note: requested / warnings: prob typos + grammar issues, elvis is head over heels for reader, fluff into some smut, p in v sex, lots of kissing, switch elvis (he’s subby but jus’ so happens to be on top) , sleepover at graceland <3 / summary: elvis invites you over to his newly purchased home, graceland, for a sleepover since he hasn’t seen you in so long- you’re just as perfect as he remembers.
Elvis was in love with you. Plain and simple. He always had been– since highschool, since he first saw you. There was something about you, about the way your hair fell, the way your nose crinkled up when you laughed, the way your eyes would twinkle whenever anyone would compliment. Cute as a button.
Sitting on the couch, the TV playing at such a low volume that it would be impossible to hear– Elvis bit his nails, bounced his leg, tapped his foot on the floor and watched eagerly out the window for the sight of your car. He had painstakingly convinced his beloved mama to let you come over, of course, she was a bit scared that the press would talk since all the papers read his every move; but finally she gave in and decided to oh-so-kindly be out for the weekend with Vernon so the two of you could catch up properly. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of nervous anticipation, Elvis spotted your car pulling up to Graceland. Heart pounding, he raced to the front door, flinging it open before you even had a chance to knock. Good god. You were as beautiful as ever– that flowy dress, that bright smile, you looked like an angel. For a split second Elvis froze, captivated by your sheer beauty before he pulled you into the tightest hug ever. His arms wrapped around you as you giggled,“You miss me that much, El?” You teased, rubbing your hands gently up and down his back. Elvis reluctantly pulled away from the hug, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment before he quickly put his arms at his sides, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Ah, well I spose’ I missed you, I ain’t seen you in what? 4 years?” Elvis said, his crooked smile wide. Shaking your head gently Elvis let out a small ‘oop’ sound before moving to the side, allowing you to come in.
The inside of Graceland was nothing more than extravagant– something beautiful, unique, but didn’t feel empty or overly-polished. It was homey, comfortable. “Oh Elvis, this is…amazing.” You said, sitting down your bags on the floor to which Elvis quickly picked up behind you. “Thank ya’, all for my mama.” Elvis said, smiling- watching you look around like a kid in a candy store. Those pretty eyes of yours twinkling. You were so beautiful…so, very beautiful. Elvis had to snap out of it because he knew he was staring– he knew that you probably noticed too. “Anyway! I, uh- You wanna go see your room?” Elvis offered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. God he hoped you could see how hard this was for him. How much he wanted you. But he knew he had to play it cool, and had to be a gentleman. You nodded, a smile spreading across your face as you followed Elvis up the stairs, your hand lightly brushing against his. The touch sent sparks through his body, and he had to resist the urge to grab your hand and hold it. As you reached the top of the stairs, Elvis led you down the hallway, past several bedrooms, before stopping in front of a door. "This is your room for the weekend," Elvis said, his voice slightly husky. He opened the door, revealing a lavish bedroom with a king-sized bed draped in silk sheets. "Well doll, this here's your room for the weekend. Hope it's to your likin'." He said in his drawl, more noticeable with his nervousness, he always had the tendency to sound more ‘hick’ when he was nervous like that. “Thank you so much El! It’s real nice here, I love it already.” You gushed, turning around to face a nervous, flushed Elvis. A little confused, you watched as he swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. "Let me know if you need anything at all, sugar. I'm right down the hall." He gave another crooked smile . "I'll give you some privacy to settle in. When you're ready, why don't you come on down and we'll catch up?" “Sounds good! Thank you so much El! I won’t be long.” You said brightly, excited just to see him. “Sure thing, darlin', take all the time you need. I’ll be waitin' on you downstairs.” With that, Elvis turned and made his way back to the kitchen, his heart racing and palms sweating. He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, trying to calm his nerves as he fiddled with the bottles of liquor on the shelf, wondering what they should drink. As he stood there, lost in thought, he heard your footsteps padding down the staircase. Elvis straightened up, putting on his most charming smile as you entered the room. "Feel settled in alright?" He drawled, his honeyed voice smooth as silk. Elvis knew he needed to keep things light, casual, but lord have mercy, just the sight of you made his insides quiver like jelly. He motioned to the bottles in his hands. "I was thinkin' we could have ourselves a little drink, seein' as how it's gettin' late. What's your poison, doll?" Elvis asked with a playful smile, hoping to ease some of the tension crackling between you two. Under the guise of pouring drinks, he snuck glances at you from beneath his lashes, drinking in the sight of your pretty face, those sparkling eyes and soft curves. Sweet Jesus, you were a sight for sore eyes.... “Oh Elvis, You know I hardly ever drink, just pour me whatever you want.” You said, sitting down at the counter, sitting your face in your hands. “Yeah, I know. Lots can change since highschool, for all I know ya could be an alcoholic.” Elvis teased and you shook your head, giggling. Elvis always knew how to make you laugh- it was obvious that singing and moving wasn’t his only talent. “Shew, I missed you n’ your jokes.” You said, as Elvis finished pouring the glasses of whiskey.
"Here ya go, sugar," he said, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you the glass. "Bottoms up." He raised his own glass in a toast, his eyes never leaving yours. The amber liquid burned going down, and you struggled not to choke. Of course he gave you damn whiskey. Elvis chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement as he watched you struggle with the whiskey. "Ah, I forgot ya didn't much care for the stronger stuff," he drawled, his crooked smile growing wider. "My bad, darlin'. I'll make sure to remember that for next time." Elvis's eyes never left your face, studying every nuance of your expression, drinking you in like a man parched in the desert."So,” he started, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the counter. "What's your life been like since high school? You find yourself a handsome fella yet?" His tone was playful, but you couldn’t help but notice something else, maybe a hint of jealousy? “Lord no, Elvis. I’ve had a few boyfriends but nothin’ meaningful. Nothing i’ve been looking for…” You sighed, watching Elvis carefully, he looked oddly pleased with your answer. “Well how about you? From what I hear girls are rippin’ your clothes off nowadays, literally.” Elvis shook his head, for some reason a part of him hoped you hadn’t seen all that– though he knew it was impossible you hadn’t. “Lord honey, you should see them.” He said, pouring himself another glass of whiskey and offering you some which you quickly declined. “They’ll squeal and hollar like they’re dyin’ and grab all on me! You oughta come watch a show sometime.” Elvis says, swallowing down the whiskey, hoping it would give him some confidence.”No thanks, as much as I love you El I ain't interested in coming to see women drool over you.” You teased, watching Elvis’ facial expression shift. “What? You’d get jealous?” He said, leaning over the counter closer to you, looking a bit nervous - a shy smirk playing on his lips. “Maybe I would.” You said, trying to stay calm. Literally what in the world were you saying? You took one shot of whiskey and were acting like a fool already. Elvis' heart skipped a beat, he tried his best to remain calm, the whiskey acting as a mask for his nervousness, the smirk only growing wider at your admission, a hopeful glint in his eyes. "Would you really be?" he asked, his honeyed voice low and shaky. "I- I can't say I blame ya, honey. I know I sure wouldn't like seein' another man gettin' all riled up over you." He reached out, his fingers grazing along your jawline, tilting your chin up to meet his intense gaze. God the whiskey did him wonders.
Your breath hitched at his touch, electricity crackling between you. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, a feather-light caress that sent shivers down your spine. ”E-Elvis…” You stammered, your heart was racing, your face was flushed and you knew it. You were in love with him. “You look so purty…” He said, tilting your face side by side gently, getting a good look at you. “I always thought you were the prettiest girl I ever saw…” Elvis swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing before he withdrew his now shaking hand. “I-I’m sorry honey…” Elvis says, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, he seems out of breath– like he’s run a marathon. “No, Elvis..” You say gently, reaching for his shaking hand and holding it. “Please don’t be sorry.” Elvis' eyes widened as you took his hand, your soft fingers intertwining with his own. He swallowed hard trying to steady his breathing. "I can’t help it, " he murmured, his voice low and husky. Elvis' heart was pounding in his chest, the alcohol coursing through his veins only heightening his senses, making every touch, every glance, every word feel so much more. "I-I’ve missed you so much…” he whispered, his lips mere inches from yours. "I ain’t been able to stop thinking about you, you’re just…you’re just perfect." Elvis looked like a sad puppy, his eyes wide, his bottom lip pouting. “Oh Elvis…that ain’t nothing to be sorry for.” You said, gently letting go of his hand and cupping his face. “I-I missed you too…” You whispered as he nuzzled himself into your hand. "Tell me you feel this too," Elvis breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me I ain't the only one goin' crazy here." He searched your eyes, desperate for any hint of reciprocation, any sign that you wanted this as much as he did. “Of course I do.” You said, and Elvis shook his head gently in your hand before raising up. “Please…let me kiss you. I-I got too.” He begged, moving swiftly across the table standing before you while you sat on the stool, you were finally his height like this. Grabbing your hands Elvis hesitated, waiting for you to say anything, to do anything. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribs as you gazed up at him, lost in the depths of his baby blue puppy eye stare. Elvis's proximity was intoxicating, his scent surrounding you, his warmth seeping into your skin. Slowly, hesitantly, you leaned in closer, your lips parting slightly as if in invitation. "Kiss me, Elvis," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Please."
Elvis' breath caught in his throat at your whispered plea. Without another word, he leaned in, his lips barely brushing against yours in a soft, feather-like kiss. It was electric, sending sparks through his entire body as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. Your hands came up to grip the collar of his shirt, pulling him even closer as his arms wrapped around your waist. God, you felt incredible in his arms, and he never wanted to let you go. Elvis poured all of his pent-up desires and longing into that kiss, his tongue darting out to taste your lips, your tongue, anything he could reach. He groaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips, and you couldn't help but moan in response, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer. It was like a switch went off in him. All the emotion, all the love he had been holding back for so many years, came flooding out in that one passionate kiss. He trailed his lips along your jawline, down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Your head tilted back, giving him better access as he peppered your skin with kisses, nips, and licks, each one more fervent than the last. "I've wanted this for so long," Elvis breathed against your neck, his words sending shivers down your spine. "I love you, sugar. I've loved you for as long as I can remember." He punctuated each word with a kiss, his hands roaming over your curves, exploring every inch of you as if he were committing it to memory. Suddenly, Elvis lifted you off the stool, holding you tight against his chest as he carried you towards the staircase. "Let me take you to bed, honey," he murmured, his voice laced with need. "Please." He begged, and asif in a daze, you nodded, your lips still swollen and tingling from his kisses. Elvis ascended the stairs, taking two at a time, his heart pounding with anticipation. Once inside your bedroom, he laid you gently on the silk sheets, hovering over you before leaning back down, kissing the spots he had bitten to ease the pain. Leaning up Elvis' hands trembled as he tenderly brushed your hair away from your face, his eyes filled with adoration."You're so beautiful, sugar," Elvis whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I can't believe I'm finally here with you like this." He leaned down, pressing soft, reverent kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and finally, your lips. His hands explored your body, tracing the curves of your hips, the swell of your breasts, the delicate skin of your collarbone. Every touch was gentle, worshipful, as if he were handling the most precious treasure in the world. You responded to his touches with soft gasps and moans, your body arching into his, begging for more. Each sound that escaped your lips was like music to Elvis, each time you moved into his touch, each time you ran your hands through his hair or along his back, his heart would swell.
His fingers trace along your collarbone, down your chest, and over the swell of your breasts, making your breath hitch with anticipation. He looks up at you before pulling your dress over your head hastily, snapping the middle hook of your bra and allowing it to fall. “Good lord.” He whimpers as he takes one of your breasts in his hand, kneading it gently. “So soft…” He praises, rolling your nipple between his fingers, his free hand resting on your thigh. He takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking the sensitive bud, pressing more of himself onto you, desperate for more. "Elvis," you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. He moves lower, his lips trailing down your stomach. His hands slide down your sides, fingertips skimming along your skin until they reach the waistband of your panties. He hooks his fingers in the fabric and slowly drags them down your legs, tossing them aside. You notice how he’s still shaking, he seems so pent up. “Elvis...Relax..” You coo, and he nods. "I-I’m sorry…You’re just so perfect…." he murmurs, his hot breath ghosting over your most sensitive area. "I want to taste every inch of you." He lays his head on your mound, nuzzling himself there- his tongue delving between your folds, licking and sucking your clit. Your hips buck off the bed, a sharp cry escaping your lips at the sudden feeling. Elvis moans against your flesh, the vibrations adding to your pleasure. His tongue circles your clit before dipping inside you, fucking you with his tongue, his nose brushing against your clit with each thrust. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your thighs trembling as he works you closer and closer to the edge. Elvis could’ve came in his pants, his pants uncomfortably tight against his throbbing cock- the taste of you on his tongue was heaven. He couldn't stop, his mouth feasting on you as you shook and trembled. “M’ gonna cum..” You stammered as Elvis hands gripped into your hips, pulling you closer into his face. Elvis groans deeply as he feels you tremble and shake against his mouth, your sweet nectar coating his tongue. He continues to lap at your sensitive folds, helping you ride out your intense orgasm. Only when your body goes limp does he pull away, licking his lips and wiping his mouth
. As you lay there, panting and quivering from the aftermath of your intense climax, Elvis leans back up. "You taste so good," he whimpered. "I can't ever get enough of you." His hard cock pressed against your thigh, straining against the confines of his pants. You could feel how much he wanted you, how desperately he ached to be inside you. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pulled him closer, your core grinding against his rock-hard length. Elvis groaned at the contact, his hips bucking involuntarily against you. "P-please.," he whispered, his voice ragged. "I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel." He reached down, his fingers finding your slick folds and dipping inside. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, your walls clenching around his digits. He pumped them in and out, his thumb circling your sensitive clit, coaxing you back to the brink of ecstasy. "Tell me what you want, baby," Elvis murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "I want to give you everything." Elvis begs, practically humping your leg at this point. “C’mon El…please.” You beg, needing him to be inside of you. Elvis couldn't hold back any longer. With a desperate groan, he fumbled with his belt, finally freeing his throbbing cock from the confines of his pants. You marveled at his size, hitting the lower part of his belly, his pink tip peeking out from his foreskin glistening with precum. “Good lord Elvis.” You whispered as he stroked himself a few times, already looking like he was going to burst. He positioned himself at your entrance, the heat of your core radiating against his sensitive tip. "I love you so much," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to be with you forever." With a slow, steady push, he sank into you, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside your tight warmth. You both moaned at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces. “Y-You’re so warm…feel…feel sa’ good.” He whimpered, his hands gripping your hips. Elvis began to move, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm. You met him thrust for thrust, your nails digging into his back as you held on for dear life. The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your combined moans and whimpers from the both of you. Elvis angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with each pass. "Oh god, baby," he panted, his forehead pressed against yours. "You feel so fuckin’ good." He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster, driven by pure instinct and raw desire. You could feel your orgasm nearing. "Elvis!" you cried out, your walls fluttering around his hard length. “I-I wanna fill ya up, please baby l-let me. I wanna…I need ta-” He stammered, his thrusts becoming more desperate- you let out a loud whimper as you came on his cock, squeezing him like a vice Elvis let out groan as his cum coated the inside of your walls, feeling unbelievably full. Elvis collapsed on top of you, his softening cock still buried inside you as you both struggled to catch your breath. "Y-you’re so perfect," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. "I love you so much." You smiled, your heart bursting with love for this man. "I love you too, Elvis.” you replied, taking a hand and running it through his hair. “I-I I’ve thought about that for a real long time.” Elvis confessed. “A real long time.” He continued, placing more soft kisses on your face. Elvis pulls out of you, a small amount of his seed leaking from your used hole as he moves up your body. He rests his head on your chest, listening to the sound of your heartbeat as it gradually slows. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close as your fingers trail through his hair. You feel safe, cherished, and utterly adored. Elvis starts to doze off, his breathing evening out as he succumbs to sleep. You watch him, marveling at how peaceful and content he looks in your arms. Elvis had never felt so loved in his little old life. Never felt so happy, never felt so complete. All with you.
i’m ngl i have hardly ever wrote any kinda fluff before but i hope this is good 😭 i know it ends in smut but writing sweet stuff like that is so cute and i just love it! i hope y’all enjoyed, love y’all <3
This very small drabble is written for @elvisalltheway101 I really hope you like it! It's very short and I apologise about that, my brain isn't doing what I want it to do. Your writing that you did for me is so so so lovely and made me fake sob, it's adorable! Thank you for <your> support and little comments you leave under my posts, they also make me giggle and kick my feet and same goes to everyone else!! Love ya all dollies :)
Characters: Late 60s/70s Elvis X reader
Warnings/triggers: Crying, crying for no reason
(I thought it would be kinda good to write something about this since I think some people just cry randomly, having the urge to yk?)
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Being at home, all wrapped up in a blanket on the couch as you stare into the abyss and hearing shuffling noises from Elvis making both of you hot chocolate in the kitchen while listening to the rain trickling on the windows is so calming. It really is so calming that the urge to cry bubbles inside of you- What? You shake your head and hide your face in your hands, a pitiful sob squeezing out of your throat as tears slide down your dry cheeks. Your breathing increases and your heart thumps in your chest.
“Honey?” The faint sound of someone’s voice echoes into your mind, a voice that is oh so familiar “El-” you whine in frustration, you don’t know why you’re crying, it just bursted out of you. “Oh oh sweetie…” ceramic cups sitting on the coffee table and a hand lying on your knee that is covered by the blanket, sniffling and hiccuping as you lift your head out of your hands seeing him kneeling on the floor in front of you. Another sob escapes and your cheeks and nose grow pink “Oh- now now Satnin, what’s gotten ya so upset hm?” Elvis asks in his famous low sultry voice, his eyes filled with worry, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. All you could do was shake your head again whilst burying your face in your crossed arms. “Just felt like crying?” a quiet and sad whimper leaves your mouth and a slow silent nod follows after. “Alright then..it’s alright” the couch shifts and you feel the pressure next to you.
“C’mere…” gesturing with his arm around your shoulders, shuffling up against his side. Tear droplets falling from your face onto the back of Elvis’ hand that caresses your thigh with his thumb.
Head resting on his collarbone, your hair brushing along his jaw. Elvis pulls you in closer, kissing your temple lightly as his strong, safe arms wrap around you. His cheek resting upon your head, rocking you back and forth “Feel like taking a nap? Did ya sleep okay last night?” nodding with a small hum “Slept fine…” your voice croaky and tired from the unexpected sobs. Elvis replies “mhm… but wanna take a nap?” shaking your head again. “Ok, just want my cuddles?” His tone softens at every word, you don’t say anything and just push yourself harder against his body earning a “Aw okay..” lifting you up onto his lap with a slight groan, rubbing your back and thigh, his head tilts to watch as your eyes droop close. He snickers softly, pecking your forehead before he returns to leaning his head against yours.
“Don’t go sleeping on me yet…made ya some hot chocolate here”
warnings: smut 18+ (minors dni) blowjob. elvis rips his pants. that’s kinda it. no sex in this one soz.
this is a request but i cant find it so if you requested it, let me know and i’ll tag you if you want🫶🏼
not proof read.
Y/n loved her job. She worked with Elvis Presley, being his personal tailor and it paid extremely well too. She had been on her knees for him multiple times, taking measurements of his waist and thighs, and Elvis would never admit it, but he loved when she touched his body, even if it was the light press of her fingertips as she would hold the tape measure against him.
Right now, she was on her knees, measuring from hip to ankle. Elvis let out a breath, he had been hard all day, his cock now tucked into the waistband of the new pants she had made for him. Y/n squinted at his ankle, softly placing a pin in the seam at the cuff of the pants for her to alter later. Elvis felt tight around his ass and his crotch, his hard cock not helping the fit of the pants.
"I-I think it needs to be taken out around my ass, S'a bit tight." Elvis cleared his throat, looking down at her. "I'll take a look. What about the, uh, front?" Y/n asked, looking up at him, making eye contact with him, looking innocently. He felt the saliva pooling in his mouth as he look at her, he blinked before swallowing hard. He shouldn't feel this way for someone who worked for him, but in her position, he could see right down the top of her dress, a perfect view of her cleavage, her plump lips were painted a soft, nude pink and her lashes were perfectly curled as she held her gaze.
"I think the front is okay." Elvis shrugs and looks away from her, his eyes going back to the mirror as she measures his crotch area, her brows furrowing as she noticed a lump in his pants that usually isn't there. She knew what it was so she decided to be professional and try to ignore it, deciding to work around his cock and act like she didn't notice, but really, she could feel the dampening in her panties. "Turn around, please." Y/n spoke, nervously and waited for him to turn.
Y/n bit her lip as she watched him turn, the pants hugging his flawlessly round ass and causing her to squeeze her legs together softly as she held the tape measure up to his ass, measuring again. "Okay, I think I'm done here, I'll work on the pants overnight and attach it to the top and they should be done for you in the morning." Y/n spoke up, standing up and walking to her desk, writing down what needs to be done to complete his jumpsuit.
Elvis nodded and walked over to the chair where he had placed his packet of cigars, bending down slightly to pick them up. As he did, a loud rip filled the room, y/n spinning quickly to see what the noise was. As she turned, she saw the pants ripped from seam to seam, exposing Elvis completely. Y/n gasped and covered her mouth, quickly spinning around to look away as he covered himself with his hands.
"O-oh, my god." Y/n spoke into her hand, blindly reaching for a dressing gown that was hanging on one of the racks, grabbing it and holding it out for him to grab. She was expecting to him to yell at her, even fire her on the spot for not giving him pants that fit properly, instead, she heard him laugh loudly. "Doll, you should've seen your face!" He laughs as y/n stares at the wall, still in shock. "You never seen a cock before or something?" He laughed louder, a flush creeping onto y/n's face.
"N-no, I have, just not one like-" She spoke, catching her words before she said the wrong thing. "Like what, honey?" Elvis chuckled, biting his lip as he stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder. "Come on, you can tell me. Wont get into trouble." He added, trying to turn her to face him, Y/n slowly turning but not making eye contact with him, still not wanting to say what was on her mind and avoiding to look at him, his cock still out. He grabs her face, forcing her to look at him. "Tell me."
"I've never seen one that, uh, big." Y/n whispers, trying to not peek down while Elvis lets out a boasting laugh as y/n blushes again. "You can look again, doll." Elvis smirks and y/n gulps, her eyes flickering down briefly at his still hard cock that sticking out from his pants. "You should take them off so I can fix them." Y/n cleared her throat, moving to turn around again but Elvis holds her in place.
"You should help me. I don't wanna ruin them anymore." Elvis suggests with a lip bite. Thoughts ran wild in y/n's head, still not wanting to lose her job she agreed, kneeling down in front of him, eyeing his cock as it twitched, she bit her lip again, starting to feel her thighs squeeze again at his hard cock in front of her face. She moved her hands up and helped him out of the pants.
Before she could stand up, Elvis ran his hand through her hair as she looked up at him, Elvis licking his lips. Y/n felt a surge of confidence as his cock twitches again, wrapping her hand around him and Elvis hissing softly at the contact. Y/n brought his pink head to her mouth, sucking just the tip, tasting the oozing pre-cum, her hand slowly worked on his head. His hand touched her neck, not pushing her, just applying a soft pressure, making her stay still.
Elvis groans and throws his head back in pleasure as she bobs her head quicker, taking him deeper into her mouth. "Mmm, fuck," He whispered out, thrusting his cock into her mouth lightly. She hallowed her cheeks, closing her eyes as her tongue ran up and down his veiny cock. With each stroke of her mouth, pre-cum dropped into her mouth, and she selfishly sucked it all and swallowed it.
Y/n pulled off him briefly, taking a breath of air and licking the corner of her mouth where some pre-cum had pooled. Elvis breathes heavy, his thumb caressing her bottom lip before she opened her inviting mouth again, taking him again. "Such a sweet lil mouth you got. Is like a little treat, huh?" Elvis spoke, his voice deeper than usual, his hips bucking and matching up with her head movements.
She pulls off again and she kisses his thigh before taking him in her mouth again, focusing on the tip, giving little tongue flicks to his slit as her hands pump him up and down, Elvis rolls his eyes back and his mouth parts with another moan before she takes him in her mouth again. He keeps moaning and groaning, his fingers coming to lace into her hair on the back of her head. Her name falls from his lips like a prayer and she swears she could almost cum from just the way he enjoys her sucking him off.
His head falls back as his dick twitches in her mouth. Y/n's hand that's not wrapped around the base of his cock moves from his thigh and starts playing with his balls that gets him shaking a bit under her touch. "I ain't gonna last, mama." He gasps, his hips twitching into her mouth.
Y/n hums around him, the vibrations making him shake before she pulls off. "Come for me. Wanna feel it dripping down my throat." Y/n smirks, putting him back in her mouth and she moves faster, looking up at him. His cheeks are flushed and his forehead as a slight sheen to it as he tries to hold himself back, his hair sticking to his forehead with each time he throws his head back.
With a few more thrusts of his hips, he eventually releases, his warm, white ropes shooting into her mouth as he moans her name over and over, hips bucking into her mouth and his lip curling in pleasure. She swallows his come, her mouth working him through his orgasm and milking him for every last drop.
Elvis looks back at her, his eyes glassy and his mouth parted as he blinks, breathing hard. Y/n smiles up at him and opens her mouth, showing him that she swallowed every bit he gave her. "That's a good girl." Elvis chuckles, y/n standing up and wiping her mouth.
This is part three of Good Rockin' Tonight, find part two here.
Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader
Word count: 8,2K
Summary: Elvis can't do the friendship thing anymore- he misses you and wants you back, but when you reject him, he makes a decision that he regrets for years. But haven't the both of you learned that the heart wants what it wants?
Warnings: angst, exes to lovers, some time jumps, strong language, alcohol consumption, smut; semi public, vag penetration, unprotected sex.
A/N: the urge to let this series have an angsty ending is big... 😈
masterlist
The universe worked in strange ways.
Ever since you and Elvis broke up, you had grown closer together. He genuinely considered you his best friend, but this isn’t what he wanted at all. He didn’t want to be your friend after everything you had gone through together – he wanted to be your man.
He wanted to be yours and only yours.
He seemed to be a little more open about his manager to you – he’d hang on the phone to cuss him out to you every time something happened – and although he was still stuck doing horrible movies that lacked the art he wanted to create, he didn’t let his manager or anyone else hold him back from doing what he wanted to do.
He’d often go to Sunset Records, most of the time in the dead of the night, and have Lori open up a studio for him so he could cut some records. Real records, not the movie soundtracks he was unfortunately forced to sing.
You’d accept his invitations of coming down to the studio sometimes as well, because you loved seeing him in his element and being around him – after three years, it didn’t hurt as much anymore – but he understood that it wasn’t always possible for you to be there because you had a life on your own.
He didn’t want to be the reason for you to get fired… again.
You had left your small fashion adventure for what it was and got a job at Pop Weekly, a magazine that catered to music and film only. It didn’t pay as well as Seventeen, but enough for you to live comfortably and move into a bigger apartment where you lived alone because Red and Lori had taken the next step in their relationship and got a place together. They were barely living in it though, since they’d usually be where ever Elvis was.
Elvis couldn’t help but wish you were there too, he wanted you by his side every single day, but he knew you were happy. You were living the life you had always wanted and he loved seeing your face light up every time you spoke of your job.
You were the reason he never declined an interview from Pop Weekly.
Still, the fact that you and him were not actually together as a couple tugged at his heartstrings uncomfortably every time he saw your face or heard your voice.
“This better be good, Presley!” you yelled through the studio as you were let in by Lori. The clock currently read 2 in the morning and since you were still working on an article because you couldn’t sleep, you accepted his invitation for you to come down to the studio. You didn’t want to at first, but he persuaded you, telling you you needed a break from writing before you’d start going cross eyed. You knew he was right. “Or I’ll kick your ass,”
Lori grinned at you, because both of you knew Elvis wasn’t able to hear you from the lobby. As Lori locked the door and turned back to you, noticing the outfit you were sporting, she raised her eyebrows. You looked down at the baby blue colored pajamas you were wearing – a nightie Elvis had gotten you a few years ago, but you decided to wear the matching shorts with it this time to at least cover yourself up a little bit.
“What? It’s in the middle of the night,” you shrugged, swiftly turning around to walk into the studio where Elvis was before she was able to detect the sweet scent of your perfume and sheer shine of gloss on your lips.
Lori shook her head a little with a laugh as she followed you into the studio, making her way over to Red who was sitting in a shivel chair by the panels. The ginger haired man pressed a button, announcing your arrival to Elvis who immediately looked up and made his way to the space you were in with a smile so bright it made his eyes look a little smaller than they actually were.
“There she is, the little workaholic,” he had you in his arms before you could even give him a proper respond other than a laugh, your arms automatically winding around his waist to greet him back with an embrace.
“Says you,” you chuckled as you looked at him when he let go of you, poking his chest. “The man who’s cutting records at 2 in the morning,”
“I’m a goddamn vampire, you know that,” a smirk tugged at his lips and you rolled your eyes, letting him take your hand to guide you to the two seater that was placed against the wall. “Haven’t seen you in this in ages,”
You looked down at the way his fingertips played with the fabric of your nightie that sprawled out around you. As his warm hand came in contact with your bare thigh, you kicked off the flats from your feet and pulled your legs up the couch, giving him the opportunity to place his hand on your knee.
And he took it. Ofcourse he did.
“They’re waiting for you, El,” you told him with a small grin on your face, nodding to the people that were present in the studio, waiting for Elvis to get back behind the mic. “They’re human and humans need sleep, remember?”
He laughed softly at your words, biting his lip as he looked at the musicians in the recording booth. He kind of regretted having you come over, because now that he was seeing you in that nightie and your face bare of make-up, there was no way he could focus on his music anymore.
“I’m gonna send them home,” he said, getting up from the couch. You frowned as you grabbed his arm to stop him, looking up at him. “I wanna spend time with you, honey. It’s been a while since we been alone,”
Your heart did a somersault in your chest. You hadn’t been truly alone with him since the two of you separated because you were always surrounded by his entourage whenever you met and you were never bothered by that. But now that he was looking at you like that with that suggestive little smile, being alone with him was all you wanted.
You had no idea what he was up to, but as he shot you a wink while walking into the recording booth to tell the musicians they could go home, you were pretty sure an innocent conversation to catch up wasn’t anywhere on his mind.
Your suspicion was right. He didn’t send everyone home and asked you to stay back to talk about how your day’s been, and you were far from interested in small talk.
How could you even think about anything when he had you straddling his lap on the couch, his hands running up and down your sides underneath your nightie as his lips were marking your neck.
Maybe this was a bad idea and you had no idea what was going to happen between the two of you after this, but right now you couldn’t get yourself to care. After all these years, he was still able to make you throw all caution to the wind and listen to your body instead to your brain.
Your body had a complete mind of its own, your arms automatically raising for him to take your nightie off and leaving you in just your shorts on top of him. Sitting back against the couch, he looked at you as his hands ran up your stomach to gently cup your breasts in his large palms, his thumbs ghosting over your perked nipples.
God, he missed this. He missed you. He slept with other women after you and him split, but nobody could ever compare to you. The way your body responded so well to him, the way he knew all of your weak spots, what you did and didn’t like… you and him worked well together. Fit perfectly together like a puzzle.
He honestly believed you were made just for him.
“Kiss me,” you told him, running your hands up his arms and to his shoulders to squeeze them lightly. His eyes met yours as he smiled softly, moving his hands from your chest to your back to press you against him. His lips collided with yours harshly, and you were quick to respond to his kiss as he slipped his tongue in between your lips while his hands moved lower to cup your ass and press you even firmer against him than you already were.
Your hands disappeared in his hair, easily messing up the raven locks due to the lack of product in it. The faint taste of cigars and coffee on his tongue had you deepening the kiss, grinding yourself onto him a little faster to create some friction between the two of you – everything about your actions and about him brought back memories to the times when you were together.
Because despite the two of you breaking up and you being happy with the life you were currently living, you still missed him. He had always been good to you, had always treated you well and you had fond memories with the man. That was something nobody could never take away from you, or him.
Foreplay was usually something you and Elvis took your sweet time with, but it had been three years since you had been intimate together. You were too impatient and too turned on, and so was he. You were the only one who was completely naked when he pulled down your pajama shorts and panties but neither of you bothered to remove all of his clothing, only tugging his pants and underwear down to his thighs to let his cock spring free against his lower abdomen.
With his hands gripping onto your hips, he watched as you grabbed ahold of his erection and pumped him in your fist for a little bit before aligning him at your entrance. The sight of his cock disappearing inside of you mixed with the feeling of your warmth squeezing him in tight had him gasping and throwing his head back against the couch. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you kept still for a little bit to get used to the feeling of having him inside of you – you felt so incredibly full and so incredibly aroused that it was hard for you to relax, your muscles contrasting around his length fiercely.
“Shit, baby, slow down,” he choked out, raising his head to look at you. Slipping his arms around your waist, he brought you closer against him and kissed you, causing you to moan in his mouth at the movement. “I ain’t gonna last long if you keep squeezin’ me like that- relax..” he mumbled against your lips and you nodded, laughing softly as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.
He rubbed your back soothingly and you slowly started to thrust yourself onto him. It was slow and sensual and it had the both of you moaning in the kiss you shared, your fingers tangling in his hair again. As his hands moved back to your hips to guide your movements, you picked up your pace a little and he eventually had to pull back from the kiss to inhale a sharp breath of air, biting his lip as he watched you lean back a little to arch your back, your hands wandering down his arms to grasp onto them for comfort.
“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbled, not caring if you heard it or not, as he watched your breasts bounce with the steady rhythm you found. The moans that were rolling off your tongue sounded like music to his ears, like little angels being present and singing just to him. It nearly had him hypnotized.
When he decided to move one hand down in between your thighs and rub your clit with his fingertips, your eyes found his as your nails dug into the fabric of the long sleeved button up he was wearing. “E-Elvis,” you gasped softly, removing your hand from his arm that was currently straining muscles with how fast he was working on your little sensitive nub. “Oh my God, y-yes, don’t stop,” you groaned, your eyes rolling back as you placed both your hands behind you on his knees while fucking yourself onto him even faster.
Your thighs were burning, but you couldn’t get yourself to care – you were so close to that little moment of euphoria that it was impossible for you to slow down or to stop and he sure was hell wasn’t complaining either. The sight of pure pleasure written all over your features was something he had seen so many times that he was positive he was never going to forget it and even right now, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.
You looked so beautiful with your hair framing your face perfectly as you looked at him with those needy eyes – God, it was driving him absolutely insane.
So insane that he spoke without thinking.
“Fuck, I love you so much,”
He knew you heard it. He could see it in your eyes. But you barely had time to respond to it as you were taken to ecstasy by your orgasm that hit you like a tidal wave. He didn’t know if he completely fucked up by saying those words or not, but as he reached his own climax, he figured it’d be best not to overthink it.
Not right now.
You moved your arms back to his shoulders as he removed his hand from out between your thighs, gently grabbing your hips as his stuttered upwards a little, releasing himself inside of you with a deep drawn out moan.
You getting up and having him slip out of you to gather your clothes from the floor wasn’t the afterglow he had in mind. Perhaps it wasn’t your intention, but your body language felt off.
Distant.
You were pushing him away.
“I missed that,” he openly admitted. Hell, he already told you he loved you in the heat of the moment, and you had always wanted him to be more open about his feelings – and that was exactly what he was doing right now.
“I bet you got girls lining up at your front door,” you grinned his way, the comment obviously meant to be playful to make the situation you found yourself in feel less awkward.
And perhaps he would’ve laughed at it any other time, but for some reason his chest was tightening with emotions.
“I miss you,”
You looked at him, sitting down on the couch as you were completely dressed. You had to awkwardly press your thighs together to keep his bodily fluids inside of you and while you had been craving a shower a few seconds ago, you couldn’t be bothered to think about that now.
The way he was looking at you so seriously, his hand reaching out to yours after he made himself decent made panic settle in the pit of your stomach.
“Elvis-“
“I miss us, Y/N,” he interrupted you, his fingers lacing together with yours. “I know we weren’t perfect, but who is? I miss.. I miss everything about you. Your laugh, your lame jokes, your perfume on my pillow… your hands..” he looked down at your entertwined hands, giving a soft squeeze as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, a small smile raising the corners of his mouth. “I miss everything,”
You blinked a few times as you looked down, not wanting him to see the tears that were threatening to spill. Damn you for being so emotional after sex.
Damn you for missing your ex the same way he missed you. And damn you for making this so difficult on yourself.
“I want you back, honey,” he whispered, moving closer to you on the couch to slip his arm around your waist and pull you closer against his side.
“Elvis, I love you,” you told him as you braved yourself to look him in the eye, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that you were close to crying. “But we don’t work together- maybe on paper, yes. But what’s gonna happen if we get back together? Everything will be good and fun in the beginning, but we’ll fall right back into the same cycle. It won’t work- we don’t work together,”
“When are you going to stop pushing me away, Y/N? It’s been three years. It doesn’t have to be like before, we can change. I can change,”
You slowly shook your head, gently pulling your hand out of his. “You can’t ask that of me and I can’t ask that of you- I know you, Elvis. You don’t want to change and I’d never expect you to,”
He watched as you got up from the couch, running your hands through your hair to tug it behind your ears. He couldn’t stop his knee from bouncing frantically, nervously. He couldn’t have you walk away from him anymore, but he also couldn’t keep you in his life.
Not like this.
He wanted more. He needed more.
“Then what.. what are we gonna do? Because I can’t do this anymore,” he told you, nibbling on his lower lip as he kept his eyes on you.
Those words made you nervous.
You couldn’t imagine your life without Elvis in it anymore despite not forming a couple together. You valued the friendship you two had, you weren’t ready to lose it, but you knew deep down inside that you had to let him go.
You wanted and expected different things from each other. Ofcourse, you loved him- more than you had ever loved anyone else, but you were not made to sit at home and wait for him all day. You weren’t made to be away from the person you loved for long periods of time.
So yes, you loved Elvis dearly, but you also loved and respected yourself.
“What do you mean?”
You needed to hear him say it, despite knowing exactly where he was heading with this and knowing that the words would tear you apart.
“I can’t keep being your friend,” the lump in his throat was getting so heavy that he felt as if he was suffocating, but like you had done three years ago, he was putting his own feelings first. He was choosing himself, protecting himself. “Not like this,”
He couldn’t keep lying to himself anymore, nor to you.
“So, the only reason you were my friend was because you thought we’d get back together?”
Yes.
The thought had definitely been on his mind.
“N-no… I don’t know. Jesus, Y/N,” he ran his hands down his face before he got up from the couch and took a step closer to you, though he still made sure there was enough distance between you. “I still love you and every time I see you, my heart fucking breaks because we’re not together. I can’t go on like this any longer- so what are we gonna do?”
You kept quiet, looking at him with tears in your eyes and sorrow in your heart.
“What do you want, Y/N? Because this… t-this ain’t workin’ no more,”
He was all over the place, the animated movements of his hands emphasizing every word he spoke. He was giving you an ultimatum, one that you couldn’t possibly give an answer to with how emotional you were right now.
You needed time to think.
But you could see he wanted an answer and he wanted it now; he was fed up. He couldn’t get you out of his head and staying friends with you and pretending everything was fine wasn’t fair to either of you.
He had to move on, you knew that, but even thinking about never seeing him again made a rush of panic roll through your entire being.
“I don’t know, Elvis- I don’t know what to say,” you said in a hushed tone as you looked down at your hands, twirling one of your rings around on your finger nervously. “All I know is.. that I-I.. I still need you in my life,”
“As friends,” he took it upon himself to finish your sentence, shaking his head a little as he looked at the panels Red had sat at earlier. The tension in the empty studio was thick, uncomfortable.
There was a certain sadness that lingered around you and him.
“I can’t be your friend- it’s too damn hard,”
“El-“
“No, I’m serious, Y/N. I can’t see you anymore- I don’t wanna hear your voice, I don’t wanna talk to you, I don’t even wanna look at you and I sure as hell don’t wanna be your friend,”
Now he was the one being distant, now he was the one pushing you away, and hearing him say these words felt as if someone was ripping your heart right out of your chest.
Your feelings were hurt and your ego was bruised, so much so that you didn’t hear the small crack of his voice. You didn’t hear the hurt in his voice, but as you looked at him and the two of you just stared silently at each other for what felt like forever, you could see it in his eyes.
You could see it in the way his features had hardened, how he eventually tore his gaze away from yours.
“If.. If that’s what you want..”
There was nothing more you wanted than to stop him from making this decision, but what else were you supposed to say?
You knew you couldn’t give him what he wanted.
And you weren’t the type of person who’d get down on their knees and beg and you knew him well enough to know that you wouldn’t be able to stop him from doing something he had his mind set on.
“It’s what I want,” he said, though there could not be one single hint of confidence detected in his voice.
This isn’t what he wanted- far from it. But it needed to be done.
Just as you had done, he needed to put himself first for once, even though it broke him inside.
He regretted the whole thing the second he left the studio, leaving his heart behind in the palm of your hands with hope that you’d eventually glue the pieces back together and bring it back to him.
Your life hadn’t been the same since 1965. Still as passionate as ever about your career, you worked more often than you were at home and when you were home, you’d either be writing or sleeping.
The spacious apartment with a skyline view you had upgraded to was truly breathtaking, but it didn’t feel like a home.
There were no pictures of you and friends on top of the fireplace mantel – other than a picture of you and Lori had taken in the early 60s, it was completely empty – and if a stranger would walk inside of your place, they’d think nobody even lived here at all.
By the time 1969 rolled around, you were miserable.
Other than some awkward run-ins because Lori and Red were still happily together and because the state of California really wasn’t as big as one might think, you had not spoken to Elvis in four years. You couldn’t escape the man though; after his comeback special that was aired last year, Elvis the performer was back and he was more popular than ever, both among his loyal fans that had been there since the beginning and a new crowd.
You couldn’t escape him.
But the thing is, you didn’t want to anymore.
You missed Elvis- every time you were confronted with his face by having to write an article on him or seeing pictures of him plastered around the office, it felt like someone punched a hole through your chest.
You figured this was your karma. He must’ve felt like this on that sweltering summer afternoon in ’62 when you stormed out of Graceland like an absolute maniac.
When you told him you didn’t want to be with him anymore because you didn’t belong in his world- you truly believed you were the biggest idiot on the planet.
Because now you were living in your own world, in a world without the man you loved by your side, and it felt eerily empty.
Meaningless.
What was a promotion even worth when you’d have no one to celebrate it with?
What was having a place to live in worth when you had nobody to come home to?
Red and Lori were stuck in that awkward middle position mutual friends usually lingered in when two of their friends broke up. Whenever Elvis and his guys were in California, Red and Lori would make sure you and Elvis wouldn’t run into each other. They didn’t know how you or Elvis would react and to keep the peace, they did not want to find out.
But Lori was your best friend- she could see you weren’t doing too well. Even though you’d avoid the topic that was Elvis, it was obvious that you missed him and regretted past mistakes.
And Red had been friends with Elvis since they were a couple of young’uns- no matter how good of an actor he was, Red saw right through the other man. He was trying to move on, focus on work and looking for love in other places, but Elvis had never stopped missing nor loving you and Red doubted he ever would.
Done seeing their two closest friends being miserable, the couple took it upon themselves to push you and Elvis back in each others’ direction.
If they wouldn’t, the two of you would simply never see each other again because even though neither of you would ever admit it out loud, you were mutually as stubborn. Not to mention the size of those damned ego’s- Elvis did not want to get rejected again, and the words he spoke last to you still kept you up at night, just as it did him.
“I can’t believe you actually talked me into this,”
The International hotel stood intimidatingly tall in front of you as you got out of Lori’s car, the dry Vegas air surrounding you uncomfortably.
You were supposed to be back in LA, lying to Lori over the phone as you’d tell her you were enjoying your vacation days but she practically kidnapped you to Sin City. The sunkissed blonde that dragged your suitcase out of the trunk of her car knew you well enough to know that you weren’t going to use those vacation days at all and would exhaust yourself with your work.
She was right, because those had been your plans exactly.
But Lori could be very persuasive and convinced you to come to Las Vegas with her. She played her cards well, tugging at your heartstrings when she nearly cried as she told you how much she missed spending time with you and that she was afraid of losing her best friend.
“Oh, relax, Y/N. It’ll be great- you need some time away from LA. One of these days your fingers will fall off with how much you’re writing and typing,” she chuckled, locking up her car as you took your luggage from her. “Besides, it’s been a while since we spend time together. Yay, girls on holiday!”
You raised an eyebrow at her, hoping your voice didn’t come out as nervous as you were actually feeling.
“Girls on holiday in the hotel where my ex is having a month long engagement- yay!”
She rolled her eyes, your sarcasm more clear to her than your nerves, as she hooked her arm through yours to pull you toward the entrance of the hotel. She didn’t comment on it and you could see she was pretending to not have heard you- all smiles and excitement as she pulled you to the check in desk where Red was already waiting for you with a key to your room.
She had tried to lure you to Las Vegas with an excuse first, but your best friend was a terrible liar. Ofcourse you weren’t oblivious to what Elvis was doing in his career so you knew he’d be here, but the truth was; Lori didn’t need to come up with any excuses to get you to come to Nevada.
You had no idea if Elvis even wanted to see you or would even give you the time of the day – you’d like to think he was not going to completely ignore you, he was too kind to do such a thing – but you couldn’t wait to see him.
Despite feeling like your heart was going to drop out of your ass the closer it got to eight o’clock when Elvis would have another show, Red and Lori didn’t need to do much convincing to get you to come with them to the show.
You weren’t leaving Vegas until you spoke to Elvis- or at least, saw him.
By no means was Red West a big name in Hollywood, but he was an actor and a decent one at that.
Maybe not good enough to land a big role among the big stars, but good enough to fool Elvis.
He did not tell his friend that he and Lori got you to come here, or that your room was down the hall from Elvis’ suite, or that you were currently sitting in a booth with Vernon, Lori and some other Memphis Mafia girlfriends slash wives.
He knew once Elvis would know you were here, he’d lose his mind- Red wouldn’t be surprised if the raven haired singer would fire him on the spot, so he wasn’t going to take any risks.
Red was too quick to celebrate his little victory, because even though he had fooled Elvis with his acting, Elvis Presley’s eyes worked just fine.
And those eyes were looking right at you as the owner of them stumbled over the lyrics of the Jailhouse Rock and Don’t Be Cruel medley.
Elvis didn’t know what to do for a second, but he knew how to stay professional- joking with the audience, changing up the lyrics to something silly, laughing at people that were sitting at the very front.
He had everyone eating out of the palm of his hand.
To the audience, it’d look like he was just in a good mood. Excited. A showman.
But you and the others knew the man behind the showman- everyone could see he was steadily growing more nervous, hands shaky, leg bouncing more frantically than usual. As Elvis looked over his shoulder to find Red, the latter quickly disappeared backstage, making his way into the crowd to help Sonny keep an eye on things- and to be removed from the stage as far as he could.
You didn’t want to be the reason for Elvis messing up his set, but you couldn’t look away from him nor could you find the strength within yourself to get up and leave. With the spotlights on him, you could barely make out if the two piece suit he was wearing was black or midnight blue, but either way, he looked absolutely gorgeous.
His hair was longer and his face looked a little older, but as he smiled, you were thrown right back to past.
That mischievous, yet innocent smile.
It had your heart beating fast and your fingertips shaking as you sipped on the third martini of the night a waitress just put in front of you.
You did your best to smile at him every time he looked into your direction, even though you had no idea if he even saw you at all.
You didn’t have much time to ponder on the thought, because as Elvis put away his guitar and spoke into the mic while walking back and forth on the stage, he took your entire table by surprise.
“There’s a little lady present here tonight that I haven’t seen in… ages,” he laughed softly, the sound of it sounding melancholic. “And to be completely honest with everyone here- I never thought I’d see her again, never thought I wanted to,” he mumbled the last sentence in the mic so quick, thickening his accent on purpose, that it was difficult for some people in the audience to understand him clearly.
But you heard every single one of the words that rolled off his tongue, and they had you shifting in your seat, Lori grabbing one of your hands when she noticed you didn’t know where to put them.
“Anyways.. eh.. yeah, me and this person have a lot of history together, so I’d like to dedicate this song to her- this is Memories,”
Lori squeezed your hand so firmly it looked like the song was dedicated to her. You almost laughed at it, but as the melodies of the piano filled with your ears, the lump in your throat prevented you from making any sounds at all.
You sat there with tears in your eyes, lyric after lyric hitting you right in the gut as he was currently singing just to you. He barely interacted with the audience like he usually did during the song, now his eyes were searching for yours through the blinding lights the entire time.
You had no idea what this meant- you had no idea where Elvis’ head was at right now, but you were relieved that he hadn’t told someone to get you out of the audience and far away from him.
You were relieved to know Elvis Presley didn’t hate you like you sometimes worried he did.
Elvis had never performed this fast in his life.
Elvis loved being on stage, putting on a great show for the people that paid money to come see him- he loved his fans, always wanted to make time for them, but now he couldn’t get far away from all of it fast enough.
The lights had barely gone low and the curtain wasn’t even dropped entirely, but he was already gone.
Unfortunately for him, he did not have the privilege to wander about on his own and he couldn’t get very far because he was surrounded by his male companions as soon as he had hopped off the stage.
“Elvis, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you and-“
Looking at Red, Elvis pulled away from Joe’s side and grabbed his shoulder. “Get me to her- c’mon, man,”
Red widened his eyes a little, not hesitating to nod his head and lead Elvis to through the long backstage hallways and eventually through the kitchen, up to the top floor of the hotel where he had told you and Lori to go.
You were back in your room, pacing a hole in the carpet in front of the floor to ceiling windows. The view of sparkling city lights was gorgeous, but you couldn’t be bothered to look at it.
Not after Red made the phone call from the kitchen when Elvis was signing autographs for the cooks, informing Lori that they were on their way upstairs.
“This is stupid,” you told your best friend who sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes following your every move. “This is a stupid idea. Just because he dedicated a song to me doesn’t mean he wants to see me. In case you forgot, Lori, he told me himself that he didn’t want to see me or talk to me anymore,”
Lori sighed. “That was four years ago, Y/N,” she deadpanned, looking at you. “If he didn’t want to see you, he wouldn’t come up right now. You two have a lot of history, you’ve been through a lot- you can’t keep avoiding each other,”
You knew she was right, but you were too stressed out – and too stubborn – to admit it. So instead, you kept pacing and making up doom scenario’s in your mind, until a loud knock on the door almost gave you a heart attack.
Lori was quick to jump up, striding over to the door to open it for Red and Elvis. You expected all three of them to come back into the room, you had hoped that would be the case, but after some muffled mumbling, Elvis walked in alone.
Turning around, your eyes met his for the first time in four years. Your heart was beating so rapidly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear the sounds of it.
Elvis wasn’t doing much better- he felt as if he was thrown in a dream. He just stood there, nailed to the ground, as he stared at you. Because for at least twenty or thirty seconds that’s all he could do, until something inside of his brain clicked and he snapped out of it- he didn’t hesitate to take two big strides over to you and wrap his arms around you, engulfing your smaller frame in the heat of his embrace.
“God, it’s been a long time, baby,”
You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, the sound of his voice so close to your ear made heat rise from your toes to the top of your head. It felt like his voice had gotten even a little deeper than before, you had no idea if this was true or not, but the melody of it vibrated right through your bones.
You hummed in agreement, clearing your throat a little as he pulled back from the embrace- both of you not wanting to completely let go as his hands were still holding onto your shoulders and your fingers were grasping onto his jacket at his waist.
“You look real good, honey. Real good,” a smile softened his features, his teary eyes just as visible as yours, but you both kept up the facade to not break the dam completely.
“You.. you look amazing, Elvis. You truly do,” you complimented him back, meaning every word of what you said. He looked gorgeous up there on that stage, but now that he was in front of your nose, he was almost ethereal.
Both you and Elvis agreed to the idea of getting a couple of drinks in your system before there would be any conversation of the past. Neither of you had insinuated the dreaded topic, but he could feel it lingering on the horizon just as much as you did.
There was only so much small talk two people could engage in, even with such a history as yours.
“Almost as good as yours,” he chuckled as he looked at the cocktail in his hand, sitting at the round dining table that stood near the window.
Margarita’s. You hadn’t had one in a long time- not because you were working all the time, but because they reminded you of him and your first fight.
“Watch it, Presley,” you teased with a grin as you brought the sugar coated rim of your glass to your lips, taking a small sip.
“I said, almost!” he exclaimed with a deep laugh, putting his glass down. He rubbed his hands together, his eyes focused on the jewelry adorning his slender fingers.
Your laughter gradually died down and a silence fell over the both of you, the sound of you putting your glass down on the marble table nearly deafening. Your mind was racing, the tension making goosebumps lick at your skin. You had so much to say, yet you didn’t know how to properly form a sentence that would make sense.
Elvis took it upon himself to break the silence, raising his head to look at you.
“You know, I haven’t ever stopped thinking ‘bout you,” as you looked back at him and saw a small smile gracing his features, you felt your heart quickening in your chest. “That night at the studio.. the things I said, leavin’ you like that- it’s the biggest regret I got in life,”
He quickly picked up his glass, gulping down a few large sips of his drink. He ignored the taste of liquor tickling at his throat, licking some sugar off his lower lip.
“It’s in the past,” you replied, mentally slapping yourself because the words sounded plain stupid in your head. “I’ve left you once too, remember?”
He chuckled softly at the small grin that tugged at your lips. He appreciated you making light of the situation, and the fact that you didn’t hold a grudge against him for it. If you did, you wouldn’t be here right now- right?
Nodding his head a little, he softly – nervously – tapped one of his rings against the glass that was still in his hand. “What about us?”
He took you slightly by surprise when asking that.
It wasn’t like you came to Vegas just to get back together with your ex- sure, the thought had definitely been on your mind (multiple times), but you had no idea where his head was at and you knew that if the two of you were going to give this another go again, it wasn’t going to be easy.
It was going to be a lot of hard work, but if he was willing to put in the work, so were you.
“Are we still in the past?” he questioned again and you inhaled a sharp breath of air, straightening your shoulders a little against the back of your seat.
“I’d like for us not to be,” you blurted out.
You decided to just be honest and put it out there. You had no idea what the future held in store for you and Elvis, but you were more than willing to find out.
You had never loved anyone like you loved him and you doubted you ever will.
“I missed you,” you quickly added, the few drinks you had during the show and the one you were nursing now giving you enough courage to look him straight in the eye. “We’re polar opposites from each other and that made us messy sometimes. We hurt each other and we say shit we don’t mean, and I’m sure we’ll always be that way but that’s what makes us.. us. I love you, El- I don’t think I ever stopped,”
He almost made you want to take your words back when he just stared at you, for longer than you felt was necessary. You were almost starting to think he was going to completely reject you and tell you sharing a drink after so many years didn’t mean anything, but before you could fall into the claws of the demons in your head Elvis put his glass down and leaned forward to grab your hands.
You looked down as he laced your fingers together, ignoring the small painful squeeze he gave your hands which made his rings press uncomfortably against your knuckles.
“I love you too, Y/N- I always did and I always will,” he told you, softly tugging on your hands which made you get up from your seat. As he softly pulled you toward him, you didn’t fight him on it and sat down onto his lap. He let go of your hands to snake his arms around your waist, smiling at you as you shifted your body a little to look at him and rest your arm around his shoulders. “I don’t care what the future holds for us, all I know is that I want it with you,”
You blinked away some tears, smiling as you nodded. He brought one hand up to your face to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away a single tear that managed to escape. He gently brought your face closer to his to peck your lips but before he could kiss you properly, you pressed your forehead against his.
“I don’t think my future is in LA anymore,”
He frowned at this, surprised by your words. It made him pull back a little so he could look you in the eye, his hand moving down your shoulder and arm, his hand easily slipping into yours again.
“What are you talkin’ about, baby? Your whole life is in LA- your work-“
“That’s the thing,” you sighed, the thought of your work being your entire life was depressing. The words flew off your tongue before you had properly thought them through, but when the word vomit came out, it felt as if a weight was lifted off your shoulders. “My work.. is my life, and I don’t want to live that anymore. I love how far I managed to come in my career and I love writing, I truly do, but.. it’s just.. not worth it without you there. Or anyone, for that matter- Lori is with you and the guys most of the time which I don’t blame her for, definitely not, but it.. it gets lonely,” your hand had found its way into his hair, running your fingers through it absentmindedly. “In the years we’ve been apart, I realised that no person is meant to live their lives all by themselves and nothing is worth it without love. Besides, I can write in Memphis too, right? Or Vegas? You’re in Vegas a lot these days, aren’t you? Yeah. Yeah! I can get a job here- I bet there’s a lot to write about. I’m pretty sure I saw Nancy Sinatra’s name plastered around the city so that’s definitely a possi-“
He let you ramble on for a little bit, until he realised you weren’t going to zip it on your own accord. Catching you off guard mid sentence, he pressed his lips against yours- it was forceful at first, until he felt you relaxing against his frame.
Parting your lips, you allowed him to take dominance as he let his tongue dance along with yours. Letting go of your hand and wrapping both arms around your waist once more, he embraced you firmly against his chest as he deepened the kiss.
Elvis was a good kisser. He had been in 1956, the years in between and his ways definitely hadn’t changed now. If anything, they had improved.
You weren’t naive to think he had not kissed – or slept – with anyone else in the time you weren’t together, but you did not have time to worry about the matter or let jealousy creep in, because as soon as he gently sucked on your lower lip while pulling back, a soft moan rolled off your tongue.
He looked at you with a grin on his face, stopping you from kissing him again. This was the first time you felt as if you were the younger one in the relationship.
Although the age difference between you wasn’t major, there had been moments where you had felt it. Where you felt as if you were the one making the wise decisions and so forth.
But right now, with the way he had kissed you and his eyes were taking in every detail of your face while his hand was resting on the side of your thigh, you felt his more dominant side coming out to play.
And it wasn't even entirely sexual, it was just the feeling of his aura.
You couldn’t say you entirely disliked it.
“You can write anywhere you like, my girl,” he told you with a sweet smile on his face, his hand coming up to gently tug a lock of hair behind your ear. “As long as you do it with your heart- I don’t want you to be stuck in a place where you’re not happy. I want you to be happy,”
You sighed deeply, almost dreamily and it made him chuckle softly. Gently grabbing his face, you pressed a kiss on his lips and then swung your arms around him, hugging him.
“You make me happy, Elvis. I want to be where you are,”
He smiled to himself. Letting his hand rub your back soothingly, he kissed your bare shoulder.
“Are we gon’ give the future a try?”
You squeezed him in your embrace a little before you pulled back to look at him, smiling.
“I think you should take me out on a date first,”
He raised his eyebrows at the teasing tone on your tongue, letting out a laugh. Nodding his head, he folded his hands together at the small of your back.
“How ‘bout a Sinatra show?”
You grinned as you moved your hands to his cheeks, grabbing his face once more.
“Now you’re talking,” you wiggled your eyebrows, kissing him again. He laughed against your lips softly, making you squeal as he picked you up in his arms and got up from his seat.
Before you could stop him, he had thrown you on your bed, your frame bouncing on the soft mattress a little. Removing some hair out of your face, you looked at him with a laugh.
“I’m guessing I’m getting the Elvis Presley encore first?”
He grinned as he crawled onto the bed, hovering above you by placing his hands on either side of your head.
“You guessed right, princess,” he hummed in your ear as his lips were attached to your neck, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.
The new nickname sent a shiver down your spine and an electrifying tingle in between your thighs.
Unlike in 1960, you didn’t mind feeling small in the presence of Elvis- tonight you reveled in the feeling.
I definitely did not envision this to be my first post back from the break that I’ve been on from posting but after my lengthy exchange with her last night I’d just like to clear the air and explain the situation from a different point of view as I believe lettersfromvenus has been dishonest to her audience
** but before I even get into all of that I would like to sincerely apologize if you have messaged me, replied to one of my posts or sent in an ask, I am going to start working on getting back to everyone as soon as possible- I cannot even explain how much I have missed being active on here and I’d like to give a huge thank you to all the elvis fans and blogs out there because y’all have been keeping my moral high 🫡
my immune system decided to quit a little over a week ago and what I thought was a normal cold/flu turned out to be pneumonia of all things. even though I lowkey almost died from it when I first got it as a kid, I don’t remember it being this exhausting?? I’ve been bedridden like a victorian child and have been reminiscing on all the times that I had an appetite and could stand up without losing my breath
literally me since last thursday
** as for the situation regarding lettersfromvenus **
a few days ago it was brought to my attention that some accusations were being made against her after I saw an ask that was sent to another Elvis blog on here. She was being accused, by the original author, of copying a fic (word for word) from wattpad (including the title and cover-art) and posting it on here as though it was her own work
here is that post from the og author ⬇️
This girl is trying to play it stupid & say this was all her writing and everything was hers, even though she admitted to stealing the cover
I always try to be as neutral as possible but after reading posts from both @ladiilokii and lettersfromvenus, I ultimately decided that the latter was clearly in the wrong and that her explanations made no sense and did nothing but pivot the blame
and so I left this exact comment on ladiilokii’s post to show support ⬇️
** “at first I was going to give her the benefit of the doubt but her responses to your messages are just insane, I’m so sorry this happened!! I’ve unfollowed her and reported her post, I can’t believe she is refusing to take it down after being caught red-handed 🤧” **
“insane” was a harsh word to use but that is the only word that came to mind after reading lettersfromvenus’ responses to being called out
she claimed that she was sent prompts/scenarios by an anonymous person and that she then wrote the fic based on those prompts, which just magically happened to be the exact same, word for word, as ladiilokii’s og fic. not only is that impossible, but it also doesn’t account for the stolen cover-art as an anonymous person cannot send a photo through the inbox, their username would have to be public
letterfromvenus then admitted to the og auther (pictured below) that she got the cover-art directly from the original fic on wattpad
** “all I did was steal the title and the picture because it had fit so well with what I thought my fic”-lettersfromvenus ** im sorry but how do you “think”something is your fic? you either wrote it or you didn’t…
lettersfromvenus’ full direct message to ladiilokii ⬇️
these explanations made zero sense to me and the lack of accountability on her part is astounding- she basically said “your work was amazing, they meant for it to be copied” ?!?
Much like the og author, I don’t believe that lettersfromvenus was sent any prompts by an anonymous person. I think she found the original fic and posted it as her own work thinking nobody would know where she got it from as it was originally posted in a vast collection of one-shots
I can’t speak to experience of being a writer but I could imagine it would be incredibly disheartening to have someone else take the credit and reap the rewards of all the hard work, effort, and time that goes into writing a fic
and so that was my involvement in the situation. like I mentioned I did decide to unfollow her because I thought it was unfair/dishonest how lettersfromvenus was making ladiilokii out to be the aggressor even though she had every right to call out the person who was stealing her fic
but nonetheless I didn’t say anything to lettersfromvenus and I just hoped that she would learn from her mistakes and offer a more sincere apology and explanation in the future
flashforward some days later to yesterday, when around 5:40pm, I got sent an anonymous ask which had a link to a new post from lettersfromvenus. obviously there is no way to prove who sent in the ask but I had my suspicions that it was her as she directly addressed the og comment that I made on ladiilokii’s post, in her new post⬇️
in retrospect I shouldn’t have engaged but I just couldn’t believe that she was trying to twist the situation and make it seem like she was getting all this unwarranted hate when in reality this was started by her when she consciously decided to steal another person’s work, and then refused to accept any blame. I still stand by my reasonings to unfollow and report her for the stolen fic
and so I commented on lettersfromvenus’ new post (linked above) to clarify again why I decided to unfollow her, as she questioned why I did. I wanted to be as frank as possible and so I wished her the best, but I maintained that I wouldn’t support her work in the future and that I thought the og author deserved a better/more truthful explanation
unfortunately I was blocked by her after our back and forth so I can’t see all of my og comments but here are some of hers and mine that I was able to sc beforehand⬇️
may or may not have had a friend send me more sc of the convo after I was blocked ⬇️
“I did not plagiarize the fic” are you sure about that?
courtesy of @ladiilokii ⬇️ (lettersfromvenus is left, og author is right)
some other screenshots⬇️
“you’re literally blaming me for shit out of my control”- it wasn’t out of your control, you purposefully did what you did and instead of openly admitting to it, you’re pivoting the blame onto an “anonymous” sender (which she has still shown no proof of)
and even if someone did send you a complete fic in your inbox, you are still obligated to say that it is not your own original work if you post it, it is still plagiarizing even if the author is anonymous
** btw this was the caption of the fic she posted that she stole from ladiilokii- “Writing takes a lot of time, so please make sure to support us writers” writing does indeed take time… copying and pasting does not **
and please the irony of saying this fandom is toxic for calling you out for stealing another fan’s work- like ma’am take a look in the mirror before calling other people toxic 🤧
my patience is now non-existent regarding this person so I’m sorry if I’m crass but if her idea of “hard work” is copying and pasting a fic and stealing the title/cover-art, then yeah that deserves to be discredited, like what do you expect??
since I was blocked I can’t see my comment anymore but I mentioned how she admitted to stealing the cover-art and that she should have given credit for that, and she then replied that her stealing was essentially justified because the author who made the cover-art didn’t credit the photographer that took the photos of Elvis ⬇️
she also went on to say that everyone who writes the word “Elvis” is plagiarizing Gladys because she created Elvis- I hope she stretched before she made that reach
we only went back and forth for like 15 minutes but my head still hurts from it. she was just impossible to reason with, she had zero accountability, and at times I felt like I was speaking to an actual toddler… she even told me to go back to elementary school to get common sense 💀
me engaging with her on that post proved to be futile, but I can’t say that I fully regret it because this clearly shows her lack of a moral code as a writer (thou shall not plagiarize)
I hate for this to be my first post back and I do know that I am contributing to the drama (for better or for worse) by making this lengthy ass post but that whole exchange with her truly shocked me and I just couldn’t keep quiet about it, especially when she has gone to her followers and made herself out to be the victim, and made others out to be the aggressors… my brain cannot compute the fact that she is trying to garner sympathy from this
** however, I by no means, wish for any hate sent to her about this. some of my comments and rebuttals have been snippy & I definitely lost patience in all of this but I don’t know how old this person is, she could be 12 for all I know, and I think we have probably all been guilty of doing dumb things on the internet. From my understanding she did end up deleting the fic at the og authors request **
I made this post in hopes that it provides some clarity to the situation and in hopes that I could show the conversation with as much transparency as possible as since I’m blocked I’m slightly worried that she is making me out to seem like I instigated this when I only directly spoke to her once I saw that her post mentioned my comment
to me this situation wasn’t even really about who was involved, it was about the principle of it because no matter who the person is, plagiarism is wrong on all of counts. if someone plagiarized lettersfromvenus’ original work in the future, I would still speak to her defense because no one deserves to have that happen to them
if there is anything you would like to do, please show some love and support to @ladiilokii , the original author of “Welcome to Detroit, Baby” <3
anyways- I cannot wait to get back to my original schedule of posting, I’ve been on a break for only 11 days but my god it has felt like an eternity 😭
Warnings: Time period sexism, a little internalized misogyny towards other girls?, other than that just pure fluff
Summary: You’re a music journalist just getting your start in the industry, and your first-ever interview is with none other than Elvis Presley.
˚.✶⋆₊✧˚.‧
Which musicians or artists inspire your sound the most?
What do you have to say to parents and authority figures who view your dancing as "vulgar"?
Thousands of girls would now love a date with Elvis Presley. Have you found a special girl that's caught your eye yet?
You scribble out the last question written on your notepad, muttering under your breath about your editor's choice of questions. You had only been working for the music press industry for a few months, and, although your editor did give you terrible starter questions like the one you'd just crossed out, you were grateful to even be sitting in the room down the hall from one of the most famous musicians at the moment, Elvis Presley. Journalists were allowed ten minutes each with the musician in his hotel room a few doors down to interview him. You didn't know as much about Elvis as your girlfriends did (how Mary knew his exact shoe size, you had no idea), but you knew a little bit about his performances and musicianship. You definitely knew about how girls would throw themselves at him, practically begging to sleep with him after his shows. But you weren't there for the handsome, smooth-talking Elvis Presley that all the girls screamed for; you just needed the facts and a good story.
Being a woman in the journalism industry wasn't easy; it seemed like the only way to get your name in print or to be taken seriously was to fake a male-sounding pen name when you sent in your work. But, this editor was the first one to show genuine faith in your writing skills, and you were determined not to mess this first ever in-person interview up. Your leg bounced nervously as you waited your turn, white heels sticking out harshly next to the shined leather shoes of the men sitting around you, examining their own notepads of questions.
"Darlin', there's no need to be nervous," the man next to you said, and you turned to face him, startled out of your thoughts.
"Oh," you said. "Um, thank you?"
"It's not going to be published anyway, whatever you write down in there. You might as well leave Presley your phone number and a love note instead," he said, and a few men next to him chuckled. You felt your face burn with embarassment.
"Miss Y/N?"
A man with a squashed hat and ruddy face appeared in the doorway, cigar dangling out of his mouth and smoke curling up to the ceiling, before you could think of something to say back to the journalist next to you. You stood up, smoothing your pin-curled hair behind your ear and clutching your notepad and pen.
"Mr. Presley will see you next," the man said, and you recognized him as Elvis' buisness manager, Colonol Tom Parker. Your editor had warned you about him, saying that he liked to sit in on Elvis' interviews with the press to make sure that nothing that could possibly be percieved as negative to his image would be written down or published. The Colonol's eyes raked you up and down.
"Clearly Five Chords Publishing did not send their A-Team," he said, and then his eyes landed on the man who had made the rude comment to you. "Ah, Martin Perry! How good it is to see you again! Your piece on my boy was very well done, very well done."
Leaving The Colonol to catch up with his aquaintance, you slipped out of the door and down the hall to Room 214. You glanced at your questions again, wishing that your editor had at least let you write them yourself, and timidly knocked on the door.
"Come in," a deep, Southern drawl inside said.
You pushed the door open. Elvis lay on his back on the couch in the room, plucking the strings of an acoustic guitar nonchalantly, humming to himself softly. He didn't seem to really notice your prescense nor care that you were even there. You took a moment to really look at him, the curve of his lips as he hummed, heavy-lidded eyes that seemed to have smudged makeup underneath them, and a mop of slicked black hair. His look was so different from the other musicians you'd seen or knew about; you could only describe him as beautiful.
"Hello, Mr. Presley," you said, and he finally glanced up a little, but didn't sit up from his position, still staring at the ceiling and plucking the guitar.
"Elvis," he said.
"I'm sorry?" you asked. He looked at you for real this time, and his eyebrows shot up.
"Just call me Elvis." He sat up then, scooting over to make room for you on the couch. "You're sure a whole lot prettier than the other journalists."
You didn't know what to say to that, but you knew you must look awkward just standing by the door. Mentally taking a deep breath, you sat on the couch next to him, crossing your legs and sitting as far away as possible. Even so, you could smell his cologne and feel his stare on you, and it was making you a little bit dizzy.
"Um, let's see," you stuttered out, flipping through your notebook. You avoided his intense eyes, and you could feel a blush creeping up your neck onto your cheeks. Elvis chuckled.
"I'm not gonna bite, honey. Is this your first interview? You don't see too many women writers," he said.
"Yes, this is my first interview. I promise I'm not usually this unorganized," you said, nervously flipping through your notebook and finding the page of questions. Elvis watched you a minute and then turned to face you completely. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. You noticed a piece of his black hair fall in front of his face.
"Here, I'll show you the ropes," he said. "You ask me the same questions everybody asks me, I give the same answers I always give 'em, and you wind up twisting my words all up to make me sound like some kind of marajuina-smokin' delinquent messin’ with the minds of teenage girls."
Your face really heated up then.
"Oh-I," you sputtered out. Elvis grinned, his smile lopsided and sending butterflies throughout your stomach.
"Aw, darlin’, I'm sorry. I was just pullin’ your leg and messin’ with you," he said and you awkwardly let out a relieved sigh and laugh back.
"It's kind of true, though, the journalists askin’ the same questions over and over and all. And makin’ me look bad in the papers. That's why I was givin’ you the cold shoulder when you first walked in. I thought you were one of 'em. But you're tremblin’ all over and your hands are still shakin’, sweetheart." Elvis pushed down the notepad gently.
"Face me," he said, straightening his posture. You turned to face him. He was so handsome, it was almost blinding. Mary would never believe you were sitting this close to Elvis Presley, looking right into his eyes.
"We can do a little practicin', together" he said, taking the notepad out of your hands and pretending like he was reading it. "Now you pretend that I'm the journalist and you're the singer. I'll start with some easy questions."
"Okay," you said, unsure of where all of this was going. Although most of your previous interviews had been in writing, you knew enough to know this was not how a typical in-person one went.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"F/N, L/N" you said, and he smiled to himself.
"What?" you asked. He shook his head. You felt those butterflies again.
"Nothin', Y/N. Next question: how did you wind up as a writer?"
"Oh. Well, I suppose I was always writing from the time I can remember," you laughed, opening up a bit. "My mother said I must have been born with a pencil in my hand!"
Elvis chuckled.
"There's just something about the music industry in particular that draws me to writing about it. The way musicians speak and talk about music as though it's the very thing that keeps them living. It's just beautiful, hearing them tell the story behind the lyrics or the emotion behind their performances. Although, it is truly so difficult to capture in words. It's even more difficult to find a job that'll hire me and my voice. Nobody seems to like it."
"I like it," Elvis said.
"You've not even read anything I've written yet!" you said.
"No?" he cleared his throat dramatically. "Movin' on to the next question then."
"'Thousands of girls would now love a date with Elvis Presley. Have you found a special girl that's caught your eye yet?'", he read out loud from the notepad, and you felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach.
"I didn't write that one! That was my editor. I would never ask a silly question like that to a musician," you tried to explain yourself, but you could tell Elvis was getting a real kick out of making you blush and fiddle with your thumbs. He chuckled again, half-smile shining.
"I knew that wasn't somethin’ you'd write. I haven't even read anything by you, and I can already tell that wasn't written by a girl like yourself," he said. "But, for the record, the answer to it is maybe. I'm not sure yet."
You smiled, but inside you were dying. This was the most embarassing interview you'd ever done, and to make matters worse, you were certain your ten minutes with Elvis were up and you hadn't even asked him a single one of your real questions. You were sure The Colonel would be bursting through the door any minute telling you to get out.
"Okay, last question for Miss F/N, L/N," Elvis said. You were hoping this was the actual last question, because if you went back to your editor empty-handed you weren't sure if you would ever find another journalism job anywhere in the city again.
"Ask away," you said, a little nervous.
"After all the rest of these interviews are over, do you wanna go out with me tonight?"
Your whole body felt like it was on fire. You knew going into this that Elvis was known for having pretty girls go backstage and follow him all night long, and you weren't quite sure what "going out" meant to him. Your mind echoed with the voice of that journalist who'd made that comment to you about just wanting to be with him. You looked away, taking the notepad from him and standing up to leave.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Presley, but I'm not the kind of girl who does that. Thank you for your time," you said, making a beeline for the door. He slung his guitar off of him onto the couch and gently grabbed your arm, stopping you.
"Oh, Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry if you took it that way. Look, honey, to tell you the truth, I think you're beautiful and smart, and I want to get to know you more. I'd love to take you out on a date, nothing more," he explained, and you thought a moment. You looked up at him, and when your eyes met his lips curled up into a slight smile.
"How about just ice cream? I can pick you up around six in front of the hotel if you'll still be here. I'll be in the pink Cadillac," he said. He grinned down at you. "You can ask me more of those questions you have then."
At that moment, The Colonol burst through the door.
"My apologies! I got caught up and lost my track of time." He looked at you and Elvis standing close together by the door and gave you a weird, disapproving look. "Your time is up, I'm afraid, my dear."
You nodded.
"It was nice meeting you, Elvis," you said shyly, smiling and closing the door. Elvis held up six fingers out of the sight of The Colonol, who was busy pouring himself a glass of champagne off of the hotel bar cart.
See you at six, he mouthed at you, and you shut the door behind you, mind and heart racing with thoughts of the man you'd only just met who made your tummy curl up into knots in a feeling you'd never felt before.
Prompt: As a fashion designer, you work with Steve and Bones when they decide to take on Elvis’ comeback show. Sparks fly between you and Elviswhile they plan the show.
TW: None!
Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 3899
A/N: Idk how to write short fics anymore apparently...send help...or more requests 💕
🦋 mila
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
You're sitting in the dressing room, sketching the flare on a pair of leather pants when you hear voices down the hall.
“Alright now, Elvis, we’re hoping that you can channel your old self through the costumes you wear for the special…”
You recognize the voice immediately as Steve Binder’s. It gets louder as he approaches and comes into the dressing room. You nervously stand up when he enters with Bones Howe and the Elvis Presley. You intertwine your fingers behind your back to calm yourself. You’d never let anyone know it, but you are a massive Elvis fan. You’ve followed along on his journey since he was back singing in Memphis clubs. You hold out a hand.
“Hi, nice to meet you, Mr. Presley. I’m Y/N, and I’ll be handling your costumes for the special,” you say, gesturing him into the dressing room.
“Elvis, you won’t find a better, more meticulous designer anywhere in the world. Y/N is the best,” Steve say, and you thank him quietly. You refuse to flush, even though his compliment draws far too much attention to you.
“Very nice to meet ya,” Elvis responds, and you work hard to hide your shock at his deep voice. Of course you've heard it on the radio, but you are totally unprepared for how deep it really is. You say thank you to Steve and Bones and get straight to work as soon as they’d left.
“So, Mr. Presley-”
“Elvis, please,” he interrupts.
“I don’t refer to any clients by their first name-”
“Even if they ask you to?” he asks, eyebrows raised.
“Especially not if they ask me to. Now, Mr. Presley, Steve and Bones tell me that you’re trying to reconnect with who you really are?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s the goal.”
“Big goal. It won’t be easy, but I think I can help you. It may not seem like it, but clothes are a huge part of who we are. They help us express what’s inside of us to other people,” you say. “We can also work backward to figure out what is inside of us that we’re reflecting on the outside through our clothes. So, I’ve pulled some of your looks from previous concerts, performances, shows, etcetera, and I figured we could use that to dig deep into what you actually want the final product to look like.”
“You really got this all figured out, don’t ya?”
“I come prepared to my meetings, Mr. Presley.”
“I like a girl who’s well-prepared,” he responds and you bury a creeping smile.
“But before we deal with style, let’s focus on the fabric. That will help us narrow some things down. So, what are you looking for? What kinds of fabrics do you like? What kinds do you hate?”
He doesn't say anything right away but rubs his fingers over his chin. The way his eyebrows furrow tell you he's deep in thought. After a few moments, you speak up.
“So…” you prompt him. “What do you want to wear? You can give me anything to start with.”
He glances up at the colored drawings you have taped up on the wall, but says nothing.
“Well, we know you’re not wearing a Christmas sweater, that’s for damn sure,” you say, shaking your head. “I think you should wear what you want to wear, but until you can decide what you really want we can’t make any decisions. So, if you’re still unsure, maybe we should jus-”
“I’m thinkin somethin unforgiving, badass, almost like…armor,” he cuts you off, that pensive look still creasing his features. You nod.
“If you want unforgiving, Mr. Presley, then you want leather,” you respond, starting to dig through your fabric samples.
“Leather? Why’s that?”
“Well,” you say, smiling when you find that scrap of Italian leather that you’ve been keeping for something special,” it’s unbearably hot, almost impossible to move in, and puts all your worst angles on display for everyone to judge.”
You hold the black strip of fabric up next to his face and nod.
“It’s about as unforgiving as you’re going to get in terms of fashion. And I do have to say, this Italian black leather looks magnificent on your skin tone.”
“Is this the kinda leather that would upset fine, upstandin white gentleman?” he asks, examining the sample. You laugh.
“Oh yes, sir. This is the kind of leather that would upset your own mother if she saw you wearing it,” you say.
“Steve and Bones were sayin somethin about a leather jacket…”
“Hm…” you glance back at some of the drawings of his previous looks and a thought occurred to you. “Just a jacket?”
“What are you thinkin in that genius brain of yours?” he asks.
You smile, imagining the entire look in your head and then on Elvis’ body. You have become obsessed with drawing him. Something about his body draws you to it, and you want to explore all its shapes and lines. You feel like you know him somehow through your drawings. And the way he dresses is so fashion-forward that it inspires the designer in you. You literally have mountains of ideas of how to dress him. You would be mortified if anyone found it, but somewhere in the room, there's a binder stuffed full of papers and scraps of parchment with drawings and sketches of potential outfits on them.
You know that you can pull one of these out and it will work for the special, but once Steve and Bones told you how much Elvis needs this concert, you had decided none of your previous designs are quite right. No, this performance needs something entirely unique, different, and attention-grabbing. It needs to invite people in, demand their attention, and make a statement that can't be ignored. You have the perfect solution.
“I’m thinking full leather. Everything leather. A whole jumpsuit, with a jacket and pants,” you say, searching for your drawing pad. Snatching it up and flipping to a new page, you scribble furiously. In just a few moments, you have a fully rendered design with startling accuracy.
“Yes!” you shout. “What do you think, Mr. Presley? I think this could be perfect. It is badass and strong. It commands attention and sustains it. It makes people look at you and accept you for who you are. It’s something you can’t ignore.”
He's looking intently at the drawing as you pace around the room with your excited arms flailing wildly. He looks up at you with a smile.
“How did you do that so fast?” he asks.
“You like it?”
“It’s perfect. This is exactly what I need to get my message across.”
“Excellent. Well If I can get started on it tonight then I should be able to finish it in two…maybe three weeks? That should give us enough time for a fitting and then alterations,” you are mumbling to yourself and jotting down notes on a different notepad.
“These are amazin, Y/N…” he mutters, and you turn to see him examining the drawings you have pinned up on the cork board. “The detail, the shading…me. Everything’s so realistic.”
“Thank you,” you say dryly, hoping to throw him off your tail. You will be mortified if he knows how obsessed with him you were, and you nervously glance toward the binder that is tucked away in a stack of shelves.
“How would you feel about bein my permanent designer?” he asks, and you nearly drop everything you're holding.
“What?”
“My permanent personal designer. These are all exactly what I’m lookin for.”
“Oh, I don’t know. What if you decided to go in a different aesthetic direction? Then I’d be no good to you,” you respond, banishing the thought of being so close to him every day. You can't take an opportunity like that without something going wrong. It's too good to be true.
“We could adapt, you and I,” he says, pulling down another design to examine it. You glance at him and shake your head.
“No…no I couldn’t.”
“Elvis, you’re needed for the ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ rehearsal,” one of the stage managers shouts into the room.
Elvis sighs and groans, stacking up the designs and gently placing them on a table near you.
He grabs your arms and turn you to face him.
“Please think about it, wontcha? For me?” he asks, and you look into his eyes for the first time. He is truly gorgeous, and you feel totally overwhelmed.
“Alright. I’ll consider it.”
He smiles.
“Good. Cause I really, really want you around,” he says, and his eyes flick to your lips.
You can't bring yourself to say anything and before you regain consciousness, he's out the door. You sat down. What did he mean by that? You were sure it was just your fangirl heart exaggerating scenarios in your head, but what if he genuinely liked you? He said he wanted you around…no he really, really wanted you around. Whatever the outcome, you knew that this jumpsuit was about to be the most beautiful piece of fashion that ever existed.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
The next two weeks pass fairly uneventfully. Well, for you, at least. The Colonel has everyone going crazy trying to prepare for the Christmas special, and you are caught up in sewing sweaters and elf costumes all day. In your free time, which is rare, you're able to work on the leather jumpsuit. But most days, you find yourself huddled over the difficult fabric with a desk lamp, well after everyone else has left the building.
After the idea session, you'd seen Elvis every day. You collaborated, traded ideas, and made changes. Your passions combined and animated you both. He constantly complimented you and always left you with a smile.
But toward the end of the two weeks, he's started to disappear and you barely see him at all. Each day that goes by without seeing his face makes you more depressed and less sure that he's actually interested in you at all.
Nevertheless, you're pouring your heart and soul into the jumpsuit. All the love and admiration you feel for Elvis will be visible on this garment, whether you mean it or not.
One night you're working incredibly late, and your eyes are starting to stick together with sleep. You are, as you have been so many nights recently, hovering over the leather jacket, tediously hand-stitching a difficult and unique pattern that you had learned from your mother a long time ago. You could have used the sewing machine, but hand-stitched always looks better. And you know that no other garment in the world will have the same stitches that this one does. Your back ache and fingers are sore, but you keep sewing. You’ve made a deal with yourself to have at least the jacket finished tonight, and you are getting so close. It's some time past midnight, you’ve lost track, when a voice startles you.
“What the hell are you still doin here?”
You jump, accidentally stabbing your finger with the needle. When you jerk to face the door, your ankle hits something heavy and whatever it is falls to the ground with a bang. Your hand flies to your chest, and you release a breath when you see Elvis standing in the doorway.
“Ouch,” you mutter. “Mr. Presley, you scared me.”
You put the back of your hand up to your head.
“Woah, what happened?” he asks, coming closer to you. You stare at him, confused for a moment before he takes your hand and you realize what he's seen.
“Oh it’s nothing. I just stabbed myself by accident. It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before,” you reply. But when you try to pull your hand away from him, he won't let you. He grabs a piece of red cloth from the table nearby.
“Is this expensive?” he asks. You shake your head with a smile.
“No. It’s cheap cotton, about $1.50 per yard,” you respond, and he dabs it onto your finger. For whatever reason, your finger continues to bleed - not a lot but enough that the crap cotton isn't cutting it.
“Damn, this is cheap,” he says, and you chuckle. He throws the cotton onto the floor and raises your finger to his mouth. You grip onto the seat to keep yourself from falling out as he pops it into his mouth. You allow that much but when his tongue touches your finger, you pull it back and wipe it off on your clothes.
“Thanks, Mr. Presley,” you say and gulp.
“Please call me Elvis,” he says. “I think we’ve spent enough time together for that.”
“Well thank you, Elvis.”
Silence settles and as you're gathering yourself back together, he leans down to pick something up. It's a small square scrap of paper. As soon as he holds it up into the light, you know exactly what it is: you'd drawn a close-up of his face, but it isn't just any drawing. It's like a photograph. The colors, the shapes, everything is exactly where it's supposed to be and exactly the right size and shade. It's a drawing that only someone deeply in love — enough to notice the smallest of details — could have made. You think about ripping it back. But it's too late, he’s already seen it.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” you say nervously. “Sometimes to get to know my subjects better I do more in-depth drawings of what they look like. It helps me envision the outfits on them.”
He sits down across from you and nods slowly. His expression is a mixture of confusion and at least five other emotions that you can't place. You close your eyes, waiting for him to yell at you, fire you, or otherwise destroy your life. But you don't hear any harsh words. Or any words at all. Instead, you hear him pick up the binder and start to flip through it. You keep your eyes closed, not brave enough to confront the damage your clumsiness has done.
“You sure do have a lot of me…” he mumbles, and your eyes fly open. “And they’re all…”
You brace yourself.
“Incredible. Just amazing,” he whispers, and you release the breath you’ve been holding. “I’ve never seen anythin like it. I mean it’s a dead ringer for me.”
He holds up one of your drawings next to his face, and you laugh nervously. He puts the binder down and peers over at the jacket.
“And this,” he says, reaching for it. He pauses and looks to you, “Can I pick it up?”
“Yes, Elvis.”
He lifts it and holds it up to his chest, looking into the mirror. He doesn't finish his sentence and just shakes his head in disbelief.
“Do you wanna try it on?” you ask sheepishly. He whirls around.
“Can I?”
You laugh, nodding.
“I’ll get the pants. I’ve had to keep hiding them so nobody tattled on us, but I’ll carefully iron it before the actual show so it-”
You stop short when you turn around. He's shirtless already and is unzipping his pants.
“Will look brand new,” you quickly finish your sentence. You bring him the pants and then turn your back to cover your eyes.
“What are ya doin?” he asks.
“Well, you’re changing…”
“I’m not embarrassed. You can look,” he says, and you don't know what to do. If you had any self respect, you wouldn't have turned. But, the shameless side gets the best of you. When will you ever have this opportunity again?
You slowly turn and raise your eyes. He's mostly dressed; the pants are on, although unbuttoned, and he's pulling the leather jacket over his shoulders. He seems to be struggling, so you approach and help him pull the jacket all the way on. Your fingers accidentally brush his hairy chest, and you apologize.
“Don’t apologize, baby. I don’t mind,” he says, and you take a deep breath.
“Well, that’s probably good, because the pants definitely need some work,” you reply, trying to shrug off your butterflies.
He gets up onto the pedestal in the middle of the room and turns from side to side in the mirror.
“How does it feel?” you ask.
“Like home,” he responds. “Like me.”
“It looks damn good on you, Elvis,” you add. “I think it’ll be a real hit. But we’ll have to take the hem in a little here…”
You trail off and get lost in your thoughts. Before you know it, you're squeezing parts of his legs and feeling him up. When you realize what you're doing, you jump back and mutter an excuse me.
“Honey, you can keep doin that as long as you want,” he says with a smirk, and this time you can't contain your embarrassment.
“Oh believe me, it would be my pleasure,” you say in a joking tone.
You look up at him with a smile, which fades quickly when you see how he's looking at you. He's bent over, inches away from your face, staring directly at your lips. You clear your throat and tilt your head all the way up so that you're even closer to him. His finger finds its way to your chin, and he pulls you up for a kiss. You accept his lips timidly, and the kiss is only a short, sweet peck. When you part, he disappears from you. You open your eyes, and he's already putting his street clothes back on.
“It’s late,” he says, “I’ll drive ya home.”
Neither of you say anything to each other for the rest of the night. You pack up quietly and he drives you in silence to your house. When you get there, you mutter a quiet thanks and get out. He waves and then drives off, leaving you standing in the driveway.
When you go inside for bed, you throw yourself under the covers and try not to cry. You’ve screwed up. Something you did was wrong. You had an opportunity and you messed it up. You keep most of your tears at bay, although a few do fall before you fall asleep.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
The next week is even busier than the previous two. You get to work on the alterations for the jumpsuit and still keep up the Santa Claus act on the side. You don't spend any more late nights at the studio. Whether it's because you're embarrassed or afraid to confront him, you aren't sure. But you take the jumpsuit home with you and work on it in the garage.
The day before the show, you finish the last stitch. You really want Elvis to try it on again to make sure everything will fit perfectly, but you can't ever find him and everyone in the building always needs him for this or that. You give up after an hour of timid searching.
You stay around a little after hours to see if he’d be around, but when the lighting director tells you Elvis had left hours ago, you angrily throw your things together and head out.
How dare he, you think. How dare he treat me like this and then ignore me for a week. Well, he can’t avoid me tomorrow. He has to put the suit on, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle it.
You sleep horribly that night and wake up with a headache in the morning. Still, you wear your most attractive outfit and show up to work fifteen minutes early. You're ironing the pants when the King himself walks in.
“I’m here for my fittin,” he says dryly.
“Right this way, Mr. Presley,” you spit out the words without turning to look at him.
He steps on the pedestal and you finish the last bit of ironing. You bring the pants over first, even though they're still warm. You hand them over, and he shakes his hand.
“Ah, damn it’s hot,” he says.
“Oops,” you reply, feigning absentmindedness.
Once he has the pants on, you help him pull the jacket on and zip it up. You want to be forceful and angry with every movement, but this jumpsuit is your pride and joy. You aren't about to ruin that. You avoid his eyes the entire time. When you're finished dressing him, you turn away without a single word, but he catches your arm.
“Where do you get off not talkin to me?” he asks. “And callin me Mr. Presley. I thought we moved past that.”
You yank your wrist away.
“And I thought we’d moved past being children a long time ago,” you respond, still refusing to look at him.
“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
You stay silent, wanting to make him suffer for a minute. He stomps off the platform and grabs your arm again.
“What the hell does that mean?” he repeats, and you shake him off again.
“Ignoring me? After you stood here and flirted with me, and kissed me, and sucked on my goddamn finger? How dare you,” you hiss back.
“I haven’t been-! Ugh!” he sbouts and then take a deep breath. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was leavin you alone cause I thought you weren't interested.”
“Not interested?!” you yell. “How the hell could you think I wasn’t interested? I draw you nonstop. I think about you all the time. I’ve devoted every goddamn waking moment of the last month that I possibly could to make your stupid jumpsuit. I’ve put real blood, sweat, and tears into this. And when you kissed me I was the happiest I’ve ever been! But you had to ruin it, didn’t you?!”
You whirl around to hide the fact that tears are falling down your face. A few moments of silence pass before you feel his hand gently pulling your shoulder. You try to resist, but he's too strong. You won't meet his eyes and are too proud to wipe your own tears. His calloused fingers gently swipe the falling drops from your cheekbones and you huff.
“I’ve been so stupid,” he says quietly. “You’re right…I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N. I just didn’t think you wanted me cause when we kissed you…well you gave me nothin.”
“I was too shocked to move,” you whisper. “I didn’t ever expect in my life that Elvis Presley would want to kiss me. Little old me.”
A moment of silence passes.
“Well, Elvis Presley would like to kiss you again now, if that’s aright?”
You turn to face him and see the sincerity in his eyes. You nod slowly. He gently guides your face and lips to his and gives you a tender, long kiss. You make sure to kiss him back this time, not wanting to make the same mistake twice. This time when you pull back, you both smile.
“Elvis, the show starts in a few minutes,” one of the stage managers interrupts. “The Colonel wants you to get out there now.”
“I gotta go. One more kiss for good luck?” he asks. You shake your head but kiss him anyway. You pull back faster than he's ready for.
“You can get the rest of it when you come back. Now go out there and make my leather suit your bitch,” you say. He laughs, kisses your cheek, and runs out to the stage.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
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