

So you do. You press that spot over and over and watch him tremble and writhe until he looks damn well possessed.

“Please, oh please, oh GOD!” he cries out and eventually his entire body tenses, hips lifting as though he were coming inside you, and he shudders wildly before falling hard back onto the bed. Heart pounding, you lift your head to see a milky white leak from his tip. It’s not cum in the sense you are used to, but some sort of release nevertheless.

You’re not one hundred percent sure what just happened, but you are pleased you made him feel so good. You watch him lying there, gasping from pleasure, his hands clenching and releasing against their bonds, trying to recover from whatever that was. His face is flushed red, making the blue of his arousal-darkened eyes look almost preternatural, and tears leak, dampening his dark lashes. He looks positively bewildered.

“Good job, baby boy,” you praise him, kissing the inside of his knee.

“Wh-wh-what w-was that, mama?” he gasps, asking.

“That ever happen before?” you respond, curious, instead of answering him.

He shakes his head, his hair flopping as it lolls from side to side.

“Hmm…well, did it feel good, baby?” you ask because you aren’t entirely sure what happened, but you don’t let him know that. You don’t let him know about your own fresh arousal that’s leaking down the sides of your thighs or how your heart is fluttering in your throat at the sight of him such a mess before you. Not yet.

He nods furiously, eyes unfocused.

You smile at the blissed-out look on his face. You crawl up him to give his open lips a little kiss. “Mama’s not done with you yet, baby boy,” you whisper against his lips before pulling back.

His dreamy eyes go wide, but you don’t dwell, instead making haste to kiss down his chest once more, stopping to tongue and scrape his nipples with your teeth, making him jump underneath you once again. You kiss down the flat planes of his belly, detouring to give a little attention to his bound hands, sucking a digit or two into your mouth on the way down.

He fully shivers at that, moaning, sending a thrill of your own down to your toes. His belly is already heaving again with anticipation as you arrive at your next destination. His length bounces as his stomach moves, the milky white having leaked onto his belly, but whatever release he’d had did not affect the hardness of his cock, much to your pleasure.

Your goal here is to worship and tease, rather than the ways you’d had him in your mouth before. The way he’d fucked down into your throat both gently and harshly prior to this was not going to be his experience this time. No, this time is all about giving him a night he’s unlikely to ever forget. It is about claiming him as your own while showering him with love and attention on your terms. You’ve never had that before, not truly, and oh how sweet you are finding it already…

First, all you do is hover over his cock, so closely that he can feel your hot breath against him as you run your open mouth up and down his shaft. He squirms his hips from left to right, his hands fisting, and you can sense how it is taking everything in him not to buck up into you.

“Mamaaaa…need y-you,” he begs.

This makes you smirk coyly.

“Hush, baby,” you admonish him with a furrowed brow, stilling his hips again with your hands. “Be a patient good boy and you’ll get what you need.” Eventually…you think smugly.

He can only manage a whimper in response.

Finally, you place soft, barely there kisses up his shaft, feeling his rapid pulse through the throbbing veins. His foreskin awaits and you kiss gently around it, and it must be very sensitive because he’s fully gasping now, quiet “uh, uh, uhs” escaping his lips. Using only your tongue, you dip it into and under the foreskin, swirling it around the head.

“Oh, oh, no, t-too much, too much, mama!” he half moans-half cries, nearly levitating off the bed, but you don’t stop, instead sucking the tip of him into your mouth and soothing the head with your tongue.

You look up at the man you are in love with, in all his messy ecstasy, as tears stream down the sides of his pretty face, but he does not say the words, only sighing at this little bit of relief you give him. So, you continue, after this moment of reprieve, sending your tongue up and down his shaft, then kissing and tonguing his sensitive tip as though it were a dripping ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

“Please, please, please,” Elvis pants out of that wonderous and full mouth of his. By the time you use your hand to fondle his balls again, he is so fully enraptured, staring up into the mirrors above you, that you’re not sure he’s even on the same plane as you anymore.

God, it has you nearly coming undone yourself to see him like this, bringing him closer and closer to the edge without letting him fall over. You find yourself pressing your thighs together, desperate for your own friction.

His gorgeous eyes flutter down to you as you once again tongue his tip. “B-bein’ good, m-mama, please, needju,” he whimpers, his words slurring together.

“Bein’ so good, baby boy,” you praise him, then you take him fully into your mouth, pumping once, twice, and then you feel his entire body tense and shake.

“F-f-fuuuuckkk,” he groans gutturally, his hips bucking into your throat, coming completely undone nearly instantly. His eyes roll back into his head, beads of sweat mixing with the tears down his face, and the prominent vein in his neck pulses in time with his salty, thick release. It coats your tongue, and you swallow him down readily before gently lathing your tongue over the tip of his sex. He squirms under you, rocked and hypersensitive as you pop off him.

“Thank you, mama,” he whispers, looking so relieved and sex drunk that you are beside yourself now. Every nerve ending inside you is on fire. Before he can soften, you climb onto his lap, lining him up with your entrance and sliding him through your soaking folds and into your heat.

Elvis’ eyes widen in shock and he wiggles his hips down into the mattress as if trying to escape. little “ah ah ah!” puffs come from his lips, like he’s handling a hot potato.

“M-mama, ah, ah! I-I-I can’t,” he shakes his head before slamming it back onto the bed.

“Oh, you can, baby boy, you can, I promise,” you say breathlessly, relishing the feel of him filling you, even though he’s beginning to soften slightly. You roll your hips in his lap. “You’re gonna keep being such a good boy and make me come, right, baby?” you encourage demurely, hooking enough into his ego and his need to please you to keep him going.

All you know is that you need him, need to keep him inside you, to have him fill you up, even if you have to wait.

The noise that comes from him is somewhere between a groan and a growl, his eyes screwing shut for a moment as he tries to compose himself enough to continue. You still, placing your hands on his chest, and wait for his response.

“How about this? You’ve been so good for mama. I’m gonna take this scarf off you and you use those hands to show me some love while we wait,” you say.

That has him opening those glassy, pretty eyes of his and nodding.

“Mama’s gonna keep makin’ you feel real good, don’t you worry now, baby,” you tut at him, untying the knots at his wrists. The silk yields easily. You lean forward on top of his chest and throw it around his neck.

Elvis rolls his wrists a few times then wraps his arms around your back, holding you fast to him while he continues to breathe heavily. The feeling of being draped on him and held in his long arms sends an almost wholesome warmth through your body. Oh, how you missed being close to him like this. It’s almost as if you didn’t know it until this very second, that string that has been pulling you two together for so long finally loosening as you fall unencumbered into each other’s arms.

After a long moment, he calms and his hands start roaming slowly over your back. You can feel the cool of his rings against your fiery skin and it sends shivers through you. You feel starved for him, hence your desperate need to have him inside you and to show him with every fiber of your being that you will be all he ever needs from here on out.

You hum softly, pleased, when his hands find your ass, your hips, and you swivel them. He is soft inside you for the moment, at least, and you feel the sharp intake of breath at your movements, his hands gripping you to keep you still.

Still sensitive, you think.

His hands flutter up and down your sides then, softly enough to make you want more. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest, the rhythm beginning to match yours the longer you stay intertwined. This is what you’ve been missing, needing, all along. Him vulnerable and sated under you. Knowing that you are the only one he truly wants. Knowing that it’s been that way for almost as long as you’ve known him.

“Say it again,” you whisper into his neck, kissing his pulse points.

It only takes him a moment to understand what you are asking.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Mmmm,” you hum, kissing your way up his strong, angular jaw to his lips. “Again.”

“I love you.” It rumbles in his chest so you can feel it vibrate into yours.

Each time he says it, it dances through you, lighting up all the dark spaces that were so afraid and convinced he would never feel the same.

You kiss his lips, softly at first, then deepening as your own love pours out of you and into him.

His hands are everywhere now, one tangling in your hair, the other snapping the clasp of your bra undone. Your mouths separate just long enough for you to rip off the lace and fling it to the side. The feel of his bare chest against yours makes you feel like you are melting into him. Your mouths are unhurried but intense, tongues exploring, devouring each other whole.

“I love you,” you say into his mouth, voice hushed and reverent.

He pauses for a moment, pulling back just enough for you to get lost in the oceanic depths of his eyes as they gaze at you adoringly, as if memorizing your features. “I’m yours,” he says. Then he pulls you back down to him, his mouth consuming you once more.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, kissing, touching, exploring each other as if it were the first time, but it is long enough that you feel him begin to stiffen inside of you once more, just as you knew he would. Slowly, you begin to rock on top of him, your hands and lips tracing his Apollo-like features. Your fingers rake through his raven hair, damp with sweat from the exertion.

Elvis’ hands cup your face, your neck, tangling through your hair, caressing your breasts. He touches you reverently, though as your passions increase, his hands light streams of fire over your skin wherever they deem to touch. A heated coil tightens again in your belly, more gradually this time, but deep all the same.

The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing that has synced between the two of you, a hushed feeling that matches the intensity of your lovemaking. His deep gaze threatens to consume you from below as you ride him, and every cell in your body is being called to his.

He fills you in ways no one ever has and as no one ever could. Perhaps he was made just for you, you think, with how perfectly you align. You realize that this is the first time you’ve had him with all your memories intact. Every moment the two of you have had since the beginning now swells between you, a now shared history that makes this moment all the more poignant.

You are lost in the depths of him just as much as he is lost in you. You can see it now, so obviously, and you wonder how you spend so very long without him. Beyond his talent, beyond his gorgeousness, lies that both human yet ethereal man, and he is wonderful and he is flawed, and he is finally yours.

He expertly touches your sensitive bud, sending you careening towards the edge of an abyss that once frightened you. Because of course this was never just about sex, though your brain tried to trick you, making you forget that your love for him started so very long ago. But what terrified you six weeks ago now feels ripe with possibility. What made you feel trapped has now been set free. And as that coil snaps and you fracture above him, it allows your true self to emerge for the first time in a very long time.

“I love you, Elvis,” you breathe, locking eyes with him as you fall, knowing he will be there to catch you.

Your moan of pleasure, his name a whispered prayer on your lips, coupled with the sight of you has him following right behind you, all his years of fear and guilt splintering into pieces along with the most intense orgasm he has ever had.

“I love you, y/n,” he returns in equal measure.

You collapse into his arms, unaware of the tears on your face until you feel them wetting the pink scarf that somehow remains around his neck. Elvis holds you to him, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair, not just with possessiveness and control, but with unfettered love. There is aways to go between the two of you in your relationship, now that you remember everything that has happened, but you have no doubt that the two of you will figure it all out, together this time.

For the first time in forever, you feel truly at peace.

Finally, you are exactly where you need to be.

With the man you love eternally, who loves you just as much.

Here, with Elvis.

Please let me know in the comments/DMs/asks if you are interesting in buying a physical and/or ebook of Pink Scarf (with bonus chapters/material)! 💗🧣💗

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robinismywife · 1 year

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please expand the young and beautiful universe! i would love to see reader and elvis's relationship play out!

Baby anon I'm so happy that you love the idea!! Your support means the world truly!! <33

#thank you for the support #lovely anon #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader

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robinismywife · 1 year

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Y'all I have an idea! So I'm aware that most of you have read my oneshot called "Young and beautiful". Well I've been thinking of expanding that universe and writing more detailed oneshots of their experiences together. I believe that it'll be very fun to explore Y/n's and Elvis' life and marriage before his downfall, but during that as well. I'm already close to finishing the first one and I kinda lowkey love it! If you haven't read the first part that started it all plz do I'm really proud of it!!

Tell me what you think in the comments! Thank u so much for all the love and support <33

(omg literally my wife- Just look at her!!)

#elvis music #elvis songs #elvis the pelvis #elvis and priscilla #elvis presley #austin butler elvis #elvis the king #elvis photos #elvis movie #big daddy elvis #50s elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley imagine #elvis aaron presley #elvis austin butler

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robinismywife · 1 year

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Can a good soul write a imagine where reader is the director of the film and Austin teases her with his hotness during Elvis scenes? inside she's like one of those hysterical audience girls, but on the outside she keeps the control because she needs to look professional

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥

PAIRING: Austin Butler x fem!director!reader

SUMMARY: Y/n needs to be a professional but a certain someone is making it harder than she'd like.

WARNINGS: I have no idea?? If you find any plz inform me!!

A/N: Sweet anon, I'm truly sorry for being so late! I'm the worst literally! I got carried away with this but I think it's so cute! I hope you like it babe! Thank you for the support <33

Y/n's coffee was getting colder and colder, left untouched in the cup holder of her director's chair. She didn't seem to care though, cause she was too stressed to drink anything, especially coffee. Flipping through both the script and Steve Binder's book had become muscle memory.

Today they were starting the filming on the '68 special and the whole cast and crew felt the pressure. It needed to be perfect- Even more perfect than the actual thing. Y/n needed to capture the enthusiasm, the thrill of the moment but also Elvis's hidden panic and fear. She knew that she was pushing herself, expecting to do things harder than she was used to, but this is why she started this project. This was nothing like the other films she'd done. However, she was ready to give her all into this if it meant that she captured the man's legacy the way it should be.

Catherine Martin, who had won 6 oscars prior to this, had worked so hard in order to make the costumes identical to the real ones, but also flattering on Austin. Now, she and the costume department were fixing some minor details on the leather suit before Austin could start filming.

Y/n being so focused on the material on her lap, she didn't see Catherine and Austin walking up to her. God, that was the moment Y/n was so afraid of. No one could deny that Austin butler was a heartthrob. She was aware from the audition that that man would give her hell. What she didn't expect though was the constant attention he would give her. Was she that transperant? Because, now, the teasing and the flirting had become a daily thing. Y/n surely liked it but could never flirt back. It would be totally unprofessional.

"Y/n!" Catherine spoke excitedly as her and Austin stood in front of Y/n "It's ready- Oh spin around Austin, so she can see it better"

Austin smirked as he span around lazily. The look in his eye was full of confidence and something else that Y/n couldn't quite catch. She felt frozen though, as the tall, handsome man stood before her, his piercing blue eyes watching her.

"Earth to Y/n!" Catherine chuckled, her hand waving in front of Y/n's face. Lovely, she had zoned out.

Y/n blinked quickly, getting out of her chair to release the tension "Yeah- um- It looks phenomenal, Catherine. You are incredible"

"Well, he is a great mannequin- Didn't move one bit while I was fixing him up"

"Don't listen to her, she overestimates me" Austin chuckled, when his eyes landed on Steve Binder's book. He grabbed it and flipped through it.

"You know what they say about the leather suit, right?" The man teased, now that they were finally alone. Y/n wasn't even sure when Catherine left, her eyes focused on Austin's fingers flipping the pages.

"What do you me- Oh!" Y/n felt heat rushing to her cheeks, trying to hide her embarassed face by grabbing her stuff from the chair

"Yeah," Austin closed the book and handed it to her "How do you think we should potray that?"

"Are you serious?" Y/n and Austin started walking together towards the magnificent set of the special.

"Asking for a friend!" He joked, earning a slap on the shoulder by Y/n

"Stop!"

"What?!" He laughed it off, his southern accent lacing his every word "I mean he must have been excited! It was the comeback after all, wasn't it?"

"Austin, I think you should go do your job" Y/n joked around, raising an eyebrow at the man

"I think so too, ma'am" He chuckled once again before leaving

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Austin walked onto the square stage. He confidently smiled down at the extras that seemed to be a little too excited. Y/n was quite shocked to see that all the girls were suddenly blushing and screaming a little too realistically. It felt truly magical, like she had jumped into a time machine and landed in 1968. Y/n suddenly felt priviledged that she could do what she loved for a living but also proud of herself for being able to make this work.

After all of the applause, Austin grabbed the red shiny guitar on the edge of the stage. He sighed dramatically, exactly like Y/n had directed him to (in order to make this more suspenseful), but then Y/n's heart dropped to her stomach. Austin had began singing Heartbreak hotel, looking straight into the camera. Y/n felt as if he wasn't looking at the camera but her and she could swear she saw him slightly wink.

In spite of that she continued working as well as she could without thinking of Austin's handsome face. This scene needed to be done the best way possible, there was no room for flaws.

Anyways, after about an hour of retakes and adjustments, the bell rang in the studio signaling time for their break. Y/n let out a breath and grabbed the megaphone next to her.

"Lunch break everyone! We'll be back in an hour for a couple more shots!"

Putting the megaphone back down, she closed her eyes and started rubbing her temples. Y/n could feel a headache coming. She should be enjoying this but the circumstances won't let her, the stress, the lack of sleep and Austin Butler's bloody face. What was his problem anyways? Flirting with his boss and such. It wasn't professional, yes, but if he liked her that much he could make a move outside of this stupid studio. It isn't so hard to ask someone out on a date.

That made her even more irritated. Slamming her hands on the handles of her chair she got up and bumped into soft leather. Great. Y/n could literally cry then and there.

"Wow, is something wrong?" Austin looked slightly taken aback

"No, no, everything is just fine" Y/n spoke with passive-aggresiveness and started making her way across the studio. She knew he was following behind her and that gave her a sense of satisfaction.

"See, this is why I'm the actor and you're the director-" Austin got a lethal glare from Y/n but it didn't stop him "You're horrible at lying"

"What? No? I told you I'm fine- However, I don't think I'll be fine soon if you keep bugging me, Austin"

Austin chuckled, he laughed. Clutching his stomach and crippling the leather inside his grasp.

"What's so funny?" No response. "Austin!"

"I'll tell ya what's so funny, you think you're being descreet" He kept chuckling a little. Y/n was too confused now, what was this man talking about?

"I- I don't understand what you're going on about" Y/n let out an awkward chuckle too, trying to look as calm and collected as possible. The task was quite hard considering that her body felt like it was on fire and her stomach was doing somersaults.

"Y/n," He cupped her face gently "We both know that we're more than just coworkers"

"Then what are we Austin?" They both slowly leaned forward until Austin made the final move and closed the gap between them.

It was only a couple of seconds but Y/n had never been kissed so passionately in her life. She almost pinched herself, this had to be some weird dream, right?

"We'll figure it out, won't we?" He smiled down at her and she nodded quickly, not letting herself overthink it. She wanted this more than anything.

But before she could say anything a voice spoke in the empty studio.

"Ha! I told ya!" An excited Olivia Dejonge spoke to an anamused Catherine "You owe me a coffee, miss"

"Oh shut up Liv" Catherine rolled her eyes playfully as she dragged an overexcited Olivia away.

"I guess they know?" Y/n joked, making both of them giggle a little

"I'm not quite sure, honey" And he kissed her again.

#elvis music #elvis presley #elvis songs #elvis the pelvis #elvis biopic #elvis the king #austin butler elvis #elvis movie #elvis 2022 #68 comeback special #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler one shot #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfic #austin butler #austin butler x reader

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robinismywife · 1 year

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I can't even begin to explain how much I love this series! 1000000/10 would obviously recommend < 33

Pink Scarf - PART 18.2 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

TW: Sex. SO MUCH ANGST. Medication/drug use/overdose. Dub con (sort of?). References to medical trauma, miscarriage, infertility. Blood. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 16.3k (LOLOLOLOLOL)

A/N: Y'ALL, I'M SO SORRY, it's a monstrosity. I couldn't help it. There was just so much to be said while still in E's POV, so that's how we ended up here, over 16k. But we finally learn Elvis' BIG SECRET and experience the mighty fallout from that in his eyes, so hopefully it's worth it. This is my Thanksgiving gift to all of you, but you may want to pace yourselves. I feel like I had to rip my heart out a little bit to really get in E's headspace. Prepare yourselves emotionally. That's all I will say.

A quick note about the pictures...the first is actually from when he bought Graceland in March 1957 and it just works PERFECTLY for the beginning. I couldn't resist the pics from Red West's wedding in 1961, even though I know the timeline and the people don't match but the VIBES, the VIBES my friends, are oh so Jack and Reader's wedding so I just had to include them. The one for 1960 was taken the night of the Rollerdome. *sob*

Speaking of Thanksgiving, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY which is always evident but especially so when someone tried to steal PS last week and y'all went 'ride or die' for me instantly, without question, getting it taken down in record time. I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

(Elvis in March 1957, Graceland)

March 1957

Elvis parks in front of your house, his mind whirling with noise. He’s not exactly sure how he ended up here, but as soon as he’d gotten off that train, he knew he needed something that he couldn’t get from any of the guys or even his mama. So, he finds himself unexpectedly here.

Turning off the car, he seeks any sort of relief from the heartache he feels. He’s been holding it all in since the train stop in New Orleans, the one that sent the world crumbling under his feet, destroying the pretty picture he’d had for the future. But all that is gone now and here he sits, hands tapping on the steering wheel with nervous energy.

He nods to himself, finally leaping out of the car, and then he saunters down the walkway to the front door. The chime of the doorbell can be heard through the door, and he listens carefully, grateful to hear light footsteps from beyond.

When you open the door, it’s like he can breathe again for the first time since the train pulled away in New Orleans. You look surprised to see him, those big eyes of yours widening the slightest before you speak.

“Elvis, you’re home?” you ask with a hint of confusion, but overall, you seem pleased at finding him on your doorstep.

“Just got in, baby,” he says, that boyish smile curving up. He gathers you up into a big bear hug and instantly feels better as he breathes in the unique scent of your shampoo and lingering perfume. A scent that feels like home.

“And you came right here?” you ask, brow furrowing when he pulls away. He notices that you look a bit worn around the edges, darker circles rimming your eyes as if you haven’t been sleeping well.

You’re right to be confused. Of course, he hadn’t planned to see you right away. He’d planned to sweep June off her feet in New Orleans, wanting to show her Graceland immediately, the home he’d thought they’d share together for the rest of their lives. But all that had been dashed as soon as she’d blurted out that she was engaged to another man. Engaged. His June.

“I want to show ya something,” he blurts out instead of saying any of this. “It’s a surprise! Will ya come?” Oh, god, you have to come, he thinks. His heart might shatter if you don’t, though he’s not exactly sure why. You’re not his—you and Jack have been dating for nearly a year—so it’s not as though if you don’t come that it really means anything. Yet, still he hopes. He needs this. He needs to share this moment with someone he cares about.

Despite the fatigue in your eyes, you nod quickly, and then as if you can’t leave the house fast enough, you grab your purse and coat and shut the door behind you without a word.

He smiles gratefully, and relieved, he grabs your hand and practically skips to the car. Once he has you tucked in safely, he runs around the front of the Cadillac, jumps in, and peels away. It’s not too far of a drive, and he yammers on about the last few months he’s been away, the words flying out of him. You nod and ask all the right questions, but he notices that you are pensive, quieter than usual.

His verbal diarrhea halts for long enough for his brain to take into account that you don’t seem your usual self, and he asks, “Are you okay?”

You look down at your hands and then out the window, as if contemplating if and how much to share, which makes him a little nervous. Your fingers twist in your lap.

“Honestly? It’s been a hard few weeks, E,” you finally say, still unable to meet his eyes. “My nana passed last Tuesday.”

He’s mortified that he’d just been going on and on about himself and here you were dealing with such a loss. “Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know. I know how close you two were,” he says remorsefully, reaching his hand over to clasp one of yours.

You shake your head, sniffling back tears. “It’s okay, you’ve been away. There was no way for you to know. And I keep telling myself that she’s in a better place now, but that doesn’t really help all that much. I guess it still doesn’t seem real.”

He nods, because he can’t seem to think of anything to say that will make any of this better for you. “We can do this another time, baby, if you’re not feeling up to it,” he finally gets out.

“No, no. I need something to do instead of moping around the house. I’m worn from being sad and worrying about the rest of it. No, I’m glad you showed up, E. I can’t wait to see your surprise,” you add quickly, trying for a smile.

“The rest of it? What’re you so worried about, baby?” It’s obvious you don’t expect him to pick up on that because he sees the quick look of panic that flashes over your face at the question, so he’s quick to add, “I mean, you don’t hafta talk ‘bout it if ya don’t wanna, but I can tell somethin’ else is weighin’ on ya.”

“You could say that,” you sigh, raising your eyes to the roof and back down again. The twisting fingers are back. “God knows I haven’t been sleeping, and it’s giving me these terrible headaches.” You pinch the bridge of your nose for respite. “I…well, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell you, Elvis, because it’s about Jack, and I really don’t want him to think I’m running around telling everyone our business.”

A warning rush rolls over him at this because he suddenly and very desperately wants to know what has happened with Jack, and that is a dangerous game for all kinds of reasons, many of which he’s not ready to admit to himself.

“I swear and cross my heart I won’t say a word, if you wanna tell me,” he says instead, a little too eagerly, so he quickly adds, “If it’ll help ya feel better and all.”

He forces himself to watch the road and not you, but he can practically hear your mind whirring.

“Oh, fine, but not a word out of you to anyone, Elvis Presley, I mean it. I know how bad you are with secrets,” you glare at him.

“I promise, I promise!” he concedes, crossing his heart. “I swear on my mama!”

“Well, in the midst of all this with Nana, I found out that Jack was dating other women a while back while we were going together. Apparently, I thought we were exclusive, but he didn’t, and well…” you trail off bitterly.

Elvis has to bite his tongue and bite it hard because somehow this wasn’t what he expected, and oh, lord, he knows too much for comfort.

Thankfully, you take this as him listening intently, because you continue, “I know I shouldn’t be too mad at him. I suppose it’s an honest mistake, seeing as maybe we didn’t communicate clearly enough about where we stood with each other. But it was so obvious to me, and I don’t understand how it wasn’t obvious to him. It’s not like I was going around with other guys all the time! I know it was months ago, but damn if it doesn’t really sting. Part of me feels like such an idiot, you know? What else don’t I know about him and what he’s doing? It just makes it hard to trust him, even though he was truthful about it when I asked.” He can sense the conflict in you, as your voice fills and shakes with the emotion of your held-back tears.

His heart is beating fast now, and all he is seemingly able to do is nod furiously, as if agreeing vehemently with all you are saying. The problem is that Elvis is complicit in all this and you have no idea. You have no idea that he was the one who pushed the showgirls onto Jack when he came to visit him in Vegas in November. You have no idea that “dating” didn’t have much to do with it at all. And now he feels altogether shitty for being the one to put Jack in that position in the first place. He’d managed to spread his own unfaithfulness and debauchery right on over to Jack, and now you are the one paying for it.

Shit.

Although, knowing Jack, it’s also possible that there was other dating happening, too. Either way, Elvis knows he’s got to tread real careful here and needs to keep his trap shut.

But Elvis can’t stand that hurt look in your eyes when he dares to take his eyes off the road to glance at you. He hates how angry and sad you look, the blue-black circles under your eyes conveying your distress.

And his emotions feel complicated, too complicated for comfort. He suddenly wonders if he didn’t present Jack with those temptations on purpose because there is a very deep and selfish part of him that desperately wants you to kick Jack to the curb for this, and that terrible, selfish part of him wants you to finally see Elvis in the same way he sees you.

Maybe there’s a reason that things didn’t work out with June, that voice pokes at him hopefully.

Stop that shit right now.

All this is playing through his head and leaving him outwardly silent. He realizes he has to say something, anything, because you are waiting for him to do so.

“I-I’m sorry that happened, ‘specially finding out at the same time as all this with your Nana. W-What are you gonna do about Jack?” he says, trying not to gulp.

He watches your eyes narrow and then he quickly looks back at the road. He can feel you shift in your seat.

“I…well, right now, I wanna pummel his brains out, so I told him I need some space to figure out what I want to do. I just—I thought we…” you trail off dismally. “I don’t want to go through this again,” you add quietly.

Elvis knows you are talking about Ted. Stupid Teddy who stepped out and got Judy Cole knocked up and then left you brokenhearted in his wake. It still pisses him off, even though he knows he’s got no right to judge Ted, not now, not after all the foolin’ around he’s done.

But when it comes to you, he can’t help but be protective. It’s in his bones, the way he wants to take care of you. In fact, he wouldn’t mind punching Jack in the face right about now for hurting you like this. And he’s even more pissed at himself for his part in it all.

Elvis just wants you to be happy and to be with a man who deserves you, and deep down, he doesn’t know if that man is Jack, even though he loves Jack like a brother. But the real problem is he’s not sure if he thinks any man will ever be good enough for you.

But his brain is wary to dwell on the meaning of that, wanting to avoid anything else that feels uncomfortable, so instead, he lets the excitement of showing you his new home overshadow any other unwanted feelings he might be experiencing.

“Okay, baby, we’re almost there, so close your eyes,” he says excitedly, changing the subject abruptly, before pulling up the long drive.

“Alright, Elvis, this better be a big surprise with how hyped up you are,” you chuckle, letting the mood turn by doing as you are told.

“The biggest,” he breathes, sliding to a stop in front of the Colonial mansion. “Don’t open your eyes yet! I’ll come around!”

You wait until you hear the car door open and feel his hand take yours. He gently brings you out of the car to standing, an excited energy vibrating through him.

“Okay, darlin’, open!” he drawls dramatically.

You do, blinking out the early Spring sunlight. He watches your face light up as you take in the architecture.

“Oh my god, Elvis, it’s beautiful,” you say in awe. “Is it yours?”

“Yes, baby, it’ll be all mine very soon. And for Mama and Daddy, of course,” he adds hastily, as if you’d thought he’d abandon his parents.

“Of course,” you smile, looking at him with those pretty, though tired, eyes of yours. “Can we go inside?” you ask.

All he can do is nod excitedly. Elvis takes your hand, pulling you up the steps and past the huge white columns on either side. He can’t unlock the door fast enough, the keys rattling and shaking in his hands. Once inside, he pulls you through the house, mouth running a mile a minute about what he wants to do in each room, how he wants it to look.

Finally, you make it to the top level, the last room. “This is gonna be my bedroom,” he rambles on. “I’m gonna get the biggest bed you’ve ever seen in your life, made special.”

You gently pull your hand out of his, and he watches as you take a small pill bottle out of your purse and pop two of the pills before downing them dry. Aspirin, probably, for the headache you were talking about in the car.

“E, stop a minute,” you say. “This is all amazingly wonderful and beautiful, and I am so excited for you, but…well, what exactly am I doing here?” You look at him with curious and concerned eyes.

“I…uh…I…,” he stammers, unsure of what to say or how to say it, as it’s all been spinning inside for hours and hours. He looks away, unable to meet your eyes. He certainly doesn’t want to put any of his stuff onto you, not now, not after what you told him earlier. His hands fall to his sides, and he shakes them, wiggling his fingers like he does to come down after a show. It doesn’t help. There’s just too much emotion rolling through him all the sudden.

You step to him, first putting your hands on his shoulders, then you run them gently down his arms before grabbing his flailing hands, absorbing some of that wild energy. The feeling still manages to send little electric shocks through him, even after all this time. Only then does he finally still and dare to look at you.

“E, what’s wrong? You let me talk earlier, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?” you ask, your eyes searching his, open and concerned. He should’ve known you’d see right through him. Maybe that’s why you’re here, because he knew you’d understand, that you’d be able to tell he wasn’t okay when no one else cared to.

It takes a moment for him to gather his words as his emotions get in the way. Emotions he stoically hid from the guys the rest of the way to Memphis. Emotions he pushed down when he saw his mama because he just couldn’t bear to break her heart yet with the news. God, he’s spent so much time recently learning how to hide everything real about himself in order to become the man everyone wants him to be. But here, now, with you, it all begins to overflow.

“I-I-I told June to meet me in New Orleans. I-I w-w-was gonna bring her back here, to show her w-what I-I wanted to buy…for us,” he says, bouncing on his toes, tears welling and clouding his vision. He hates how it’s tearing him in two to say this.

You squeeze his hands, urging him to continue, and for you, he does.

“But when I-I got there, she was acting so strange. There w-wasn’t much time and, uh, she told me she’s engaged to someone else.” He blinks and the tears run over, finally spilling down his cheeks. Saying it out loud suddenly makes it feel all too real. His chest aches with betrayal, with loss.

You look at him with such care, though you do not look shocked at this news.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, E. I know you how much you loved her,” you say, squeezing his hands again gently.

‘Loved.’ As in past tense.

“Did you know?” he asks suddenly, stepping back, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

You take a conscious deep breath. “No, I didn’t. But she did call me a few times wondering where you were, if you were okay. She said she hadn’t heard from you in months…” you say awkwardly, petering off.

“Aw, shit,” he curses, running a hand through his greased hair. A wave of anger rolls through him, burning him from the inside, but as much as he wants to put it on June and her spiteful engagement, he knows the anger is mostly towards himself. He fucked up. He fucked around. And he’d expected June to just sit back and wait for him while he did it. He didn’t even make the time to call her.

And you know what he’s done. He can see it on your face. He looks down, unable to meet your eyes.

You don’t speak. You don’t lay into him or tell him he’s an asshole, although it might be better if you did. God knows he’s already thinking it. You just look at him with sadness and understanding and forgiveness, even though he doesn’t deserve it.

With that ache in his heart, he finally realizes that he couldn’t have loved June the way he said he did and then leave her hanging like that. But he did love her…at least, he had. They’d had such a beautiful summer together and he was sure he wanted to marry her, once his fame was settled. Three years, he’d told her.

Shit, I didn’t even make it six months, he thinks absently.

And then everything changed almost overnight. His fame exploded. There was Hollywood, then Vegas. And the girls, good god, there were so many beautiful girls who wanted him, needed him, who threw themselves at him. He’d been weak. He hated being alone. He couldn’t help it. It was just sex, he’d told himself, just a way to blow off steam as his world became smaller and smaller and nearly suffocated him. A thousand excuses run through his head, but in the end, it was his choice not to pick up the phone. It was his choice to screw around, to live this life.

It’s no wonder that June moved on, he thinks. I’m a first-rate asshole.

“Y/n, I messed it all up,” Elvis finally chokes out. The sob fully breaks the dam holding him together, the pressures of his fame and the realization hitting him like a truck: he is never going to be able to have that normal life with a wife and kids he’d once dreamed of. His knees buckle under the weight of all of it—his decisions, both good and bad, the fame he doesn’t know what to do with, the unexpected consequences of this privileged but isolating life he’s chosen.

He sinks to his knees, defeated, on the carpet of his future bedroom, the one he’ll probably never share with someone who loves him for who he truly is. Because he isn’t just Elvis Aron Presley anymore—he is “Elvis Presley,” the celebrity, the commodity, the fantasy.

While he relishes in the luxuries of it all, in being able to provide the life his family deserves, a small part of him cannot help but feel like he’s made a deal with the devil. That this talent he has been blessed with will also be the thing that damns him. He is overcome by the feeling that he’ll never know ever again if he is loved for who he really is, or if it is his fame and his image they love. And there is something about that that crushes his soul.

But he can’t say all this to you because it sounds dramatic and indulgent, and he knows there are very few people in this world who’d actually understand. This is his cross to bear.

And yet you still comfort him. You are still here. “Oh, hon, I know. It’s okay, I know,” you say, kneeling down with him.

In the midst of all he’s achieved and gained these past few years, June is the representation of all that he stands to lose, all that he’s already lost. “She was my last chance, y/n. I’m never gonna be able to trust that a woman loves me for me and not for my fame after this. And I screwed it all up,” he says quietly, tears running freely. “I just feel so fucking alone.”

“Oh, that’s not true, Elvis, it’s not,” you say, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “You’ll find her, I know you will. And you have so many people who love you for just being you, not for the fancy cars or the mansion or the fame. You’ve got your family, you’ve got Jack and your true friends. And you’ve got me.”

The way you say it, so softly, yet so matter-of-fact hits him hard, so hard that his heart stops beating for a moment. If he wasn’t already kneeling, the honest way your tired yet beautiful eyes search his face might knock him right off his feet.

It’s you, it’s you, it’s always been you, he thinks suddenly. This is the feeling he was avoiding in the car. The feeling he’s been avoiding since he watched Jack kiss your cheek in the diner a year ago.

It takes his breath away. You take his breath away, you always have. He’s been enamored with you since you plowed into him all those years ago in the hallway at Humes High.

Suddenly, June is all but forgotten because you reach up, cupping his face in your cold little hands and wipe a tear off his cheek. He cannot help the way his eyelids flutter closed at the sensation of the pad of your thumb dragging softly across his face. His breathing, rapid from his cries is now labored for another reason entirely.

Opening his eyes slowly, he shouldn’t be shocked to see tears in yours, your grief and sorrow, not only for yourself, but for him, too, welling there, as if you are connected to him. In fact, Elvis feels like his brain is short-circuiting because you are too damn close and the tension in the room is suddenly so thick, he feels like he might suffocate.

Every cell in his body feels on fire as you lean in closer and closer until your lips press against his forehead. You’ve never kissed him, not once in all these years, and this alone sends heat rushing through his young body. Then when you kiss his nose, and then one tear-stained cheek, he holds his breath, feeling like he might die from this chaste sensation.

Warning bells explode in his brain because suddenly he wants you more than anything in this world, always has. And now you are so close. This is Jack’s girl, he thinks, and she’s my dear friend. Don’t be an idiot.

But when you lean in to kiss his other cheek, you place your lips alarmingly close to his, his tears wet underneath your soft lips, and his body is on high alert as only a twenty-two-year-old’s could be. His heart flutters as you pull back just enough to look deeply into his eyes, tears shining in your own, and then you lean in once more.

This can’t be happening. This should not be happening, his mind screams, but then your lips are grazing his and all rational thought ceases to exist.

You taste so sweet.

Heat blooms through the ache in his chest, and in his disbelief, he freezes. Part of him wants to devour you whole, but he is terrified that if he moves, he might spook you and he cannot bear that.

His confusion is overridden when your hands, shaking but demanding, pull him closer. Your lips are soft and sure, and he cannot help but be swept away by them. He’s kissed so many girls, too many to count, all over the country, but not one has ever made him feel like this, like his heart is going to leap out of his damn chest.

But this is a betrayal of a monumental kind, for both of you. While he is no stranger to betrayal, he does not want this for you. As much as he wants you with every fiber of his being, he does not want to be the source of your regret or heartache. He’s already done enough in that regard already, though you don’t know it. Mustering up every ounce of his self-control, Elvis pulls out of your kiss.

“Y/n, baby, you don’t want this. I’m no good for you this way,” Elvis says in a hushed tone, his forehead resting against yours. “I-I can’t have you regretting me, I-I-I couldn’t bear it.”

You lean back the slightest bit, and he thinks you might be listening, reconsidering, making him feel mostly dismay but also a little relief. What he does not expect is for you to press your little pointer finger up against his lips, hushing him, as you stare into his eyes. It’s as though your soul is as weary and needy as his and it feels as though you see him, truly see him, which is a new feeling for him. This sends a welcoming shiver down his spine, and he knows that despite every scrap of logic and propriety he is trying to lean on, with you he is powerless.

When your finger drags down his lips, catching on the bottom one, it sends a bolt of pleasure straight to his groin. Yet still he resists (even though he wants more than anything to see where this is going), thinking you might realize your mistake, and this will all be over in an embarrassed, yet still salvageable, flash.

Instead, you very deliberately scoot closer, your knees bumping his on the carpet. You lean in again, your lips grazing his again with a yearning he cannot help but return in kind. It’s barely a kiss, but the intent is there and when you pull up, effectively opening your mouth to him, the way he can feel your warm breath mingling with his own has him struggling to control himself.

You are testing him, testing the waters, hesitant but somehow insistent at the same time. His long lashes flutter closed when your fingers brush his jaw then rake into his perfectly styled hair. But it’s when the tip of your tongue touches his, sending a hot shockwave through him, that he can stand it no longer and closes the gap between your mouths with a longing sigh.

Pressing his pliant lips to your yielding ones, he rolls his tongue softly but firmly against yours, earning him a quiet moan from you. This is like fuel on the fire, finally spurring him into action, and his hands fly to the back of your head, pulling you closer.

If there is one thing besides music that Elvis excels at and loves to do, it’s kissing. He plays with it the same way he plays a crowd, listening to you and adjusting his performance as necessary. The buzzy way it makes him feel, like every nerve is magnetic, is one of the only things in this world that is anything like how it feels for him to perform for an audience. He loves the way it makes him feel.

But kissing you is unlike anything Elvis has experienced before. It’s as though you are tuned to the exact same frequency, finding his rhythm immediately, adapting easily. The usual fumbling of people getting acquainted in this way does not seem to apply to the two of you, the ebb and flow so natural it’s as though you had done this with each other many times before.

But the passion of it stokes a fire that has been denied a long time. Intense heat crashes over him, sending tendrils of warmth through his limbs and deep into his belly. He drinks you in as deep as he can without being desperate, and oh how close he is to being desperate for you. His grief over June melts away the more he tastes you, and he wonders how he ever lived before having the taste of your lips on his.

It's all very dramatic and romantic, which he is both at heart. From just a few kisses, he suddenly knows that if he could kiss you and only you for the rest of his life, he would be a happy man indeed. This surprises him.

But what truly shocks him is when you lean so far into him that it pushes him over, his knees screaming a little, and he falls back into the wall with a thump. He scrambles backwards, maneuvering his long legs into a more comfortable seated position while you don’t even miss a beat or attempt to come up for air. And when you crawl into his lap, hoisting the flowing fabric of your dress up just enough so your warm, bare thighs are straddling his, his heart actually flies right out of his goddamned chest.

Speaking of which, you are currently running your hands down his, pulling his silky shirt up enough to dance your fingertips over his stomach. His breath hitches then hisses at that, his arms involuntarily encompassing you, large hands splaying across your back to draw you ever nearer.

And you go willingly, inching up his lap until you are straddling his hips. When you grind down into his lap, he thinks he might’ve died and gone to heaven, his blue eyes rolling back into his head with a low moan.

He'll admit he’s dreamed of this, fantasized about this, but nothing could truly prepare him for the reality of the way you are making him feel. A trickle of attraction that began six years ago is now a roaring river, and is so, so much more than anything he’s felt before with anyone else.

He doesn’t understand it. He loves women. He always falls in love too fast, enjoying the rapid descent into the madness of it all. There have only been a few that he feels were true, though every girl he’s with, he loves in his own way.

But you are not like any of them, not at all. With you, it has been slow, so gradual sometimes that he didn’t even realize it. A teenage crush turned into friendship, and within that has blossomed a love that he didn’t know he was capable of. It is not until this very instant that he realizes it truly for what it has become. He doesn’t just care for you. He loves you.

He is in love with you.

Fuck.

Realizing this as your hips begin to rock steadily over his crotch is not the best timing. He’s as hard as a rock, fighting both the swell of his physical need for you while wrestling with the emotional needs he’s quickly realizing at the same time.

If he didn’t love you, he might not care if this is just a quick fuck between friends, but he does care. And he’s worried about where this is coming from, likely your overall grief and your anger at Jack. No, he doesn’t like the messiness of that at all.

But another grind of your pelvis into his, coupled with your tongue down his throat has the physical quickly taking over any and all rational thought. He wants you, more than he’s ever wanted anyone. And he desperately wants to give you what you need, which based on the mewls escaping your lips, is a physical release, a connection.

God, he can feel the wet heat of your cunt now through your panties and his pants as you slide over his length, back and forth, again and again. He clings to you as your hands wind through his hair, burying his head in your neck, his lips taking in as much of your skin as he can. He revels in the scent of you, your perfume and your irresistible musk that is permeating the room. He is positively dizzy with it.

You are frantic in his lap now, chasing something he’s not entirely sure you’ve ever had. He knows about Ted, but he highly doubts Ted knew what to do with you. And with Jack, well, he’s not sure how far the two of you have gone, but he can only guess based on Jack’s recent actions and your desperation for no one to know that Ted had popped your cherry that you’ve been trying to be good and pure and wait.

But as you reach for his belt, pawing at him, for the first time in this whole event, he gets the distinct impression that you’re not sure what to do next, only that you are needy for something. And goddamn him, he is willing to give you what you need, but only if you really understand what it is you’re asking for.

“Wait, baby, just…wait,” Elvis pants, stilling your hips with one hand while grabbing the hand at his belt with the other. You whimper a little at the interruption, rolling your hips for emphasis, but despite the groan he can’t help, he’s having none of that.

“Baby, I need to know that you really want this,” he says, brushing your hair off your deliciously pink cheeks, your lips swollen from his kisses. He looks into your eyes, almost getting lost in them and forgetting what he set out to do. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yes,” you whisper, and then add, “Elvis, please,” in a begging tone that sets him completely aflame.

“Oh, damn, okay, baby, okay,” he breathes, barely able to contain himself with that. He’s only human, after all. He races to help you with his pants, pulling them over his hips and down his legs in record time, his erection springing free, precum already glistening the tip. You lift up on your knees, you move your panties aside, and touching the silky soft skin of his cock, you help him line up with your entrance. He can’t help but gasp at the feeling of your cool little fingers circling his shaft, losing it a little more when he feels how incredibly soaked you already are.

He can’t believe this is happening. It shouldn’t be happening. But all logic is gone from him, replaced by the sweetness of your mouth and the wetness of your pussy and his desperate need for whatever love you have to give him.

He watches as you bite your lip in concentration, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you try to take him in. You are incredibly tight around the sensitive tip of his cock, and he moans a little at the constriction. That’s when he knows for sure that no one else has touched you like this for a long time. You aren’t ready for him, not yet.

Reaching under your skirt, he deftly finds the delicate little bundle of nerves there and begins to work it ever so gently. He shifts his hips down, his cock regretfully released from your hold on it. Sliding his fingers through your folds (oh, god), he gently slips one finger into your tight heat, then two, allowing you to adjust around him before pumping them in and out. Your eyes go wide and you gasp with the intrusion, but then they flutter closed with a sigh, and then another, and another before your hips begin to rock again.

He watches you in your ecstasy, taking in every delectable reaction he can and committing it to memory. The way your brow scrunches and your mouth falls open into a little O. The feel of your thighs clenching around his hand as he massages and fingers your dripping pussy. Those alluring little breathy moans escaping your lips. Every part of you has him completely mesmerized and he knows it. He knows his mouth is agape and he is moaning softly right along with you. He is so aroused just by watching you, he feels like he could come without you even touching him.

“E, I need more…I need you,” you breathe with your eyes closed and brow concentrated, and oh sweet lord, those might be the best words in the English language with the way they come out of your mouth.

He is utterly unable to deny you this. He can’t even speak, he just pulls his fingers out of you, lifts your hips, and maneuvers his cock back to the place it wants to be most. And you are more ready for him now, your tightness yielding much more easily around the sensitive tip of him.

It’s in that moment, as you sink down ever-so-slowly onto him and he is enveloped by your wet heat, that Elvis realizes he is utterly ruined for any other woman, ever. They cannot and will not ever hold a candle to you. He should’ve known before. He should’ve stopped this while he still could. But as you finally settle in his lap, taking him in completely, your fingers relaxing and your eyes bright and glassy, he knows he is well and truly fucked in every way.

He kisses you deeply again and again, memorizing your mouth, as you begin to raise and lower yourself on his cock. You feel so good, so completely perfect, it’s as if you were made just for him. He is drunk on you, hands wandering your body, finding what makes you keen, and he’s unable to get enough of you.

But you are so needy and ready that unfortunately it doesn’t take very long of you riding him and him playing with your clit for you to begin falling apart at the seams. Based on your surprised gasps, he’s not sure you’ve ever come before, so he does his best to help you get there while holding on to his own release for dear life. You begin to shudder around him, clenching his length, and with a strangled moan you hit your peak. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the way you are coming undone on top of him, around him, your eyelashes fluttering closed and then popping open, all wild-eyed and rosy cheeked as the hushed sound of his name falls out of your perfect mouth.

He's so fucking enraptured that his orgasm hits harder and faster than expected, chasing yours almost immediately, not giving him time to pull out like he should have. But he can’t bring himself to care because it’s all you. All he’s ever wanted or needed—it’s you.

Oh, sweet Christ, I love you, I love you, I love you, he chants in his mind as he follows you over the edge.

He clings to you, head pressed into your breasts as he pulses hard into your warmth with a grunt, then stays there as he comes down from the high. And then you are both gasping in the silence, and there is an air of disbelief that fills the room that the two of you just did that, together.

This is making love, he realizes suddenly. It must be, considering the incredibly overwhelming feelings he has for you that are pouring through him in unreasonable amounts. He never wants to let you go, not ever.

He pulls back enough to kiss you tenderly, lingering a little too long. There is a sinking, nearly unbearable feeling that this may never happen again, and it threatens to break him, so he pushes it as far away as it will go.

You press your forehead to his, silent, you still enveloping him as he eventually begins to soften inside you. Neither of you rushes to move. He cannot read what you are thinking and that makes him nervous.

“Are you okay?” he finally whispers, his thumb grazing your cheek.

You nod but say nothing.

“Okay, baby.”

You both sit there a while, simmering in what you have done, and he wishes you would say something, say anything at all to let him know what is going on in that head of yours. But you are quiet, unreadable.

Finally, you remove yourself from his lap and stumble your way into the ensuite bathroom to clean up.

Elvis runs a hand down his face, wiping away the mixture of salty tears and sweat that has collected there. He uses his handkerchief to wipe himself off and then puts himself back together. Blissed out in his refraction, he is so full of love for you that he almost can’t stand it. He thought he’d known love before, and perhaps he did, but this realization of love for you is so big that he doesn’t know what to do with it. God, he feels like with you by his side, he could conquer the damn world.

But you’re not his girl.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.

His head falls back onto the wall with a thump.

Somehow, he’s both on top of the world and completely buried by it at the same time. You interrupt his thoughts, coming back in quietly and falling, exhausted, into his arms. He takes off his coat and puts it on top of you both. He can’t help but pull you closer, up into his lap, so your head rests against his chest. This is where you are supposed to be, he can’t help but think.

He knows the two of you need to talk about this. While he has been having his epiphany, he has absolutely no idea what you are thinking. He has no clue if you feel anything even close to what he feels for you. It is possible that all of this was just some sort of revenge on Jack, and that breaks his heart a little. And even if you did do it for that reason, you chose him. You felt safe enough with him to choose him.

But something deep inside him tells him it isn’t just that, not with the way you kissed him, not with the way he felt like his damn soul was connecting with yours. That deep connection he’s always felt to you, it can’t possibly be one-way.

But what if it is? a worried little voice creeps in.

He wants to ask you, but he looks down and sees you passed out on his chest. Fatigue begins to hit him, as he hasn’t slept in over a day.

It’s not long before he, too, falls into an exhausted slumber.

He’s not sure how long you sleep, but when he wakes, the sun has moved and the room is nearly dark. Disoriented, it takes a moment for him to realize that it’s you in his arms, and when he remembers why, his cheeks flame with heat.

Oh. Oh.

Drowsy, he rubs his eyes with one hand, trying to wake up. As the memories of your lovemaking resurface, his heart beats faster, and he knows the moment you wake you will both have to face what you’ve done. You’ll have to decide what comes next. And more than anything, the hopeful little voice inside him realizes that he wants to share this all with you—that’s why it is you he brought to Graceland today, and why it was so important to him that you like it.

“Y/n, honey, wake up,” he says quietly, not wanting to shock you awake, but you don’t even stir. He shifts under you, hoping that might get you moving, but you just lie there.

“Hey, baby, it’s time to wake up,” he says at full voice now, but you remain still, too still, and silent.

His heart starts to pound. Something isn’t right.

“Y/n! Honey, I need you to wake up!” He is getting frantic now, his hand gently tapping your face, which feels too cold. But still, you do not wake.

“Fuck. Fuck! Y/n, wake up!” He shakes you. Panic and confusion roll over him as he tries to figure out why you are knocked out. His sleep-addled brain runs through what happened before you both fell asleep, before you made love.

Her headache, he thinks. She took pills for her headache.

He had thought they were aspirin, but as he frantically rummages through her purse, pulling out the little prescription bottle, he reads “Percodan, one tablet every 6 hours for pain and sleep relief” on the label.

Elvis swears you took two tablets, not one, way too much for a girl your size. You hadn’t read the bottle.

Shit.

Having been in Hollywood, he knows that this happens. People overdose from taking these narcotics, usually to get high, but he knows that you did it on accident. Based on how full the bottle is, he’s guessing that you maybe hadn’t even taken the meds before today.

Regardless, he’s not taking any chances with you. There’s no phone hooked up at the house, so with his adrenaline now working overtime, he lifts your unconscious form and quickly carries you to the car. He peals out, driving to Baptist Memorial Hospital as fast as he possibly can.

The those few hours are some of the most terrifying of his life.

He bites every nail down to the quick in that waiting room, pacing there as your family sits, equally worried. He can’t help but feel that they are judging him for letting this happen, even though it was an accident.

He can’t bring himself to call Jack.

Guilt eats away at him, even though he knows he had no idea about the pills, but if he hadn’t fallen asleep, maybe he would’ve realized sooner that something was wrong. Part of him feels like this is punishment for his sins, for what he let happen in the house. He prays and prays to God, harder than he’s ever prayed before.

Please, God, I love her. I can’t lose her. Do what you want to me, just let her be okay.

His prayers work.

You wake up. The doctors say you are going to make a full recovery. His heart nearly explodes with relief.

He offers to stay while your family goes home to get some rest. It is past visiting hours, but being Memphis’ own superstar, the nurses take pity on him and let him stay, as long as he doesn’t keep you awake.

When you finally stir, it’s the middle of the night.

“E—Elvis?” you croak. “What happened? Where am I?”

He sits up straight and leans forward to take your cold little hand in his. “Y/n! Oh, baby, you took too many of your headache pills and I couldn’t wake you up. You scared the hell outta me. You’re in the hospital, but you’re gonna be okay,” he whispers, squeezing your hand.

“Wake me up? Why—why was I asleep?” your brow furrows in confusion.

His heart drops into his stomach, dread like ice in his veins. He doesn’t want to ask, but he knows he must:

“What’s the last thing you remember, honey?”

Obviously still groggy, you close your eyes for a moment to think. “Um, I remember you picked me up and took me to…to your new house,” you say, then your eyes pop open, “You were showing me your beautiful new house, and then my headache got really bad, so I took some of my pills, and then…” You stop, looking at him blankly. “And after that, I don’t remember. You said I fell asleep?”

Oh, God, no. No, no, no. He feels like he’s going to vomit.

The force of his dread hits him like a tsunami as he runs through what happened in his head again. You took the pills first and then he told you about June and then you kissed him.

But you don’t remember. You don’t remember because you were accidentally fucking high.

“Elvis, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” you say.

“Sorry, baby, I-I-I was just really worried about you, is all. I-I guess it’s all kinda hittin’ me at o-once, now that you’re o-o-okay,” he says, unable to keep his voice from shaking, unable to keep from stuttering through the half-truth.

“Please, go get some rest, E. I’ll be fine. I’m so tired, I feel like I could sleep for days…” you say, drowsily, eyes fluttering closed.

“Okay, okay, baby, I will…Get some rest,” he says, kissing you on the top of your head as you drift back into slumber.

In a panicked daze, he manages to make it down the hallway and to the men’s room before his stomach rolls and he is violently sick into the toilet.

Oh, sweet Lord, he took advantage of you. You were drugged and didn’t know what you were doing, and he had sex with you.

He vomits again, tears running down his face.

I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have ever let it happen if I’d known! I would never hurt her! the reasonable part of his brain cries out.

Shame eats at him from deep inside, cutting him. He deserves it.

How could he do this? How could he let this happen?

I should’ve known. I should’ve known the moment she kissed me that she wasn’t in her right mind.

But he didn’t, and what the hell does that say about him? He’s fucking selfish and he took something from you that you weren’t in your right mind to give.

He dry heaves, wanting desperately to expel his regret but knowing that he never will, not until the day he dies.

And what’s even worse is that he is still left with the fact that he is desperately in love with you. You don’t remember what, up until a few minutes ago, was one of the most amazing moments of his young life. You can’t share that with him. And that makes him feel even more selfish because the last thing he should be thinking of is his own damn feelings.

Sitting there on the cold floor, he tries to convince himself it’s for the best. It’s much less complicated for you this way. For you, there was no betrayal. For you, making love with him can never be a mistake you once made in a moment of anger and desperation. For you, there is only the love of friendship between you two.

Yes, it’s better this way, he thinks. He can carry the burden for both of you. He deserves to.

Because he knows he cannot give you what you need. He cannot be there for you, day in and day out, holding you tight and keeping you safe. Especially not now. Not after what he’s done.

He has to lock this away. You can never know, not ever. He must protect you from this and from his guilt. He knows you wouldn’t be able to look at him if you knew.

Oh, God. Please forgive me.

He can’t stop crying. He has to stop crying because he has to go out there and he has to look fine. He has to be fine, for your sake. You’re alive and going to be okay, and it’s that which he latches onto as a mantra in order to slide into the persona that has made his name.

He manages to make it to the car without losing it again, as the dawn starts to break on another day. He can’t bring himself to go home; he can’t look his mother in the eye right now. So, he drives aimlessly, for hours, his sins eating away at him until he finds himself at the church.

He waits for Reverend Hamill in a pew, his thoughts dark and churning. This is just the straw that broke him, for he knows that since his fame began two years ago, he has fallen so very far. He has been self-centered and vain. He has fornicated and broken hearts and caused pain to those he claimed to love, all in the name of this new life of his. And he’s pushed his friends to do the same. His stupid, selfish actions have had a ripple effect that has completely ruined lives.

Not only had he driven June away and into the arms of another man, he’d played with your life and Jack’s as well. If he hadn’t pushed Jack to cheat, you would never have needed those pills in the first place. You almost died because he didn’t want to be alone in his debauchery, and he knows that some sick part of him pushed Jack to it because he wanted to sabotage your relationship.

Then he realizes that, on top of all that, he did another incredibly selfish and stupid thing. He came inside you, which means that you could be pregnant. And that would ruin you completely, and you wouldn’t even know why, you wouldn’t understand. He would do the right thing, of course, and maybe, someday, you would learn to forgive him, but it would ruin you all in the process.

Oh, Lord. Oh, Jesus.

He thinks he might vomit again.

When the Reverend emerges, he looks surprised to find Elvis sitting there.

“Pastor, I am the most miserable man you’ve ever seen. I am doing the things you taught me not to, and I’m not doing the things you said I should,” he sobs, “Please, please pray for me.”

“Oh, son…come in,” Reverend Hamill says.

Deflated, consumed, and heavy with his guilt and the repercussions of his actions, he follows the pastor into his office. He can’t bring himself to admit what he’s done, to admit how horrible he is. He just cannot get the words out. Instead, he weeps and prays, over and over, the Reverend praying with him.

All he can whimper out is, “Please, please forgive me for my sins. Please.” He’s not sure if he’s asking the minister or God or both. He only knows he cannot live with himself for hurting you, even if you don’t know it.

After over an hour of this, by the grace of God, he finally calms some. His entire body and soul aches.

But he knows what he has to do now. He understands the deal he has made.

It doesn’t matter what he wants or needs. You being okay is all that matters. He has to make sure you’re taken care of. He has to make sure that you are happy.

In the days and weeks and months that follow, Elvis pretends he is having the time of his life, becoming every bit the budding superstar that the country insists that he is now. Sometimes, he even believes it; sometimes, he even forgets. Though every time he sees you, his heart breaks a little more, his love for you permeating him to the core.

But he knows he can’t have you. He knows he doesn’t deserve you.

Instead, he plants seeds in Jack’s ear. “You love her, don’t ya, Jacky Boy? When are ya gonna make an honest woman of her?” He pushes Jack to fully commit to you. He even goes with Jack to buy the ring, though he stops himself from paying for it. Jack has his pride, after all.

Instead, he throws himself into work, grateful for the grueling cycle of touring and recording and appearances and acting. He throws himself into fixing up Graceland for his family, building a life of extravagance that he never could’ve dreamed of.

And, God help him, he starts seeing other girls. He leans into the image of the playboy they all want him to be. He dates and he fucks, thinking that maybe, just maybe, one of these girls will make him forget the perfect way you fit into him, forget the way your face looked when you came undone around him. That maybe one of them will come close to the wonder that is you. That they will help him forget his past sins by cutting new ones. He cannot seem to help but do the sinful things he swore he wouldn’t do, lest he drown in his sorrows, but the girls help keep him from the one thing that is off limits: You.

When Jack finally pops the question in the summer, and you accept immediately, he can barely keep himself together. He convinces himself this is the right thing, that he is happy for the both of you as he stares into the night sky knowing deep in his soul that it should be him. He reminds himself that this is the deal, this is what he wanted, to see you happy and taken care of.

And he will damn himself for your salvation every time.

December 28th, 1957, Graceland

Oh, God, what have I done?

The moment you appear down the aisle, looking ever the most beautiful, blushing bride, every part of him aches with love for you. He’d thought that by giving you the life you dreamed of, the life you needed, that it would be enough to let you go. But as Elvis stands by Jack’s side at the altar, he realizes that no matter what has happened, no matter what he has done, he is always going to love you and it’s never not going to hurt, especially not after this.

Not after the quick look you shoot him as you step up to meet Jack, your pretty, wide eyes full of excitement and emotion. Not after seeing you all in white and wishing to God that it was him marrying you right now. Not after he keeps his peace after the minister asks if there’s a reason these two should not be married.

He somehow manages to keep himself from openly weeping during the ceremony by biting the inside of his cheek repeatedly but still finds himself caught in your radiance more than once and must force himself to look away. During the wedding pictures, he cannot help but maneuver himself close to you to press a lingering kiss to your cheek, to be memorialized for all time on film. The press of his soft lips into your warm cheek sends that tell-tale shiver through him, one that drives in the fact that he still loves you. He gives himself this tiny thing, and no one questions it because they all know you are close friends, and a congratulatory cheek kiss on your wedding day is not strange.

Discretely, he makes sure to let the photographer know he wants copies of the pictures, with the excuse that he is paying for them and wants to make sure they are perfect. This, too, is not questioned, as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

To torture himself even more, he offers Graceland up for the reception. These are his two best friends, after all, now cleaved together in holy matrimony for the rest of their lives. No expense should be spared because they deserve all the happiness in the world.

And they do, he reminds himself throughout the day. They do deserve all the happiness in the world.

At least if you are with Jack, he thinks, he still has you in his life. He can still see those beautiful, wide eyes whenever he wants without question or suspicion.

He clings to this.

Even so, he feels as though he is being sucked into a riptide. It seems fated that his life is going in a much different direction than the newlyweds. The draft notice he received a week ago confirms this, weighing heavy on his heart and feeing like a nail in the coffin of his hopes and dreams.

God is testing him, he thinks. It is all a very clear and stark reminder that where he goes, you cannot follow. He cannot help but feel that God is punishing him for his sins by taking him away from the fame he has just settled into to, taking him from the people he loves and the things he loves to do. He wants to lament that it isn’t fair, but part of him knows that he deserves this, too, for what he’s done and for what he’s done to you.

And perhaps God works in mysterious ways, as while he is loathe to leave his parents and his career and his fans, he cannot help the small part of him that is relieved he doesn’t have to watch you and Jack in your newlywedded bliss for the next two years. It’s the only upshot to this entire disaster.

But he won’t let his sorrow overshadow your big day. With a smile plastered on his face, he gives a charming and loving speech of how wonderful it is to see his two best friends find such happiness with each other. He only stutters once or twice, which comes across as endearing rather than damning. But the thing is, even though he is miserable, he is still happy for you two. He wants more than anything for you to have everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and if that is with Jack, then so be it.

The only time he truly falters is during the dance.

Your little sister (who at 18 is not so little anymore), Rosie, as the Maid of Honor, dances with Jack, while he, the Best Man, dances with you. The moment he touches you, sparks fly through him and down his spine, and he cannot help but pull you in a little too close, even though everyone is looking. His large hand wraps around your smaller one and the other clings to your waist.

The thing is, you do not react to this at all, not outwardly, anyway. You let him hold you and press his cheek against your temple. You let him breathe in your scent and lean into you, as if memorizing everything about you. You let his hands contract, pulling you in closer. You let him lead because it’s like somehow you know, in your soul, that he needs this, even if you’re not exactly sure why.

And for that he is grateful. He is grateful as he takes in every bit of you, committing you to memory, knowing that soon that is all he will have of you. All you will be is a memory, imprinted on his heart, for the rest of time.

When the song comes to an end, he leans back slowly, his eyes searching your face for any recognition, any understanding of his plight, any feelings of your own that might linger in your subconscious. You stare back at him openly for a moment, and for a second he thinks he sees a glimmer of something in your eyes, but then Jack is pulling you away and the moment is gone.

As the party continues into the night, he feels like he is suffocating and escapes upstairs to his room. And as people know not to enter his bedroom without express permission, he feels safe to let out the shaking sob he’s been holding back for hours.

He’s not sure how long he cries before a tap at the door startles him into motion, frantically wiping at his face.

“Bewbie, sweet boy, can I come in? It’s just me,” his mama’s voice echoes through the door.

“Yeah, Mama, come in,” he croaks out, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. While he is relieved that it’s her and not one of the guys, or God forbid, you, he still doesn’t know how he’s going to explain the state he’s in.

His mama comes in quietly, shutting the door quickly behind her. She looks him over and in one fell swoop seems to understand, even though he’s said nothing, even though he’s spent months perfecting his nonchalantness for the world, what is going on.

But a mother knows.

His mama sits next to him on the edge of the bed, putting her arm comfortingly around his broad shoulders. “Oh, my wittle baby, it’s her, isn’t it? Our beautiful y/n. You love her,” she says, less of a question and more stating a fact.

That does him in, the way his secret is exposed so easily by his mama. It terrifies him that she knows him so well, and terrifies him that if she knows this, what else does she know? There’s no point in denying anything, so he curls into her like a child and lets go of it all, the tears streaming once again down his cheeks as his body shakes with quiet sobs.

His mama has always loved you, taking quickly to your genial ways and how you always made time to spend with her. Maybe she suspected something from the start, he doesn’t know, but she doesn’t judge or scold him now.

“H-hurts so bad, Satnin,” he hiccups out. And it does, now that he’s letting it. It feels like his heart is being ripped from his chest.

“I know, baby, I know,” she coos, rubbing his back. He can sense all the questions she wants to ask but doesn’t.

“I-I-I couldn’t…I-I ain’t w-w-what she needs or wants, Mama,” he stutters out. It’s as close as he’s willing to get to telling her the truth.

“It takes a brave man to let the girl he loves marry another, when he knows that’s what she wants, though I can’t say I wish it didn’t work out the other way,” his mama tuts.

“Y-you knew?”

“Course I knew, Bewbie. A mother always knows. To be fair, I been watchin’ the way ya look at that girl for the past few years and it didn’t take much t’put it all together, baby,” she says. “But the question is, does she know?”

He stills and stays silent for a moment, before answering truthfully, “I don’t know, Mama. I don’t think so.”

“Hmm,” she tuts, “I’m gonna trust you had good reason for lettin’ that wonderful girl go without tellin’ her how ya feel?”

His heart constricts, causing him to doubt his choices, but he can’t explain how he nearly killed you with his terrible decisions. He certainly can’t tell his mama that he made love to you when you weren’t yourself, no matter that it was you came on to him. And he knows his mama would balk if he told her how much he doesn’t deserve your love because of his sins.

“It’s better this way, Mama,” he says quietly, sitting up and staring at his hands. “And she’s happy, both she and Jack.”

His mama nods, resigned. “Alright, my sweet baby, puttin’ your friends’ happiness before your own…I know ya made the choice ya thought was best,” she says, wiping his face and pinching his cheeks, “but ya get yourself cleaned up now ‘n go be at least a ‘lil happy for your friends, okay?” She leaves the obvious unsaid—that he’s leaving to film in a few days and straight from there, it’ll be into the Army, so this will be one of the last times he can spend with them.

He nods. “O-okay, Satnin.”

And with that, he does as he’s told.

And then, in a blink of an eye, she’s gone. His mama is gone and his world fully collapses and it’s all his fault.

You are the only one who saves him from being completely swallowed in the blackness of his despair, and he’s not in his right mind to think or care how that looks. All he knows is you’re there when he needs you the most. You’re there to get him through the absolute worst of it before they send him a world away, and then, he loses you, too.

He loses everything that means anything to him—his mama, you, his career—and he wonders how long God will continue to punish him for his misdeeds, until he can’t bring himself to care much anymore about anything at all.

Germany feels like a cold fog that clouds his brain, even when he brings his Daddy and Dodger and Red over to live with him off base. In his haze, he writes Anita promises he wishes he could keep but deep down knows he won’t. Then, he turns around and does all the things he shouldn’t do because he can and what does it even matter if it’s all lost anyway? He takes the pills they give him to keep him awake in the field, and those make him feel pretty good, for a time anyway, and then he starts taking other pills they give him to bring him down after. In his off time, he screws and tries to forget the life he used to know.

And in those horrible quiet hours when he lies awake, trying to sleep when even the pills won’t let him, trying to escape and can’t, he thinks of you. He thinks of his love for you and your hold over him even now, a world away, and when he’s extra lonely, he imagines you on top of him, writhing and beautiful. And when he comes undone, there’s nothing left but a gaping hole in his heart and a mess in his hand.

March 1960

Elvis bites his nails to the quick on the long journey home. It’s not just because of the planes and the exhaustion and not knowing if he’ll ever get back to being “Elvis Presley,” but he knows he’ll be seeing you in a matter of hours. Not years or months or weeks, but hours.

And he thinks that maybe he is finally over you, that maybe he’s healed enough from everything and that he’s on his way to start something new, something fresh.

But, God, somehow you are more beautiful now than before, but you act so strange around him, and his heart wants to leap and implode all at once. Somehow everything has changed…but you, you still own his heart.

Once he discovers your pregnancy, he is over the moon for you because he can sense how badly you want this. He doesn’t care that the baby is Jack’s—he loves it more than anything because he loves you and seeing you so happy brings him true joy for the first time in a long, long time.

His career is taking off again, his new image impressing those who denounced him a few years ago, and he already has appearances and recordings and films lined up to go. Life feels…almost good, like maybe he’s finally paid his karmic debt.

Then you almost bleed to death in his arms.

His terrified confession of love is spoken in an act of desperation, a singular hope that if you know he loves you, you won’t be able to go, that the string of fate that draws you both together cannot be broken, that he can somehow will you back to life with the power of his love.

He begs God, begs as he’s never begged before, an inner wail of blood-soaked prayer that does not cease as he rides with your near-lifeless form to the hospital, nor when he calls Jack and your parents, nor as paces the waiting room.

Singularly focused on his pleas to God, he doesn’t even realize he’s covered in your blood until Charlie and Jerry arrive shortly after the ambulance and look at him in shock.

“Jesus, EP,” Charlie gasps quietly, taking in the macabre scene, “We need to get you changed and cleaned up before Jack gets here.”

That’s when he looks down and sees your life’s blood staining his pants, his shirt, his arms, his hands. God, it’s even under my nails, he thinks as he watches his hands shake, feeling utterly disconnected from his body.

He’s frozen, unable to move, repeating his prayers again and again, until Charlie whisks him away and has to physically help him strip down and wash the blood from his body in the bathroom. As he watches the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain, he cannot bear the thought that maybe it’s the last thing he has of you, these stains, and that maybe he’s truly lost you.

He just got you back. He can’t lose you. He won’t.

No, his inner mantra of prayer doesn’t cease until he is absolutely sure you are going to be okay.

Though “okay” is relative, he learns quickly. You have a long recovery ahead of you, the surgeons say, wiping their sweating brows, and the next few days will be crucial. The baby is gone, and the doctors say that more tests need to be done once you are well to see if that is even an option in the future.

He is heartbroken for you, and for Jack. But you are alive. You are alive.

Lamar and Red have to physically drag him from the hospital in the morning to get him ready and put him on the train to Florida for Frank Sinatra’s special, which is the very last thing he wants to do. But it is absolutely pivotal in his career comeback, so he tells Rosie in no uncertain terms that she is to keep him posted about her sister and any developments.

As he showers and packs, exhaustion seeping into his bones, it suddenly hits him that he told you he loved you, and it’s likely there will be fallout from that. It makes him incredibly worried, and he is even more loathe to leave until he knows where he stands with you. It’s possible you won’t even want to see him again.

Or it’s possible she loves you, too, a little voice hopes. But he knows better than to feed that monster. You don’t love him, not like that, and it’s selfish of him to even consider at a time like this.

“It’ll take your mind off things, EP,” Jerry tries to convince him, seeing his trepidation, prodding him along to get on the train. “And it’ll give y/n and Jack and her family time to get situated.”

The message is clear. Elvis is not in the inner circle of your life, not anymore, not as he wants to be. This fact is both sobering and cutting at the same time. It reminds him yet again that where he goes, you cannot follow, and where you go, he is not always welcome or needed.

He nods solemnly, thinking he finally understands, yet again, the terms of his deal with God. You live and he keeps his distance, he keeps his sins from tainting you. You live and he lets you go.

He pops a couple of pills, brought over from Germany, to wake him up, to get him in the performing mindset, to rev him up to being THE Elvis Presley. “Anything she needs, anything at all, comes to me,” he tells Jerry, “Hospital bills, recovery costs…and I want the best doctors helping her figure out her pregnancy issues. Oh, and send flowers, every day.”

Jerry nods, eyes observant and keen. “Of course, EP. Anything for y/n and Jack.”

Yes, anything for you.

You don’t remember a thing from that night, he learns from Rosie, and most of him thinks it’s for the best. But a small, egotistical part of him thinks bitterly that you certainly have a knack for forgetting anything monumental that happens between the two of you.

But he is busy. So busy, in fact, that he barely has time to think of you at all after that.

Except half the songs he chooses for his comeback album have something to do with you, which he only consciously realizes when he steps up to the mic to sing. And just as he thought of you the night of the talent show, he thinks of you now, singing about the girl of his best friend and how it feels so right being with you. He pours his hopes and dreams and frustrations and sorrows right into that album.

Perhaps it will cleanse him of needing you. Perhaps it’ll help him let you go.

When you find out that children are likely not in the cards for you and Jack, he sends more flowers, every day for a week. Jack is devastated and practically begs to come out to Hollywood to escape the sadness, so he agrees.

Anything for his friend, right?

He takes care of you from afar. He takes care of everything. Anything you could possibly want or need is yours. But he keeps his distance.

That is the bargain.

He falters at Christmas, almost letting his grief and yours ruin everything. He swears that you feel something for him, that maybe your impulse to be with him was not entirely driven by the drugs all those years ago. That maybe you do somehow remember his confession. Part of him swears if he had let it happen, you would’ve been his once again.

But you are not his, you never really were.

And while he knows this on a logical level, the more he is away, the more he fills his days with mindless movie making and wooing his costars and taking pills that bring him up and more that pull him down, the more he lets himself imagine you are his. From a distance, he can take care of you. From a distance and in the deep recesses of his mind, you belong to him and him alone.

“Elvis Presley” becomes a household name, now with a clean-cut image, alluring to both housewives and teenagers alike. His fame and wealth grow, and so does his isolation and loneliness. So does the need for the pills and to bring the rest of the guys into it all with him. Even Jack.

Especially Jack.

But he doesn’t like to think about why that is.

He manages to destroy his relationship with Anita along the way. He loved her, in his way, he really did. But she was not you. Neither is Ann, though he thinks for a moment that she may be the answer to his prayers, but in the end, he screws that up, too.

As the years drag on, he thinks he finally understands why he sabotages every relationship he’s ever had—it’s you—none of them are YOU. So he flits from fling to fling without ever truly landing because all he really wants is your love. But he doesn’t deserve it, he never has.

He knows this as he watches Jack descend into alcohol and drugs and women, and a small, horrible part of him wants Jack to self-destruct, and even though he knows this hurts you, he is too selfish to stop it. And the guilt of this, coupled with the downturn in his career, pushes him to self-destruct, too.

Still, he keeps his distance. When he’s home, he tries not to shoot you too many lingering glances. He reins himself in, most of the time, but in moments of weakness, he allows himself to get too close. He catches you alone, he makes a pass. But because you are you, you always rebuke him with a laugh. Silly Elvis, ever the jokester.

But sometimes, in the dark of night, in your beautiful, wide eyes, he sees something else. That deeper connection that drew you together in the first place, mixed with a heat he has only seen once or twice. And it is that which keeps his hope alive.

In an attempt to bury it and fill the hole in his heart, he almost marries, but in the end, he can’t go through with it. He’s wildly unhappy and dissatisfied, and it’s not until he finally gains some control over his career again that things take a turn for the better. He finally starts to clean up his act. He seeks knowledge and spiritual clarity. He finally finds his passion for music and performing again after nearly a decade.

But it’s too late for Jack. He managed to drag Jack to hell and while he made it back, Jack has not. And you are miserable because of it. This breaks his heart.

He tried to give you everything you wanted and needed by stepping back to let Jack do so. He kept his distance. He did what he’d promised God, and yet life still destroyed your dreams.

Jack no longer makes you happy. Jack is no longer the man who can give you what you need.

And suddenly Elvis wonders if he was wrong all along. That perhaps he wasn’t the man you needed then, but he is now. Perhaps his sins have been forgiven. Perhaps the more he pushes you away, the worse things become for both of you because you are indeed supposed to be together.

You are his. You’ve always been his.

So, riding high from his first Vegas performance, he finally allows himself to pursue you. He pushes away a decade and a half of guilt and shame and lets his charm and confidence entice you. He lets the sparks fly between you, finally free after all this time, and more intense than ever. To his gleeful surprise, you accept him willingly, if not a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it is just sex, he thinks at first, this carnal need he has for you, but he knows better. As soon as he tastes you after all these years, he knows he can never let you go again. As soon as he coaxes, then watches you come undone again and again, he realizes that still, after all this time, this is it for him. You are it. You always have been. And he will do anything to keep you, to make sure you know that you are his.

He thinks you might remember it all after that first night, but you don’t, not right away. He senses your fear to let go, to let yourself have him, to have this affair. He knows you want this to be only sex. And maybe it is for you, at first.

But he will have you. He doesn’t care how many mountains he must move or what he has to do to convince you to stay, but he loves you more than anything in the world and he’s not willing to part with you, not anymore.

It’s true that his fame, wealth, and influence have spoiled him into always getting what he desires. Of course, what he truly desires always has been you. Now unlocked, his love and want and need for you is insatiable, and he will do anything to keep it that way.

Anything for you. Anything but letting you go.

As the blackout of his rage starts to dissipate and he comes to, he assumes that his friends are holding him back from quite literally killing the disheveled and beaten man who used to be his best friend, and he watches with deep satisfaction as you slap the shit out of your husband.

He also feels the immense guilt of letting it get this far, of not knowing just how bad Jack was to you, and his part in all of it.

But when you vomit and promptly fall to an unconscious heap on the ground, his fear is what overshadows his rage and guilt. Something is wrong, he knows it.

Not again, not again, not again.

Triggered by your history, Elvis, with untold strength, wrenches himself from the four men holding him down and clamors to your side, everyone else forgotten.

Pulling your limp body into his lap, he screams for someone to call the doctor. His heart pounds so hard he thinks he might need one, too.

Please God, please God, please God. Not now, not after all we’ve been through.

That deep-seeded, old shame creeps back in as he rocks you: This is your fault. Your selfishness did this. You destroyed Jack, he took it out on her, and you’ve put her at risk, yet again. You are a scourge on this woman you claim to love so much. A pestilence.

He’s getting lost in this fearful despair, and then Jerry’s voice in his ear snaps him back: “EP. EP! You have to let her go, man. The doctor is here.” Jerry pulls his arms off her as the doctor examines her.

Elvis’ fingers go straight to his mouth, his obsessive habit of biting his nails taking over as he watches the doctor carefully.

The doctor looks up, taking in the scene. He looks at Elvis, then at Jack bleeding against the wall, and purses his lips. “Will somebody tell me what happened to this young lady?”

“There was an incident…” Jerry begins diplomatically.

“Her husband slammed his fist into her face!” Sandy yells over him, furious, earning scathing looks from the entourage. They knew better than to give details, knowing to keep things close to the chest and avoid any legal issues, to protect him at all costs.

“Sandy!” Jerry admonishes her.

“No, it’s okay, Jer,” Elvis says firmly, waving him off. “I’m sure the doctor knows to be discreet.”

The doctor looks up at his hovering, intimidating form, and says nothing for a moment. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I need to get her to a hospital and stabilized as soon as possible. She needs x-rays. It’s likely she has a serious concussion, Mr. Presley.”

The men start to argue, knowing that as soon as she leaves this room, a whole host of problems could fall down on them, but that’s the last thing he cares about right now. All that matters is you.

Elvis holds up his hand and everyone goes silent. “Do what you need to do, Doc. Anything she needs.”

The doctor nods and asks that someone phone for an ambulance.

Elvis looks up and sees that the men cleared the room at some point, leaving only the major players. Jack still sits, leaning on the wall next to Red, his face battered and bloody, watching the doctor. Elvis can’t tell if Jack is sorry or not. Elvis walks towards Jack, his anger tempered only by his concern for you.

“EP!” Jerry says in a warning tone, signaling for the men to flank him.

“I’m fine,” he commands, crouching at Jack’s side.

Jack flinches.

“Are you proud of yourself, Jacky Boy? Are you satisfied, seeing her laid out on the ground like that? Is this what you wanted?” he hisses.

Jack says nothing. He sees the tears in Jack’s eyes, the regret through the pain, and for a second, Elvis almost sees the man he used to know in there.

“Hmm,” he tuts, looking over his friend with disgust, shaking his head. “I’ll deal with you later. And you, too,” he says, with a low, deadly calm, pointedly to Red. Then he rises easily from the floor, his attention on the men with the stretcher who just entered the suite.

“It’s never enough with you, EP, you selfish motherfucker. The man who gets everything he wants, no matter how many lives he has to destroy to get it. The rules never apply to you, do they? Dammit, you coulda had anyone, anyone! Why did it have to be y/n?” Jack spits out mournfully from behind him.

Shame snakes through him, through the anger that continues to boil under just the surface, covering the sorrow that flows under that. There is truth in Jack’s words, he knows that, even though he wants to deny it.

“How long, Elvis?”

He supposes he owes Jack that much, though he doesn’t even turn his head.

“Opening night.”

“No, you bastard. How long have you been in love with my wife?”

The room goes silent yet again.

Elvis turns around, but he cannot bring himself to look Jack in the eyes for a moment. A lifetime of memories flashes through his head, of times much better than this, of times when they had each other’s backs. Ultimately, he knows what Jack has become is partially his fault. Ultimately, he knows it was wrong of him to want you when you weren’t his, wrong to have sex with you, even before the debacle of you and the pills. It was wrong of him to manipulate Jack into marrying you.

As much as he hates Jack right now, he once loved him, and still, he betrayed him.

Jack chuckles darkly, “That fucking long, huh?”

Elvis finally looks Jack in the eyes but says nothing. Nothing he can say will make any of this less of a fiasco. Nothing he can say with make it right, no matter how much he wants to jump in to defend himself, to tell Jack he saw you first, to tell him he wanted you first, to fucking explain that you’re his goddamn soulmate and he’s had to watch you be with someone else for almost two fucking decades.

“Ahhh, and she didn’t even know, did she?” A hint of a smile plays on Jack’s bloodied lips. “Didn’t even give the King the time of day! Well, at least I got that goin’ for me,” he laughs.

His brow furrows as he fumes, and he steps towards Jack again. Lamar puts himself between the two men.

“It’s fine, Lamar, let him at me. What do I have to lose now anyways?” Jack laughs, which turn suddenly to sobs, “You were my brother. I gave up my life for you! I loved you, man!”

The words cut Elvis to the bone, flooding his fury with more guilt.

“And I love her,” Jack sobs.

“You don’t fucking love her,” Elvis says, infuriated, pushing past Lamar to grab Jack’s chin, wrenching his head to look at you being put on the stretcher. “You hurt her. You been hurtin’ her. And Jack, if she dies, I don’t care what brotherly love was between you and me—I will fucking kill you,” he says, low and vehement in Jack’s ear, for only him to hear.

He pulls back to stare Jack in the eye, to let him know just how serious he is, to make sure he understands that through the pain and the alcohol and whatever pills he might be on.

Jack blinks through his tears and nods his head once, shakily.

Elvis releases him.

Then he steps in behind you, still unconscious, on the stretcher as they take you out of the penthouse and to the elevator.

“EP, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to…” Charlie starts, hustling behind him.

He turns, seeing the stares of the men who have given him their lives to stand by his side. Some of them are befuddled, some understanding and resigned, some even a little suspicious after tonight’s events.

“I don’t give two shits if it’s a good idea or not, I’m goin’ with her. Anyone wanna argue with me about it?” he says impatiently, shooting up an eyebrow.

No one does.

It’s good it’s the middle of the night, otherwise he would’ve caused a huge scene at the hospital. But the nurses and doctors seem to gather by his demeanor that now is not the time for autographs. Instead of putting them in the waiting room, they set up an empty room at the end of the hall for the lot of them, a gruff old nurse warning them they best be quiet and not wake any of the patients before she closes the door on them.

And for the third time in his life, he waits to know your fate.

He waits for you, just as he’s been waiting for you for the last 18 years.

He waits and he prays, though this time, he makes no bargains with God.

He stills when the doctor finally comes to tell him that, yes, you do have a concussion and though you will likely experience symptoms as you recover, you should recover fully. He feels like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders.

When the doctor leads him and him alone back to your room, the doctor mentions the other symptoms you’ll likely experience and that you might have issues with your memory leading up to the event. Elvis cannot help but chuckle at that.

“Oh, I’m betting she will,” he says under his breath, though this time, he thinks it might be best after what you went through tonight.

He sits by your side in the quiet, dimmed room, and is taken aback by the angry bruising already spreading over your beautiful face. His fury at Jack swells through him once more, followed immediately by sadness. You look so innocent and fragile lying there. Suddenly, he feels afraid to touch you, as though you might break.

So, he waits. He waits for you to wake and he prays. He thinks of the lifetime he’s had without you and the life he wants with you going forward. And this time, he knows he won’t be leaving your side for anyone or anything.

But his secrets still lay heavy and dark on his heart. There are those things he cannot tell you of that day at Graceland so long ago, and the things he still cannot bring himself to admit to, like his confession of love as you almost died in his arms and his meddling in your life. He doesn’t want to tell you how all of it has led to you lying here in this hospital, hurt and fragile but somehow still his, he hopes.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it yet, so for now he just waits for you to come back to him.

He’s been too rough with you, he thinks, in his quest to show you how you are his. Pushing you too hard to keep up with his rockstar lifestyle and his insatiable need for you sexually has not been good for you. You’re exhausted, not eating, and have been on an emotional rollercoaster for days, and he was too consumed by his own selfishness to listen, so much so that he almost drove you away. The hurt, the feeling of pure panic that shot through him when you said you were leaving was enough to bring him to his knees, but of course, he could not tell you that. He couldn’t show you that weakness. Instead, he’d covered it with anger and passion, fucking you into submission.

He realizes his dominance, while fun in the bedroom, is perhaps masking his true feelings. He has told you in so many words how desperate he is for you, how he wants you to be with him, to let him take care of you, how he is yours, that he needs you. But in truth, he is afraid. Afraid that you don’t and never will feel the same towards him as he does towards you. That it is only his coercion, manipulation, and his sexual prowess that keeps you here with him. No matter how much you say you are his and that you will stay as he fucks it out of you, he’s not convinced that you’ll feel the same in the light of day, of your own accord.

Lord, the way you said you needed him tonight flashed him right back to that first time with you at Graceland. The time you don’t remember. He is putty in your hands now, just as he was then. But that need of yours was only sexual. If it is truly just sex for you and you are only staying for that…well, that scares him and makes him want to hold onto you so tightly that you can’t leave even if you wanted to.

If you don’t ever feel that same pull inside your heart, in your soul, that he has for you, he’s not sure what he will do.

Gone is the bravado and confidence gleaned from years of being Elvis Presley. Instead, he sits here at your bedside feeling stripped to his core: a nervous, stuttering boy with a funny name who loves you more than life itself. He is that boy who picked your books up off the ground, the one who you calmed backstage with your sweetness and wit. For you and you alone, he is just Elvis. And he’s worried he won’t recover if you don’t ever grow to love him.

Anxiety courses through him, a throbbing pulse that serves to remind him that for all he has and is in this world, he is still only a man. And you are the girl who has comforted him through some of his worst moments, yet now after all this time he’s still terrified to let you truly see him. If he lets you in, you will see him for all that he is and all the terrible parts of himself he’s ashamed of: his selfishness and possessiveness, his overindulgence, his obsessive tendencies, his goddamned vanity and ego. His secrets. If you know the things he’s kept from you, he’s not sure you’ll ever forgive him. Certainly, you could not love him.

His heart aches at that thought, flooding him with despair. He needs you so badly that he cannot bear to risk showing you everything; however, a deep part of him wants to flay himself bare to you, to expose himself in a way that he has never done before, not with anyone.

Elvis puts his head on the bed near your hand. He is going to be gentler with you, especially after tonight. He will prove to you that he is worthy of your love, that this is so much more than just sex. He’s going to take care of you and give you the life you’ve always deserved.

God has humbled him once again tonight, and he knows he must do better.

He loves you so deeply he can hardly breathe.

So, he waits. He prays.

And he hopes that one day, you will love him, too.

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