#writing prompt game

[ellie-24]

Just A Fan

A/N: I recently saw all the 1977 Hawaii pictures again and oh they make me so soft every time. His health failed him, his personal life frustrated him, but he looked so happy and relaxed on this (last) vacation and really enjoyed himself.

Sooo I had to write a little something for dear Big Daddy Elvis. It's literally just horribly self-indulgent fluff. Enjoy!

This is also a veeeeery late response to the writing prompt: "Isn't that mine?"

Word count: 3.3 k

March 11th 1977, Polynesian Cultural Center, Hawaii

Cara noticed him right away. Of course, she's been looking for him. Word got around at campus that he would be here tonight and to say she was exited would be an understatement. Unfortunately she of course wasn't the only one who heard about it. She already dreaded the masses that would form around him, waiting to get a glimpse.

Others might say they wouldn't have recognised him right away when he entered the open-air pavilion. In fact, at first it seemed like nobody noticed him at all.

His jet black hair and sideburns more grown out and partly hidden beneath a white, frizzy bucket hat. The sparkly, heavy jumpsuits he usually wore replaced by a comfortable looking light track suit, emphasising the sight swell of his belly. Beautiful blue eyes hidden behind tinted glass. She hoped he'd take them off, even if just for a second so that she could see them. It's not like never seen his eyes, she'd stared at them longingly for hours and hours, never growing tired of them.

Whether she was staring at his face on one of the numerous records she owned, pausing his movies to fully take in a particularly cheeky expression that she loved so much or just sitting in front on the many, many posters on the walls of her dorm room, pretending he was looking right back at her.

He looked different. Different than he looked on stage, different than he looked on those posters, different than he looked 10 years ago. She was very well aware of that. The whole public was aware of it. Not only aware of it, but bothered by it, apparently.

The amount of mean spirited headlines she's read, plastered at the front of cheap tabloids at the gas station, at the supermarket, seemingly everywhere she went. Everywhere for the entire world to see. Surrounding, following, haunting her.

Cara never understood it. Her love for him never faltered, after obsessing over him throughout her whole childhood her fate was finally sealed when she saw him live for the first time in 1972. She was just 15 years old and she vividly remembered begging her parents for weeks, months to take her to the concert. Two more followed in 1974 and 1975 and each time she just fell in love with him more and more. Since moving to Hawaii for university she hasn't had the opportunity to see him again. But now he was here, closer than he'd ever been before and she felt like a giddy teenager again.

Cara pondered for a while, tugging at the hemline of her short sun dress, her eyes laser focused on him the entire time. The native dances presented on stage weren't the main attraction, at least not for her. There were of course whispers in the audience with most people risking a short glance towards the King of Rock'n'Roll sitting among them, but nobody really dared to approach him and instead appreciated the actual show. It was refreshing to see him as part of an audience enjoying other people's perfomances.

In a motion she didn't quite register herself she got up and started walking. She wouldn't talk to him. No, she really didn't want to bother him when he was on vacation, with his guard down. He seemed so content not having to perform at the moment and she didn't want him to feel like he had to just for her. It's just that she wanted to see him up-close. And if she had to pretend to go to the bathroom to walk past him, coming as close as possible even if it was only for a passing glance, she'd do that.

"Hey, isn't that mine?" She heard him say when he was within earshot. He looked at the brown-haired man sitting next to him, who she quickly recognised as Charlie Hodge. Elvis snatched a glass of what looked like orange juice from his hand and laughed as he brought it to his lips, leisurely sipping on it.

Cara halted against her will, freezing at the spot. Seeing him like this, so relaxed and carefree was a wonderful sight and she couldn't tear her eyes away from him.

He suddenly rose from his seat and she urged her body to move and not just stand there and stare at him like a complete lunatic. He had his head turned back towards his group as he walked nearly bumped into her, only catching himself last second.

"Oh sorry, honey, I didn't see ya there." He gave her a quick once over and promptly beamed at her, making a pleasant shiver run down her spine. "Ain't ya just a sweet little thing?"

Cara's eyes widened as she realised he just talked to her. He just talked to her. She wanted to say a million things but the words got stuck in her throat. This was it. Her chance to talk to Elvis Presley and she was about to mess it up.

It seemed like hours passed where she just stared up at him, not able to utter a damn word. Head spinning, she felt her knees going weak.

"Hey honey, ya alright?" His voice was now latched with concern and she continued staring up at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

Her mind raced, trying to think of something to say, preferably something smart. At least she managed to open her mouth now, but only a little squeal came out. It would've been better if she'd just kept her mouth shut entirely. The spinning got worse and her ears started ringing as the moment dragged on and on. His beautiful, more than familiar voice became a dull background noise and she couldn't make out what he said.

"Aww, you're a little nervous? Don't got no reason to, sweetheart, promise. I won't bite, okay?" He drawled with his signature charming half smile.

Cara has dreamed of embracing him her entire life. How many times she's pictured it, holding him, letting him hold her. Being so close to him, pressing her body against his, feeling his warmth. She's thought of this scenario at least a thousand times. Her arms around his neck as he kneeled over the edge of the stage, leaning down to give her a kiss.

Never in a million dreams it would've occured to her that the first time she'd hug Elvis Presley would be because her legs went limp and she had to physically hold onto him to prevent herself from falling as her vision blurred.

He momentarily grunted as she leaned against him for support. "Hey, hey, honey, careful. I gotchu, you're alright." His arms wrapped around her middle, holding her steady before moving her towards a cushioned seat. He sat down with her splayed sideways across his lap, her back resting against the armrest.

Once he had her settled on his sturdy thighs he extented one arm and gestured around as if shooing away somebody. "It's okay, Charlie, I got her." He rasped, sounding a bit winded.

His scent surrounded her as she was pressed against his soft, yet strong body. An immediate feeling of comfort and safety rushed through her and she subconsiously tried to get even closer to him.

His whole body vibrated when he cleared his throat and she gasped when he shifted again, adjusting his grip on her. Now her head rested against his shoulder, if she moved just a little bit lower she could probably feel his heart beating rapidly.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" His voice was calm next to her ear.

"Cara." She whispered, black spots still dancing before her eyes.

He nodded, his whole attention on her. "Cara, that's nice. I'm Elvis."

She blinked up at him. Had he really introduced himself right now? "Yes, I know that." She breathed, her eyebrows furrowed in disbelief and wonder and her eyes shining.

He chuckled softly and carefully brushed some strands of hair from her sweaty forehead. "Now, Cara, I want ya to take some deep breaths, okay?"

She did as she was told as best as she could and slowly her head felt a little less fuzzy. He's pulled down the zipper of his track suit somewhat, exposing his wide chest, golden chains resting over the thick, dark hair.

This had to be a dream.

"Honey, what are ya doin'?" He asked when he saw her fingers digging into her waist, his voice a bit alarmed. He removed his shades to give her a stern look.

Cara swallowed hard when she looked into his eyes and her voice trembled when she spoke up. "Pinching myself."

It took him a moment to register but then started laughing heartily, his belly shaking against her. "You're a cute little thing."

She's essentially passed out in Elvis Presley's arms. She wanted to die. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his whole entourage staring at her, assessing the situation. They must think she's completely crazy. "Oh god, this is so embarrassing."

"Nah, no reason to be embarrassed, little one." He murmured and threw a look over his shoulder, waving the curious onlookers off, telling them with a glare to mind their own business.

"I'm sorry." She attempted to get up, despite her ears still feeling like someone stuffed cotton in there, but he quickly tightened his hold on her before cupping her chin.

"Don't apologise, little. Ya just gonna stay here for just a minute."

She'd stay for the rest of her life if he'd let her. In theory. But she really didn't want to make this even more awkward and weakly shook her head. "Uh-"

"Those little legs and feet are still a bit weak." He interrupted her with his strong hand moving towards her thighs, rubbing and squeezing her softly, silencing her in an instant.

For a moment she just stared up at him, lost in the gentle and caring look in his eyes. She had to, she just had to do it, she thought as she reached up and gently cupped his cheek. The feeling of his soft skin against hers made her jump, still not quite believing that this was really happening.

His fingers moved to brush over her ankle, toying with the clasp of her platform sandals. "Gotta take these off, don't want you to fall the second I set you down again."

Cara just nodded and continued to stare up at him, her eyes moving rapidly as she tried to take in every little detail. The way his plush lips hung open the tiniest bit. The way his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he worked on her shoes.

When he tilted his head slightly and offered her a view of his neck she could see black strands of hair sticking out from beneath the hat. Just as she wanted to start playing with them he turned his head back and looked down, catching her studying him. From that angle she could see his small double chin.

"Not even close." She whispered to herself, barely audible.

"What's that, honey?" He asked and briefly leaned over her to put her shoes aside.

"Not even close." She repeated and blushed as she realised she had to explain her thoughts now. "I mean, uh, seeing your face on screen, or from a distance when you're on stage." She shrugged. "It doesn't even come close."

"What, the wrinkles so bad?" He joked, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Cara shook her head. "Doesn't come close to how beautiful you are."

He leaned in closer with his lips pursed and brushed through her hair as if inspecting her scalp. "Ya sure ya didn't hit your pretty head somewhere?"

"No, I didn't. I really mean it." She whispered with a frown, not liking his self-depracating comments.

He paused and looked down with a bashful smile after a few seconds. "Oh, thank you, sweetheart, that's, uh, a-awfully kind of you."

"Just honest." She shrugged and carefully ran her fingers over his cheek again, through the course, yet soft hair of his thick side burns and wiped away some of the sweat that had gathered there.

"Stop, honey, it'll go to my head." He gently chided her as she kept complimenting him.

"I hope so."

He averted his gaze and resumed to stroke her ankle, gently massaging it now. There was a bit of pink on his cheeks and Cara marveled at the fact that she was able to make him flustered.

"You know, when I was at one of your concerts two years ago a girl next to me passed out as well and I had to take care of her for like twenty minutes. I was so angry at her." She let out a small laugh at the chaotic memory.

"You've been to one of my concerts?"

"I've been to three." She nodded with a proud smile.

He raised one eyebrow. "Three? Lord, should have saved that money for college, little one."

"It was worth it..." She trailed off, not sure if she had the nerve to continue talking.  "I always hoped to get a kiss, at least a scarf. Each time... But I never quite made it to the front."

"Aww, honey." He cooed ruefully as if he was personally responsible for her bad luck. As if it truly bothered him.

It was only a second later that she felt his pillowy lips against hers. Butterflies erupted in her stomach and she froze while he casually made her biggest dream come true. He didn't just peck her lips, instead he lingered, even added a bit more pressure until she closed her eyes with a sigh.

They were complete strangers, yet the connection between them was very palpable as he kissed her slow and gentle, his finger grazing along her jaw. His breath fanned over her cheek and tickled her slightly, causing her to squirm a bit in his arms, but his soothing touches on her body calmed her down somewhat. When he finally pulled away from her the dizzy feeling returned and she squeezed her eyes shut before opening them again, blinking a bit disoriented.

Elvis saw the colour draining from her face again for a second and let out a small laugh. "Stay with me, sweetheart." He softly patted her cheek.

"Uh-huh." She responded, waving away. "No, yeah, I'm good."

He looked back to Charlie on instinct, his head whipping around, before turning back to her. With a frown he slowly scratched his neck, looking regretful. "I don't have a scarf, little. Uh, I-I'll give you this. That okay for you?" He removed one of the golden rings he was wearing, pulling it from his ring finger and holding it out to her.

"Oh, no I can't take it." Her eyes widened and she raised her hands in protest.

"But now I want ya to have it." He slipped it onto her thumb, and gently held her clammy hand in his, completely engulfing her.

Cara stared at the glittery piece of jewelry on her hand, the metal still warm, wondering what she'd done to deserve this. "Oh, thank you." She choked out, tearing up a little.

He drew circles over her temple in a calming way. "You're welcome, sweetie."

"I'm a mess." She laughed nervously and closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears from flowing. "I'm talking to Elvis Presley and I'm a mess."

"Shush, little, you're not a mess. I don't wanna hear any of it."

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head and ran his thumb over her lips, making her breath hitch. "Now, what are ya being sorry for? Quit apologising, okay? I get to hold a pretty girl in my arms. Made it worth to come here in the first place." He chuckled in an attempt to cheer her up, to make her smile.

Now it was Cara's turn to blush furiously and his grin widened. "Finally got some colour in your face again. You're feeling a bit better, honey?"

That was a good question. Was she feeling better? She wanted to weep, laugh and yell at the same time, but he didn't need to know that. Instead she just put a hand to her burning forehead and smiled a little. "I think so." Her voice sounded a bit hoarse, the emotions still overwhelming her.

Elvis made no attempt to get up however, let alone loosen his grip on her and continued to gently massage her bare calf, apparently not yet ready to part with her. Luckily she felt the same. So they just enjoyed the feeling of being close to each other, a mutual understanding between them.

"Ya, ya wanna come and see my next show?" He suddenly asked out of the blue.

She nodded so quickly, she almost hurt her neck. "I'd love to. But-"

He brushed through her hair. "I'll make sure you're gonna sit in the first row. I'll arrange it. Then I'll give ya a scarf."

"You already gave me this." She pointed to her thumb.

"But you wanted a scarf, honey, it's that simple. And you'll get a scarf, you'll see." He insisted as he grasped her hand pressed a few kisses to her knuckle.

"Elvis." She paused and bit her lip. The amount of times she said, cried, screamed his name, one should think she's used to it. But using it to adress him directly felt incredibly strange.

He continued toying with her fingers. "What's on your mind, honey? You want another kiss?" He drawled with a small smirk, making her tummy flip.

What she wanted to say to him is that he was too kind. Way too giving. That he shouldn't be so worried about pleasing her, she was just a fan. That she enjoyed kissing and hugging more than anything else. But by the genuine and earnest look in his eyes she realised how much he needed it for himself. Doing everything in his power to make her happy, to satisfy her like they were old friends or possibly lovers, even though his girlfriend Ginger Alden only sat a few feet away from them.

She pressed her lips together, deciding not to voice her thoughts and just said the two words that came to mind, that she'd wanted to say to him all these years. "Thank you."

He furrowed his brows and licked his lips. "What for?"

She held his gaze and put a hand on his chest, feeling the thick patches of hair under her fingers. "For being you."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down and he sniffed once, his nose scrunching up. That tender look on his face nearly made her melt as they just looked at each other, forgetting the world around them and all its problems. Then he nudged her with a lopsided smile. "Ya want that kiss now or what?"

A smile tugged at her lips as well and she managed a small nod, mentally preparing herself. She was sure that if she continued talking she would just start crying hysterically so she just grabbed onto the soft fabric of his track suit, slightly pulling him down.

He started to lean down, but before he could touch her lips again he opened his eyes with a playful twinkle. "Just don't pass out on me again, little one."

She could do that for him, she knew she'd do anything for him. Just like he did everything for her, driving her crazy and keeping her sane at the same time. And she knew she'd treasure that moment forever. She had a feeling he'd treasure it as well.

..................................................................................

Thank you to my lovely sister wives @be-my-ally @thatbanditqueen @vintageshanny @whositmcwhatsit @missmaywemeetagain @peskybedtime @from-memphis-with-love @shakerattlescroll

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfiction #elvis x reader #big daddy elvis #writing prompt game #elvis x oc #elvis presley x reader #elvis fanfic #1977 elvis

[be-my-ally]

I Feel The Earth Move

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What d’ya mean?” You blink at him,  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds great - I’m sure that’ll -“  

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

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

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

“ ‘re you not coming down, baby?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They your mama’s? I’ll replace ‘em.”  

“Oh no, she doesn’t either,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were snoring,” You blush,  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With your Mama?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh Elvis - don’t tease me.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist:

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

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

[missmaywemeetagain]

Sergeant Presley (a one-shot)

A/N: Somehow, against all odds in this absolute chaos of a week, I managed to bang out the "Army Elvis" prompt for this week today, like a maniac. I am both shocked and amazed that I wrote a smutty one-shot without overthinking it but also be warned this is hardly edited or revised, nor even really thought out! 😂

Thanks always to my sister wives in chaos and crime: @be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis and @from-memphis-with-love

TW: Smut! Orgasms! Basically no plot!

Rating: Mature 18+ || Word Count: 2.7k

Sergeant Presley (a one-shot)

He wants to fuck you. Oh lord how he wants to fuck you, from the moment you walk in the room and sit across the aisle from him.

Maybe it’s the curve of your calves and the way they disappear under your pencil skirt. Maybe it’s how your jacket notches in at your waist, accentuating your ample hips. Or perhaps it’s the fact that even with the conservative uniform and minimal to-do with your hair and make-up (as per regulations, of course), you still are absolutely gorgeous.

Or I’m just horny, Elvis thinks sardonically, shifting in his seat.

The movement catches your eye, and he watches curiously as you do a bit of a double take, eyes widening slightly in recognition before your head whips straight ahead.

He smirks to himself at that. It never gets old, the light that goes on in women’s eyes when they take him in in person. And he certainly isn’t getting much of it lately, being effectively shackled here in Germany, clad in his drab green Army fatigues.

Well, that’s not entirely true, he thinks as he pictures the fans that gather at all hours outside the house he’s renting while he’s here, about the girls he invites in. But it’s not quite the same, not the same at all, because his fame is tenuous and teetering here. Part of him is certain that they’ve all forgotten about him at home, despite the Colonel’s reports to the contrary, despite the new movie contracts and albums he is set to record as soon as he returns. However, the sliver of fear about his fate has burrowed deep these past two years and poisons him slowly, each day he is gone.

But now he’s counting days and weeks instead of months and years, and he can nearly taste being home. His fear and the antsy feeling that permeates him is overcome by anxious excitement now, so he’s feeling better than he has in a long time.

And here he is, getting his Sergeant stripes, and that fills him with a different sort of pride altogether.

So, perhaps it is all these factors combined that have him wanting to jump across the aisle, pull you into his arms, and kiss you silly.

He’s never seen you before and doesn’t know your name until they call you up to present you with your earned rank. Feeling a bit lecherous, he admires the view of your ass as you walk to the front and the heaving of your breast as they pin your stripes. Your pretty eyes catch his unabashedly heated gaze and pink floods your cheeks as he locks you in.

Elvis knows what he’s doing. While much of it is a natural sort of gift, he’s also honed his seductive abilities quite a bit in the last four years and gets paid a lot of money because of it. He’s also well aware that he looks good, filled out in a manly way but slimmed down in all the right areas, and right now, he’s not above using his looks to get your attention. And he so does want your attention, as much as he knows by virtue of your uniform and rank, you are completely off limits. He’s not stupid—he’s too close to the end for a court martial. Though he may not be able to fuck you the way he wants, it doesn’t mean he can’t have a little bit of fun.

Crossing his arms, he brings one hand to his mouth, letting his thumb catch on his full bottom lip and his mouth fall open slightly. Then he gazes at you with a pointed but dreamy stare, his eyes blinking slowly.

He watches you gulp and fidget at front of the room, all of which could be explained away by nerves of being put on the spot, but he knows he’s hit jackpot because there’s a little fire stoked in those lovely eyes now.

Tilting his head and raising a brow, he makes a private show of looking you up and down as you walk tenuously back to your seat. Giving him a glare of admonishment, you very purposefully do not look at him once you are seated again, but your hands wring in your lap, your leg crossing over towards him.

He’s flustered you. Warmth rolls over him, pooling in his pelvis, and through the rest of the ceremony, he tries not to think of bending you over your chair, yanking up your skirt, and sinking deep into your silky heat.

His cock twitches at the thought.

Later, fate intervenes on his behalf when he realizes you’ve been seated with him at the dinner banquet following the ceremony. He shakes your hand, introducing himself, letting his fingers squeeze and his thumb graze your palm a little too intimately. The gamut of emotions that flashes over your face before you bring down a stoic smile makes him chuckle.

He guides you to sit next to him, and while you hesitate at first, he knows he’s already won because of the way your eyes widen at the suggestion.

Now that you are close, his body goes into overdrive, and he is drunk on the sweetness of your perfume and the smoothness of your skin. He realizes he’s likely being too obvious in his flirtations but can’t bring himself to reign it in. The other men and women at the table have either consciously or subconsciously deferred to him and his charms, leaving no one to compete for your attention. He lays it on thick, wanting to eat you right up.

Elvis is hyperaware of every time you glance his direction, which is happening more often as he pulls you deeper into conversation, your cool exterior thawing bit by bit. But the way your eyes dilate and how you lick your lips when he brings the bottle of cola in front of him to his mouth has a zing of arousal shooting down his spine and straight into his cock.

Oh.

Nothing if not responsive, Elvis tongues the lip of the bottle before taking a slow drag of the sweet, fizzy soda. Your eyes are fixated now on his mouth, on the bottle, and he watches you catch your lower lip in your teeth as you stare.

Heat courses through him as he pulls the bottle away, tongue rolling over his bottom lip to catch the lingering drops of sugar caught there. You swallow visibly, and he doesn’t stop his teasing, unable to keep his lip from quirking into a delighted smirk at your attentions. Your eyes fly back up to his, as if just realizing you’ve been caught, and you flush a charming shade of red before clearing your throat and looking away quickly.

But every time he raises the bottle to his lips, your eyes catch like a moth to a flame. This time they follow his hand down as he sets the bottle on the table. Condensation gathers droplets on the cool glass and he relishes the smooth, wet feeling as he strokes the bottle with his thumb.

You fidget in your seat. It takes him a second to understand why, but once he does, he feels his cock chub up, caught mercilessly in his briefs and dress pants. The little, mischievous devil in him takes great pleasure watching you watch him make a show of gripping the bottle in his whole hand, slowly thumbing over the opening at the top again and again.

You choke a little and reach for your water, taking a deep drag and blinking rapidly, as if trying to come out of the spell he seems to have you under. You attempt to throw yourself into the conversation at the table, ignoring him with all your might, your body tense in your seat.

A challenge, he thinks, smiling.

Slowly, Elvis presses his knee into the side of your thigh, loving the way you nearly jump out of your seat in surprise at the contact. It’s like a bolt of electricity between you, and he starts to strain against his underwear.

Now that he has your attention, he places his hand back around the cola bottle, lewdly gripping it and slowly twisting his hand down and back up the glass. It’s truly not that far off from his actual size, so the motion feels almost too familiar, too easy. Your mouth pops open at the suggestive gesture and it takes everything in him to not lap his tongue into that delicate little mouth of yours. He matches his rhythm, stroking his knee against your leg, which also happens to provide some delicious friction in his pants. He feels you tense, squeezing your thighs together, and he cannot help but think of your little pink snatch likely staining your panties with slick right at this very moment.

Elvis almost groans aloud at that, catching it in his throat at the last second, but you seem to hear it and your eyes fly to his. Your pupils are blown out and cheeks are hot, and he can almost smell the arousal on you. Goddamn it, he wants to make you come, right here at the table, just for him, in front of everyone, who, wrapped up in their own conversations seem none the wiser at the seduction that is happening before them.

He’s hardly touching you but feels a surge of power when you fidget again, caught like willing prey in his stare. He can’t touch you more than he already is because that would get him in trouble, but if he can’t lay you across this table and fuck you senseless, he’s going to do it the only way he can.

His ministrations on the bottle are serving to arouse him just as much as you, each stroke making his cock twitch and strain and stiffen. Your eyes dart from his to the bottle, back and forth, your breath shallow and rapid. His eyes are heavy on you, unyielding, and look upon you as though you were under him, as though he were trapped and undulating in the heat of what he just knows is your perfect, untouched cunt.

You look back at him as though you know exactly what he’s thinking, as though your tight little hole is snug around him, sweet as honey, treating him right. Your hands clutch at your silverware, your napkin, anything you can get your hands on that isn’t him, and he knows you are well on your way to where he wants you because he can feel how your legs move back and forth, creating the friction you so desperately need between them.

He wonders if he can get away with touching you under the tablecloth, with sticking his hand into those wet panties of yours to play with your swollen and sensitive nub, but your skirt is too long and tight, and your jacket hides the waistband. No, he’s gonna have to be satisfied with eye-fucking you and jerking off this cola bottle.

Your chest starts to vibrate with tension as you try desperately to hold back the short little gasps emanating from your lips and he knows then that you are set to explode. You brace your elbows on the table, hiding the lower part of your face with your napkin, as if wiping your mouth, and he feels your hips buck. You do a helluva job not moaning and rolling your eyes back as you come for him, but he sees you drift somewhere else for a moment in your ecstasy, your eyes going blank as you pant as measured as you can into your napkin-shield.

Watching you unravel so gracefully and so untouched has his own orgasm sneaking up on him. The fact that he made you come just by looking at you but also at the element of public indecency involved has him clutching the cola bottle so hard he might break it. He wants to palm his dick with his other hand, but he knows he can’t be subtle about it and kind of likes the fact you’re making him come untouched, too.

Elvis manages to hold on until you come down from your high enough to look at him with dreamy, satiated eyes and that finally sends him over the edge. His cock pulses heavy and hard, springing against the confines of his slacks, his eyes drifting closed and lips parting as he shivers through his orgasm as quietly as he can. Holy fucking hell.

Your shy, knowing smile is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, and he can’t help but smile right back at you in kind. Your rosy cheeks and gleaming eyes make him feel giddy. His face feels red hot and he can’t help but bring the cold cola bottle to his face to cool it off. You choke back a laugh.

“You alright there, Sergeant Presley?” another soldier questions him.

“Ohhhh, I’m fine,” he drawls, amused, “Just feels like it’s a thousand degrees in here is all, in this getup.”

For once, he’s glad of his regulation briefs, as they kept him from shooting his load straight down his pant leg, but he doesn’t have to look down to know by the sheer force and amount of his release that he’s soaking through the front of his pants. His only consolation is that he knows you must be soaked through your panties, too.

If he can get his jacket on, he’ll be okay because it’s long and will cover the mess, but how he’s going to do so without the entire hall seeing he just jizzed his pants, he’s not so sure. It might not be a problem for the average Joe, but people can’t help but watch his every move, whether he wants them to or not. He realizes in his haze of horniness that maybe he didn’t really think this through.

You seem to realize his predicament, however, pretty eyes widening after looking down in his lap. You snap your head up quickly and he can sense your wheels turning. He starts to panic a little when you don’t let him in on the plan, though, as you start telling some story that he can’t seem to pay attention to with the sticky, rapidly cooling mess in his underwear.

Before he knows what’s happening, you are sweeping your arm to the side in a dramatic retelling, knocking the half-full bottle of cola over, directly into his lap.

He yelps in surprise as the dark cola soaks into his slacks, right over the other stain that had begun to set.

“Oh! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Sergeant Presley!” you cry apologetically, quite convincingly, and in other circumstances, he might try to get you into the movies with your level of commitment as you place your napkin into his lap.

He chuckles, “Oh, it’s fine, darlin’, it’s just a little soda. After all, I was going on about how warm I was gettin’, so you cooled me right off.” He gives you a wink at his obvious double entendre, and you purse your lips to hold back a laugh.

“Well, I’m awfully embarrassed,” you say quietly, fully leaning into the role. “Please send me your dry cleaning bill. It’s the least I can do.” Pulling a little pad out of your clutch, you scribble something down on the paper, tear it off, fold it, and hand it to him.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. It’s no big thing,” he says, but takes the paper anyway, sensing that you have written something other than your dry cleaner’s information on it. He motions for your pen and paper. “Can I?”

You nod and hand them over. In his chicken scratch handwriting, he scrawls a note:

If you ever find yourself in Memphis someday, honey, come to Graceland for a visit. Ask for ‘Sarge.’ I’d love to have ya.

Love, Sergeant Elvis Presley

He finishes by adding one of the numbers at Graceland and hands the pad back to her. Wishful thinking, but maybe someday, when it’s not a court-martialed offense, he’ll be able to show you the good time you deserve.

He excuses himself, then, sloshing in his soggy, ruined pants, waiting until he gets to the car to read your note.

Sergeant Presley,

One must watch out for those pesky cola bottles…Try vinegar and cold water for that stain…wouldn’t want it to set!  

Corporal Y/N  Y/L/N

He laughs heartily as the car pulls away.

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#Sergeant Presley (a one shot) #writing prompt game #couldn’t bring myself to do sad boi army!e so this is what you get! #you know i love me some army e #is it good? #not likely #but it’s something #elvis presley #elvis #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis smut #elvis 1960 #army elvis #austin!elvis x reader #elvis fic #elvis fanfic

[hayatheauthor]

Arab/Desi Writing Prompts Part 5

Hear me out-

We've all seen those soulmate tattoo writing prompts where their soulmate's name appears as a tattoo on their wrist/they have a matching symbol tattoo on their wrist.

BUT what if this was Desi?

We already have a huge tradition about hiding your partner's name in your mehndi and they have to find it before the night ends. So what if we combined this tradition with the soulmate trope?

Even better- what if it was enemies to lovers? Scenario inspo:

The once joyful female protagonist stares at her wrist in horror as she realises the name forming in her mehndi pattern was that of her enemy.

She feels horrified and knows she has to hide her hand for the rest of the night, because if he sees it, they're bound for life (this also stems from our actual tradition, which states you're meant to be together if he finds his name).

The night is almost over and she is convinced she can leave the function hall and forget all about the name on her wrist, but suddenly someone catches her wrist, tugging on it and pulling her along with them.

She's ready to scream out and protest, but that's before she realises her assailant is none other than her enemy. Who is staring at his name with wide eyes.

A mere stare from him makes his name darker than the rest of her mehndi, sealing their fate.

(Protagonist name) was now bound to spend the rest of her life with (antagonist). The very man she was sworn to kill.

Extra points:

His name could be written in Hindi/Urdu depending on your characters' ethnicities.

You can also do this with Arab characters, but instead of mehndi you'd have to use henna, which is what they call mehndi.

You don't have to follow the 'plot' I created above. Maybe she finds out the name is of someone who is supposed to be dead. Maybe she thought the name would be her bf's but it's actually his brother's/best friend's/her ex.

Maybe it's HER best friend. Sapphic writing prompt 👀

You could either have the mehndi manifest on their hands at a certain age or have it happen at a certain date.

Prompt Masterlist

#haya: prompts #hayatheauthor #writing community #haya: writes #haya writing prompts #writing prompt #romance writing #desi writing prompt #writing prompt list #writing prompt game #writing ideas #prompts #story prompt #writing inspiration #dialogue #writer community #writing tools #haya sameer #writer tips #writing advice #writer things

[whositmcwhatsit]

Afraid

AN: It's been a difficult couple of weeks, so I wrote myself some fluff. Maybe you're in need of fluff too. If so, enjoy!

Written using the prompt: "Isn't that mine?"

@thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @missmaywemeetagain

“I shouldn’t be here, I’ve got a History test tomorrow that I haven’t even started to study for.”

“Well, I didn’t put you in a headlock,” Shirley pointed out, pinching cotton candy between her fingers before she popped it into her mouth. “Anyway, so you fail a test, are you telling me you wouldn’t regret missing out on seeing Elvis more?”

“I’m just thinking about when my parents find out and they ban me from coming out.”

Shirley, whose parents who paid little attention to what she did, just shrugged and sucked in more cotton candy. “Then you’ll just sneak out, right? Plenty of the kids do it.”

Tina knew that a lot of the girls wrapped their pillows in blankets and shimmied out of the window to get into cars that idled at the kerb a safe distance from their houses, but she felt a pang in her stomach at the thought of becoming one of them. She liked her parents, respected them, and had always liked being the daughter they wanted her to be, but ever since she had found herself outside the gates of Graceland a few months before, that girl had been drifting further and further away from her.

“So, what d’you want to do now?” she asked Shirley. They had already rode the Pippin and the Rocket and the dodgems were off limits for the moment while Elvis and his friends tried their best to kill one another. She didn’t even like watching them for too long, it made her hair stand on end the chances they took. If nothing else, it proved how blessed Elvis really was that no one had ever been seriously injured.

“Ferris Wheel?” Shirley shrugged, tossing the last of the cotton candy and wiping her fingers on her skirt. Tina nodded and sighed as they wandered over to the huge ride that loomed up into the night sky. She let her head tip back as she squinted up at the top where the carriages swung in the breeze and let out another sigh.

As they headed towards the booth that marked the entrance, something hit Tina hard between the shoulder blades and she stumbled forward, grabbing onto Shirley’s shoulder to stop herself from toppling onto the asphalt.

“Hey, dumbass, watch it!”

Both girls whirled round at the familiar voice just in time to see Elvis give his cousin Billy a swift kick in the pants that almost sent him sprawling. He turned back to the girls, eyes roaming all over as he asked if they were okay and apologising for his thoughtless cousin.

“No harm done!” Shirley chirped, even though she wasn’t the one that had been hit.

Tina had to crane her neck again as he stepped up to her, looking impossibly handsome with his gleaming black hair and white sports jacket. He was wearing some kind of hat that would have looked silly on anyone else, but whatever magic Elvis was encased in had swallowed up that hat too and it just added to his look. There was a smile glinting in his eyes even though he was affecting a concerned frown.

“Are you sure you’re okay, honey? I feel like I need to make it up to you.” He looked around, surveying the immediate area. “Let’s take us a ride on the Ferris wheel, I should keep an eye on you in case you got concussion or something.” She opened her mouth to explain that it was her back that got hit, but her brain managed to kick in before the words started to come out.

“You don’t mind, do you, darlin’, if I steal your friend for a while?” Shirley shook her head, her face glowing with her smile, but as soon as Elvis turned away, her expression became an Arctic glare at Tina.

In a daze, Tina let herself be led by the hand, perching onto the seat and clutching at the bar as it was pulled down. Elvis leant over and called over the ride operator, saying something to him before they were lifting up into the air.

Tina wasn’t sure what was more terrifying, being suspended at heights that would mean certain death or sitting alone next to Elvis Presley. It was probably a draw.

“So, you’re sure you’re okay?” Elvis said, lifting his arm over her head and laying it across the back of her seat. He shifted slightly towards her and the car swung wildly. Tina emitted a muted squeak and squeezed the bar tighter in her sweaty fingers. “Honey, you don’t have to be scared of me. I won’t hurt you.” Tina couldn’t even look at him, convinced that if she took her eyes off the ground that she was going to magically slip beneath the restraint and tumble out.

“It’s not you,” she managed through her clenched jaw.

“Aw hell, you scared of heights, honey?” He moved again, she presumed to try and meet her eye, and she whimpered, feeling the cold sweat prickling across her forehead. “Why didn’t you say nothing? You were heading this way, I thought-”

“I’m gonna beat it,” she replied, starting to nod but stopping because any movement felt like too much. “Every time I visit I make myself come up here and I- I’m gonna get used to it. And I won’t be afraid no more. I mean anymore.” Terror is no excuse for not speaking properly, she could hear her mother instructing her in that earnest way she did.

“I do the same thing,” Elvis answered, so softly that she forgot herself and glanced over in surprise. His eyes flicked from the ground to hers, filled with a tender glow that tricked her into smiling despite her unease. “You know, every time I walk out on a stage or onto a set over in Hollywood, I get so scared, my heart feels like it’s gonna pound right outta my chest and I get this energy in my arms and legs that I think is gonna fry all my circuits.” He laughed a little to himself. “But I keep on making myself do it, play the shows, say my lines, because it’s gonna get easier the more I do it. I mean, it has to, right?”

Tina took a deep breath, as much as she could with the tight band of fear around her chest, and fought against the pull to look back down at the ground, which she sensed was a dizzying distance away now.

“You’ve performed in so many shows now,” she said, her eyes fixed on those warm, gentle eyes, “has it gotten easier?”

“Sometimes I think it has,” he nodded. She heard what he was trying not to say and sighed again. “But- But facing an audience is something different than heights. Being up high, it’s gonna stay the same, right? No matter where you are, high is high. Every audience is different, just ‘cause you went over okay in one city don’t mean they’re gonna take to you the same in another. The changin’, that makes it hard to get used to. Heights though… You’ll crack it, honey, I know it.”

Tina’s smile was more genuine now, she could see how hard he was trying to comfort and distract her and she felt a little like that silly hat with the upturned brim, encased in Elvis’ aura where bad things could not happen and nothing couldn’t be fixed. She was just about to thank him for his kindness when the ride stopped with a sudden jolt and the car lurched precariously at the very top of the wheel. She screamed instead.

“Oh shit!” His eyes widened as realisation dawned on him. “Honey, I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t know and I told them-“ He leaned over the edge of the car, trying to get the ride operator’s attention. “Hey! Hey, start it back up! Hey!” He glanced back over his shoulder at her and gripped her shoulder with his large, warm hand, reassuring her.

“I think it’ll be okay if you just stop moving!” she said, trying to keep the panic from making her voice sound funny. It came out sharper than she wanted.

“Just stop moving,” he muttered, turning round again so that he was practically facing her, his arms bracketing her. “Might as well learn to fly at the same time. Ain’t exactly my strong suit, honey.”

With what felt like superhuman strength, she peeled her fingers on one hand away from the bar and lifted it slightly, clamping hold of his forearm. She could feel the muscle tense beneath her fingers through his jacket. He went to raise his arm, probably to wrap it around her, but she shook her head sharply and pushed down, forcing it to stay in place.

“You hold on,” she instructed. “And I’ll keep you still.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, eyes fixed on hers again, reading them like pages of a script. She exhaled shakily and swivelled slightly in her seat, freezing momentarily when the entire world seemed to slip off its axis for a second. The inside of her skirt clung to her sweaty legs, but she ignored the discomfort of it peeling away as she slotted her legs around Elvis’ jiggling thigh, clamping hold with her knees.

“Whoa, good grip, hot damn.” She watched him visibly swallow and she grinned, forgetting which one of them was supposed to be nervous. Her final act of bravery was to release the bar from her other clawed death grip and transfer it to the arm he had laid behind her, squeezing his bicep on this side.

They sat this way for a what felt like a lifetime, her frozen against even the suggestion of a breeze and him pinned down, studying her face like he had a test on it in the morning.

“Elvis, do you know my name?” she asked suddenly. His eyebrows twitched suddenly as he realised that he didn’t.

“Well, there hasn’t exactly been a good time to ask…” His slow smirk was so beautiful that she felt her face moving to match it.

“It’s Christina, but people call me Tina. You might not remember the name, but I guess I might stick in your mind a little bit after this, right?”

“I’m pretty sure you would’ve anyway, Tina honey,” he replied with his usual charm. “But yeah, I think you might be right. I gotta introduce you to my mother, she’ll wanna meet the girl that managed to keep me still for more than ten seconds.”

“You’re doing really well,” Tina observed, noting that he had matched the grip she had on his right thigh with his legs bookending hers.

“You too,” he replied, cheekbones brimming as he glanced to the side, looking down at the small crowd milling around the ride. “You know, it really is a beautiful night.” She winced and he smiled a little wider. “You can do, it, baby, just a little peek.”

Tina turned her head in a slow, stuttering swivel, squeezing him tighter the more the horizon seemed to bob up and down. He was right, the sky was clear and the stars seemed especially bright. The low moon was so big you could count the craters.

“It is,” she agreed, “You know- Oh no!”

 The ride suddenly cranked back into life and Tina shrieked again. Someone further back laughed like they thought she was playing. In the chaos, Elvis surged forward since the car was already swinging precariously, and wrapped his arms around her, hushing her in a low voice as she clung to his shirt.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, I got you, I got you.” She had her face buried beneath his jacket somehow, taking in his scent. Her breathing evened out and she lost track of whether the ride was moving at all. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek, surprisingly fast like a handful of coins thrown down a stairwell, jangling and clanging with only speed and little rhythm.

“You can let me loose now, honey, we’re back down on solid ground.” She withdrew from the folds of his shirt, meeting the smirk of the ride operator as he lifted the bar. She had daydreamed the myriad ways that she might catch the eye of Elvis one night at the fairground, roller rink or movie theatre. She would use the precious moment she had his attention to convince him that she, out of all the girls he dated, kissed, flirted with, was the one he was looking for. Well, the best laid plans…

Scrambling off the seat, she swayed slightly as she hurried through the exit, looking for Shirley’s familiar blonde ponytail.

“Tina, wait a minute!” Elvis’ voice was different compared to when they had been alone up there in the sky, deeper and more authoritative. She had no choice but to stop and wait for him to catch up. “Honey, I really am sorry. I fouled everything up something awful. I don’t blame ya for wanting to-“

For a second, she thought that he was going to topple over as she surged up onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth, but he only staggered back a step before he caught himself and her. Well, she almost kissed his mouth, the corner of it at least. There had been little time to aim accurately. She stood in front of him anxiously, waiting for a response, but he just stood there too with a little smile on his face and his cheeks pink.

“Uh, that was- I mean, thank you, for being so nice when I was being a scaredy cat up there. You could’ve made fun of me, but you didn’t. That was real nice of you.”

“Nothing to make fun of,” he shrugged, shaking off his embarrassment and regaining his usual self-assured stance, hips thrust forward. “Everybody’s afraid of something, right? Only they keep it a secret.” He wiggled his eyebrows pointedly.

“Uh huh, yep, secret,” she nodded, miming turning the lock on her lips.

“Anyway, you weren’t heading off home, were you? The night’s young and I feel like I gotta make it up to you-” He waved his hand behind him at the Ferris wheel. She bit back pointing out that the wheel was supposed to make up for his cousin hitting her in the back, so he had struck out two times already.

“I guess I can stay a while,” she replied absently, scanning the crowd. “I just gotta find my friend because she’s my ride home.”

“Oh, that ain’t no problem, I’ll get you home, don’t worry about that.” He snatched up her hand and spun on his heels. “Okay, so where to next?” She opened her mouth to answer, but he had already decided and she was just along for the ride. He strode over to a row of games, rejoining some of his friends who were huddled around trying to win prizes for their dates.

“Okay, you clowns, step back and let me show you how it’s done!” he intoned in that deep voice again. Everyone smiled and laughed and did as they were told. Red, who had been in the middle of his go, handed his baseballs to Elvis without a word. Elvis thumped them onto the counter and wiped his palms on his pants, before reaching up to remove his hat.

“Here you go, honey,” he murmured, plopping it onto her head. “You look after this for me and be my little good luck charm.”

The boys were ribbing him, saying he couldn’t make the shot, that he had a better chance of hitting the broad side of a barn or the barn side of a broad.

“Just shut ya damn mouths for a minute,” he scoffed, making as if to lob a baseball at them. They scattered like a shoal of fish in a racket of cackling and guffaws, before regrouping as he stepped up to the counter. At the back of the stall, wooden figures were moving along a conveyor.

“Watch me now, honey,” he said, turning to Tina and tugging her forward slightly by the arm. “You think about which of these prizes you want me to win you.”

Instead, she watched as the crowd began to form behind them. She wondered if he got scared in these situations too, yet another audience he had to impress. This reverie halted the minute he started flinging the balls at the wooden figures and they collapsed on their hinges one by one. His aim was spot on, every single one a hit.

“That was amazing!” she marvelled as the last ball met its target with a thwack. He turned, a small proud smile on his face and went to say something, but one of the guys made a crack about beginner’s luck.

“Beginner’s luck, my ass!” Elvis shot back. “Give me some more fuckin’ balls. Pardon my French, ladies, but this fool’s got me all turned up.” Tina felt her smile fade and she leaned against the flimsy wooden overhand of the booth, watching him obliterate the figures yet again.

Next, another of his friends accused him of being in collusion with the game operator, saying that he had been paid to press a hidden button to make the figures collapsed on their hinges. So, Elvis had the greasy, skinny man stepped out from behind the counter while he continued his winning streak.

It was clear that his friends were only teasing him because they wanted his attention, wanted him in front of them trying to impress them. And now that they had what they wanted, they were not eager to let him go. She let her eyes drift towards the other rides, catching sight of a blonde ponytail. She peeled away from the crowd, it wasn’t difficult when Elvis had barely glanced at her since starting the game, and tried to catch up to Shirley.

“Hey, where you going?” She only managed to reach the concourse before he had her by the wrist. “C’mon, Tina honey, you gotta pick your prize.” He fixed her with a proud, boyish smile that made her feel like she was being sour and mean for getting fed up waiting for him to finish.

Tina chose a big panda wearing a pink ribbon around its neck that Elvis promptly christened ‘Tina Junior.’

“Let’s take Junior for a walk, baby,” he said softly, clapping a couple of his buddies on the back and kicking one in the seat of the pants as he led her away from the stalls. The further they moved from his audience, the quieter and more attentive he became, the softer his voice too.

Tina followed blindly, smiling faintly at his twinkling eyes and Hollywood smile, not realising until too late that he was leading her to a darkened area of the park, an area containing the kind of rides that Elvis and his buddies were not interested in riding and so they were not left operational when the park was rented out.

“I don’t think we’re going to find anything to do over here,” she said slightly nervously, glancing back at the lights, music and voices.

“You’d be surprised, honey.” He drew closer to her, swooping in for a kiss that was thwarted by Tina Junior pinned between them.

“Damn, burnt by a bear,” he observed, taking it from her arms and holding it down at his side as he leant in again. His aim, as he had proved copious times, was always true and his soft, full lips pressed against hers with a feather light touch.

“Elvis, I-”

“It’s okay, baby, let’s keep on trying it and soon you won’t be scared no more.” His hand cupped her jaw and he stole away her breath so that she couldn’t protest again. Not that she could remember that she wanted to. Softly, experimentally, his tongue flicked against her lip and she drew back sharply, unsure whether she had just been the victim of a prank.

Elvis’ eyes narrowed. “How old are you, Tina honey?” Her cheeks burnt with shame that she had obviously given her inexperience away.

“I’m nearly eighteen,” she answered. In eleven months.

“And you ain’t never been kissed before?” Tina couldn’t parse the expression on his face, nothing fit exactly, almost as if there was more than one feeling swirling away in there. “Ain’t let no other boy touch you…” He placed his finger on her peter pan collar and let it deliberately slide down her chest, slowing as it passed over her nipple, which was pebbling and aching beneath her clothes.

“My parents don’t want me to date until I graduate High School,” she replied in a daze. “They don’t want me to get distracted from my studies.”

“God bless, Mommy and Daddy,” he murmured, blue eyes fixed on her face and his pouty mouth hanging open slackly as his hands kneading her hip. “They’re right, you know, you shouldn’t date until graduation. No boys, no one but me.”

“I don’t understand,” she breathed, as he ran the back of his hand steadily down her chest and over her ribs and belly.

“I wanna see you again,” he whispered, pressing her against a ticket booth and stepping in to crowd her, hips pressed into her petticoats. His mouth caught hers and his tongue brushed against her lips again. This time she opened her mouth as she inhaled and he took it as an invitation.

It didn’t feel like a kiss, it felt more intimate, more secret and maybe slightly wrong. She tentatively put out her tongue to meet his, letting him graze against it as he worried at her bottom lip. The ticklish stimulation was matched by the pressure against her hips and lower down. It felt he was poking her, but both his hands was around her neck and face.

“Okay,” he gasped. “Okay, we gotta take an intermission, baby, before the show’s over completely.” He stepped away from her and she felt a surge of loss coupled with an draught of cool air that swept in to fill the void he had left. She shivered.

“Aw, you cold, baby?” He shrugged off his white sports jacket and helped her into it. She could feel his warmth clinging to the lining, not to mention his scent. “Let’s go back, huh, it’s about time we got you home anyway. It’s a school night, right?” She bristled, but it didn’t seem like he was teasing her, not as he beamed down, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

As they walked back into the light, Elvis threw his arm around her and drew her in close, his wrist hanging from her shoulder, fingertips brushing her chest. They looked, she reflected with awe, like they were dating. She looked like she was dating Elvis Presley.

Elvis and a few of his friends drove her home in his Lincoln. She was pressed up against him on the front seat, and he was back to talking in that loud, deep voice he only used in front of other people. She let her mind wander back to the Ferris wheel and the way that his eyes had held her, coddling her with warmth and tenderness even in her stupid fear. She focussed on the way that his hand, whenever it was not shifting or on the wheel, flopped down onto her skirt, cupping her knee hidden beneath the material.

“Here we are, honey,” he announced, pulling up at her parents’ neat one-storey home. The windows were dark, which was a good sign, she reflected. “Want me to walk you to the door?”

The guys in the back laughed and she couldn’t stop herself from glaring at them. Elvis turned slightly and gave the nearest one a swat with the back of his hand.

“Ignore them, honey, they’re fools.”

“I had a good time tonight,” she said softly, looking only at him and his heavy-lidded eyes. “Thank you for-“ She stopped, mindful of their audience. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” he replied with his famous half-grin. “And I mean that, really.” She climbed out of the car and onto the kerb. Suddenly, remembering Tina Junior still sitting on the front seat and leaning in through the window to grab her.

“Oh, and my hat too!” she gasped, snatching it up.

“Your hat? Isn’t that mine?” he asked with a laugh.

“Hmm, well consider it compensation for pushing Billy into me tonight,” she returned, playfully sticking out the tip of her tongue. He laughed sheepishly and rubbed at his forehead, before shrugging an admission. Busted.

“I’ll see ya, darlin’,” he said. “Give Tina Junior a kiss goodnight from me, okay?”

Tina watched him pull away from the kerb as she wrapped her arms around the teddy, finally noticing that she was still wearing his jacket. It was too late to call him back, the car tail lights were barely visible in the dark, and it would be an excellent reason to show up at the gates tomorrow if he didn’t call like he promised.

It was time to stop being afraid.

#elvis presley #baby elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfiction #50s elvis #whositmcwhatsit #writing prompt game

[vintageshanny]

Play Something For Me - Part 5 - Meet Me in St. Louis

It’s the return of Elvis and Ruby! I hope you all enjoy! Thank you to everyone who’s liked, shared, and commented on my writing. It is so encouraging and means so much to me. ❤️

Writing Prompt: Elvis in a car

Content: Fluff, smut, 1973 Elvis, 18+

October 31, 1973

Ruby let her thoughts wander as she absentmindedly strolled down the sidewalk with her shopping bags.  She had walked to the store to pick up some candy for the trick-or-treaters that would be flooding the neighborhood later.  Ella would be home from school soon and would need help putting the finishing touches on her costume.  As usual when she was alone, she found her mind drifting to Elvis.  To her knowledge, he had not tried to contact her in the almost two months since they had admitted their love for each other in Las Vegas.  She had seen the news stories about his rant against the Hilton on closing night, rumors of a falling out with his manager, and his divorce being finalized at last.  She knew he must be going through a lot of turmoil, and at first she had tried to convince herself that was the reason for his silence, but it was probably time to face the music - she had just been a convenient distraction for him, and now he was back to a life that had no room for a single mother in St. Louis.  As if the weather sensed her melancholy mood, raindrops started to pour down with no warning.  “Dammit,” she muttered to herself, looking up at the sky as if that would stop them somehow.  

“Be careful baby, sugar melts in the rain,” an unmistakable deep voice called out.  Ruby glanced over with surprise, just now noticing the fancy black car that had pulled over to the side of the road.  She saw Elvis’ handsome face gleaming at her from the back window.  Her jaw fell open a little bit as she took a step closer.  “How did you know I have candy?” she asked, unsure of what else to say, looking down at the brown paper bags that were starting to get soggy.  “Now honey, ya know I was talkin’ ‘bout you,” Elvis chuckled.  “Now get in here ‘fore ya float away with your candy.”  The rain soaking through her clothes assured her that this was the only sensible decision.

“Aw, honey, you’re soakin’ wet, you’re gonna catch cold,” Elvis murmured as he pulled Ruby in close and planted a big kiss on her lips, which were still hanging open slightly in shock.  “How are you, I mean, what are you, um, why are you here?” she blurted out awkwardly.  She could see his lopsided smile drop a little bit at her less-than-welcoming reception.  “I mean, I haven’t heard from you, I just thought you didn’t want…” she trailed off, trying to backtrack on her initial hostility.  “I do want, honey,” Elvis said, looking a bit dejected.  “I’ve had a lot goin’ on, and I tried ta call ya a couple times, but ya ain’t got no answerin’ service.”  “Oh,” Ruby said, feeling stupid.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you called.”  She did most of her seamstress work from home, but she supposed he could have called when she was out running errands.  Or, knowing his schedule, maybe when she was sleeping.  “I just figured you didn’t want to see me again.”  Elvis looked up sharply.  “I drove all the way here, baby,” he said.  “Of course I wanted ta see ya.”  Charlie cleared his throat softly from the driver’s seat.  “I guess Charlie wants credit for drivin’ me here,” Elvis said with a hollow chuckle.  

Ruby swallowed and looked down at her hands.  “Elvis, I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.  “Ya are?” he asked, tilting her chin up toward him.  “Of course,” Ruby admitted.  “I was just feeling worried.  I have all these feelings for you, and then I didn’t hear from you, or I thought I didn’t hear from you, and I’m scared.”  She could feel herself beginning to tear up.  “Oh, Ruby, you ain’t gotta be scared of me.  I told ya I had a lot goin’ on, but I’m here now.  Ya know I wanna be with ya.  There’s a reason we’re back in each other’s lives, and I ain’t throwin’ that away.  Understand, baby?” Elvis gazed at her, waiting for an answer.  Ruby nodded and let him wrap her hand in his own.  “Ya sure are a sight for sore eyes,” he said, his smile reappearing now.  “Really?  I probably look like a drowned rat,” Ruby laughed.  Elvis’ eyes lowered to her chest and his grin grew bigger.  “Naw, baby, ya look really good like this.  Jus’ make sure no one else lays an eye on ya.”  Ruby followed his gaze down and gasped a little bit when she saw how her sopping wet blouse had molded itself to every contour of her breasts, her nipples prominently poking through the fabric.  She could feel her face flushing bright red as Elvis chuckled and pulled her in close to him.  “Mmm my red Ruby, you’re actin’ like I ain’t seen ya naked before,” he whispered in her ear, sending a little shiver down her spine.  “Elvis!” she whispered shyly, her eyes darting toward the front seat.  “Charlie ain’t listenin’ to us, are ya, Charlie?” Elvis called out.  “No, boss,” came the reply from the front.  “Jus’ drive us to Miss Ruby’s house,” Elvis instructed and leaned back toward her.  His hand gently caressed her chest as she succumbed to the pleasure of his soft lips pressing against hers.

Ruby felt like she could go on kissing Elvis for hours, but they pulled up in front of her house in just a few minutes.  Elvis looked out the window and surveyed the sky.  “I guess we should get inside while the rain’s let up.”  Ruby noticed the downpour had disappeared as quickly as it had come.  It was as if it occurred at the perfect time for Elvis to rescue her and woo her back into his arms without a second thought.  Maybe this is all happening for a reason, she mused.  “Uh, what should I do, boss?  Wait here, or…” Charlie trailed off uncertainly.  “Nah, go to the hotel.  I’ll call ya if I need ya,” Elvis responded, grabbing a small suitcase and opening the door.  He hurried around to help Ruby get out with her wet grocery bags.  Ruby glanced around nervously, hoping none of the neighbors were watching.  Elvis wasn’t exactly incognito in a silver jacket with rainbow flames licking the shoulders.  She smiled as she looked him up and down.  He seemed to have gained a little weight since she’d seen him, but she didn’t mind at all.  It actually made her flush as she thought about laying underneath him, his body pressed into hers.  Elvis looked over and smirked as they climbed the steps to the porch.  “You’re gonna make me blush, baby, the way you’re undressin’ me with your eyes like that.”  “I’m sorry,” Ruby murmured.  “I just don’t know how you get more handsome every time I see you.”  She loved the way her compliments always seemed to both embarrass and please him.

Ruby set the bags of candy on the kitchen counter and turned to see Elvis surveying the living room, looking at the framed photos of her and Ella.  “Where’s your girl now?” he asked.  “She should be home from school any minute, actually,” Ruby commented.  “If you’d rather go, I understand,” she said, looking away nervously.  Elvis turned to look at her in surprise.  “Oh, do ya not want me to meet her?”  He looked a little hurt again.  “No, no, you can meet her, I just didn’t know if you’d feel comfortable, or-” she stammered out before Elvis cut her off.  “Ruby, I love ya.  I want to be in your life, but that means ya have to let me in,” he said as he walked closer and took her hands in his, looking directly into her eyes.  She could feel them watering as she nodded and said, “Okay.  I’ll let you in.”  Elvis smiled with relief and held her close to him.  “And Elvis?” she added.  “Yes, baby?”  “I love you too.  I’m so glad you came.”  She could feel his embrace around her tighten.  “Baby, you should get outta these wet clothes,” he murmured into her hair.  “Are you just trying to see me naked again?” she teased.  “Nah, there’ll be plenty of time for that later,” he laughed.  “I can’t get all excited when we won’t have the time for me to take care of ya properly.”  Ruby smiled at this and leaned up to kiss his lips before going into her bedroom to change.  

She returned to the living room to find that Elvis had made himself at home on the couch with some peanut butter cups from one of the grocery bags.  “Elvis!” she swatted at him playfully, “Those are for the trick-or-treaters!”  Elvis looked up at her with a big grin and whistled lowly.  “You look beautiful baby, even if I can’t see those pretty nipples anymore.”  He laughed as Ruby’s face turned scarlet.  “Aw, red Ruby, your face matches your dress now,” he continued to tease as he pulled her onto his lap.  She smoothed out her red dress with rainbow stitching at the waistline.  She was too embarrassed to say that she had picked it out so they would match a little bit with their rainbow colors.  Instead she leaned in and licked the chocolate off Elvis’ lip.  “You’re a messy eater,” she teased him.  “I can think of something really messy I’d like to eat,” he whispered in her ear, his fingers digging into her waist.  “Elvis!” Ruby squealed, shocked but delighted by his naughty innuendo.  Just at that moment, the doorknob turned and Ruby jumped up off his lap.

“Mom!  I’m home!” Ella called out as she walked in the door.  I’m right here sweetie, and we have a guest,” Ruby said nervously.  Ella turned as she walked into the living room and her jaw just about hit the floor.  “You’re - you’re Elvis Presley,” she announced in awe.  Elvis stood up from the couch and reached his hand out.  “You must be Ella.  I’ve heard so much about ya,” he said with a grin.  Ella reached her hand out and shook his, looking like she was in a trance.  “Why are you in our house?” she stared over at her mother in confusion.  “Oh, I’m jus’ an old friend of your mom’s,” he said, smiling down at how her hand was still shaking his.  She dropped his hand then and gasped.  “You did meet in Germany, didn’t you?” she asked accusingly.  “My mom said she only caught a glimpse of you.”  “Well, we may have had a conversation as well,” Ruby said softly, trying to think of how to get herself out of this uncomfortable situation.  “Then when she came to my concert in August, we got a chance to talk again.”  Elvis smiled over at Ruby, trying to help her explain his presence.  “Your concert?” Ella asked in disbelief, looking at Ruby once more.  “You went to Las Vegas while I was gone?”  Then a look of realization came over her face.  “Are you…dating?” she asked.  “Are you dating Elvis Presley and you didn’t tell me?”  Elvis looked at Ruby questioningly also, realizing that she must not have mentioned a thing about him.   Ruby cleared her throat nervously.  “It’s, um, kind of a long story, and I think that’s enough questions for right now.  I can explain it all later, but you need to finish getting your costume ready for tonight.  Trick-or-treat starts in an hour.”  She turned and walked into the kitchen before either of them could question her any further.

Ella went into her bedroom to get ready, and Ruby could hear Elvis’ heavy footsteps walk up behind her while she was pouring the bags of candy out into a big bowl.  “So…ya didn’t even think to mention me huh?” he asked, sounding a bit disappointed.  Ruby turned to find him standing directly behind her, blocking her against the counter.  “Elvis, it’s not that I didn’t think to, I mean, I just didn’t know what to say.  I didn’t know if I’d even see you again.  I didn’t want to get…anyone’s hopes up,” she tried to explain.  Elvis nodded slowly and sighed.  “I understand, baby.  But, I should probably tell ya, my hopes are up.”  He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.  Ruby stared up into his beautiful face, noticing how his long lashes fanned over his cheeks. “I think I didn’t want to admit it to myself,” she said softly, “but so are mine.”  Elvis leaned down and pressed his lips gently to hers.

Ella cleared her throat behind them and they nervously jumped apart, looking like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.  “If you two are done playing kissy-face, can you tell me if my costume looks okay?” Ella asked as Elvis and Ruby tried to suppress their smiles.  Ella was wearing a pink dress that Ruby had made and had her hair in braided pigtails with big bows.  “I wanted to be Marcia Brady, but mom made me dress as Cindy instead,” Ella announced with some disappointment in her voice.  “Probably no one will even know who I am because my hair’s too dark to be Cindy.”  “You can dress as a teenager when you are a teenager,” Ruby said.  “I’m practically a teenager,” Ella mumbled.  “Well, I think ya look mighty cute,” Elvis said with a grin.  “Plus ya don’t wanna grow up too fast, people give ya more candy when you’re younger,” he added.  Ella considered that and nodded in agreement.  “I think you’re onto something there, Mr. Presley,” she said, sounding pleased.  “Please jus’ call me Elvis, dear,” he said with a warm smile.  “Okay Elvis dear,” Ella said, making all three of them giggle.

The doorbell rang and Ella grabbed her trick-or-treat bag.  “My friends are here!  I’m going, mom!” she called out as she ran for the door.  “Hold on, give me a hug,” Ruby said as she pulled Ella in close.  “Be careful and stay together.  Don’t forget your overnight bag,” she added.  “Don’t worry, we’ll be careful. And I expect the full long story when I come home,” Ella said sternly. She gave Ruby a quick kiss on the cheek, waved goodbye to Elvis, and rushed out the door.  “Overnight bag?” Elvis asked.  “Oh, yeah, she’s staying over at a friend’s house after trick-or-treating,” Ruby explained.  “Hmm, we have the house to ourselves?” Elvis said, his endearing crooked smile coming out in full force, making Ruby’s heart melt and her core tingle.  “Well, after we give out the candy,” she said with a wink.  As if on cue, the first group of kids rang the doorbell.  “You should stay out of sight so you don’t cause a commotion,” Ruby instructed as she went to grab the bowl of candy.  

Ruby returned to find that Elvis had already opened the door and was signing autographs for a group of starstruck parents while the kids looked on confused, wondering where the candy was.  She thought about scolding him but saw how much he seemed to be enjoying himself and decided to just let him have fun.  Elvis continued to pass out candy with Ruby and sign autographs until the last trick-or-treater had come through.  They sat next to each other on the couch, Elvis’ arm around Ruby’s shoulders.  “I guess we had just enough candy,” Elvis announced, looking at the empty bowl on the coffee table.  “Actually,” Ruby said with a sly smile, “I set aside a bag of peanut butter cups for you since you love them so much.”  Elvis’ face lit up like a little boy’s.  “Aw, that’s sweet of ya honey,” he said, kissing her forehead.  “Do you want me to get them?” Ruby asked.  “Well, I s-s-sorta had a different treat in mind right now,” he murmured, his hand creeping up under the hem of her dress.  Ruby’s heart started racing.  “Mmm, I think I could help you with that,” she whispered.  She stood up from the couch and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the bedroom with her.

As soon as they got to the bed, Ruby pushed his jacket off his shoulders and pulled his shirt off.  “Oh, God, I’ve missed this,” she whispered as she ran her hands lightly over his chest and stomach, feeling the hair tickle her fingertips.  She loved the way Elvis always seemed to tremble slightly when they were intimate with each other.  It reminded her that he was just a human being who got nervous like anyone else.  She smiled as she took in how beautiful he looked.  Elvis smiled back shyly as he unbuttoned his pants and let them drop down to the ground, revealing his bare body to her.  “‘M sorry, honey, he’s not quite ready yet,” he motioned down to his soft cock hanging below the slight swell of his belly.  “No need to be sorry, he probably just needs a little loving,” Ruby said as she pulled her dress over her head and removed her bra and underwear.  Elvis stared at her naked body in admiration as she pushed him onto the bed.  “Let me take care of him,” she whispered lustily.  

Ruby started placing gentle open-mouthed kisses on Elvis’ lower abdomen and thighs, making a circle of wet spots around his cock as she caressed his balls in her hand.  A low moan came from his lips and she moved her mouth closer to his shaft, letting her warm breath tease him.  His moans grew louder and Ruby watched in awe as he started growing hard before her eyes, the head of his cock peeking out from the foreskin.  She leaned in and kissed this most sensitive spot, letting her tongue run over it, and Elvis let out a symphony of moans.  “Oh, Ruby, he’s sure ready now,” Elvis called out.   Ruby gave him one last lick and then laid next to Elvis as he turned to roll on top of her.  He reached down and ran his fingers through her folds, making sure she was wet enough to enter.  “Damn, baby, you’re so wet.  Is that cuz of me?” he asked with a proud grin.  “Of course,” Ruby blushed.  “That’s what happens when I get to lick all over your body and hear you moan my name.”  “Well, there’s plenty more where that came from, sweet red Ruby,” Elvis whispered as he thrusted into her tight little hole, the full weight of his body pressed against hers.  “Oh, Elvis, this is what I’ve been waiting for,” Ruby moaned, the pleasure consuming her immediately. “I know, baby, I know ya needed me to come take care of ya,” Elvis grunted as he continued thrusting deep inside of her.  After two months of waiting for this moment, the ecstasy washed over the two of them with an intensity Ruby could barely take.  She couldn’t stop from calling out Elvis’ name over and over as her orgasm hit so hard her entire body shook with pleasure.  With sweat falling from his forehead, Elvis stuttered up into her with a satisfied groan, filling her up and collapsing down onto her soft body, his head nuzzled against her chest.  

“Oh, wow, Elvis, that was amazing,” Ruby whispered rapturously as she ran her fingers through his sweaty hair.  “It sure was, sweet red Ruby,” Elvis responded.  “Elvis? Y’know how you have that, um, extra layer on your, y’know…” Ruby trailed off, for some reason feeling embarrassed to say the word foreskin. She could feel him tense up slightly as he realized what she was referring to. She quickly blurted out, “Well I love it! When you, um, go inside of me, I can feel it move back and forth a little bit and it feels amazing,” she ended in a whisper, her face turning beet red with this admission. Elvis relaxed and let out a little laugh. “I’m glad you love it, baby, I guess we were made for each other. Cuz he sure loves bein’ in there.” “I think your whole body is just perfect,” Ruby couldn’t stop the compliments as she continued to stroke his hair. He didn’t say anything more, but she could feel him smiling against her chest.  He leaned up and gave her nipple a little lick, laughing at how it sent a shiver through her overstimulated body.  Ruby blushed and smiled down at him.  “Y’know what I could use now, baby?” Elvis asked, looking up into her face, his eyes twinkling.  “Some peanut butter cups.”  Ruby laughed and kissed his sweet lips.

Tag list: @ellie-24 @whositmcwhatsit @thatbanditqueen @be-my-ally @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @lookingforrainbows @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @arrolyn1114

#elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #writing prompt game #play something for me #elvis x ruby #i love this man

[thatbanditqueen]

Basic Training

I Don't Date Soldiers

A new fic, possibly a new WIP, about Elvis' life at Fort Hood. Let me know what you think.

Summary: Bess is a smart, young secretary working for the Commander of Army Intelligence training at Fort Hood, dreaming of a life beyond the military one she has always known. That's why she doesn't date soldiers, they only break your heart, and she is looking ahead to something better. One Friday night in March, she stumbles in to the new draftee who's turned the base upside down, and in a moment of weakness, decides to try and help him sleep. Just this once.

Warnings: None, fluffy and angst combined, but innocent. For now. There are a lot of typos.

Word Count: 4.8 K

Some notes: Probably good to know the acronyms, every Army base has a chain of command, and at the top sit the Commanding Officer (CO), the Executive Officer (XO), and a bunch of other officers, of different rank denoted by their ascending O rank, from 1 to 10. WAC - Women's Army Corps, established in WWII, their was a sizeable WAC presence at Fort Hood in 1958. Oh, and Killeen is the closest city to Fort Hood and Austin, TX is about an hour away. Also I really wanted this to take place on a Friday night, but also have had Elvis at the base for two nights, so I gave myself creative license to make March 30, 1958 a Friday. Just don't look it up and we'll be fine.

This fic was inspired by the writing prompt:

Many thanks to my beautiful sister-wives-in-arms whose advice support and love make being an Elvis girl possible and fun, @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @from-memphis-with-love @ellie-24 @powerofelvis @missmaywemeetagain and @whositmcwhatsit, from whom I have stolen her trademarked description of Elvis' awkward manner of kissing half on the cheek half on the lips like a goofy weirdo who was never taught how to kiss right so he decided to make up his own style. And thanks for reading and connecting with me here, the Elvis fandom is the best and I love our community!

Friday, March 30, 1958

9 p.m. at Sal's Cafe

Bess pushed her veal marsala from one side of her plate to the other, feeling the vibrations of her fork scrape across the bottom of the plate. The place checked off all the requisite Italian restaurant requirements: checkered table cloth, candle in an old wine bottle, violin player sawing away at a classical reinterpretation of “That’s Amore.” But the brown sauce, and the meat it was congealing around, was inedible. It was the sort of food that begged the question “why not stay in and cook at home?”

“I said, don’t you think, Bess honey? You follow that stuff, dontcha?”

Bess looked up at her friend Dori’s face, realizing she had drifted off daydreaming of a future far away from Killeen, away from her job at Fort Hood, away from the Army, away from officers, like the ones sitting across from them. Away from soldiers in general.

“What, Khrushchev? Well, I think we all knew he wasn’t going to take the threat laying down.”

Dori hit Bess' shoulder lightly, smiling at their dates, two officers from Army Intelligence.

“No, y’all will havta excuse my friend here, she still thinks she’s studying political science in Austin. You’d think a year of civilian life would make her normal again, huh?”

Dori flipped her blonde hair and drawled on.

“No, silly goose, no one here is interested in that Russian stuff, we’re talking about Mike Todd. What do you think poor Elizabeth Taylor is going to do now that her husband's dead?”

Bess tried very hard not to roll her eyes. Dori was right, she read the movie gossip magazines, but her friend’s distraught, serious expression had made her think they were discussing something with a little more gravitas. The recent atomic weapons testing, or Russian political shifts, the stuff at the top of her New York Times front page everyday. But why would any one in the Army want to talk about that?

Bess smiled at her date and tried to focus on the conversation at hand. Later in the bathroom, Dori chided her while applying a fresh coat of lipstick onto Bess’ mouth.

“I wish you would try to be polite.”

“Dori, you know I am breaking my rule here with you. I don’t date soldiers. I have two goals I'm focusing on: get into law school and shake off these twenty pounds. ”

Bess rubbed her hands over her waist.

“Rules were made to be broken, Bessie Pie, and you look great, men like a girl with a jiggle, I think you look like a brunette Jayne Mansfield.”

“Hardly. You’re Mansfield and Monroe rolled into one.”

“Don't sell yourself short. I know you were fixin' to marry that boy last year, and now all you talk about is law school this, politics that. Don’t you wanna get married? We're not getting any younger.”

“I’m twenty three. Same as you.”

“Eggg zactly. Sure, it seems young now, but you're gonna blink and be thirty and single, with nothing but your degrees to keep you company. You already have a good job now. I just know you’d set this law school thing aside if you met the right guy.”

“Of course I wanna get married, someday. But not now. You’re the one in a hurry to quit your job and settle down, not me.”

“I don’t have a job.”

“See, you’re half way there, Doreen. Me, I’m not giving up my goals for Captain Smarmy out there. How did you even meet these ones?”

Dori steadied her self on Bess’ shoulder.

“Stop moving, or this lipstick won’t be straight. I met them outside the PX, I thought they were cute. Arnie knew who you were, he was the one who suggested we all go out. He really likes you, I can tell - “

“Yeah, he was just in my pop's office lobbying for an assignment, he doesn’t like me. He is using me.  There’s a difference, I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

“So what if he was? Maybe he saw you there and couldn’t get you out of his mind. He’s good looking, smart, he’s already an O3 —”

Bess stopped her friend’s hand, and fixed her hair in the mirror, pushing up her bust and sighing at the rounder curves that had been widening at her waist since she’d graduated from college and settled into a very sedentary, very single, and currently very celibate life living back at home and working for her father. She turned to look at Dori who was waiting to blot Bess' lips with a tissue like the sweet girl she always had been. For Dori, a fresh coat of perfectly applied lipstick fixed all of life’s problems.

“Look, Captain whatever out there is only here for six months or so for training, then he's off to Heidelberg. That’s why I don’t date soldiers anymore. I’ve learned from my mistakes. I’m waiting for you to catch up.”

Bess gave her dark curls one last fluff.

“How’d you get these suckers to come out on a double date anyway? They aren’t scared of your father?”

Dori avoided eye contact as she smoothed her blonde bouffant and pursed her lips, then looked at Bess in the mirror.

“They don’t know.”

“How do they not know your father is the CO?”

Dori shrugged, then pinched Bess as they walked out of the ladies’ room.

“Don’t tell, ok? Let’s just have fun. What if you fall madly in Arnie? And he asked you to marry him and go to Germany with him?”

Bess snorted as they walked out to the men waiting for them in the restaurant lobby and Dori's eyes took on a knowing look.

“Hmm, so that’s big fat ol ‘no’ to dancing tonight, I’m guessin’?”

Bess nodded.

“Please at least tell me you aren’t going home to work on that boring research project?”

Bess smiled mischievously. “Professor Blotke agreed to help me, it’s going to be my submission sample for Georgetown. Papa took Mama to D.C. with him for his meetings, so I have the house practically to myself. It's just Kay and me, and she’s probably already asleep. I just have to grab a new typewriter back on post, I busted mine.”

Dori shook her disapproving of Bess’ plans for the night, then turned to greet their escorts with her usual vivacious pleasantries. Bess smiled at Dori's ability to interact with the men so casually and intimately, sliding her hands through both of officer's arms as they walked to the car. She considered how different she was from her girlfriend, despite the fact that they were both twenty three year old daughters of career Army officers. Every relationship she'd been in seemed to occur in spite of her inability to feel at ease or flirt with boys.

The conversation turned to recent events at Fort Hood as they walked.

“So,” Dori exhaled, squeezing herself against her date. “Has anyone seen Elvis yet?”

Bess pounded her foot a little harder into the concrete, hearing that name now provoked instant irritation.

“Ughh, no. It’s only been what, three days, and honestly I wish he’d been sent somewhere else for training. All I do is answer calls about him. It is driving me up the wall and I can’t get anything done. He’s turned the whole base upside down. Must have been a hundred cars parked outside the main gate, all scattered around the fields. It’s a security issue. I just —"

“Well, that’s not his fault Bess, and I think it's great. I wanna to meet him, don’t y’all?” Dori looked at the officers on her arms.

Arnie smiled a big dumb smile as he looked at Dori’s bouncing breasts and agreed. “I think it’s good for the Army, boy, I just - I just wish we could get the other enlisted to lay off him.”

“What do you mean?”

Bess felt the pit of her stomach tense as she thought of the thousands of green little boys running around base on edge with no external distractions for entertainment.

“Yeah, the boys’ have been giving him a hard time, shouting out when he runs during PT, or at the chow hall. There’s some concern he hasn’t been coming to eat all his meals cuz a the way they’ve been taunting him.”

Bess sighed, her irritation dissipating momentarily into sympathy as she considered how hungry and lonely Elvis Presley must be. Then she remembered that she was hungry, hungry because all the good restaurants had been filled up tonight by people trying to catch a glimpse of him. Elvis was the reason the only benefit from breaking her vow against dating a soldier, the free meal, had been a bust. She wondered if it was going to be this crazy around town for the next six months while he was here.

“I feel sorry for the poor kid, I do. But I still wish he was some other base’s problem.”

***********************************************************

Back on post, Arnie asked Bess for the fourth time if she wouldn’t like him to come help her carry the typewriter to her car. Then they could meet the others at the night club.

Beth pursed her lips with a demure smile.  “I think I can handle a typewriter, Captain, I use them all day.”

Dori chimed in with a reminder that it was Friday night and they were only young once, but Bess put them off, grinning as she heard Dori exclaim that both men would just have to dance with her all night.

“Two gorgeous officers all to myself,  what eva shall I do?”

Free at last, Bess drove her car to the supply building, and snuck in the back door carrying the type writer that she had been using at home, the big sticker along the bottom reading “Property of U.S. Army” evident as she held the machine under her arm to unlock the door. Bess slipped off her heels at the door so that they didn’t click down the dark hallways, and she easily scurried in to slip the broken machine into the repair center and help herself to a new model, grabbing a few spools of typewriter ribbon and a package of paper on the way out. Balancing everything as she locked up to leave,  Bess smiled at the cool air on her sweaty arm pits and laughed to herself for pulling this stealth operation in a tight green cocktail dress and pumps.

“A better use of this outfit anyway, I’d say.” She muttered to herself, sheathing her right foot back into her white heel with a sense of pride that she’d managed to get in, get the new machine, and would probably be home before 11 p.m. Bess had propped her self up against the building to slip her left foot into the other shoe when she heard a voice behind her call out.

“Uh, hey, need any help there?”

Startled, she almost toppled over, catching herself at the last moment by dropping everything in her hands.

“OWW fuck fuck fuck a duck!

She screamed in pain as the typewriter clanged down on her bare left foot and she almost knocked heads with the tall, gangly soldier who squatted down on front of her at the same time to try and help her retrieve her supplies.

"Oh man, I sure am sorry, listen -"

“At ease, uh Private,” she glanced briefly at the rank on his uniform while straightening up, holding her foot in pain and taking in the view below her. The paper knob at the top of the new machine had broken off completely.

“Fuck, this is what I get, I suppose,” she laughed, looking up find herself across from the shy, inquisitive face of Elvis Presley.

“Oh fuck a duuuuuck.”

Bess forgot about the typewriter, the paper spilled everywhere, the throbbing pain in the left foot she was now holding up and cradling. She didn’t even notice how she was exposing her thighs until she rubbed her foot again and dropped it with a thud, realizing she was about to flash Elvis Presley. He seemed to realize it too, and smirked as he turned his face to look away as some sort of attempt to give her privacy while she smoothed her dress down. Bess did this while clumsily trying to balance between one heeled foot and one bare foot.

Elvis found it very hard to stifle his chuckles as he watched her stiffen, and held out his hand to put her at ease.

“Uh, hey there ma’am, I’m Elvis, Elvis Presley.”

Bess shifted and smiled awkwardly, wiping her dirty, sweaty hands on her silk dress and extending her right hand out to shake his. The the same right hand, that had, moments ago, been rubbing her smelly, left foot. Honestly, it seemed like the most polite option, since she decided to act as if the last five minutes hadn’t happened. As if  sneaking out of the supply building past 10 p.m. on a Friday night with her arms full of government office supplies was perfectly normal.

“Bess Schwartz, I’m, uh, I work in the Front Office here. I’m, I’m, I'm the secretary for the Army Intelligence Commander.”

She gasped when Elvis took her hand, the hand cover in her foot sweat, and squeezed it warmly, bringing it to his lips for a chaste kiss.

“Nice ta, uh, meetcha. Imma sorry, uh, for startlin’ ya Miss Schwartz, ma’am.”

Bess shivered in the darkness as she heard herself whisper for him to call her Bess almost incoherently while she watched Elvis drop down in front of her and fit her other white pump over her left foot. She tried to remember how to breath. It was hard.  Hard because she was struggling to subdue  her visceral reaction to Elvis' thumb as it slowly smoothed over the top of her foot, which made it harder still to recover from the embarrassment of getting caught stealing a typewriter. By the most famous person in the world. Bess shut her eyes in disbelief that this was actually happening, and was disappointed when she lifted her eyelids to find that it actually was happening and Elvis was still there. He met her eyes, his finger delicately stroking her ankle.

“There, now, honey, you think you can walk?”

She pulled her leg back and nodded as she scanned the parking lot, the road along and other buildings behind it.

“Mhmm. Thank you, Private. Say, what are you doing stalking around the base right now? Lights out is at 9.”

Elvis bit his lip, looking at the ground as he stood.

“Can’t sleep.”

Bess arched her eyebrow as she started to bend, but Elvis put his hand up to stop her and stooped to gather the paper. He crushed it under his arm as he grabbed the typewriter and ink ribbons, talking slowly and deliberately.

“Well, my first night some jokers went an put shaving cream in my shoes, I ‘spose it gave em a good laugh to watch me run around like a damn fool getting ready for inspection. An well, I ain’t been able to sleep since, can’t bare to, uh, to uh - ”

His voice trailed off, but Bess knew what he meant. He was afraid of looking like poor sport or tattle tale if he complained, and a coward if he just took it. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed the bags under his eyes, calculating he must be going on 40 hours without much sleep. Or much food either, if her date was to be believed. Men. Boys, more like. Little boys amusing them selves by torturing this poor kid. This, tall, lanky, kid, who hovered above her and whose large hands made her typewriter ribbon look like a checker piece.

“Yeah, uh, they’re just scared they won’t be able to get any tail now that your here.” She smiled as best she could under the pressure of trying to talk with Elvis smoldering, lonely boy eyes piercing through her.

Bess looked at a passing car just so she could collect herself, then back at Elvis, thinking of the crowds of women lining the gates.

“The men should be thanking you, we haven’t seen this many pretty girls hanging around the base, since, well, since ever. Probably gonna be easy picking, especially for the soldiers who can leave post. Those poor girls hanging 'round outside the gates don’t know you aren’t allowed to go near ‘em for the next three or so weeks.”

“Mhmm, seems like, uh, uh, ya don’t havta go off post to meet pretty girls.”

Elvis bit his lip again, enjoying how Bess became flustered and embarrassed, smoothing the sides of her dress. She reminded herself that she hated him, as she felt the butterflies swarm through her belly and make themselves at home, flitting willy nilly up her spine. Bess also became keenly aware of how hungry she was from skipping dinner. She didn’t have time for his teasing and looked Elvis squarely in the eyes as she spoke.

“I recommend staying away from them, too. Especially the WACs. You’re definitely not supposed to fraternize with other soldiers.”

Elvis looked off at the trees that lined the road to the right. “How bought civilians? Is, um, ah, frater-a-nizin', uh, allowed?”

Bess turned, ignoring the question, though she was unable to ignore the warm, playful flirtation in Elvis’ voice as it washed over her and her chest heaved up and down at a quicker pace. Once again she told herself that she did, indeed, know how to breath. Her annoyance at his line melted away when she returned to his eyes and saw the exhaustion underneath his bravado, instantly regretting what she was about to do before she even did it. Somehow she couldn’t help herself, it was as if she was having an out-of-body experience, watching herself fumble through a simple sentence.

“Listen, I, um, I just had the worst date of my life, at the worst restaurant. Couldn’t eat a bite. You help me get another type writer, and I’ll, I’ll fix us something to eat. Then you can sleep on my couch for a few hours.”

Watching  his eyes light up, Bess felt the need to add. “But no funny business. I’m just helping out a new recruit, doesn’t mean anything.”

For the second time that night, Bess oversaw sneaking a broken typewriter into the repair shop and taking a new one, hobbling as she led Elvis to her car and directed him to put the stuff in her truck.

“Ya live on post?”

Bess patted the passenger seat of her blue Ford.

“Nope.”

“You know I ain’t supposed to leave?”

“Yup.”

“So — what’s the plan, stan?”

Bess turned to Elvis, removing his hand from her knee where it had somehow landed, and whispered with breathy excitement.

“I’m going to sneak you off.”

Elvis quirked his eyebrows as she kept talking.

“I, um, well, I share an office with the CO's secretary, Mabel. Who might actually be the most powerful person at this command. So, as long as I get you back in time for reveille, we’ll be fine. None of these guys will mess with me.” 

“I, uh, I don’ wan no special privileges, I wanna, uh, be treated like any other man, any other soldier. I reckon I better -”

Elvis trembled when Bess touched his shoulder and rubbed it gently, looking up into his face with her big brown eyes, now tender and reassuring. He looked to her like he might cry as he spoke of not being special.

“Look, I would do this for any new recruit. Boot camp, uh. Well. This is the hardest  part of being in the Army. I promise. I’m not offering because you’re famous. I actually kind of hate you, do you know how much trouble you cause my office? So, you should know I’m helping you in spite of who you are. Promise. I would - I would do it for any soldier in your predicament.”

Bess said this firmly to convince herself as much as to convince Elvis. Then she added a friendly wink and drove off, enjoying Elvis’ bemused smile and telling herself not to worry. Underneath her calm, confidence was the nagging thought that, unlike Elvis, Bess knew exactly what happened if some rule-minded officer were to find out that she had snuck Elvis off post. She had a good understanding of rule-minded officers. Like her father. Who, thankfully, was out of town.

******************************

The bacon and eggs sizzled on the stove and Bess flipped them, shyly avoiding Elvis’ gaze from where he was leaning with his back arched against the door jab, his right hip twisted up and his thumbs hanging from his belt loops as he watching her cook.

“So, uh, what’s a secretary doing taking typewriters uh, um, out late on a Friday night an a bringin' ‘em home for, huh?”

Bess shook her head into the frying pan, then met his gaze.

“I , um, I happen to have some very important work I need to do from home. For the General I work for. That’s, uh, why I have a master key.”

“Uh huh.” Elvis’ smirked, nodding his chin as he stuck his hands slowly under his armpits, and lifted one knee up to lean back further against the wall.

“Hand me your plate, dinner is ready.”

Elvis bounced off the doorway and strode slowly over to where Bess stood at the stove, his long arms dangling loosely at his side. He had become more relaxed and confident once they got to her house, after tearing up a bit in the car and telling her how much he missed his parents and home and how he didn’t have any idea what Germany would be like. He had then muttered on about how millions of guys have been through this, so he knew he’d be alright, though the tear dripping down his cheek made Bess think he believed the exact opposite. Now he was behind her, almost a different person, cocky and teasing as his strong arms snaked around her waist to steady her hands.

“Nah, see how the egg is still all jiggly wiggly, Bessie? S’not done, not nearly. Wanna get the bacon good and browned up, so’s there ain’t no more pink left.”

She flushed at the way his breath hit her neck while his words softly compelled her to make his food the way he liked it. The rumble of his voice as her nickname rolled off his tongue was an assault on her sense of decency, and she let his hands linger at her waist for another beat before lifting them off and assuring him that she understood.No jiggly wiggly, no pink. Black. That she learned, was how Elvis liked everything, and everything was what she gave him, as he ate the pound and a half of bacon om her fridge and her last six eggs.

Bess mused that sneaking a fatigued Elvis off post and filling him full of food must be what made him clingy, comfortable and forward when he put his arms around her as she led him upstairs to the guest room. Rubbing his eyes as he plopped on the bed, Elvis grabbed her wrist imploringly and begged her not to leave him all lonesome in a strange house, in a strange town, where she was the only nice 'lil gal to treat him like a real human bean. Sighing, Bess sat at the top of the bed and let Elvis lay his head in her lap, where she stroked his forehead, and, at his request, started to tell him her life story. He had passed out after five minutes, when she had barely finished detailing how her parents met at Coney Island in 1932, three years before she was born.

Elvis' eye lids fluttered closed and he mumbled, “That’s a when I was borned. Aww, Bessie boo, we musta been babies at the same time.”

Bess groaned as she couldn’t seem to pull herself away from him, and stayed there with his head in her lap for another twenty minutes, afraid if she rolled it off her lap she would wake him. She was cupping the back of his head to gently move it off her lap when he thrashed around and called out the name Satnin. This led Bess to give up and lean against the head board, reconciling herself to a night sleeping sitting up with the most famous rebellious heart throb soldier in the world calling out for his mama in her lap.

Elvis’ hands moved first at the sound of the alarm, roving over Bess tummy and breasts  before he opened his eyes to the smacks of her hand hitting him off her. Somehow she had been pulled down into his arms over the course of the night, and she jumped up, commanding him to get his boots on while she ran down stairs and made some coffee. She prayed her younger sister hadn’t heard the alarm. Still wearing the dress from the night before, Bess watched Elvis gulp down his black coffee and chomp down the bread and cheese she had thrown at him to eat in the car. Loudly. With an open mouth. Wiping the crumbs from his mouth, he put his arm around her and squeezed.

Despite sleeping in his arms, Bess felt a shock and jolted at his touch.

“Just so we’re clear,  Mister, uh, Private um Presley, uh, this was just a friendly, patriotic gesture. I wasn’t, uh um, trying to seduce you.”

Elvis arched his eyebrow, his expression one of amusement and incredulity at the idea Bess thought of her behavior seductive. The way she had hesitated spitting out the word ’seduce’ so earnestly was adorable and endearing.

“OK, honey, you’re the boss, jus do me a favor and call me Elvis, huh?”

She nodded, eyes forward in concentration as she felt him squeeze her shoulders even tighter. She left it there, and found herself relaxing and leaning back into him after a few minutes with a sigh. She couldn't help it, it was an instinctive response to the way his fingers widened and began to tap out a rhythm on the side of her arm. Everything felt good, and their two bodies melded together in the dusky morning twilight for a spell until a gate came into view and Bess jerked up to throw Elvis’ arm onto the car seat with a smack, not noticing how he, too, stiffened with trepidation.

She stopped around the block from Elvis’ barracks and met his strong, uninhibited bear hug with her body, letting him press the air out of her lungs and kiss her cheek.

“Hey, Bessie Boo, I,uh, I can’t, I don’t even, I uh, I hate to leave you, honey, I ain’t even had time to tell you what I want to say, what -”

Bess put her finger to his lips, feeling his breath as she shhhed him. His brows were furrowed and he frowned, not wanted to leave her car and return to the barracks. She rubbed her hand up his chest reassuringly.

“You only have five minutes to get into your bunk, Private Pres - Elvis.” She murmured. “Now, go be a good boy, I have an idea, for how to help you sleep in the future.”

“Hmmm, sounds fun.” A naughty expression played across his face, his jaw hung open and he waggled his eye brows.

Bess realized the insinuation and hit his arm.

“Not that.”  She cocked her head towards the road. “You better go.”

“Huh, usually girls are tryin to run after me, not run me off.” She hit him again as he teased her. “Ok, ok baaaby. I’m off like a gun.”

Elvis face twisted into a crooked grin, and Bess felt like the sun was rising in her car, the earth was suddenly brighter when Elvis’ blue eyes beamed down at her and he kissed her goodbye. It was a light, sweet kiss aimed at her mouth but somehow missing and hitting the crease of her lips.

It had been, what, a year since she had been kissed? Bess kept her eyes closed, just enjoying the soft, tingling sensation of  his mouth crushed into her face. Elvis’ hands gripped her tightly, one hand on her neck, the other at her back, and he moved as if to kiss her again. In a brief moment of clarity, Bess realized she had been fighting her attraction to Elvis all night. It had been gradual and immediate, and she felt very different being close to him then she did when she saw hm in the movies or on the TV and radio. At the back of her mind she could hear all the reasons she shouldn’t kiss him. She pushed her hand up between their lips.

“Um, hey, look. Think we could just be friends? I, uh, I have a rule. I don’t date soldiers.”

Elvis sat back, a quizzical expression softening on his face into a smile as he rubbed her shoulder.

“Sure, Bessie baby, friends. Got it.”

He clicked his tongue and grinned, shooting her a thumbs up. Bess nodded, unable to stop the flutter of her heart as she watched Elvis’ long legs carry him forward as he jogged around the corner to his bunk, pausing to look back over his shoulder at her with a goofy smile as he waved goodbye.

“Fuck a duck.” She heard herself mutter, as she put her car into gear and drove home to shower and get Elvis Presley out of her head.

***********************************************************

Chapter Two: Moo Moo & Tupelo

If you enjoyed this and want to read more, comment, reblog, and let me know what you think and if you would want to be tagged. Tagging a few of you on here who read my stuff, but DM or comment if you would rather not be ;)

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#elvis presley #elvis presley fan fic #elvis presley fan fiction #elvis fan fiction #army elvis #fort hood 1958 #basic training #elvis x oc #writing prompt game #banditqueenwrites

[trekscribbles]

Prompt: Thief

From the Land of Myth Discord Server: One Word Writing Prompt Game

Word prompt provided by BronteHeart

"That boy is a thief!"

The accusation echoed through the courtroom, unchallenged and unanswered. The cook who'd hurled it stood red-faced before the throne, with Merlin looking uncharacteristically meek beside her. He waited with his head bowed, his hands clasped firmly before him, not daring to lift his gaze from his feet. 

Arthur didn't like it. 

"What has the boy stolen?" his father asked, signaling his own servant to bring more wine. He was distracted today, and disinterested in such a petty case. Both boded well for Merlin, as long as the idiot didn't say anything to incriminate himself. 

"Three rabbits," the cook said. "The very best in Camelot, raised by my own hand and intended for the king's table."

"And what proof do you have against Merlin?" Arthur cut in. It was a good moment—his father had turned to have his goblet filled, and he liked it when Arthur took charge of things. 

"He was the only one who had access to their cages after I left last night," the cook said. Her manner was haughty, which would have set Arthur against her even if he hadn't known the accused. She was one of the most important workers in the castle, after all, and Merlin had only been there a few weeks. Uther would have taken her word over Merlin's and been done with it. 

Arthur should have done the same. Instead, he folded his arms and said, "Merlin. Did you steal the rabbits?"

"No, sire."

At least he had the sense to use titles in front of the king. Arthur returned his attention to the cook. "Were his quarters searched?"

The woman hesitated. "Yes, but—"

"And were the rabbits found?"

"No, but—"

"Do you have any idea where Merlin might be keeping them?"

She swallows. "No. But I'm certain he—"

"I'm afraid that, without proof, I cannot issue a punishment." Arthur kept his head turned away from his father, trying not to read into the continued silence from the throne. "Should new evidence be found, I shall reconsider my ruling. Until then, I must dismiss this accusation."

The cook stared at him, but she had more sense than to argue. With a somewhat sullen curtsey, she mumbled an acceptance of his judgement and turned away. 

"You are too lenient," Uther said, and Arthur suppressed a wince. "A night in the stocks would have wrung the confession out of him."

Arthur let his hands fall to his sides. "That was the last case for today. If you do not require my presence here any longer, I am due at the training fields."

His father dismissed him with a wave, and Arthur strode from the room. Merlin, who had stayed where he was in the middle of the room, hurried silently after him. Arthur led the way into the hall, nodding to the guards to close the great doors behind them. 

"Thank you," Merlin said softly, once the guards had shut themselves in the throne room and left him and Arthur in the empty hall. "For believing me, I mean. I wasn't sure you would."

"I don't believe you," Arthur said, crossing his arms again. 

Merlin blinked at him. "But... you—"

"I don't think you stole the rabbits," Arthur said. "But I'm sure you had something to do with it. So go on, out with it. Where are they?"

Arthur expected sheepishness, or possibly guilt. Maybe another attempt at a lie. Instead, Merlin raised his chin and said, "I released them into the forest."

Now it was Arthur's turn to blink. "You..." he said weakly, but was unable to think of anything else to say. "Why?"

Merlin looked away, a petulant expression crossing his face. "You wouldn't understand."

"Merlin."

"They were just... the cook kept saying how she was going to kill them, and they just kept looking at me, and their eyes were so big, and..." He trailed off, still not meeting Arthur's gaze. 

Arthur took a calming breath. "So you released what was meant to be the king's supper because you thought they were too cute to eat?"

There was a pause, and then Merlin made a motion that was half nod and half shrug. 

Arthur wanted to be angry. He wanted to feel the righteous wrath the cook had felt—which his father would have felt, had Merlin confessed before the throne. Instead, he felt a bubble of something light and unfamiliar rising up in his chest, something which may have turned to laughter if he didn't choke it out quickly enough. 

So he twisted the sound that wanted to be a laugh into a cough and started down the hallway. "Fetch my armor," he said, clearing his throat for good measure.

Merlin took an unsteady breath. "You're not going to bring me back to your father?"

"You didn't steal the rabbits," Arthur said. "That's the crime I was asked to judge, and I've given my verdict. There's no use revisiting it now. But Merlin..." He turned to look over his shoulder, taking in Merlin's bright eyes and disbelieving smile. 

"Yes?" he said eagerly. 

Arthur sighed. He had a feeling he was going to regret the inexplicable fondness threatening to attach itself to his new manservant.

"Maybe avoid the rabbit cages from now on."

#merlin #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #land of myth discord #one word writing prompt #writing prompt game #fanfic #ficlet #mini fic

[arrolyn1114]

A Whole Lotta Spinnin' Goin' On - (An Elvis and Jane Writing Prompt Game One Shot)

Hello dear readers! Hope everyone is having a good weekend. I was invited to participate in a writing prompt game by the amazingly talented and lovely @thatbanditqueen along with @ellie-24, @whositmcwhatsit, @vintageshanny, @missmaywemeetagain, @from-memphis-with-love, @be-my-ally

Thank you soooo much for inviting me to participate, I appreciate it so much! ❤🌺 I am really appreciative of Norah and the other awesome writers on here helping me to come out of my shell and get more social on here, I'm getting much more comfortable using my Tumblr now for which I am very grateful!

The prompt is as follows:

"You will love it."

"I will hate it."

"Nah, you won't."

I have done a little one shot with Elvis and my OC, Jane from my main WIP. This can be read independently from the main WIP, nothing relevant to the plot of it is in this little one shot. The only thing really is Elvis's nickname for my OC is explained in the main WIP, so if you haven't read it or aren't caught up to that part in the story you won't know why he calls her that, but should still be enjoyable in any case. This one is pure fun: smut and fluff! ENJOY!

(Also, this was my first time using Canva to make cover art, @shakerattlescroll made the cover art for the main story, she's a Canva using wizard, I thank her for getting me hooked on it lol.)

Also tagging my reader taglist for the main WIP, here's hoping I got everyone who recently said they wished to be tagged.

@xanatenshi, @karel-in-wonderland, @peskybedtime, @alienelvisobsession, @shakerattlescroll, @deke-rivers-1957, @louisejoy86, @artlover8992, @windsofthesea, @gayforelvis, @elvispresleygf, @notstefaniepresley, @lovininapinkcadillac, @dkayfixates, @jaqueline19997, @presleyenterprise, @crash-and-cure, @literally-just-elvis-fics, @wildhorseinkansas, @tacozebra051, @lookingforrainbows, @kaitaesupremacy, @powerofelvis, @ashtag6887, @myradiaz, @richardslady121, @elvisrealgf, @genetakovicluvr, @thetaoofzoe, @lawdymissclawdy68

@j-v-9-2

@mspoisonivey

@aaron57070

@rainyday10-4

@rocknroll50sep

@dream-in-x-dream2

@sasural

@satisfy-the-crave

@velvetelvis

@sillybookmarks

@everythingelvispresley

@elvisgirly

@1dluver13xx

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley x oc #elvis x oc #elvis fandom is the best #why can't you see what you're doin' to me #ao3 #writing prompt game #fanfic is a community activity. its stories by a bonfire #writing #fanfiction

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Prompt: Twilight forgot to eat and has been running on empty for an extended period while dealing with chronic pain..?

Twilight felt out of sorts, and he was starting to get a little confused about it.

His entire body had been aching for the last few days, which wasn't surprising considering how often he'd been transforming between wolf and Hylian forms. The constant shifting of bone structure did eventually catch up to him. He figured he'd be in pain.

But why did he feel so unfocused and tired? Was this how Sky felt all the time?

Glancing at the person in question, Twilight saw that he was sleeping soundly, curled inward by a tree stump while everyone else chatted away over dinner.

"Rancher. Rancher."

Jumping, Twilight turned and saw Wild staring at him, holding a bowl of curry.

"I said did you want dinner? I'm pretty sure you skipped breakfast and lunch," Wild said. "Are you feeling okay?"

Oh. Had he skipped breakfast and lunch? He remembered dragging himself out of his bedroll late this morning and therefore he hadn't really made time for breakfast. And he'd gone on patrol for lunch.

Oh.

Wild held out the food with a look that brooked no argument. Twilight sheepishly took the warm bowl and appreciated how it eased the pain in his fingers. "Thanks, Champion."

Wild gave him a smile. "Anytime."

#you ask skye answers #lovely anon #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu twilight #lu wild #writing prompt game #writing #I told myself I wouldn't eat until I wrote this so Twi and I could be in the same boat lol #so yay now I'm gonna go eat dinner #no curry sadly

[ellie-24]

Just A Fan Part 2

Idk why this took so long! I have no excuse! Here's part two for those who are still interested.

You might want to catch up on Part 1, it's really been a while. Sorry again!

And, once again, just very self indulgent fluff ahead! Also, this is a response to the writing prompt "Elvis in a car"

Word count: 4.1 k

March 24th 1977, Amarillo Civic Center, TX

Cara let out a watery laugh, her cheeks already hurting from smiling so much and quickly wiped away the tear that rolled over her cheek, trying to regain her composure. Not even five minutes had passed since he got on stage and she already felt a nervous breakdown approaching, just being in the same room as him was enough for that to happen.

The zipper of the Arabian jumpsuit he wore was pulled dangerously low, offering her a wonderful view of his hairy chest and belly. She wasn't the only one having a hard time controlling her emotions though, the whole auditorium buzzed with excitement, shrill screeching filled the air and a woman behind her just straight up sobbed hysterically at the sight of him. Cara would lie if she said she didn't do the same thing when she saw him live for the first time though.

She quickly focused back on Elvis after taking a deep breath. With a heavy heart she noticed that he didn't look too well. Although the nearly blinding spotlights made it a bit hard to see his face - she wondered how he even navigated on stage with the bright light probably blurring his vision - she could tell there were heavy bags under his eyes. He also sounded rather tired when he sang, often slurring the words and carrying a piece of paper with him, explaining that he didn't know the words to every song.

His behaviour was very different from the easy-going and relaxed man she met in Hawaii. There was such a lightness and ease about him then, something she didn't see right now. The exhaustion was written all over his face and showed in his at times almost sluggish movements. Cara was convinced that the vacation would give him some well-deserved rest and some fresh energy, but apparently, she'd been wrong.

Still, he powered through it, eager to give a good performance despite the circumstances. Suddenly she felt very thankful for the over-enthusiastic fans around her. He seemed to appreciate the audience's positive reactions, his mood evidently improving with the heavy applause and cheering. His smiles got wider and more genuine as he started engaging more and more with the crowd.

Cara quickly scrambled to the front, her entire body tingling with nerves and excitement. He stood up straight again after handing out some scarves to a few crying women a few feet away from her. With anticipation written all over her face, she watched as he leisurely strolled in her general direction.

But would he remember her? It's only been about two weeks since their encounter in Hawaii and, after all, he's had it specifically arranged for her to come after promising her a scarf at one of his shows. But he was Elvis Presley, the number of people he must've already met, the number of fans, it's probably impossible to keep track of everyone.

And Cara wasn't entirely sure if she'd really stand out from that crowd. Or any crowd, for that matter. The prospect that he may have actually forgotten about her hurt, and her face fell for a moment. The uncomfortable feeling only increased when his eyes quickly flitted past her, not even acknowledging her. She forced herself to take a deep breath and told herself she wouldn't hold it against him if he didn't recognise her. Just being here was more than enough.

Elvis let out a small laugh at something Charlie said to him and accepted the cup of coke he was holding out for him with a sniff. After letting out a low whistle he took a sip and used the scarf that was wrapped around his neck to wipe away some of the sweat that had gathered on his forehead. A brunette woman next to Cara suddenly started yelling frantically, asking him to let her have the cup he still held in his hand.

He pretended to look confused for a second, raising one cocky eyebrow at her. "I'm not wearing one, honey." He then joked. More scarves and also occasional kisses were given out to lucky fans and she got more and more impatient. She called out his name a few times, hoping he'd notice her. Eventually, his eyes landed on her and he approached her with a wide grin.

"Hey there, sweetheart." He drawled as he leaned down and wrapped the scarf around her neck, using it to pull her closer to him. Cara gasped as she was suddenly pulled forward and stood on her tiptoes in an effort to make herself as tall as possible so he wouldn't have to crouch down as much. Watching him bend down the whole time made her own back hurt and she was a good twenty years younger than him. His lips felt just like she remembered them, soft and warm and she had a hard time resisting the urge to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down, on top of her.

Elvis pulled away from her and turned around, walking away again. But then he suddenly whipped his head around with a playful smile. He cocked his eyebrow at her and jokingly narrowed his eyes at her before doing an exaggerated double take. His ring-clad finger pointed accusingly at her, looking like he was warning her. Warning her not to pass out. A wide grin spread on her face when she realised that he did remember her. He winked at her when he saw her euphoric expression and there was this mutual understanding between them once again.

His eyes found hers every now and then throughout the rest of the concert. Gauging her reaction whenever he hit a note especially well or joked around, cracking himself up or playfully bantered with members of the band. Giving her a mischievous glance before moving his hips or jiggling his leg in the way he knew made everyone lose their minds. It made her heart flutter every time.

He's just performed a few gospel numbers and now the opening notes to How Great Thou Art started playing when somebody lightly tapped her shoulder. "Miss?" A man's voice sounded next to her, making her whirl around.

She squinted at him, her eyes flashing with recognition, though she couldn't quite place him. She's definitely seen him before. He stepped a bit closer before speaking up again. "Miss, you're gonna want to come along now before the big rush."

She blinked and inclined her head, not sure if she heard him right, only half listening to him anyway, as Elvis was currently performing one of her favourites. It quite bothered her that he just started talking to her while he was singing. She also found it rather rude that he wouldn't introduce himself. "Huh?"

"Come on now." He insisted, his tone laced with an urgency she didn't quite understand.

"But-" She backed up a little and looked back up at the stage, confused and not wanting to let her idol out of her sight.

"Boss said so." He nodded towards the stage. In that moment it suddenly clicked that the man standing in front of her was Joe Esposito, she'd also seen him in Hawaii as part of Elvis' entourage. Her eyes went wide, not quite daring to think about the implications.

"What?" She asked again, the question not even necessarily directed towards him.

He sighed and once again motioned for her to get moving. "Damn girl, just come along, boss wants to see ya. He asked me to bring you to the car."

"Uh-"

Elvis wants to see her. He asked for her. How does one process this information exactly?

"But-" she weakly gestured towards the stage, wanting him to understand that she wanted to watch the show until the very end.

"It'll be easier if I bring you the car now."

"Elvis asked for me?" She asked, wanting some clarification from him again.

Joe let out an exasperated sigh and nodded, beginning to look rather annoyed.

The prospect of talking to Elvis in a few minutes prompted her to finally agree, though it also made her feel kind of lightheaded again. "Okay."

He nodded with a curt "Thanks" and turned around, indicating with a wave of his hand that she was supposed to follow him.

She started trotting behind Joe as he made his way through the crowd. At one point she was sure she heard him mutter something under his breath about not wanting to deal with Elvis' bad mood tonight, making her frown.

Joe eventually opened the back door for her, the chilly night air a stark contrast to the almost sweltering heat in the auditorium. She looked down at herself, inwardly cursing the outfit she chose. She wore the same sundress she'd worn when they first met in Hawaii. It served both a practical purpose, increasing the chance that he'd recognise her, but also a symbolic one.

That's at least what she told herself over and over when she realised March in Texas just wasn't the same as March in Hawaii. You wear something that's not weather-appropriate, you pay the price, simple as that. But the relatively simple concept of causality seemed way too complicated when her mind was utterly preoccupied with a single thing. A single man in fact.

She was grateful when Joe ushered her into the car, the plush cushion of the backseat feeling grounding against the back of her thighs. Everything seemed to happen in a blur as she was still wondering what the hell was happening right now. Elvis wants to see her.

It was eerily quiet in the car after all the screaming - her own and everyone else's - and her ears were ringing as she expectedly looked through the tinted glass towards the back door from which he'd emerge any second now. In an attempt to look a bit more presentable, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to untangle some of the knots that got there from jumping up and down for nearly two hours.

A few more minutes passed, her heart nearly beating out of her ribcage as she waited, until the door opened and his unmistakable silhouette was rushed over to the car, the white, glittery jumpsuit standing out in the darkness of the back alley. Cara sucked in a breath when she heard his wonderful voice.

"What do we have here? The pretty little girl from the front row just sitting there, waiting for me. What a sweet surprise, I'm a lucky man." He whistled jokingly as if he really hadn't expected her to be there, even though he obviously sent someone out to get her.

He'd barely gotten fully inside the car and she already moved to clutch his arm in a tight grip, unable to stop herself. "Elvis! Oh my god, you were incredible, thank you for letting me be here. Oh my god, I don't even know-"

He chuckled and cupped her burning cheek with his big hand. "Shush, darlin' take a breath, it's okay. Thank you."

Cara nodded and did as he told her. "What am I doing here?" She then blurted out. Elvis wanted to see her. No, she still hasn't processed this information. And now he's here, just casually sitting next to her while she was a shaking mess.

He shook his head in a good-natured way and looked her up and down before gesturing towards her, ignoring her question. "Baby, whatchu even wearin'? I-I mean it looks real pretty, honey, but you'll catch your death in that."

Cara blinked and lowered her gaze, pulling her dress down in an attempt to hide the goosebumps on her legs. That still didn't help to conceal the very evident goosebumps on her arms though. "I didn't think this through, did I?" She muttered, still breathless. A small blush rose on her cheeks as she weakly hugged herself.

He let out a small laugh at her silliness and reached out to run his warm hand over her forearm, causing another shiver to go through her body. His eyes twinkled gleefully and she could see the dimples in his soft cheeks as he smiled. God, he looked so handsome. "And ya didn't even bring a jacket?"

"Forgot it at the hotel." She shrugged with a shy smile. Truth is she would've forgotten her head if it wasn't attached to her body due to her nerves going crazy all day, anticipation the only thing occupying her mind for the past few weeks.

He playfully clicked his tongue and raised his eyebrow at her before reaching next to him, pulling at a big piece of fabric. "Gonna break ya teeth will all that chattering and shaking." He muttered as he draped his coat over her shoulders. "Better, little one?"

It took her a few seconds to answer his question. The only thing on her mind was that the heavy coat smelled exactly like him. She only wished he would've worn it before, so his warmth would surround her as well. It was big enough that she could use it as a blanket and she wiggled around in her seat, pulling her legs up in an attempt to cover her whole body with the precious garment. As subtle as she could she nosed at the fabric, inhaling his scent that was both nerve-racking and comforting to her. With a small nod and a shaky exhale, she eventually turned towards him again. "Thank you."

"Can't have ya freezin' to death now can I?"

Cara bit her lip, not sure how to articulate what was going through her head. The post-concert adrenaline and euphoria still pumping through her veins made everything feel a bit disconnected and foggy. Not only did she get to see him today, but she was sitting in the back of a car with him. Because he wants to see her. And he had kissed her again. And he just gave her his coat. It was too much. "But... and don't get me wrong, but, uh, what am I doing here?"

"You're coming with me, honey." He offered like it was the most natural thing.

The simple statement gave her butterflies and she swallowed hard. "But why?" She whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Because I wanna spend some time with you." He scooted closer to her and gently draped his arm over her shoulder, pulling her to his side. "Get to know you a little. You don't mind that, do ya, sweetheart?" The low murmur made her skin prickle, a very faint tremor still running through her entire body. She inhaled sharply at the contact and tried her best to hold his gaze. It was almost painfully tender.

No, she didn't mind at all.

"Are you sure? Because I'm not too sure if there's anything interesting about me." She shrugged with a small smile.

An endearing grin spread across his beautiful face and Cara felt an odd sense of pride. Making him smile had to be one of the best feelings in the world. Along with kissing him of course.

"Oh, honey, I'm sure that's not true." He drawled and played with a strand of her hair that fell over her shoulder. The gesture was so intimate, so familiar, it nearly made her cry again.

"I don't get it." She murmured, more to herself, just unable to believe that this was happening. To her, out of all the people.

"Ya certainly know how to leave a lasting impression, Cara." He continued teasingly, gently nudging her.

"Oh god, no, please don't." She almost whined as the memories of their first meeting replayed in her mind and tried to to crawl further into the coat to hide herself completely. To this day she felt utterly mortified by her reaction and cringed every time she thought about it.

Elvis pulled her even closer and cooed right into her ear. "Aw, baby, that's good, trust me. You're a charming little thing."

She still avoided his gaze, feeling utterly overwhelmed by his presence and proceeded to hide her face in her hands.

"No, no, don't gotta be so nervous, darlin'." He ran his finger over her wrists, gently prompting her to look at him.

She obliged and lowered her hands before turning her head, finding his eyes again. A single drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, over his cheek. Her fingers were itching to reach out and just wipe it away. "I'm trying. I just, just... love you so much."

A bashful smile formed on his lips and his cheeks turned slightly pink at her heartfelt confession. "That's awfully sweet of you. I love you too." He murmured and kissed her temple with a reverence that momentarily made her forget how to breathe.

The thing was, she genuinely believed him when he said this. His tone was so sincere and earnest, his eyes seemingly looked right into her soul. Never before has she encountered someone with such a big heart, so much capacity to love, such an ability to make anyone feel special. It made Joe's offhand remark from earlier sting even more. She leaned further into his touch and basked in the feeling of being at the centre of his attention right now.

His hotel room was dark, the curtains blocking out any light from the city below and rather cool with the AC whirring steadily. Cara looked around and found the room, or suite rather, to be empty, making her realise that she was now alone with him. Really alone with him. No other fans, not even his close friends who always seemed to be around. She had him all to herself now.

He sat down on the couch with a heavy sigh and ran a hand over his face, grimacing shortly before looking at her expectedly. Slowly, she let herself sink into the soft pillows and pulled off her shoes, relieving her aching ankle. She pulled up her legs and shifted her body to look at him.

"Are you okay?" Cara asked carefully.

He blinked and raised his eyebrows before giving her a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. "Don't worry 'bout me, honey."

A small nod and silence followed. "... I think I'm gonna keep this one as well." She chuckled and gestured to the coat still hanging off her small frame.

"Looks prettier on ya anyway." He grinned, making her snort. "I-I'm real happy ya came... Been thinkin' about ya." He added slowly.

His words made her tummy flip. "Of course I came." Cara whispered with a puzzled smile. Why would he assume any different? "I've been looking forward to seeing you again so much."

He cleared his throat and brushed over her hair with a lazy lopsided grin. "What did ya think of the show? And be honest, little one."

Cara's eyes widened, taken aback for a second at the fact that he wanted her opinion. She didn't feel qualified enough to answer, she only knew that she loved every second of it. Just like she enjoyed every second of the other three concerts she's been to. With his face plastered all over her room and his voice lulling her to sleep almost every night she wasn't sure how objective she could be.

"I had the best time ever! The way you sang Hurt, it was so beautiful... and of course... the kiss." She blushed and fiddled around with the scarf he'd given her. Right now she doubted she'd ever take it off.

"Ya liked that didn't ya? Me too, baby. Best part of the show, I'll tell ya." He gave her a mischievous smile once again, making it feel as if they were sharing a secret. Something special, just between them.

She looked almost demure as she kept running her fingers over the silky scarf, feeling its smoothness on her skin. "It was all so perfect. Everything. As always."

His face softened and he slowly intertwined their fingers. "You're such a sweet thing for saying that." A surprised gasp escaped her when he brought her hand up to his lips to press a small kiss against the back of it. It took every bit of willpower not to start giggling uncontrollably and embarrass herself in front of him again. The way he'd just show affection like this, like they were lovers, made her feel all giddy inside.

"I mean it. I love watching you perform. I can't get enough of it." She insisted.

He looked away and hummed, his face neutral as he absentmindedly ran his fingers over her arms.

She frowned and dared to raise a hand to lightly scratch his coarse sideburns. "What is it?"

He momentarily leaned into her touch, nuzzling her palm and just soaking up her affections for a few seconds. Then he continued hesitantly. "I-I just, I-I feel like-" He stuttered, shaking his head with a huff.

"Like what?" She encouraged and reached out for his hand, cradling his bigger one in hers and squeezing it reassuringly.

Elvis sighed heavily, the lines on his forehead deepening. She squeezed his hand again. "Honey, I know what they're saying about my shows. About me. I-I don't wanna disappoint anyone. I really don't. Still got six shows on this damn tour." He shut his eyes tightly and started massaging his temples as if the mere thought already caused him a headache.

There was an almost unbearable sadness in his face and she knew immediately what he was talking about, of course she did. So, she did the one thing that came to mind every time she read those horrible things or heard someone make a rude comment about him in her presence.

With an eagerness that hopefully conveyed how much she meant it, she shook her head and tightly wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder smelling the sweat there, remnants from the concerts. She smiled and burrowed further into him, lightly caressing his still damp skin. His breathing quickened slightly when she soothingly trailed her fingers from the side of his neck over the thick patches of hair on his chest and the soft swell of his belly.

Her voice was muffled as she tried to make him understand how she felt about him. "No, don't. You're wonderful the way you are. I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but, uh that's what I think. You are always out there, giving everything for your fans. I hate that you feel like this."

Warmth filled her when he slipped his hand beneath the coat and pulled her closer by her waist, his touch burning through the thin fabric of her dress. Being pressed up against his bulk felt like heaven.

"Baby-" He whispered, sounding rather needy all of the sudden. "-means a lot to me. Come here." His tone was soft and tender and matched his actions as he hooked a finger under her chin and let his lips hover over hers.

She felt his warm breath ghosting over her skin and decided to close the gap between them, kissing him with all the love she had for him. He grunted when she nibbled on his bottom lip and played with the hair at the back of his neck. The feeling of his hand squeezing her waist over and over again spurred her on and she hastily threw one leg over his sturdy thighs, straddling him.

"You're so special to me. You are." She emphasized as she broke the kiss and carefully rubbed her nose against his.

He cupped her jaw and brushed his soft lips against the side of her mouth and her cheek. "Nah baby, you're so special to me." His deep blue eyes bore into hers. "So pretty. Wanna love on ya some." He cooed, making her breath hitch.

"Honey, will you stay for the rest of the tour? I need you here with me. Need you real bad." He muttered against her neck.

An odd sense of calm washed over when he lowered his head and trailed little kisses along her jaw and neck. He locked his hands behind her back, holding her close to him while she pressed her face into his soft hair. His satisfied hum informed her that he must feel something similar.

It pleased her that she was able to take some of the pressure away from him, even if it was just for a moment. Their laboured breathing filled the otherwise quiet suite, a peaceful moment within the unpredictable and gruelling tour schedule he had to endure.

Cara nodded vigorously without even thinking about it, ready to do just about anything to make him happy, to keep him happy. Just the way he made her happy.

..................................................................................

A million kisses and hugs to the loveliest of people. @be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @thatbanditqueen @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @lookingforrainbows @from-memphis-with-love @peskybedtime Thank you for helping me and believing in me. You're truly the most awesome emotional support besties an Elvis fan could wish for!!

@wildhorseinkansas

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #big daddy elvis #elvis x reader #writing prompt game #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfiction

[be-my-ally]

Do it again. Please.

I HATE COMING UP WITH TITLES.

now this could be, a little bit, related to empty promises - or perhaps an AU off of it but you could also read it completely as a stand alone one shot. Fulfilling a request + prompt fill for ‘do it again. please.’  kinda imagining as if e + p’s month long honeymoon had gone so well they’d extended it rather than returning home 2 days later. 

pairing: fem!reader x Elvis Presley (1967)

warnings : 18+,18+, pwp. As always a lil bit of foreplay, teeny use of the term daddy, p in v sex, e can't stop + accidentally cums in her, couple of spanks here and there, tiny bit of innocence play? I use the term labia minora idk I have no excuse.

wc: miss VERY concise smut! 2.5k. 

The honeymoon period seems never-ending, you’ve been together now for almost three years, although only married for a little while - five weeks to the day tomorrow. You’re still celebrating every day like it’s an anniversary, wrapped in one another and cocooned in a bubble from Hawaii and now in California. Elvis hasn’t had to work for a little while, he’d taken the month off for your honeymoon, and extended that by a few weeks, despite the near-constant calls from the Colonel now. He’s talking about doing something new, something different, but for the moment you’re content to have him with you, even if you can tell he’s starting to itch to get back to the studio. He keeps it mostly to himself though, and you’re doing your best to keep him entertained in any way you can. Despite the months, years, of all the practicing and the training, the novelty of actual sex hasn’t worn off yet for either of you and you can’t deny that you use it to your advantage. 

Nonetheless, just because you’d had sex now didn’t mean Elvis didn’t still like doing other things; your thighs were still slightly sore from where he’d pushed them together to fuck in between last week, cock just about bumping against your folds. He’d gotten you off with his tongue before, ensuring a slick passage - using your own wetness as lubrication. But still, he’d fucked you raw, your inner thighs red and rashed. You knew he’d felt a little guilty about it, watching you run around in your swimsuit, marks clearly visible but it hadn’t stopped him from taking you on the sun-lounger and palming at the marks while he did so, after he’d sent his father and the mafia boys he couldn’t live without away. You should have perhaps been more embarrassed, knowing that they all knew why they’d been sent on a sudden errand, but in actuality you wanted him as much as he did you. Any reservations you might have had had been quickly forgotten as soon as he’d revealed his golden skin in the secluded garden. 

You’d been out to dinner tonight, a fairly casual affair, but still an opportunity to dress up a little - although that dress was now thrown over the back of the bathroom door. You loved to see him in his element, relaxed and happy and it hadn’t taken much, the briefest of touches from your pinky finger on the walk out of the restaurant, a thigh knocking against his in the car for him to get the hint that you wanted to go straight to bed once you returned. He’d stripped you almost immediately as the door shut - barely taking the time to appreciate your special underwear. 

You’re swiftly laid back on the bed, his arms lowering you as he kisses you, and he pulls away to  take a second to look down at all of you. You can’t help but preen a little, pushing your chest up and your hips back as you watch him watch you. He’s slimmer than he was at the start of the year, it shows in the thin corded muscle that surrounds his ribs and in the way his powerful thighs give way to slender shins and legs - you don’t prefer him one way or another, but with his summer tan, sweat glistening across his skin, catching on the hairs on his chest and arms he looks like a goddamn vision. An image you couldn’t have even dreamt up. His hair, that had been so carefully styled in the day, now falling across his forehead - flopping down, you can’t resist reaching up, breaking the lingering silence of both your gazes, twisting a strand in your fingers. 

He presses a kiss to your mouth - going where your hands tug him, before breaking your hold as he pulls back, his fingers sliding into you as he does. You moan at the intrusion but you’re so aroused that they barely catch on your entrance, and a little part of your brain that’s still capable of coherent thought wonders how, barely six months ago you couldn’t even get a finger in and now he’s molded you to him, carved out a space to slot in so perfectly that his fingers can just slip in. He crooks them just so - knowing intimately the exact spots to make you writhe. He takes his time, somehow despite his impatience in literally every other part of his life, he very rarely rushes this - ensuring that you’re not only wanting him by the time he moves on but that you’re desperate. Today is no exception, his other hand comes up to fiddle with a nipple, and you’re already sensitive enough that by the time he rolls one between his fingertips you can’t help but clench on his other hand, a jolt being sent straight down your belly. He continues to slip his fingers in and out of you, spreading them a little before nudging at your entrance with a third. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve done this now, his penchant for dirty talk still surprises you, he’s incapable of silence constantly muttering praise against your skin. He moves his thumb, rubbing up the slick inner folds of your labia minora to your hitherto neglected clitoris. He’s narrating as he does; 

“That’s it baby, Jesus Christ look at how wet you are - all for me, ain’t that right? Just gotta, gotta find that lil’ button of yours, get the right spot.” And he does. A swipe of his guitar roughened thumb and your body lifts from the bed, hips jerking. He laughs at you, a little cruelly, as your breathing hitches, eyes closing about to beg for more before he pulls his fingers out. 

You shift on the bed, still slightly aghast at how filthy he is - holding his hand up and spreading his fingers, a line of your slick still connecting the two. You watch, breathe catching in your throat as he puts them in his own mouth, eyelashes fluttering. Your hips buck of their own accord and from his position between your spread thighs he presses his other hand on your tummy holding you down. You squirm, and he pulls out his now spit-slicked fingers from his mouth, pressing them back down to your burning core. He slips between the folds of your labia, fingers catching the puffy, wet, skin. 

“I’m…I’m ready - El, please - please.” He grins, eyes still focussed where his fingers continue to play with you. You groan, clenching around nothing, desperate for something - for more. 

He steadies you, lining himself up and pressing into you. You feel every inch, every centimetre of him as he pushes into you until he’s pressed in to the hilt - your legs being forced wider to accommodate him. There’s the hint of a burning stretch, but with barely a finger over your clit you can feel yourself relaxing into him, Little Elvis burrowing into the warm little home he’d created for himself. A home that had lain dormant, until Elvis as Pygmalion had moulded it to his exact dimensions - your vagina, in fact your whole body, his own Galatea. 

He thrusts into you, famous hips doing their job as he grips your thighs and knees. You crunch up, unable to stop yourself, at the mounting pleasure - even though you’re not convinced it could be that attractive to have you thrashing about below him. But he breathes a laugh - it turning into a groan as he pulls out and pushes into you again, your body arching back. 

“How’re you -“ He’s breathless, gasping out the words, “how’re you still so goddamn jumpy, so fucking jumpy like a lil baby rabbit honey, like you still ain’t used to it,” he’s practically just rambling and you zone out, letting his words wash over you as you concentrate just on his tone and the movements of his body in yours. “God that’s fucking it, yes, oh lord, how’s your yittle cunt so tight still, fit me so goddamn perfectly.” You try to clutch at his arms, where he’s holding your waist, and he pulls out, briefly, flipping you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips up and back to him. You don’t have time to protest, even though you don’t like it on your front as much, your breath snatched away by his sudden manhandling. You turn your face, 

“Oh - El, daddy, I don’t -” He just pulls you back to him though, forcing your legs apart again, and burying himself back into your warm heat. 

“I know, I know baby, but just, just for a little while, give me this -” He sounds moderately apologetic, although not very sincere, its hard to hold a conversation with his cock rocking in and out of you with every roll of his hips but you do your best. 

“Ok, bu-but, but tomorr- “ His hand comes down on your ass - you jump, but can’t help the moan that follows as he interrupts your attempts at bargaining. 

“No baby, you’ll give me it because I want it.” He growls, “Because you’re mine.” His hand comes down again, you can feel the sudden surge of wetness at that, his voice so rough it’s like he’s talking straight to your core. “Say it baby, say you’re mine. We’re married now darlin’. You belong - to - me.” You repeat it back to him, stuttering, promising that you’re;

“I’m - oh - all yours, all yours daddy,” You can hear the sounds of his skin slapping against yours, and the feel of his hands gripping into the marks he’d just made, “I’m, oh god, I’m - I belong to you,” 

“Good girl.” You can’t see him, but you just know from his tone that he’s nodded to himself self-satisfactorily. 

Oh,” Your eyes are rolling back in your head as he continues to fuck into you, your nipples catching on the bedspread as your body is dragged back and forth. “Oh fuck, fuck.” He spanks you again, 

“None-a that fucking filthy language from you baby.” You can’t hear the smirk in his voice, too lost in the sensations, babbling an apology; 

“Sorry, sorry, oh-“ He pulls you out again, and you whine at the loss. But soon his hand is back, finger stroking down your labia where you now remain open, puffy lips slipping between his fingers, slick with evidence of your arousal. His fingertips stroke around your tender entrance and you moan, hips grinding in circles, so close to the edge that you can feel it building in your stomach, only he pulls his hand away just at that moment. Elvis flips you onto your back and lowers himself to be just above you, sinking into you again. You’ve been pretty well acquainted with a multitude of different positions now, but you know you both have a soft spot for the simple ones. The ability to watch his face, eyebrows scrunching and mouth falling open, pouty lips pushed forward when his own pleasure mounts. The ability to hold onto his shoulders as he rocks into you, or pull him into a - usually pretty messy - kiss. He’s been dragging it out for so long now that it doesn’t take long for you to feel the edge again, and he reaches down with one hand, slipping it between your sticky sweaty bodies. 

You’ve not managed this many times, only once before - he’s had to get you off with his fingers or tongue before or after, but as he hits just the right angle again, fingers rubbing over your clit in little circles - the internal and external stimulation combining to send you over the edge, body clenching tight. Your hips grind down in circular movements as you clamp down on him, 

“Oh fuck - fuck, fuck baby, that feels so - oh shit, shit.” You feel him suddenly freeze, twitching inside you, the pulse of his sudden spurt of ejaculate deep within you. You pant, interrupting his swearing even as his hips start to move again, 

“Wha- What,” You swallow, trying to talk around a tongue that suddenly feels too big for your mouth, “What was that?” He groans, his hips pressing himself tight against you before he pulls away with a reluctant sigh, rolling over onto his back beside you,

“S’ok, baby, s’ok -  just oh god I just, I couldn’t stop - god you’ve made such a perfect little bitty home for me, Christ darlin’, I couldn’t stop.” He sounds almost a little nervous, and you wriggle, feeling the way your combined wetness was starting to cool. 

“Oh....” You feel your heartbeat between your legs, a steady pulse, you’d liked it. “….do it again. Please?” He collapses, head falling back onto the pillow -

“Darlin’ I can’t just go again,” You frown, 

“Why?" You blink over at him innocently, watching the flush dissipate from his cheekbones, "You make me do it again all the time.” You writhe next him as if to demonstrate your point. His hair flips forward as he shakes his head, rosy cheeks evident. 

“God, baby, men can’t just - I’d hafta, gotta get myself primed again, I can’t just do it again this second.” You pout, feeling it start to slip out of you, the strange combination of its thickness against the thinness of your own orgasm and the tiny bit of sting where it touches your slightly sore entrance. 

“Unless you’ve changed your mind ‘bout that baby honey you gotta," He sounds like he's thinking fast, "gotta push it out at least.” You frown, trying to regain control of your trembling limbs, 

“El- I don’t -“ He interrupts you, 

“Shh darling, listen to me, promise it’ll be fine you just gotta, go on baby…” 

He groans, holding your legs open, leaning over to watch it bubble out of you, dribbling down onto the bedspread. You moan, 

“Oh, El-it’s I can feel it,” 

“That’s it little, quick ‘fore they get swimmin’.” You groan, rolling your hips at the sensation, and he reaches over, long fingers scooping it onto your inner thighs. You feel your tummy twitch with interest and you squirm as he pats at you a couple of times before wiping his hand on the cover. 

“I… I liked that. Maybe… maybe you could do that again sometime.” He chuckles at you, and you both lay there panting for a second, recovering from the exertion and excitement. He gets up first - rolling you off the cover, throwing a washcloth your way - you do a cursory swipe but can’t get up the energy to do much more. Content to lie there as he pulls all the sheets up to make up for the loss of the additional layer of the bedspread. He climbs back into the bed, joining you where your eyelids are starting to droop closed. 

His arms wrap around you, as he rolls into you, pulling you close to growl into your ear, “Jesus baby, where did that come from? You goddamn little minx,” He puts on a high-pitched voice, “What was that Elvis? Do it again!” You were pretending to be asleep, eyes tightly closed but you can’t help but snicker, his fingers finding their way under your rib cage - digging in, tickling you as you give up the pretense of sleep, caught out, squirming around and giggling. 

tags:

@thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @vintageshanny

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

[missmaywemeetagain]

Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

A/N: Ohhh, so y'all forced this out of me, what with all the talk about the "Blue Scarf" and expanding the "Scarf Universe" thrown at me this week! 😂 (I hear you, I hear you!) Be careful what you wish for, lil' darlin's!! Honestly, though, I've known since I ended Pink Scarf that this was something that was going to happen in this particular way to our dear Reader and E, I just never knew if it was going to see the light of day. And with this week's prompt, all the inspiration and stars seemed to align at once on Sunday, so this came out rather quick and may be rough, and it's possible I might go back and tweak it later, but I'm happy with it for now. I hope this satiates you for the moment. I hope it gives you all the feels. And, yes, perhaps I may expand this little Blue Scarf into a series and include a spicy story or two later, if you all are good lil' babies for me. 😏 💙🧣💙 Let me know in the comments and reblogs...😉

Thanks always to my sister wives @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @be-my-ally and @vintageshanny for allowing me to skirt by late with this week's prompt. 😇

Prompt: “How are we going to solve this problem?”

Rating: PG (ish?) || Word Count: 2.7k

TW: Fluff, angst (always), infidelity (sort of??), no smut (so sorry loves)

Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

August 1971

It’s fitting, you think, that today of all days, you’re wearing his blue silk scarf in your hair. Elvis hasn’t worn it much since that fateful summer a couple of years ago—and only for a few more shows and a couple nights out—so you had absconded with it and made it your own, as you’d managed to do with many of his things. You loved how it smelled of him, the silk doused in his musk and cologne, and how it reminded you of the not-wearing-a-shirt-under-a-jacket/jumpsuit phase he gone through that summer and fall of ‘69. Lord, you’d loved that phase. It had been so easy to lay him bare before you.

Heat floods your cheeks at the thought of what this particular scarf has seen between the two of you, and then at the fact that this might be the worst possible time for a thought like that to pop into your head. You know it’s the shock of the bomb that just dropped on your lives that has your brain short circuiting a little. Because neither of you ever expected this.

You nervously twist the platinum and diamonds on your ring finger, the ones which pledged his love for you in front of your family, friends, and the world. Thoughts fill your mind of your lovely, small wedding, how this scarf had been there for that important moment, too, tied around your waist, cinching your white dress—being both your “something borrowed” and your “something blue.” Elvis loved that you’d included it, this piece of him, as part of your gown.

He also loved untying it at the end of the night and letting it flutter to your feet with the rest of your dress.

It’s counterpart, the pink scarf, had been tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket, a little secret for you both. You’d enjoyed it, as well, later that night.

“Y/n, did y-you hear me? I-I-I-It’s me,” Elvis says, snapping you out of your memories, his hand lingering on the phone he’d just placed back on its cradle. “How are w-w-we going to solve this problem?”

The wavering fear in his voice is palpable and in any other circumstance it might scare you, but a strange sense of calm falls over you. Somehow the domino effect of both of your actions two years ago have led you to this very moment. Tragic as it is, it seems meant to be.

Just like you and Elvis.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you breathe deeply. Yes, there is a part of you that is still jealous and angry about what brought you here. But you knew, even back then, that it was possible he’d been with others in your month-long absence, that his fear of losing you plus old habits could have driven him into the arms of another. It wasn’t a new revelation, just one neither of you had wanted to talk about after all was said and done. And it hadn’t been an issue since, so you figured bringing it up would be more trouble than it was worth.

Pushing that hurt aside, a much bigger feeling swells within you—one you’ve been hesitant to name for fear that it would not come to fruition. But now everything has changed.

“It’s not a problem,” you state, your voice surprisingly steady.

“W-w-what?” Elvis questions, those oceanic eyes of his widening in disbelief.

“It’s a gift, Elvis. From the most unlikely and sad circumstances, yes, but a gift all the same. Isn’t it?” You’re not quite sure if you are trying to convince him or if you are just stating the obvious, but those feelings continue to rise in you and have for days. And they overshadow the fading fissure of anger and the burgeoning fear that you refuse to let consume you.

Hope. Joy.

“A gift?” he repeats, letting the words roll on his tongue, letting them sink in. He blinks slowly, gaze shifting off into the distance for a moment. Then, he looks down at the paperwork on the table. At the picture. “Oh. Oh.”

A shuddering breath shakes his shoulders, his ring clad fingers clawing at his knees. It’s when the tears pool in his eyes, finally betraying his sensitive vulnerability after so many days of keeping it in, that you slide out of your chair and rush to his side.

He immediately buries his head into your belly, his arms circling around your waist, clinging to you. A sob wrenches out of him, one so deep that it brings tears to your eyes.

“I-I-I’m so s-sorry. I-I didn’t think...I-I-I din’t know,” he hiccups. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing to you or her or him. Maybe his apology is for all of you.

“Shhh, hush, it’s okay,” you coo, tears trickling absently down your cheeks. You run your fingers through his soft hair before pulling back, cupping his cheeks so he is forced to look at you.

He is so wide-eyed and young-looking staring up at you, his eyes now matching the scarf in your hair with their electric blue, a dramatic contrast against the redness caused by his tears.

“It’s not a problem, honey, it’s a gift. He is a gift,” you say, wiping the tears that linger on his prominent cheekbones. “We can do this. I want to do this. If you do.”

Elvis blinks up at you, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. If he’s a part of you, he’s a part of me, too. And—and,” you choke up, swallowing your past sorrows, “you know it’s something I’ve always wanted. Something I never thought we could have. This is…a chance to make something wonderful out of something tragic.”

You’re aware the reality is likely going to be much more complicated than either of you can fathom in this moment. There is a part of you that is utterly terrified it won’t live up to the miracle you want it to be and that you won’t be worthy of the task. But that is not what Elvis needs to hear, not right now. Your insecurities can wait.

Elvis looks down at the picture resting on the table of the young woman and her baby. Your gaze follows. The first time you saw it, you knew, based solely on the fact that the woman looked so much like a younger version of you, that something had happened between them in those weeks you’d escaped from Vegas to California, when you left him, trying to figure out if you could forgive him. When you were trying to recover from your life turning upside down.

Her likeness plus the look of horrified guilt on his face upon seeing the picture told you all you needed to know about that. His begging and pleading for forgiveness at your feet solidified it.

But it had been the way Vernon had blanched white as a sheet when seeing the baby that you understood the true consequence of Elvis’ dalliance.

It was a punch in the gut, at first. Of course, it was. But logically you knew that he’d been hurting in those weeks without you, unsure if you’d ever come back to him. It wasn’t altogether surprising that he’d sought out comfort from a girl who looked so much like you.

You wanted to be furious at the fact she had gotten pregnant by him so easily, but you knew that was a futile road to go down, especially after what happened to her.

According to the letter she’d given to her lawyer, who had sent it on to Elvis, the cancer within her spread like wildfire. It was too late to save her by the time her pain had sent her to the doctor. She—Theresa—had never planned to ask Elvis for a thing, she reiterated. Theresa had been content to raise her son by herself. But she had no family to take him in when she was gone, and she could not bear to think of her son alone and unloved.

“You don’t have to take him, Elvis, truly. But I beg you, please, please make sure he is placed with a nice family, that he is loved and taken care of. I cannot leave him all alone.”

His lawyers weren’t convinced, however, and didn’t want him to even entertain the thought. It could open you up for all sorts of future problems, Elvis.

But that didn’t stop him from finding out for himself because, as all of them knew, nobody tells Elvis Presley what he can and can’t do. He tracked her down, in Denver of all places, and took you and Vernon with him to the hospital to see Theresa. You didn’t know how you would feel seeing this girl Elvis had been with in a moment of weakness. Would you want to slap her face? Would you want to cry and scream? Would you want to tear her apart?

Instead, it had shocked you into silence, seeing someone that resembled you so closely withering away from disease, as if it were some sort of eerie harbinger. It made your skin prickle. But then compassion filled you, more so than you ever expected. The poor woman was on death’s door, but you’ll never forget the relief in her eyes when you all walked through the door. That look was something that couldn’t be faked. Nor was the toddler playing with the nurse in the corner, the little boy who Vernon looked at like he’d seen a ghost.

The boy was the spitting image of his father.

But that didn’t stop Theresa from encouraging a paternity test. She was well aware of what a mess this could be for Elvis, and she didn’t want there to be a shadow of a doubt for anyone involved. She wanted him to be sure.

“I don’t want to ruin your life,” she’d croaked, her emaciated frame limp and barely able to produce the tears she was trying to hold back. “I never want him to be a burden.”

The tiny blonde child chose that pivotal moment to break away from the nurse, waddling over and grabbing Elvis’ flared pant leg with chubby little fists, commanding Elvis’ attention downward. His chin tucked, gaze following the movement at his feet, and you watched him wrestle with what to do, what the protocol in this sort of situation was. It was intense, this first moment between them, and the boy’s all-too-familiar crooked smile and slow blinking blue eyes made your heart clench.

You watched Elvis come to an unspoken decision, and he lifted the boy easily and almost too naturally tucked the boy into his hip. The room collectively held its breath, watching the scene unfold. You’d never seen a child snuggle up to an unfamiliar person like that before, the way he buried his head into Elvis’ shoulder as if drawn in, inexplicably trusting. Granted, Elvis had that preternatural way about him, his essence bringing people to him constantly. But this was different.

Heart fluttering into a gallop, you watched Elvis take this moment in before nodding solemnly, sucking in his lip. With the child tucked into his side, it was obvious to you that he was holding back his pressing emotions to stay in control. Nevertheless, he was unwavering when he told Theresa, “Even if he’s not mine, I’ll make sure he finds a good home. I promise you that.”

She’d closed her eyes then, and when they opened, you saw a gratefulness and relief so strong it nearly bowed you over.

Elvis had done the blood test right then at the hospital. Everyone was quiet on the plane ride home. Elvis, pensive and withdrawn, clutched at your hand so tightly it tingled from the loss of circulation. And when the call came the next day that Theresa was gone, your heart broke for her. Sheer willpower had kept her alive long enough to make sure her son would be safe. A mother’s love.

You’d wept for her. You’d wept for you and for Elvis. You’d wept for that little boy.

Nicholas. Nicholas Aaron.

You didn’t tell Elvis that the moment you saw the 16-month-old toddle towards you that you knew. That you loved him instantly, like something magical locked into place. It was too early, too soon. But you knew.

Elvis hadn’t wanted to talk about it much as you all waited for the results. He was antsy and on edge, everyone giving him a wide berth. His guilt was trying its best to distance him from you, that deep seeded, insecure vulnerability in him trying to simultaneously push you away while needing you close. It was evident in the way he clung to you in his sleep. But you did everything in your power to let him know you didn’t hate him for the indiscretion, that you still loved him unconditionally, no matter the paternity outcome.

Of course, your mind whirled in overdrive, circling the drain around your surprising emotions about Nicholas. You found yourself worrying your nails down to the quick about whether he was safe and who was caring for him since his mother died. Your heart felt like it was tearing in two whenever you thought about it. You knew you shouldn’t get too attached, but you couldn’t help it. It was primal and biological, this response.

So when the phone rang this morning and Jerry had so seriously handed it to Elvis, you knew what it was, your breath catching in your throat. This was the moment that would change everything. And you hoped it was for the better as you sat across from him, wringing your hands in your lap. Silence filled the room as Elvis listened to the voice on the other end, his face going Hollywood blank, giving you nothing to hold on to. Your heart threatened to explode right out of your chest and onto the table.

He thanked the voice on the other end and hung up the phone.

“E, what did they—” you started.

“I’m his father,” Elvis finally whispered in shock.

And now you are here, holding him to you, being his rock while in your own state of disbelief and wonder. A thousand emotions roll through you all at once: Hope. Joy. Sorrow for Theresa. Guilt for being happy in the face of Nicholas’ tragedy.

“Do you want this, to take him in, Elvis?” you ask, prompting him to look up at you once more. You pray you know the answer.

“Of course, I do. I’m his father. He’s my son,” he says, as if the unfamiliar words have finally landed and he believes them. Then his signature 1,000-megawatt crooked smile spreads across his face. “I have a son! We have a son!” he adds, proudly.  

Elvis jumps up, grabbing you by the waist, spinning you around until the room tilts on its axis. You laugh breathlessly, arms locked around his neck, wondering how in the world you’ve managed to get here after all this time, in the most unlikely of ways.

A son.

When he sets you down, he looks at you, grinning from ear to ear with an unbridled passion like you’ve never seen from him before. It’s not sexual, and it’s different from the passion he has for his music. It’s the love of a new father, you realize, something you never thought you’d get to see. It makes your heart swell uncontrollably.

“Are you absolutely positive this is what you want, lil’ mama?” His questioning eyes search yours as he cups your face, his fingers catching in the blue scarf in your hair. The pet name suddenly takes on a whole new meaning, releasing butterflies in your stomach.

Excitement has your heart racing and your breath short, but you beam, winking, “Oh, I’m one thousand percent positive, Daddy.”

Elvis kisses you deeply, as though he’s merging with you, engulfing you. It takes your breath away completely.

“We have a son,” he whispers, smiling against your mouth. “Let’s go get our son.” There’s something in the way he includes you in this, a pointed clarity that you are not an outsider because you aren’t Nicholas’ biological mother. No, he’s telling you in no uncertain terms—this is your boy as much as he is mine.

And after so many years thinking it could never be, it finally, truly hits you, without a doubt:

I’m going to be a mother.

*

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

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#something blue #writing prompt game #something blue: a pink scarf universe story #blue scarf #💙🧣💙 #pink scarf #💗🧣💗 #pink scarf universe #elvis presley #elvis #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #austin!elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis fanfiction #missmaywemeetagain #madisyn may

[feuerspirit]

Hey! After a deep dive into Lewis/Miles content (have you seen the amount of pics??? and the videos???), we've decided with @12romy that we need more fics about them. So, send a one-word prompt, and I'll write something about Lewis/Miles! And to inspire you, here's a few pictures 

Don't hesitate to reblog this and join the game, let's make as many Miles/Lewis content as possible! ;))

#f1 fic #f1 #lewis hamilton #miles chamley watson #lewis/miles #writing prompt game

[whositmcwhatsit]

Save Me

Written for the prompt: How are we going to solve this problem?

1976 Elvis in a leather coat for my beloved @vintageshanny This one got away from me, there's so much more to come!

@thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @missmaywemeetagain, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, you are the best, funniest, kindest and most awesome people.

The air shimmered and glittered across the tarmac of the highway, promising oases, lights and civilisation, all of which would turn out to be mirages, as Cindy had discovered after walking five miles in the unrelenting searing wind wearing cowboy boots. The lukewarm can of coke she had been nursing the entire way was bone dry now and she had to admit that she was beginning to panic.

It made no sense, this highway was usually jam packed with people heading to and from LA for the  weekend, but there had only been a smattering of traffic heading in either direction, and none of the hoity toity rich folks had apparently felt inclined to stop for a dusty, sweaty woman standing by the side of the road.

No one at home would even realise anything was amiss before Monday when she was supposed to be at work. They’d probably call home to find out why she was missing her shift, and her dad would think she was pulling a sick day and cover for her, not knowing… God, she was going to end up being eaten alive by buzzards. She squinted up at the sky, paranoid that she could see shadows circling overhead.

The cream car slid through the glimmering haze like it was heaven sent, its gold-plated grille and finishes adding to the surreal quality as it sped on, looking like it was going to rush past her in a fog of sand and exhaust fumes like all the others. It was heading in the wrong direction anyway, she told herself. Though there was no wrong direction away from death by overheating and scavengers.

The sound of tyres skidding in grit behind her made her turn and she saw the car had stopped a couple of hundred yards up the road. She paused, surprised, then broke into an anxious jog, almost sliding over in the roadside dust, her boot soles worn to slipperiness.

Coming to the driver’s window, she hesitated as, instead of the usual well to do middle aged couple or family, she came face to face with a car full of men. They were all wearing sunglasses and, frankly, unwelcoming expressions.

“Uh, thank you for stopping,” she mumbled, her tongue dry and oversized in her mouth. “I was starting to get worried.” The moustachioed man at the wheel just stared at her from behind dark brown lenses.

“Where you headed, honey?” asked a soft voice in the backseat. She frowned, shooting a last look at the blank faced driver before side-stepping to the window behind. She blinked rapidly, sure that what she saw was the result of dehydration, heatstroke and probably the remnants of the acid she had ingested at the beginning of road trip yesterday.

“Uh, well, I was heading back to LA,” she managed, nodding her head in the opposite direction, “but right now I’d settle for a ride to the nearest town with a phone.”

“You got car trouble?”

“In a way,” she shrugged, not wanting to go into her pathetic predicament with him, of all people. She didn’t miss the way that the other men in the car were looking at each other, sharing some sort of communication, and it made her question how desperate her situation really was. Maybe she could wait for the next car…

“You know, my guys here think that we should’ve driven right on by you. They said you could be dangerous like one of those Manson chicks. You know what a honeypot is, darlin’?” She could hear someone sniggering inside the car.

“I’m not anyone’s chick,” she retorted, rubbing sand out of her eye. “And definitely not that psycho’s. Look, thanks for stopping, but I’m fine.” She stomped off, heading back to where she had been standing.

Wrapping her hands around herself, she tried to force her heart to stop pounding. She would be fine, someone would come along, a nice family with a dog she could pet. It would all be fine.

She clenched her jaw as she heard a car door click shut and then heavy footsteps crunch towards her.

“Goddamn, it’s hot,” said Elvis Presley as he stopped at her side wearing a knee length leather coat fastened and belted in the California desert. He must’ve caught her look because he hiccupped a laugh and glanced down at himself. “Well, the car has air conditioning… A-a-and not all of us can look as good as you do in little shorts, honey.” She snorted in spite of herself, feeling her shoulders drop slightly.

“Look, I was only teasin’ before,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses and jutting his jaw pensively. “You’re a good girl, I know. I can tell that about you. I have a sense for these things.” She glanced over at the car and the two big, older guys who were leaning against it, arms crossed to show off their shoulder holsters. “And them- Well, they all do and think what I tell ‘em to, so…”

“I think I’ll be okay,” she murmured. “I’m probably better off waiting for a car going the other way anyway.”

“You’ll be waiting a while, sweetheart, Highway Patrol closed the road about twenty miles that way.”

Well, that explained that.

“Oh God,” she groaned, bending forward at the waist and just dropping like a rag doll until her hair poked into the top of her boots. “Why is this happening?! Wait, if the road’s closed, how come you’re here?”

Well, it’s closed for the public,” he answered, like this explained everything. At her questioning look, he pulled a wallet from the pocket of his coat and flashed her a shiny silver badge. “I ain’t the public.” Her eyebrows knitted tighter together and, after a moment, she reached out and pinched his arm.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, this is just really weird. I had to check.” He smiled, but it took him a minute and he was still rubbing his arm like she had stabbed him rather than given him a little pinch. “You are Elvis, right?”

“Last time I checked, but keep your voice down, honey, I’m travelling incognito.” He gave her a wink and she found herself smiling even though she didn’t know why. “Now, look, let’s get in the car before I melt like a goddamn snowman and we can figure out how to get you where you need to go on the way.”

“On the way to where?”

“My house in Palm Springs.”

As she was deliberating, another fancy car pulled up alongside the cream Cadillac station wagon and a smaller, lean man with a moustache hurried out of the driver’s seat to them.

“Hey, what’s going on, why are y’all by the side of the road?”

“Just rescuing, er- What’s your name, honey?”

“Cindy.”

“We were just rescuing Cindy here. This here’s my cousin, Billy. He might look like a marble-eyed sonovabitch, but-” The other man, Billy, gave Elvis’ arm a punch, but even Cindy could see that there was barely any force behind it, and certainly nowhere near what Elvis retaliated with. Both men burst into laughter, though Billy’s seemed pained.

“I can’t ride with you,” she tried one last time. “There isn’t any space for me, your car is full.”

“Huh, you’re right. How are we going to solve this problem? Hey, Sonny, Red!” The two big men looked over, straightening. “You guys ride in the Stutz with Ricky and David. Billy and Jo are coming with us.”

“Hey, E,” the dark haired one started in a disgruntled voice. Cindy didn’t miss the way that Elvis’s face snapped towards him and whatever expression he had put an end to the complaint.

“I’ve been defending myself from little girls for over twenty years, man, I’m sure I won’t have any problems here.” Lowering his voice, he finished so that only Cindy and probably Billy could hear, “Don’t exactly think I wanna defend myself anyhow.”

Travel arrangements made, Cindy followed Elvis’s broad back on her way back to the Cadillac. She questioned what she was doing, wondering what he was expecting from her in terms of gratitude. Then she shook her head. This was Elvis Presley, after all, he was probably dripping in beautiful models, he didn’t need to pick up damsels in distress by the side of the road to get lucky. He looked different to how she thought though, heavier for sure, that leather coat seemed uncomfortably tight, pale too, and his hair looked like it hadn’t been combed. Of course, she was in no position to judge since her skin had acquired a new layer of dirt and dust and her hair was ratty from sleeping in the van the night before.

The car was deliciously cool as promised, and she sighed as she climbed into the soft leather back seat. Elvis managed to summon up a cold bottle of Mountain Valley spring water and his mouth quirked at the corner as she moaned a little gulping it down.

Billy and a dark-haired woman, who was apparently his wife Jo, sat in the front seat, leaving them alone in the back. It was quiet at first. Cindy gripped the glass bottle in her hands, savouring the cool surface against her hot, sweaty skin. She shifted slightly on the seat, hoping that she wasn’t marking it with her grime. It figured that she would finally meet her first famous person looking her absolute worst.

“So, uh, what happened to your car?” Elvis asked, turning a little so that he was inclined towards her. Her eyes fell on the three- three- thick gold chains around his neck that rested in the dark hair on his chest, disappearing beneath the lapels of his leather coat and the light blue tracksuit jacket was wearing underneath. She blinked and looked back up at his face.

“Well, nothing. It’s still at home back in the city,” she replied. “I- uh. See, I was out in the desert with some friends… camping.” She nodded, yes, ‘camping’. “And there was a misunderstanding between me and one of my friends. She thought I was into her boyfriend and she got mad and- They left me behind.”

“But you weren’t?” he asked. She was looking into his eyes, partially hidden by the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, and asking herself why the hell she was laying out the events of her pathetic life to Elvis fucking Presley. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly. “You weren’t fooling around with your friend’s boyfriend?”

“No,” she demurred. “No, he’s an idiot.” Elvis grinned and nodded, which somehow made her smile right back without thinking about it.

“You’ve had yourself an awfully bad day, haven’t you, Cindy honey. I, myself, have not been having a great day either. Kinda lucky of us to cross paths out here in the middle of nowhere, don’t you think?”

“Why are you having a bad day?” she asked.

“Don’t matter now,” he replied, giving her hand a quick pat. “So, where d’you live in Los Angeles?”

It went on like that, him questioning her and Cindy answering before returning the question back to him. Sometimes he’d answer, but most of the time he would just ask another question. She felt like she was being interviewed for a job she hadn’t applied for.

As the car drew up to a low, white Spanish style house, she was beginning to wonder if she might want the job after all, whatever it was.

Billy opened the car door and Elvis climbed out with a grunt, reaching out a hand to her. It felt like climbing out of a carriage, only she was the regular Cinderella before the fairy godmother had shown up, all covered in dirt and ashes. His fingers curled around hers, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand, and he didn’t release it once she was by his side.

“So, here we are, little honeypot,” he said with an endearing smirk, “come on in.”

Stepping into the house was like walking into a meat locker after the heavy, dry heat of the afternoon. She wanted to pause and bask in it, but Elvis still had hold of her hand and he was not stopping. He gave her the tour, introducing her to the cook, while the other men arrived in the black car and there was a flurry of activity, cases and bags being deposited in the foyer and quickly whisked away.

The whole time, Elvis was walking around, talking about views and telling her a funny story about the time a photographer tried to climb the canyon to get pictures of him in the backyard and he and the guys scared the man so bad that he dropped his camera down a steep incline.

“Bought him another one, of course,” he shrugged with a small smile. “Still, taught him a lesson about being sneaky. Can’t stand sneaky sons of bitches, just come and ask me if you want a picture, don’t- don’t be all underhanded about it.” He stared off out the window at the rocky canyon beyond and she watched and waited, wondering if she was supposed to respond. Finally, he gave his head a little shake and flashed a grin at her, looking at her sideways. And that moment was over.

“So, I’ve been thinking, Cindy honey,” he began, leading her to an upright chair by the window and gesturing for her to sit down. “About you having a bad day and me… And it seems like there’s more to this than meets the eye, I think what we have here is a touch of divine intervention.”

Mouth open, she parsed his words, trying to understand what she was being told. She didn’t.

“Ain’t no way we should have met, you being a little girl pretty much as far from Beverly Hills as you can get and me not going nowhere else, but somehow we did meet. I saved you, and maybe… maybe you can s- you can help me… too.”

“Well, what do you need help with?” she asked. He grinned his famous lopsided smile, reminding her that she was sitting in front of a musical legend, one of the most famous men on the planet, just like he was a regular person.

“Well, for one thing, I don’t like being on my own much and- and my date for the weekend kinda flaked out.” He huffed an awkward, endearing laugh. “You think you might wanna hang around, honey?”

“Well, I have to be at work on Monday,” she said dubiously, feeling a pang at the way he was looking down at her, like she had power.

“I’ll get you to work on Monday,” he replied emphatically. “I can promise you that.”

“But I don’t even have any of my things,” she murmured, thinking out loud. “I left them all in the van and-”

“I’ll get you whatever you need.” He raised his eyebrows. “Anything else? C’mon, while we’re on a roll, throw something else at me, honey.” She laughed, giving his hand a squeeze that he returned.

“Can I use your phone?”

“You got a guy you need to call?” he asked flatly.

“Sorta,” she shrugged. “My father- he’s sick and I don’t like to make him worry about where I am.”

“My daddy’s been sick too,” he murmured, “but he’s getting better.”

There was such determination in his voice that she felt like she had to nod back like she was convinced.

He took her into his bedroom, which she knew must look out over the pool from the layout of the rest of the house, but the curtains were already pulled tightly closed and it felt, if possible, even colder in this room.

“You can make your call in here,” he said, squeezing her shoulder as she perched on the edge of the bed next to the phone. “No one’ll bother you. I’m just gonna make some arrangements, deal with some things. I’ll be back.”

She watched him leave, pulling the door closed behind him, and reflected on the weirdness of everything that had happened in the past few hours. She reached for the phone, but stopped.

As far as her dad knew, she was camping with some girls from work. It had been hard enough to reassure him that she would be okay doing this. If she called him now and said that not only had those girls ditched her in the middle of nowhere, but that she had been picked up by Elvis and whisked away to this house in Palms Springs… Well, he might have the stroke that was going to finish him off, the one they had been warding against for five years.

There was a tap at the door and it opened before she could respond, but it was not Elvis. Jo, the woman married to his cousin, was standing there looking at her like she was a naughty child who had refused to tidy her room.

“What size are you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Size. I’m guessing a…” Her eyes flicked up and down with disinterest. “A six?”

“Four on the bottom half,” Cindy returned. “Why-“

“Shoes? What shoe size are you?”

Baffled and feeling a little bit harried, Cindy gave her the information she asked for, wondering if the woman was lending her some clean clothes or if maybe Elvis Presley of the famed pelvis, who reduced women to screaming, creaming morons with just a jiggle of his leg, had a special wardrobe for all his conquests.

“Okay, so you need to shower,” the older woman continued, directing her to a bathroom away from the bedroom. “Everything you need is just in here. Make sure you wash your hair, clean your nails, brush your teeth. Everything. He likes girls to be clean.”

What do you say to that? Cindy wondered, staring blankly as Jo repeated the instructions like it was normal, like this was an every day occurrence. To be fair, it probably was.

“Today is so weird,” Cindy murmured to herself as she stepped into the bathroom, holding the large, white terrycloth robe Jo had shoved at her. There were toiletries in a big basket, all brand new and unopened. Shampoos, conditioners, soaps and lotions. A toothbrush still in its packaging, razor, and hairbrush and combs. It was like visiting a hotel, an expensive one too, not just a roadside motel.

Turning on the shower, she spotted a little pink transistor radio on the vanity and she switched it on. She couldn’t shower in silence, she needed something to drown out her singing other than the noisy spray. Warbling along to whatever the DJ played, she did everything she had been told, scrubbing and rubbing and rinsing over and over until she finally felt like she had exfoliated the desert from her skin and her mind.

Wrapping the oversized robe around herself, she sashayed like it was a fur coat and she was walking past the velvet ropes at Studio 54, hoping to catch Jagger’s eye. She opened the bathroom door and stumbled back with a muffled shriek when she found a man about her age standing outside. He had shaggy dark hair and was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, which she appreciated.

“You done?” he asked, eyes sliding up her bare legs like a snail leaving a trail across a rock. “You brush your teeth? Clean your nails?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she returned. “Yes, I brushed, I cleaned, I buffed myself to within an inch of my life! God!”

“All right,” he shot back. “I was just checking, because the Boss likes girls to be-”

“Clean, yes, I’ve got it.” She was starting to wonder whether it was Elvis or Howard Hughes who had picked her up.

The man directed her back to the living room, which was dim and shaded now with the curtains pulled across most of the windows against the late afternoon sun.

“Just wait here for a minute,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Cindy shifted from bare foot to bare foot, looking up at the low, sloping ceiling and the immaculately clean fireplace. Her eyes fell on the coffee table and the thick stack of bills placed neatly there.

She wandered over as if called, eyes bugging when she saw that the pile was topped with a hundred. If they were all hundreds, there had to be five thousand dollars there, easy. She thought about all the hospital bills that kept coming to the house, red overdue stamp looking like blood. Then she thought about her dad finding out that she had stolen money to pay them.

Sighing, she forced her feet away from the coffee table and stalked over to the couch, throwing herself down. Having a conscience could be a curse sometimes.

A little while later, the door opened and the man himself finally appeared. He was wearing a short sleeve light blue leisure suit and his hair looked washed and blow-dried. He didn’t look well, she decided, but she couldn’t decide why that thought had popped into her head.

“You look like you’re being eaten by a cloud,” he observed with a little smile, exhaling sharply as he dropped onto the couch beside her. He nudged his leg against her, but didn’t seem to notice, almost like he couldn’t keep still. “You get everything you need, honey? You speak to your father?”

“Yes, thank you,” she lied.

It was probably a good idea to make him think that people knew where she was, she decided. He leant back, stretching his arm like he had a twinge in his shoulder and then resting it along the back of the couch behind her. She had to work hard not to giggle. It was like being back in middle school.

“Why d’you wear sunglasses indoors?” she asked, wincing at her words as soon as she spoke them. “Sorry, that was rude-" He laughed softly and shook his head; his arm slid forward slightly against her shoulders.

“No, no, it’s fine, honey. I, er, have to wear ‘em because I got sensitive eyes. The light messes with ‘em sometimes, that’s all.”

“It’s not very bright in here,” she observed, glancing around at the lengthening shadows around the room.

“Yeah, well, I- I kinda need ‘em to see as well,” he admitted, ducking his head. “Can’t see as good as I used to.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense.” His smile widened and she felt his fingers wrap around the top of her arm.

Sitting so close to him felt like sitting with her side to the Sun, he gave off so much warmth and also a sense of power, like he was the centre of the whole galaxy. He was stroking her arm with his fingers, and she could feel the rough end of his rings scraping the folds in her sleeve and she shivered.

He smirked and, despite the fuller face and the beginnings of a double chin, she could see the man who had made her feel tickly in her tummy during the Saturday matinees her dad had taken her to. She was looking into his eyes through the pinkish tinted lenses of his glasses, their faces drawing closer, when there was a tap on the door.

“Goddamn it,” Elvis muttered under his breath, probably louder than he thought he was. “Come in!”

Billy appeared with several bags, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to Elvis’ obvious annoyance.

“Here ya are, got what you asked for,” he said, lifting the bags.

“Well, just leave it by the door,” Elvis snapped back. “And why the hell d’you leave this cash here? You just throwing my money away now, man?”

There was a weird note in the exchange that Cindy couldn’t quite figure out, but Billy gathered up the money without argument and left, dropping the bags by the door.

“Families, huh,” she observed as he huffed an exasperated sigh, his round stomach rapidly expanding and deflating. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.”

“Yeah, so they tell me,” he returned, shooting the door one last look of annoyance, before turning back to her. “You know, I just wanted to say thank you, Cindy honey.”

 “For what?” Grabbing a ride? Taking a shower?

“For staying. It’s real nice of you."

Her mouth twisted into a baffled smile as her brain puzzled over whether she had heard him right. He did know who he was, right? He rubbed her arm over the terrycloth sleeve and twisted towards her. Her eyes dropped to his lips and, though they looked a little dry, they were plump and inviting. Soft too as he pressed them against hers.

It was a chaste, sweet kiss, he didn’t even try slip her any tongue. Cindy never made it to a dance in her sophomore year, but she imagined this was what it would have felt like. She reached up to hang her fingers from his neck, surprised again by how warm his skin was. The hair at the nape of his neck was damp with sweat and his breath wavered as she ran her thumbs curiously through his long sideburns. They felt soft and coarse at the same time and she couldn’t explain how.

“Yeah, I think someone or something has put you in my way for a reason,” he murmured, eyes fixed on her lips as he pulled back. She could feel herself begin to broil under his gaze. He pecked her lips again, pressing his weight against her. “Let’s get you ready, honey.”

Elvis led her around by the hand like she was a cross between a little child and a delicate princess. They went back into the kitchen where he told the cook that he wanted fried chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner, reminding her that the gravy wasn’t thick enough last time. He turned to Cindy, asking what she would like to eat.

“Aren't I having the same as you?” she asked. Asking for two different meals seemed… rude, somehow.

“Oh, honey, you don’t have-” He ducked his head and smiled. “She’ll have the same, just a regular size, okay?”

The woman smiled at Elvis the way that most women smiled at him, indulgently and kind of wistful. It was a strange thing to experience and then to see.

“Okay, lil honeypot, let’s get you dressed and ready for dinner,” he said, throwing a smile over his shoulder as he led her back to the bedroom.

The bags that Billy had left in the living room had been transported here and Elvis gestured to them. She peered inside, finding a white dress, underwear, and even shoes. She hadn’t worn so much white since her mom passed and her dad had turned everything grey with a misplaced sock when she was ten. She hesitated, wondering if he wanted her to put on a show, to earn them, but after she had waited for several minutes, he lifted a hand to the adjoining bathroom and motioned for her to go.

Wavering on the white, naturally, platformed heels, she tottered back into the bedroom where Elvis was reclined against the pillows reading a book. He glanced up over the top and gave an exaggerated double take.

“Who’s this sweet lil angel who’s showed up in my bedroom?” he asked, dropping the book on the bed and clambering up.

He crossed the room to her a little unsteadily and suddenly threw his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She could barely breathe with how close he was holding her, his arms pinning hers to her sides, his stomach tight against hers, constricting her air. Even his thighs were hard against hers. She didn’t know what to do, so she lifted her arm as much as she was able to stroke the small of his back.

“You look so pretty,” he murmured, when he finally drew back, running his thumb over her lips in concentration. “We’ll get Jo in here to do your make up and you’ll be perfect.”

“I can do my own make-up,” she insisted, not wanting to be a source of irritation for the other woman yet again.

“No, honey, Jo knows how to do it the way I like it,” he replied, biting on his lip before leaning forward and kissing her, lingering on her lips this time, almost as if he wanted to deepen the kiss but lost his nerve. “I want you to look like you’re all mine.”

He ducked his head down bashfully in the way that she was already getting accustomed to, but this time there seemed to be more of a purpose to it. She glanced down too when she felt him fumbling with her wrist and she watched as he fastened a thick, heavy gold ID bracelet around it. On the front, Elvis was spelled out in large diamonds.

“There,” he mumbled, sounding self-satisfied. “Now everyone will know you’re mine.”

She didn’t know how to respond to this, not in a way that didn’t hurt his feelings, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. No, she was already feeling an overwhelming need to protect him, this much older, richer, more powerful man.

Jo didn’t really speak to her as she did her make up. Cindy could barely open her eyes with the weight of the eyeliner and mascara they had been coated in. She barely recognised the woman she saw staring back at her in the mirror, especially not when she lifted her arm to peer at the bracelet. Such a weird day.

The table was full of men at dinner, with only Jo and Cindy adding some much-needed female companionship. Elvis and the other men laughed and chatted through the meal, arguing and guffawing over old stories; stories that always seemed to feature Elvis doing something insane, dangerous and/or reckless and somehow getting away with it. He grinned at her at every conclusion, looking pleased with himself and she tried her best to look impressed and amused.

Cindy understood what Elvis had meant when he instructed the cook to make her meal regular-sized. He and the rest of the men devoured prodigious amounts of food and it felt like dinner went on for hours waiting for them to finish.

As soon as she put down her knife and fork, Elvis reached over and clasped her hand with his, maintaining that hold even as he was eating and talking to everyone around her. It was like sitting with a spotlight on you, seen but unseen, valued but ignored.

After dinner, Elvis led her over to the piano. A couple of the guys, one of the large ones with all the guns, and a small one, picked up guitars and perched on a footstool and the sofa around him. He insisted, though there was barely enough room, that she sat next to him on the piano stool. She leant into his side, trying to maintain her balance.

“What d’you wanna hear us sing, Cindy honey?” he asked, like she would be fine with that, like she would casually accept Elvis Presley asking for requests.

“Lawdy Miss Clawdy?” she asked. It was one of two Elvis songs her father had played her religiously on a Saturday afternoon when they needed to jump around and use up some energy.

“Aw, that’s so damn old,” he remarked. “Can’t you think of nothing from this century?” He hiccupped a small laugh, which his guys echoed far louder, but she could sense that she had upset or offended him somehow. Probably by making him feel that only his old songs were the best, she guessed. She had hurt his feelings.

“You should sing what you want to sing,” she said quickly, rubbing his jiggling knee. “Anything you sing will blow me away.”

The smaller guy with the guitar suggested ‘Love is a Many Splendored Thing’, but before he had even finished his sentence, Elvis was pounding the keys of the piano in the very familiar introduction to ‘Lawdy Miss Clawdy’.

Everyone who had ever listened to an Elvis record always felt like he was singing directly to them. That was part of his magic and charm, but Cindy now knew that that feeling was nothing compared to knowing that he was singing directly to you. Her face was throbbing with heat as the blood rushed there. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, clasping them in her lap like she had to hold in her vital organs or she would die. He frowned over the piano as he sang, but every now and again, shot her a look from the side of his eye, his cheekbones round and prominent as he held back a smile.

As the last chords of the piano faded out, he cleared his throat, making fun of how much higher his voice used to be. Cindy clapped, ignoring the eyerolls and looks of derision that some of the men were throwing her. She had never been able to get to a concert. They usually sold out in hours and there was no way she could skip work to queue overnight and all day. So this was probably the closest she was ever going to get to seeing Elvis live, and she was making the most of it.

“Thank you, honey,” he mumbled, angling his face so that he could kiss her cheek. He grabbed her hand that was still clapping and brought it to his lips, giving her fingers a soft peck also.

Forgetting all the eyes, the uncomfortable shoes, the skimpy dress that made her shiver in the air conditioning, and the mask of make-up she was wearing, Cindy ducked forward and kissed him. She almost missed completely, catching only the corner of his mouth, but he rescued her for the second time that day, wrapping his arms around her, hot palms against her back and turning his head, sliding his tongue in to brush against hers. Maybe he was right, they could both save each other.

#elvis presley #70s elvis #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfic #1970s elvis #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #writing prompt game

[vintageshanny]

Hot Leather

Content: 70s Elvis, smut in the suit pictured below, 18+

Writing prompt:

“Do you mind? I came here to get away from other people.”

You headed back inside the house after a nice walk around the grounds of Graceland.  It was a beautiful day, but Elvis had decided he couldn’t join you because he wanted to try on a few new costumes he had ordered.  He was thinking of changing it up from the usual white jumpsuits he performed in.  You headed up to the bedroom in search of him.  “Elvis?  Where are you?”  There were some rustling noises coming from the large walk-in closet, but the door was closed.  You walked over and flung it open, wondering if an animal had somehow gotten in the house.  Instead of an animal, you saw Elvis standing in front of you in a skin-tight beige leather suit with metal adornments.

“Do you mind?  I came here to get away from other people,” he burst out, sounding embarrassed.  “It’s not other people, baby, it’s just me,” you said, looking him up and down.  “I-I-I’m sorry, honey, I know, I-I-I just didn’t want ya to see this yet.  I’m not sure how I look.  Is it t-t-too much?”  You couldn’t help smirking at the idea that Elvis would find any outfit to be “too much.”  You looked him over again and took in all the details.  There was an interesting V-shaped design of metal studs going about halfway down the front of the shirt, with his hairy chest poking out in between.  There were more studs in a design around his knees.  The suit was almost the color of his flesh, which gave an illusion of nudity at first glance.  But what really drew your eyes in was the lace-up crotch.  

“It’s definitely a different look.  It’s very sexy, very um, form-fitting,” you rambled on while your eyes were laser-focused on his package.  He followed your gaze down to the lace-up pouch of fabric that contained Little Elvis and smirked a little bit.  “Oh, do ya like my form, baby?” he chuckled.  Little Elvis was beckoning to you like a siren song.  You drew closer to him, rubbing your hand gently over the outline of him.  He breathed in sharply.  “Your, uh, form always looks good to me.  Maybe I should see if someone needs a little break from all that hot leather,” you murmured as you rubbed a little harder, feeling his length grow under your hand, a soft groan escaping his lips.  Pushing Elvis up against the wall of the closet, you got down on your knees in front of him, now face to face with the laces that were starting to look a little strained. 

“It’s like opening a gift on Christmas morning,” you whispered excitedly as you started to untie the string.  “Yeah?  Did you ask Santa for a rock hard cock, baby?”  Elvis said, unable to contain his loud hiccuping laughter.  “I didn’t even have to ask, he knew I wanted that when I started dating you,” you teased.  Peeling down the tight leather pants just enough for his cock to spring out, you leaned in and ran your tongue across the sensitive tip that was peeking out of the foreskin, causing Elvis to shiver with delight.  “Goddamn baby, you always know just what to do with your gift.”  Taking his cock in one hand, you moved your mouth up and down on it while the other hand gently braced against his waist, your fingertips brushing against the soft skin of his stomach underneath the leather shirt.  Once you got a good rhythm, you moved your hand off his cock and let him thrust into your mouth while your hands roamed over his body, squeezing his thighs and butt through the leather pants.  He reached down and fondled your breasts while you continued to take him in your mouth, your name repeatedly falling from his lips between groans and whispers of “Oh, god, that feels so good.”  

“Baby, I think I’m bout to cum, ya ready?”  he called out, never wanting to surprise you with it.  You nodded as you moved your mouth up to suck at his tip while the warm explosion poured over your tongue.  “Oh god honey,” he groaned out with a shudder, slumping back against the wall while you licked his cock clean.  You’d do anything to hear this beautiful man moan out your name in pleasure like that.  Little Elvis gave one last little twitch as you kissed him softly and helped Elvis lace the pants back up.  

“So is that a yes to this costume then?”  Elvis asked, pulling you in for a big kiss.  “Mmm, I don’t know Elvis, I kind of want this gift to be just for me,” you patted Little Elvis gently.  “I don’t want some other woman trying to unlace you.”  “Oh, honey, ain’t no one else could unlace me like you do,” he laughed.  “Y’know,” he added a little sheepishly, “this came with a cape too.”  Your eyes lit up at that.  “Oh, my superhero, huh?  Some time you can come rescue me wearing just the pants and cape.”  “You don’t like the shirt?” he asked, a little surprised.  “I like it, baby, but I want easy access to this.”  You reached into the opening of his shirt and ran your fingers across his chest hair, giving his nipple a light pinch, causing him to give a little moan and shiver.  “Mmm I love how sensitive you are, daddy.”  “You’re a little weirdo, y’know that?” he laughed.  “That’s just what you do to me.  So damn sexy,” you stared into his beautiful eyes and leaned in for another kiss, feeling on a high from the taste and scent and feel of this man.

Sorry ladies, I had to do it! I couldn’t get this suit off my mind, and now hopefully neither can you! Is it out of my system? Probably not. 😂 Thanks for the inspiration and making me feel like less of a weirdo for being turned on by this suit @thatbanditqueen! The rest of you will come around. @missmaywemeetagain @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love

#Elvis #Writing prompt game #Hot leather stud suit #elvis x reader #Elvis fan fic #i love this man