#memphis mafia

[elvisbooty76]

[epletsplayhouse]

Authors note: I had so much fun writing this that I finished quickly. Maybe I will take longer with the next episode, as the next two weeks are very intense for me 🥲 Enjoy!!

Word count: 3,5K

Warnings: angst, innocent, a bit aggresive E, fluff.

Dontcha’ think It’s time

Part 2 (Part 1 here)

Before you reached the stairs, you could listen already the clinking silverware, lively chatter, and Elvis’s booming laughter. The smell of bacon, toast, and coffee pulled you toward the dining room.

Inside, chairs scraped, voices overlapped, and the Memphis Mafia crowded around the table, plates piled high.

At the center, little Lisa Marie sat in her high chair, happily making a mess spilling cereals.

Lisa spotted you right away. Her face lit up with a big, messy grin.

“You sittin’ by me?” she asked fascinated, her voice slightly muffled by the cereal in her mouth.

“Good morning, Yisa. Of course!” you replied with a warm smile while sliding into the seat next to her.

Lisa giggled, she was excited to enjoy breakfast with you.

Elvis, seated at the head of the table, glanced up. He noticed the interaction, the way Lisa beamed at you, and that put a smile on his face.

Leaning forward slightly, his eyes softened as he said “Mornin’, sugar” his voice smooth and welcoming. “How’d ya sleep?”

You looked over at him, your nerves easing at his kind tone. “Good, thanks. The bed is really comfortable.”

“Well, that’s good to hear” he replied, leaning back in his chair, coffee in hand. “Graceland ain’t that bad, is it?”

“No, it’s really nice” you answered honestly, feeling a bit more at ease.

Elvis nodded, pleased.

Across the table, Joe piped up, breaking the short moment of calm. “Hey, E, the tailor has been waiting for you to confirm a date. Them jumpsuits of yours are about ready to give up.”

“Yeah” Red added, cutting into his pancakes with a grin. “Keep movin’ like you do on stage, and those seams ain’t got a prayer.”

The table roared with laughter as Elvis rolled his eyes, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

“You boys got jokes this mornin’, huh?” he answered back between laughs. “Tell the tailor to come by tomorrow. And careful now, you’re talkin’ to the man who makes sure y’all get breakfast every day.”

Red grinned back. “That’s true, E. But maybe if you laid off the damn bacon those seams wouldn’t be screamin’ for help.”

Elvis shot him a mock glare as the room erupted in laughter again. But before he could retort, Lisa’s little voice piped up, clear as a bell.

“Damn bacon” she let out, nodding as if she agreed with Red.

Everyone laughed at the joke except Elvis, who sighed playfully. He wasn't impressed because Lisa was at that age of repeating everything.

Setting his coffee cup down slowly, Elvis licked his lips, stretched his arms, and cracked his neck like a man about to deliver the final blow. Then, with a smirk so lethal it could knock a man flat, he pointed his fork straight at Red.

“Listen here, I ain’t eatin’ all this bacon for me, man. I’m carb-loadin’ for later… gotta keep my energy up for your mama.”

The guys detonated.

Jerry fell against Charlie, grabbing his chest like he’d been shot. Charlie was howling, pounding the table so hard the syrup bottle tipped over.

Elvis took another bite of bacon, chewed slowly, and winked.

Red threw his hands up. “Man, what the hell, E?! I ain’t even say nothin’ that bad!”

Elvis just shrugged, taking a long sip of coffee. “Well, maybe next time you’ll think twice before talkin’ about me and my jumpsuits. ’Cause trust me, man, ain’t nothin’ burstin’ at the seams but your mama’s breathin’ when I walk through the door.”

“I’m done. I’m done.” Red slammed his napkin on the table.

Elvis grinned, popping another piece of bacon in his mouth. “Yeah, well… your mama ain’t.”

You sat calmly, hands resting on the table, taking it all in. You were watching and listening, completely absorbed. You didn’t understand every jab being thrown, but still. The way he shot back, so quick, so clever… it was something to admire. You fixed your eyes on him, wide with quiet awe, captivated by the effortless way he turned every joke in his favor.

You had no idea what was happening. But one thing was clear: Uncle Elvis was winning.

Elvis looked at you and instantly felt the weight of all his sins.

Red looked between you and Elvis and smirked. “Yeah, E… now you can’t say anything, huh?”

He shot Red a warning glare. “Oh, you dirty son of a…”

After few seconds Elvis swallowed real slow, suddenly feeling about ten degrees hotter. He glanced around: Charlie nudged Jerry. Jerry looked up, saw your sweet little face, and immediately covered his mouth, trying to hold in his laughter. Joe was staring directly at Elvis, mouthing, “Don’t. You. Do. It.”

Elvis cleared his throat, straightened his back, and gave you his most innocent, charming smile.

“Well now, sugar” he started smoothly, looking you dead in the eye. “Let’s just say… your ol’ Uncle does a lotta charity work”

The table lost it.

Joe was laughing quietly, struggling to catch his breath and kicking his legs. Jerry was nearly in tears. Red's face was all red, and he was mumbling something about how the Lord was testing him.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Jerry added, “E, you’re going straight to hell, man.”

The playful teasing helped you unwind, and soon enough, you were laughing along with the jokes, a sense of belonging settling in.

Noticing you loosening up, Red smirked and leaned toward you. “See? Give it a year, and you’ll be just as wild as the rest of us.”

“Yeah, but for now, take it easy, Red. She’s just a little girl.” Jerry swallowed a piece of toast, smirking.

Hearing Jerry’s words stirred something inside you. Since the atmosphere they created was making you feel comfortable, you decided to bring this up. Excitement began to shine in your eyes as you declared with a smile, “Well, not for long. Uncle Elvis is gonna make me a woman.”

The room fell into an instant, stunned silence. Forks hovered midair, coffee cups stopped halfway to lips, not a single breathing, and wide-eyed glances darted across the table.

Elvis paused mid-sip, his coffee cup still hovering close to his mouth. He froze, staring at the scene blankly. Slowly, he lowered his hand, the cup dangling from his fingers as he looked around to see how everyone was reacting.

Red made the mistake of looking at Elvis, saw the absolute panic on his face, and lost the battle. His chest jerked with a barely contained snort.

Charlie’s face turned toward the ceiling, eyes shut tight, fighting for composure, while Joe shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Elvis like he was waiting for him to say something.

But the real problem, the reason the laughter was strained, the reason no one could quite look Elvis in the eye, was that the idea wasn’t actually impossible.

By experience, they all knew better.

Before Elvis could even pronounce a word, you continued innocently, completely unaware of the tension. “He said he’d teach me about what men like and how to be more confident, so I figured…”

Lisa, completely oblivious, grinned up at you, swinging her legs.

“Darlin’, I told y-“

Elvis didn’t even get to finish before Jerry leaned in, his voice low but urgent. “You might wanna hit the brakes before this train goes completely off the rails.”

In return, Elvis shot him a glare. “You think I don’t know that?”

Turning back to you, he forced a strained smile. “Now, sugar, what I meant was-“

“But you said-“

“I know what I said” Elvis cut in quickly, his voice tightening up with irritation.

Charlie decided to pour gasoline on the fire. “She’s got a point, E. You’re always braggin’ about how you know what women want.”

Elvis’s patience snapped. “Charlie, I swear to God…”

But you weren’t done. “And it makes sense, right? You said you know what men want, and if anyone can make me a woman, it’s you, Uncle Elvis!”

That was the final straw. The room went nuts, their laughter transforming into a strange mix of hiccuping, snorting, and wheezing. It sounded like a bunch of chickens getting spooked and a pack of turkeys doing their gobble thing, creating a total circus.

Elvis, however, didn’t find it funny.

“Alright, that’s enough!” he shouted. He slammed his hand on the table, making everyone jump. His face was bright red, and his eyes blazed with frustration. Every time he tried to speak, someone cut him off. His patience was gone.

The room quieted suddenly, giggles dying out in an instant. Lisa's attention snapped to her father, her eyes wide and glued to his face.

You shrank in your seat, your face red with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean anything bad” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Elvis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you didn’t, sugar” he said, his voice softer but still firm. “But you can’t…you just can’t say things like that. Not like that. Not here.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you pushed your chair back. “I’m sorry” you said quickly, bolting from the room before anyone could stop you.

No one spoke. No one dared.

Elvis exhaled heavily, dragging a hand down his face. The men exchanged uneasy glances until Jerry finally broke the silence. “Well…that went south fast.”

Elvis shot him a warning look but remained silent.

Red smirked softly “E, this is just a taste of what’s comin’. Wait till Lisa’s her age. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Elvis glanced at Lisa, who had returned to her cereal as if nothing had happened.

“Lisa” he said tiredly, “finish your breakfast. And behave when you get older, ya hear me?”

Lisa looked up at him, confused but obedient. “Okay, Daddy” she replied, taking another bite.

As soon as breakfast was over, Elvis let out a quiet curse before standing abruptly and leaving the table.

He made his way upstairs, pausing outside your door to knock softly.

“Darlin’? You in there?”

No response. He hesitated, then turned the doorknob.

The room was empty.

Elvis’s stomach sank as he scanned the hallway, his worry mounting.

“Jerry!” he called with sharp voice. “Get everyone. She’s gone.”

You ran down the driveway of Graceland, your feet pounding on the hot pavement. As you neared the end, the city of Memphis sprawled out before you, alive with activity, a sea of unknown but filled with the promise of answers.

You didn’t stop. Not when the air burned your lungs, not when the weight of this morning’s turmoil pressed against your chest. You weaved through pedestrians.

Finally, the library stood before you.

You pushed open the doors, stepping into the cool, hushed space. “If no one’s gonna help me” you muttered under your breath, determination settling in your bones. “I’ll find out myself.”

Some time later, Elvis was behind the wheel of his Cadillac, the engine roaring as it crawled down the streets of Memphis. His knuckles were tight on the steering wheel. Jerry sat in the passenger seat, glancing anxiously between Elvis and the road ahead.

“E, you’ve been drivin’ in circles for an hour”

Elvis ignored him, his sharp blue eyes inspecting the sidewalks. “She couldn’t have gone far” he muttered.

Jerry sighed. “Look, maybe she just needed some air. She’s not gonna do anything crazy.”

“You didn’t see the way she looked when she left that table, Jerry. I snapped at her, and she ran off feelin’ like she’s got no one to talk to. Hell, I wouldn’t stick around after that, either.”

Jerry leaned back, crossing his arms. “She doesn’t know what she’s doin’. She just needs to cool off, and so do you.”

Elvis didn’t answer. He slowed the car as they passed the library, something catching his eye. He squinted at the front doors.

“There” he said suddenly, pulling over to the curb with a screech.

Jerry craned his neck. “You think she’s in there?”

Elvis didn’t reply. He threw the car into park, climbed out, and strode toward the library doors, his pace quick but steady. Jerry hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh, shoved his hands into his pockets, and leaned against the car, eyes fixed on the library doors.

You were still flipping through books, growing more and more stressed. Your fingers trembled as you picked up another, then another, the words on the pages blurring together in your frustration.

“What’s all this about?”

The deep, familiar voice made you freeze. You looked up to see Elvis standing at the end of the aisle, his hands on his hips, his eyes fixed on you.

You sighed, guilt and relief flooding your face.

Elvis walked closer, crouching down so he was eye level with you. His gaze softened when he saw the pile of books around you, and the frustration written all over your face. “What are you doin’ in here, honey? You had us all worried.”

You glanced down at the book in your hands, fidgeting with the corner of the page. “I just…I thought maybe the library would help. My parents always said books have the answers, but none of these books explain anything about…”

“About what?” Elvis asked gently, his tone calm and patient now.

You hesitated, then blurted out, “About how to be a woman. I thought if no one was gonna help me, I’d figure it out myself. But these books don’t make sense!”

He glanced at the titles around you, understanding dawning on his face. “Sugar,” he said softly, “you don’t need no books for that.”

You looked up at him, your eyes glossy with tears. “Then how am I supposed to learn? I just…I want to understand what I’m supposed to do, what I’m supposed to be.”

Elvis let out a long breath, sitting down on the floor beside you, leaning his back against the bookshelf. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared down at the books scattered around you.

“Listen to me, darlin’” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “There ain’t no book out there that’s gonna tell you how to be a woman. That’s somethin’ you figure out on your own, little by little.”

“But I don’t even know where to start” you said, your voice small.

Elvis reached out, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder, making you look at him. “I’ll help ya, honey, as best as I can. But don’t go running off thinking you’re on your own.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you sniffled, nodding. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I know you didn’t” he said, his voice soft. “And I didn’t mean to snap at you. That’s on me, sugar. M’sorry.”

You nodded again, the tension in your chest starting to ease. Elvis stood, brushing off his pants, and extended a hand to you.

“C’mon” he said with a small smile. “Let’s get you back home. You got the whole house worried about ya.”

The rest of the day, you felt a little more at ease.

For the first time in a long while, you felt supported. Like maybe… you weren’t so alone after all.

Even so, when night fell, sleep wouldn’t come.

You tossed and turned, kicking off the blanket, pulling it back on again, but nothing helped. Your mind wouldn’t settle.

Finally, with a sigh, you pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed. You hesitated at the doorway.

You still felt a little uncomfortable moving around on your own in a house that wasn’t yours. Everything felt too big, too unfamiliar, too grand. But waking someone up? That felt even worse.

So, you forced yourself forward.

Graceland was different at night. The house was silent, dimly lit, wrapped in shadows. The soft white carpet felt cool under your bare feet.

When you reached the kitchen, you traced your fingers along the cabinets, finding the fridge by touch alone. The soft glow illuminated the space as you pulled it open.

Carefully, you poured the milk and warmed it up the way your mother used to.

The moment the warmth hit your fingertips, you sighed, finally feeling something familiar. Something that felt safe.

You were ready to take that first, much-needed sip, and then you realized you weren’t alone.

Leaning against the counter, watching you, stood Elvis. His robe was hanging loosely, and his hair was messy, making him look different.

Finally, he spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was low, rough from the lateness of the hour.

You shook your head, “You either?” still gripping your glass.

Elvis let out a quiet huff, lifting the drink in his hand slightly. “I don’t do much of that these days.”

You hesitated, shifting slightly before finally stepping toward the counter, perching on one of the stools. You suddenly felt small in the space, small in his presence.

Elvis’s gaze flickered over you, noticing something, thinking, but keeping it to himself. He took a slow sip of his drink before exhaling through his nose.

“I told you I’d teach you a few tips, and I meant that” he murmured, his voice steady. “But I think you already learned the first lesson on your own.”

You frowned slightly. “What lesson?”

Elvis leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter.

“You had initiative to do what your heart wanted” he said. “You made a decision for yourself, without anyone tellin’ you what to do.” A small smirk touched his lips. “And… you’re willin’ to change. That’s admirable, sugar.”

A warm feeling curled in your chest.

Elvis wasn’t the kind of man who gave compliments easily, not the ones that mattered.

But just as the moment started to feel too heavy, too serious.

He suddenly leaned back, stretching slightly.

“Ah, and also” he added, pointing at you, “you’re grounded for escapin’.”

You nearly choked on your milk. “What?!”

Elvis smirked, taking another sip of his drink. “Yeah. Sorry, young lady, but I gotta stick to it.”

“You don’t even ground people!”

“I do now” he said, chuckling. “First time for everything.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “This is so unfair.”

Elvis just shook his head, his laughter soft but real.

The moment softened, and for a second, it almost felt normal again.

Then, you studied him a little closer. His face wasn’t guarded like it usually was. He seemed… different.

“You look different at night,” you said out of nowhere, tilting your head.

Elvis raised a brow, smirking slightly. “That so?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your milk. “Yeah. You seem… I don’t know. Less like ‘Elvis Presley’ and more like… just you.”

Elvis exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “Darlin’, I don’t even know what ‘just me’ is anymore.”

You frowned, watching him carefully. “Well… I think you’re the best person I know.”

That made him stop.

His fingers tensed subtly around his glass. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to speak, but then he hesitated. He had spent years battling to separate the man from the artist, struggling for people to see the difference between who he was and who they expected him to be. But you were too young to understand the weight of that fight, and he wasn’t about to launch into a speech. Instead, he swallowed the thought, keeping it to himself.

You didn’t know why, but you wanted him to believe you. So you continued.

“I…I think you’re kind, and funny, and you make everyone feel safe. And I don’t think people tell you that enough.”

Elvis stared at you, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

His blue eyes flickered in the dim light, studying your face. Then, before you could think, his hand lifted, fingers grazing along your cheek.

“Appreciate it, darlin’”he said, his smile warm and sincere.

The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a strange feeling through you.

It was warm. It was soft. It made something deep in your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t understand.

You looked up at him, your breath hitching slightly. He was so tall, and his hand seemed enormous compared to your face.

Elvis seemed to realize how you were reacting to what he had just done.

His hand lingered just a second too long, his thumb brushing the corner of your jaw, before he suddenly pulled away like if the surface was burning, clearing his throat.

Elvis shifted, suddenly looking tense, uncomfortable. He ran a hand through his hair, reaching for his drink like he needed something to do.

You swallowed, confused by the strange feeling left behind.

The athmosphere in the kitchen felt heavier now. Different.

Elvis downed the rest of his drink in one go and turned his back to you.

“Alright, honey” he said, voice tighter now, forced into something lighter. “Time for bed.”

You hesitated, still feeling the ghost of his touch on your skin.

But finally, you nodded.

“Okay.”

You slid off the stool, heading for the doorway.

Elvis didn’t turn around.

As you walked back to your room, you weren’t sure what had just happened.

You didn’t know why your heart was beating too fast.

You didn’t know why your skin still felt warm.

And you didn’t know why as soon as the door clicked shut behind you…

Elvis let out a long, sharp breath and muttered under his breath, “Shit.”

Part 3 here!

Tag: @iloveelvisss

[southernvirtuoso]

𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲

❝ it won't take you long to figure me out i go and give it away when i open my mouth the southern drawl rings clear as day lord knows i can't be something i ain't ❞

✦︎ summary: living in new york and having met elvis in the big city, you pretend to be from the big apple yourself. why? because love makes you do crazy things. like pretending you're someone you're not... and getting frisky on the hood of a cadillac.

✦︎ word count: 6,2k

✦︎ warnings: reader pretending to be someone she's not (?), lil bit of angsty-ish moments, the use of the word "yankee", bad southern slang if you squint, sexual innuendos, smut — unprotected, not greatly detailed because i'm lazy, the memphis mafia teasing the hell out of elvis. that's it, i think.

✦︎ authors note: i don't know if alabama has sweet cornbread... but for the sake of this fic, they do. this was inspired by the song can't hide country by emily ann roberts. please do not copy, translate and/or use for ai purposes !!!!

elvis didn’t like new york coffee.

he said it every time the two of you sat down at some little café that boasted being “the best in manhattan.” he’d take a sip, grimace like it personally offended him, and mumble something about actual good tasting coffee back in memphis.

he left the part where he’d rather be drinking an ice cold soda out.

you just smiled behind your cup, all smooth lipstick and raised brows. “maybe you’re just not sophisticated enough for it, presley.”

“or maybe this stuff tastes like someone boiled a pair of socks and called it espresso,” he shot back.

you were sitting in one such café now—tiny, crowded, with jazz elvis hated on the radio and a waitress who hadn’t smiled since truman was in office—or since he’d stepped out. the soft september air outside allowed for elvis to wear a short sleeved shirt, hair slicked back, and his knee kept bouncing under the table like he was trying to dance sitting down.

“you always jittery like this?” you asked, propping your chin in your palm.

“can’t help it,” he said. “i got ed sullivan rehearsals in a few hours and i’m buzzin’ off one sip of this terrible excuse for coffee.”

“well, don’t blame me when you start yodelin’ on live tv.”

he grinned. “don’t tempt me, sweetheart. i’ll have ya dancin’ in one of those german dresses for me.”

you laughed, tossing a sugar packet at him.

he caught it one-handed. “nice arm.”

“thanks. used to play softball back in school.”

“where at?”

“upstate,” you lied quickly.

he squinted. “mm-hmm.”

you'd been dancing around the alabama thing for days now. it wasn't that you were ashamed—you just liked the way elvis looked at you like you were this sharp, stylish city girl. you liked that he didn’t expect you to say y’all or know the words to every patsy cline song. although it made you feel a little guilty, you liked pretending.

you’re also aware that not everyone in new york is very fond of southerners, and not wanting to fall into a stereotype, you decided to slip on the mask and keep the little white lie alive. which was a stupid thing to do, honestly—especially to someone like elvis, because he was from the south himself and despite having only gone out with him for two weeks, you’d never heard him hide his twang.

your accent was hanging on by a thread.

the waitress came by and slammed down a plate of toast and eggs. you both flinched.

“she’s a real ray of sunshine,” elvis muttered.

you smirked and picked up your fork, just as someone behind you bumped into your chair and nearly knocked your bag off the table.

“oh, mercy me!” you exclaimed, everything you’d been trying to hide coming out.

elvis froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.

you blinked.

he blinked.

“what… what did you just say?”

“nothin’,” you said quickly. “just—surprised me, is all.”

he set his fork down slowly. “no, no. you said somethin’. sounded like somethin’ my meemaw used to say when she dropped the cornbread.”

“nope. that wasn’t me.”

he leaned across the table, eyes squinting like he was investigating a murder. “you said ‘oh, mercy me.’ ain’t no yankee girl on god’s green earth sayin’ somethin’ like that.”

you chewed a piece of toast in silence.

“...you ain’t from new york, are you?”

you sighed, dropped your fork, and slumped back in your chair.

“i’m from alabama, alright?! greenville, to be exact. born and raised. i drink dr pepper with barbecue and i own a pair of bedazzled boots and my mama says grace out loud at diners.”

elvis stared at you like you’d confessed to being royalty.

“well i’ll be damned.”

you crossed your arms. “you gonna make fun of me now?”

“make fun of you?” he sat back and let out a low whistle. “sugar, i’m offended. here i was thinkin’ i was the only country bumpkin in this whole city.”

you rolled your eyes. “i just didn’t want you thinkin’ i was some kind of small-town yokel.”

“darlin’, have you met me? i once wore pink satin pants to a county fair. i am the mayor of yokels.”

you couldn’t help but laugh.

he leaned closer. “greenville, huh?”

“yeah.”

“you know how to make pecan pie from scratch?”

“of course.”

“ever ridden a horse bareback through a pasture at dawn?”

“ridden? honey, you’re lookin’ at the best trick rider in the state of alabama.” you smirked playfully, thickening your accent on purpose.

he slapped the table. “lord have mercy, i knew there was a reason i liked you.”

“because i can bake and ride a horse?”

“no,” he said, grinning. “because when you said that just now, i swear to god, it made me feel like i was back home. and i miss home.”

your heart did a little somersault in your chest.

“you’re ridiculous,” you said, but softer now.

he leaned over the table, close enough for his cologne and that stupidly perfect smile to knock you senseless. “and you’re a damn delight, alabama.”

you tried to hold your glare and failed right there as a smile broke through.

he stole a kiss right there in the café.

the waitress walked by and said, “get a room.”

elvis winked. “we’re workin’ on it.”

two days after elvis had been on the ed sullivan show, the two of you celebrated a good show (and reviews) by having a late night dinner and a walk through the west village, the air crisp and just warm enough to go without coats. the streets glowed golden under the streetlights, and elvis had a paper bag tucked under his arm from the record shop he’d insisted on stopping at “for research purposes.”

“you know,” you said, slipping your hand into his, “i’ve been thinking.”

“dangerous,” he teased.

“shut up. i’ve been thinking… we’ve been talkin’ about everything but the most important topic of all.”

“what’s that?”

“food.”

elvis looked at you sideways. “go on.”

“specifically, southern food. you think tennessee has the best of it.”

“has? girl, we are the best of it.”

you stopped walking. planted your hands on your hips. “excuse me?”

he turned to face you, smug and grinning. “name one thing alabama does better than tennessee.”

“brisket.”

he scoffed. “please. we got ribs so tender they fall off the bone if you look at ’em too hard.”

“that’s cute,” you said, taking a step forward. “but brisket’s a science. a religion. you gotta smoke it low and slow till it melts in your mouth. it’s an art form.”

“ribs sing, sweetheart. they got soul. you eat a good rib and your ancestors sit up in their graves and say, ‘that’s my girl.’” with a grin, he gently tapped the tip of your nose.

you laughed so hard you nearly tripped on the curb, making him grip onto your arm.

“what about sides?” he challenged.

“mac and cheese. creamy, baked, crispy edges.”

“we got that too,” he said. “plus collard greens with ham hock, real mashed taters, and cornbread so good it’ll make you propose.”

“i have had tennessee cornbread,” you admitted. “was a little dry.”

he gasped like you shot him in the chest. stumbling backwards, he let your arm go and put one hand over his heart. “take it back.”

“never.”

“you think alabama cornbread is better?”

“it’s sweet.”

“sweet?! cornbread ain’t supposed to be cake, darlin’. y’all are out there makin’ muffins with a god complex.”

you doubled over laughing, nearly crying. “oh my god.”

“no self-respectin’ southerner puts sugar in their cornbread.”

“and yet,” you said, “we’re thriving.”

he shook his head like he was genuinely distressed. “i don’t know if i can date someone who thinks sweet tea should come with a side of insulin.”

“oh please,” you said, grabbing his hand again. “you’ve had three cups of it every time we’ve been to that diner on sixth.”

“that’s different,” he muttered. “that’s survival.”

you both continue to stroll in silence before you and elvis sat down on the steps of a brownstone. you didn’t live there, and obviously neither did he—it was just quiet, and no one had come out to shoo you off. the air smelled like concrete and blooming trees. the streetlights buzzed soft.

elvis leaned back on his elbows, one leg stretched out, the other bent. “you ever notice how even when it’s quiet here, it ain’t really quiet?”

you nodded. “yeah. like the silence is fake. like it’s holdin’ its breath.”

he tilted his head toward you, squinting. “so it ain’t just me.”

“nope.”

you were both a little tired, a little wired from the activities of the evening—and the knowledge that elvis was about to go back home soon, a feeling you were dreading more than anything. but now you were in that comfortable space where words came easy, and so did the truth.

“wanna know what i hate most about the city?” elvis asked.

“always.”

“the smells.”

you burst out laughing. “oh god, yes.”

“it’s like—one minute you’re smellin’ fresh bread, next minute it’s garbage juice and something dead, and they just mix, like the whole city’s a stew.”

“a stew of regret.”

he pointed at you. “exactly.”

you rested your chin on your knees. “i don’t like how hard everybody is so… hard.”

“mm,” he agreed. “everyone surely speaks their minds. no southern hospitality ‘round here, sweetheart.”

“they wouldn’t even know southern hospitality if it hit them in the face.”

he laughed, deep and real. “you ain’t wrong.”

you watched a yellow taxi slide past, headlights glowing like sleepy eyes.

“so,” he said, glancing over. “why’d you come here?”

you were quiet for a second. “same reason everyone does, i guess. tryin’ to be somebody.”

“you are somebody.”

you gave him a look. “don’t you start.”

“i mean it,” he said. “you got presence, sugar. even when you was tryin’ to hide the alabama in you.”

you smiled a little. “i wanted to be... polished. the kind of girl who goes to art museums and doesn’t giggle when she drinks champagne.”

“you still giggle when you drink champagne.”

“it tickles my nose.”

“it’s cute.”

you nudged his knee with yours. “stop bein’ sweet. i’m bein’ vulnerable.”

“sorry,” he said, smirking. “go on.”

you picked at a chipped spot in the concrete step. “back home, everything felt small. like the town already knew what i’d be before i even got to try. i wanted to see if i could be different here.”

“and?”

you shrugged. “i don’t know yet. i like parts of it. i like bein’ anonymous. but... i miss stars.”

elvis leaned his head back and looked up. “ain’t nothin’ up there but smog and skyscrapers.”

“yep.”

he glanced at you again. “sometimes i miss the sound of frogs at night. that dumb little summer buzz.”

“and crickets. and screen doors slammin’.”

“and the way it smells before it rains.”

you looked at him, soft around the edges now. your heart skipped a beat at the fantasy of dancing in the rain with elvis flashing before your eyes. “you’re almost going home. excited?”

he thought about it. really thought about it. “yes… and no,” he said finally. “sometimes i wish i could be at home without everybody actin’ like i’m somethin’ special. i love what i do, but i wanna just sit on my mama’s porch and eat a peach in peace. and… i’m gonna miss you more than anythin’.”

you smiled, kissing his cheek. “fame sounds really lonely sometimes.”

he looked at you for a moment, quiet.

“you don’t make me feel lonely.”

the words sat between you like a candle, small and warm.

you cleared your throat, a soft shade of crimson creeping up your cheeks. “you don’t either.”

he looked away quickly, pretending to study the fire escape across the street. “i mean, you do talk a lot—”

you shoved his shoulder. “do not.”

he laughed and caught your hand in his. “i like it, though.”

you both sat there for a while, fingers tangled, knees bumping, the city still pulsing around you. but somehow, in that moment, it felt like a small town porch. just two southern kids, a thousand miles from home, finding something that felt a little like it.

1034 audubon drive was tucked away in the quiet, leafy heart of memphis. a typical surburban neighborhood, with mostly mid century ranch-style homes. you fell in love with the house at first sight, mostly because the boy you loved even more was inside those four walls.

it was early morning and there’s no fans outside, making you a little less nervous. suitcase in one hand, the other shading your eyes as you squinted up the driveway. it was already hot, sun coming up over the trees like it meant business. the air was thick with post summer and the whine of cicadas—summers in the south always lastee longer, and memphis was no different.

you buzzed.

no answer.

buzzed again.

static crackled over the intercom. then a familiar, suspicious voice. “...hello?”

“hey. it’s me.”

“y/n?!” elvis caught on quick, nearly yelling through the intercom.

you grinned. “surprise.”

the static exploded and cut off and then you heard it—the slamming of a screen door, rapid footsteps. a blur of white and bedhead flying down the driveway.

elvis.

barefoot, pajama pants clinging to his hips, hair a wild mess. he looked like he’d just woken up in the middle of a tornado and it was freaking adorable.

he skidded to a stop in front of the gate, breathless. “you—what—how in god’s name—what are you doin’ here?”

“just decided to stop by,” you said, playing it cool even though your heart was trying to beat its way out your ribs.

he stared at you like you were a mirage. then he yanked the gate open and all but tackled you into a hug.

“you’re real. oh my god.” he was laughing, giddy and still half-asleep. “i thought i dreamed you.”

“nope,” you said, squished against him. “dreams don’t sweat this much.”

he pulled back to look at you. “you came all the way from new york?”

“missed you. and i got too curious about your mama’s peach cobbler.”

he groaned. “lord, she’s already corruptin’ you.”

“i was born corrupt.”

he kissed you quick, sweet and boyish. “you’re somethin’ else.”

“wait till you see what i brought for breakfast.”

“did you bring brisket?”

“no—but i brought sweet cornbread.”

he stumbled back like you slapped him. “baby…”

“you'll love it.”

“maybe,” he muttered with a smirk, grabbing your suitcase and your hand and practically dragging you up the front steps.

the kitchen smelled like bacon and eggs.

gladys was already up, flipping biscuits in a cast iron pan like it was war.

“baby, go put some decent clothes on,” she called over her shoulder as you and elvis walked in.

“but mama, she likes me like this,” he grinned, winking at you.

gladys turned, wiped her hands on her apron, and looked you up and down with a smile that was all love and a little mischief. “well i like her better than your last one. that girl didn’t eat nothing. i offered her grits and she looked like i cursed her.”

“i’ll eat grits,” you said quickly, nervous and smiling.

“good girl.”

you sat at the table while elvis disappeared to go get dressed. before long, the kitchen started to fill up—first gene, still in socks and his boxershorts, then red, then junior, then lamar, all loud and yawning and slapping each other’s backs.

“well damn,” red said, blinking when he saw you. “elvis really did summon you like a genie.”

“she just showed up at the gate,” gene said, pouring himself coffee. “like a movie star in one of them romance pictures.”

in the mean time, gladys scolded her sister’s son about putting on some pants.

“she brought sweet cornbread,” elvis called from the hallway.

gene didn’t take his aunt’s words to heart and froze, turning slowly. “...sweet?!”

you nodded, laughing as you joked. “you can pretend you don’t like it, but i know you’re all just jealous tennessee didn’t think of it first.”

a dramatic gasp echoed around the room.

“blasphemy,” lamar whispered.

“i ain’t eatin’ no cake with breakfast,” red muttered.

“you will and you’ll like it,” gladys snapped, setting a plate of sausage down with finality.

“yes ma’am,” they all chorused.

elvis reappeared, hair tamed, in a black and pink short sleeved shirt, collar up.

“you tryin’ to show off for your little alabama sweetheart?” gene smirked, taking a bite of bacon.

“course i am,” elvis said, dropping into the chair beside you and stealing a biscuit off your plate. “girl came all this way. gotta act like a gentleman.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you just stole my breakfast.”

“i was testin’ it for ya, sweetheart.”

“elvis, sit down and stop snatchin’ that poor girl’s food. ain’t nothin’ to test.” gladys slid into her chair with a satisfied sigh, smiling warmly at you. “ain’t nothin’ like a full table.”

it was true. the kitchen buzzed with laughter and coffee and butter-slicked plates. you passed around your cornbread and got teased mercilessly for it, until red finally took a bite and went quiet.

“...this is actually good,” he muttered.

gene stared at him. “don’t say that.”

“it is. it’s like… dessert bread.”

“you’re dead to me.”

but by the time the meal was over, the cornbread was gone and so was your nervousness. elvis had his arm thrown around the back of your chair, fingers idly tracing the fabric of your blouse. you felt like you’d been at that table a hundred times before.

later, while the boys started clearing plates, elvis leaned in close and murmured, “you fit in here.”

you looked up at him, smiling. “i know.”

“you ever think about stayin’?”

“maybe.”

in your heart, you already knew this was where you wanted to be most. sure, new york city could be exciting and a real thrill, but the south is where your heart and soul were. this is your home.

you spent the day at the house with elvis and his family and friends. his father was a little more quiet and aside from asking what your father did and where you were from, he mostly kept to himself and the guys. gladys seemed to love you from the start, showing you baby pictures of your boyfriend, and telling you to bring yours next time so she could see how her grandbabies would look like. the thought made your cheeks heat up and your heart flutter.

at night, memphis looked different.

quieter. slower. like it was exhaling after holdin’ its breath all day.

elvis’s cadillac purred beneath you, low and smooth, the engine a lullaby. you and elvis decided to go for a drive after dinner and the sun had long gone down, just the two of you. the windows were rolled down, warm air drifting in, soft with honeysuckle and music coming from somewhere far off—someone’s radio, probably, crackling out a sam cooke song.

you had your bare feet up on the dash, skirt pooling around your thighs, hair a little wild from the wind. elvis drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. his fingers tapped out a beat only he knew.

“ain’t nothin’ like this,” he said softly.

“like what?”

“the road. you. night air. no noise, no cameras. just memphis bein’ memphis.”

you leaned your head against the seat. “you always drive like this?”

“when i need to think. or when i’m tryin’ not to.”

he turned off the main street and onto a quieter back road, trees rising up on either side. the cadillac’s headlights lit up patches of kudzu, the flash of a deer’s eyes.

“do you ever think about leaving memphis?” you asked. “for good, i mean.”

he was quiet for a second. “sometimes. but i don’t think i could. this place... it built me. every note i ever sang came from right here. even the bad ones.”

you nodded. “yeah. i get that.”

“you?” he glanced over at you. “you think you’ll go back to new york?”

you sighed. “i don’t know. i went there to feel like i was somebody. like i could make myself. but the longer i stayed, the more i missed who i was before.”

“a sweet-talking southern girl with dangerous cornbread?”

you smirked. “exactly.”

he reached over and brushed a strand of hair from your face. “don’t go back unless you really want to.”

you looked at him. the night wrapped around his silhouette, all shadows and gold from the dash lights.

“what if i wanna stay here?” you asked.

his eyes flicked to yours. soft. startled. hopeful. “with me?”

“i wouldn’t wanna be here with anyone else.”

a smile spread across his face, squeezing your thigh a little firmer before he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side, kissing your temple.

after a few minutes, he pulled the car over onto the shoulder, right by a wide field you hadn’t noticed until now. fireflies winked like stars in the tall grass, the highway that stretched out a few miles nearby didn’t even bother you.

he turned off the engine. silence fell like a blanket.

“come on,” he said, already opening his door.

“elvis, it’s nearly three in the mornin’.”

“exactly. nobody’s watchin’. come on, alabama.”

you laughed and followed him out barefoot. the grass was cool under your feet, the sky huge and velvet above you. he took your hand and spun you, right there in the middle of the road, slow and easy, no music but the crickets and the hum of the car cooling down behind you.

“you’re real trouble,” you whispered.

“so are you,” he said, and kissed you like he meant it. slow. certain. like maybe this was the moment he’d been waitin’ for all day long.

you broke apart just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his.

“think i might stay awhile,” you murmured.

he smiled, eyes closed. “yeah, darlin’. i’d like that real much.”

and under the memphis sky, you both stood still. just you, elvis, and the whole world turning slow around you.

it started as a joke.

you were sitting on the hood of his cadillac, legs swinging off the edge, heat from the engine still warming the metal beneath you. elvis leaned against the side of the hood, arms folded, eyes on you like you were some kind of miracle he still didn’t quite believe.

“you know you’re gonna give all them boys a heart attack,” he said.

“why’s that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, legs still swinging.

“girl sittin’ pretty on a pink cadillac lookin’ like a dream? they’re gonna crash their damn cars.” he grinned as he pointed at the highway in the distance, which wasn’t busy at all at this hour.

you rolled your eyes. “oh, hush.”

“i’m serious.” he walked over and stood between your knees, hands finding your waist. “ain’t fair to look like that and then kiss like you do.”

“oh yeah?” you smirked, resting your hands on his shoulders. “and how do i kiss?”

his voice dropped, low and teasing. “like you’re tryin’ to ruin me.”

you grinned. “maybe i am.”

he hums lowly. then, without a word, pushed you gently back onto the hood.

you laughed as you landed, skirt fanned out, your back meeting warm metal. elvis leaned over you, arms braced on either side, grinning down like the devil himself.

“this what you wanted, miss alabama?”

you pulled him closer by the collar, legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close. “you tell me, memphis.”

his mouth was on yours before you finished your sentence.

it was slow at first, lazy, like you had all the time in the world. the kind of kiss that made your heart hiccup, made you forget where you were. his hand slid up your ribcage, over the thin fabric of your shirt, until it rested just under your breast, thumb grazing skin in a way that made your breath catch.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugged just a little, and he groaned into your mouth like you’d set something loose.

“lord have mercy,” he mumbled, trailing kisses down your jaw. “don’t do that if you’re not gon’ finish what ya started, baby.”

you laughed, breathless. “who said i wasn’t going to finish it?”

his hips pressed against yours, slow and teasing, and you could feel every bit of heat between you in the humid night air.

he chuckled, pulling back just enough to look at you. eyes wild and sweet and full of trouble.

“god, you’re somethin’ else,” he said. “i could kiss you right here till the sun comes up.”

“you better,” you said, biting your lip as your hands moved down to the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath the fabric.

he kissed you again, deep and slow and full of promise, the cadillac creaking a little under the weight of your bodies as he leaned into you even further.

fireflies blinked in the grass.

the crickets sang their midnight lullaby.

and under the old memphis sky, you lost track of time on the hood of his car, tasting love and lust in every kiss.

you didn’t mean to stay out that long.

but kissing elvis was like falling into a well—deep and dark and echoing, like time didn’t apply anymore. one minute you were just teasing him on the hood of his cadillac, the next he had his pants tugged down to his thighs and your underwear tugged aside, thrusting into you at a rushed though still delicious pace.

his shirt was halfway unbuttoned. the buttons of your blouse completely open, your pink lace bra teasing him as it gave him the perfect view. it was like all of your senses were heightened, like every little sound was crystal clear while your boyfriend fucked you on the hood of his car like he meant it. and he did.

with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, ankles hooked together at his ass and your face hidden in his neck, you moaned softly but lewdly in his ear as he pulled you into sweet euphoria. thighs trembling, your walls clenched around him as he groans and his hips stutter, telling you he was experiencing the exact same feeling of your own personal slice of heaven.

you should’ve gone back home hours ago.

“we really did stay out till the sun,” you whispered, looking at the soft pink haze just starting to bloom on the horizon.

elvis groaned beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes. “i could stay out for longer.”

you rolled your eyes at the smirk on his face as he looked at you and shoved him. “get up before someone finds us—”

headlights.

you froze.

a car pulled up behind you, gravel crunching under the tires.

“oh my god.” you sat up so fast you nearly slid off the hood.

“don’t panic,” elvis said, pulling up his pants and fixing his belt with shaking hands.

“you’re panicking.”

“i’m not—” he dropped his comb out of his pocket and hit his head on the windshield trying to catch it. “panicking.”

the door of the other opened.

“elvis aaron presley, if that is your naked ass on the hood of that cadillac—”

“gene?!” you yelped.

elvis let out a sound that was half laugh, half wheeze. “oh hell.”

gene squinted at you through the early morning light, one hand shielding his eyes. “you two got any shame left or did you leave it on the dashboard with her bra?”

“she still has her bra on, man!” elvis yelled back while laughing as you scrambled to button up your shirt, slapping his arm after. “what the hell are you doin’ here?!”

“gladys sent me. said she ‘had a feelin’ in her bones.’ figured you two had run off to elope or get arrested.” it stayed quiet for a few seconds, until gene’s voice called out again, a tremble of humor on his tongue. “or to make babies—but that one was my idea. should’a put a bet on it with the guys.”

elvis stood up, trying to flatten his hair, which looked like it had gone through a small tornado. “technically we didn’t do anything illegal—”

“you’re makin’ out on the highway with a girl in a skirt. in my car.”

“your car?” you and elvis said at the same time.

“well, i cleaned it last,” gene sniffed. “so now it’s my problem.”

you jumped off the hood and yanked your skirt back into place.

elvis grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “you ready for breakfast?”

breakfast? yes. facing your mother in law after this? definitely not.

“lord, don’t tell her where i found you.”

“don’t worry. we’ll say we were at… church.” elvis laughed, failing to come up with a good enough excuse.

gene snorted. “yeah. the church of sin.”

you groaned and buried your face in elvis’s chest. “i’m gonna die.”

he kissed the top of your head, laughing at your dramatics.

and as you climbed into the passenger seat, still red-faced, hair tangled, heart full of him, you realized maybe you didn’t mind being caught after all.

not if it meant mornings like this.

not if it meant being caught with him.

the second you stepped through the door at audubon, it hit you.

the smell.

bacon. biscuits. fresh coffee. trouble.

gladys was in the kitchen, apron on, wooden spoon in one hand, looking like she’d been up since five just waiting to pounce. you barely had time to cross the threshold before she was already walking toward the front door.

“well, look who decided to come crawlin’ home in the daylight.”

you froze mid-step.

elvis—smelling like your perfume and shame—came in behind you, trying very hard to whistle like he didn’t have hickey-red cheeks and wrinkles in his shirt.

“mornin’, mama,” he said, too cheerful.

“don’t you ‘mornin’ me,” she snapped, putting her hands on her hips. “boy, your hair looks like you combed it with a spoon, and that poor girl’s blouse is on inside out.”

you glanced down.

damn it. it was.

vernon appeared from the hallway, coffee cup in hand, already smirking.

“mornin’, kids,” he said, like he hadn’t just walked into the funniest thing he’d seen all year. “get a good night’s sleep?”

you were surprised he was more talkative than before and if you weren’t getting scolded right now, you would’ve laughed at the way he seemed to amused right now.

“not one second,” gladys muttered.

“we were just—uh—we were lookin’ at the stars,” elvis said quickly.

“real bright stars.” gene smirked, which earned him a slap on the back of his head by elvis, before the smith boy walked off into the kitchen, the sound of his laughter clear as crystal.

vernon snorted. “well, you sure weren’t lookin’ through no telescope.”

you looked at the floor. the wall. the ceiling. anywhere but gladys’s face.

“i’m gonna go wash up,” you mumbled.

gladys’s voice followed you as you bolted toward the stairs. “make sure you get all that sin off your collar, sugar!”

despite her words, you could’ve sworn you almost heard her giggle.

upstairs, you could hear elvis defending your honor with all the finesse of a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“mama, we weren’t doin’ nothin’ disrespectful. we was just talkin’. and kissin’. a little. maybe more than a little.”

“elvis aron presley, if you think for one second that shirt wrinkled itself—”

“now, gladys, let the boy breathe,” vernon chuckled. “he’s young. in love. foolish.”

“he ain’t in love. he’s in heat.”

“better that than bein’ alone,” vernon said, sipping his coffee. “besides, she’s sweet. she’s got fire. i like her.”

you stopped halfway up the stairs, heart thudding in your chest as you smiled to yourself.

in love?

you heard elvis go quiet.

gladys, too.

“...i didn’t say that,” elvis said, soft. “but. i mean. maybe.”

a long pause.

gladys’s voice, quieter now. “well. just don’t be stupid, baby. and use protection.”

“mama!”

you stifled a laugh behind your hand and ran the rest of the way up the stairs.

you’d faced a hundred things in your life, but nothing—nothing—was scarier than gladys presley with a wooden spoon and a suspicion.

vernon wasn’t wrong, though. it was kinda funny.

the afternoon was thick and lazy.

memphis sun poured down like syrup, warming the grass around the audubon pool. the boys were all draped over lawn chairs and towels, shirtless and grinning, radio playing something low and bluesy while the scent of suntan oil and cigarette smoke hung in the air.

you were half-asleep on a striped lounger, wearing one of elvis’s shirts tied at the waist and your own bikini bottoms, sipping iced tea and pretending not to listen. despite still being tired because you and elvis didn’t have much sleep, you refused to actually let yourself fall asleep, wanting to eavesdrop on the boys.

elvis sat at the edge of the pool, feet dangling in, hair damp and curling a little at the ends.

the guys were in rare form today.

“so, e,” red called, tossing a beach ball in the air. “when’s the weddin’? next week or y’all waitin’ to make a scandal first?”

“i heard he already gave her a ring,” billy, another one of elvis’s cousins who was mouthy for his 13 years of age, added. “one of them big honkin’ ones with a pink stone, just tacky enough.”

elvis shot billy a glare, but laughed nonetheless. “hell, i don’t do tacky rings.”

you snorted into your tea, trying to keep quiet.

“you’re practically married,” gene said. “she’s stayin’ here, ain’t she?”

“she eats cereal outta the box in his kitchen,” red said. “that’s domestic.”

“man, shut up,” elvis muttered, looking down at his feet in the clear water as his ears were turning red.

“aw, he’s blushin’,” lamar who sat on one of the loungers crowed. “look at that. ep’s in loooove.”

“i will drown you in this pool,” elvis said flatly.

“you can’t drown us all, e,” billy pointed out. “laws of physics.”

“yeah?” elvis raised a challenging eyebrow, flicking water at him with his foot. “watch me. you’ll be the first one to go.”

they kept laughing. you kept sipping, pretending you weren’t hanging on every word.

“you ain’t gonna tell us about last night, elvis?” red said, smirking. “never stayed out with a girly that long before.”

“give us the dirty details, man.” lamar roared out a laugh, to which you rolled your eyes to behind your sunglasses.

elvis stood up, dripping water. “alright, y’all wanna know the truth?” he said, looking at all of them, sounding annoyed but serious.

they shut up immediately.

he looked over at you.

you blinked, frozen halfway through a sip, heart knocking once, hard.

“i love her,” he said.

just like that... the world tilted.

“been in love with her since she pretended to be some fancy gal from upstate new york and kissed me on the mouth to shut me up.”

you laughed, breath catching.

“and you know what?” he kept going, voice stronger now, grinning that slow, real grin that started in his eyes. “i don’t give a damn who knows it, who writes about it and i sure as hell don’t give a damn about anyone who might not like it. because i love the girl, man.”

“damn,” gene muttered, pretending to be stunned but then smirked and held out his hand as he stood by the pool. “pay up, fellas. told ya a baby is on its way.”

“shut up, gene.” everyone called out in unison, laughter filling the backyard.

you stood and walked over, slow, sun warming your bare shoulders. elvis met you at the edge of the pool, hands finding your hips without a second thought.

“you sure about that?” you asked, low.

“dead sure,” he said, pulling you close. “i love you, darlin’. don’t love your cornbread, but i do love you.”

you leaned in, kissed him soft, all grins and nerves and sunlight.

“good,” you whispered. “cause i love you, too.”

hollering and whistles came from behind you and you flipped the boys off behind your back, still kissing elvis.

elvis just laughed into your mouth and held you tighter, while the whole world—memphis, the boys, the heat, the years ahead—spun golden around you.

gladys watched through the kitchen window at the display, clutching a kitchen towel to her chest. when vernon popped up beside her, she looked at him and threw the towel down, pulling her apron off. “go get the car keys, vernon. i need to go to the shops.”

“for what, glad? it’s too darn hot!”

she looked at him as if it was obvious, as if her husband had lost his mind. “my grand baby ain’t gonna come into this world without a full wardrobe.”

“gladys, she’s not–” he deadpanned, but stopped when he saw the look in her eyes. laughing softly, he shook his head as gladys was already grabbing her purse and putting on her shoes. he has no choice to follow, the little party in the backyard continuing well into the night.

maybe a grandbaby or two would be kinda fun.

[wanderingelvis]

Hi, I really loved your headcanons for how Elvis would talk about an innocent reader to his friends, and I was wondering if you could write an imagine or short fic going more in depth on the mafia guy's not-so-pure feelings for the reader?

I love this suggestion, I hope what I've written is okay - not been feeling the most confident in my work lately! 🧚

🧚 Masterlist 🧚

Everything always manages to fly right over your pretty little head

Dirty jokes, condescending comments, telling looks

Even when someone has to sit you down and explain to you what's going on, sometimes you just still won't understand

Even though you try to understand, sometimes you'll nod along with wide eyes and those pouty lips, at everything that's being said just to try and seem like you're convincing someone, anyone

But it's what makes you utterly adorable to Elvis

And to the rest of the Memphis Mafia

You're so goddamn clueless and innocent that you instantly make anyone with a bit more knowledge than you feel special

You'll cling to them, ask them questions, listen to every word they have to say and try and understand it

And you'll make them feel like they're the most important person in the world to you at that moment

And goddamn, that's an addictive feeling for any man to feel

So it only made sense when Elvis moved you into Graceland with him and you became Elvis' little darling

And the Memphis Mafia's little darling by default

They're all infatuated with you in some way

And Elvis knows

He knows that he's got the prettiest, sweetest, most adorable little thing in the world

So he knows he ain't gonna be the only one to be blown away by you

There's a policy of "look but don't touch" when it comes to you

For no reason, other than your safety, should any of the Mafia try to get handsy with you

But oh boy, do they dream about it

They know better though, they know how possessive and protective Elvis is of you

"I catch any one of you fellas tryin' it on with my Y/N and I swear there'll be goddamn hell to pay."

Elvis tells them on afternoon

You never notice the stares from all of the men

Or the looks they exchange with each other whenever you twirl around or bend over slightly too much and your pretty little panties become exposed

And whilst as a collective, they intimidate many

How else did they get the name, 'Memphis Mafia'?

They don't intimidate you

No, in fact, you'll sit by Sonny all night during a poker game, having him explain the rules and help you with your hand

You'll ask him questions like he's the best poker player in the world all night

And he'll feel incredible because of it

You'll babble and babble at him with questions and he has to try and not laugh as he finds it just so endearing how clueless you are

But how totally determined you are to be able to play with all of the men

And when you play a great hand at the poker game because of Sonny's help, all of the big, old men will suddenly shower you with praise, making you blush and get all nervous and shy at the onslaught of attention

"Atta girl!"

Sonny will chuckle

And you giggle that angelic giggle and give Sonny a hug, thanking him for his help

Only for Sonny to be aware of the unspoken and invisible policy that hangs over your head and he catches Elvis' eye from across the poker table, and he's watching you and Sonny like a hawk

"Why don't you go show EP what you did, hey hon?"

Sonny will suggest, letting you run to Elvis who smiles warmly at you, and engulfs you in a cuddle

A cuddle that makes you feel practically giddy with delight as he effortlessly brings you onto his lap, holding your tummy with his strong arm, keeping you in place

"My clever girl."

Elvis coos in your ear as you sit in his lap, making you smile bashfully and squirm about

Many of the Mafia members watch Elvis' interactions with you and whilst they wouldn't admit it, they were jealous

So goddamn jealous

Wishing it was their laps that you would settle in

That it was the rings on their fingers that you'd absent-mindedly play with when the men were talkin' about things you couldn't understand

Wishing it was them that would end up taking you upstairs and undress you

That it would be them that you'd giggle to as they kissed your body all over

That it would be them that would fuck you endlessly and they'd hear your sweet little cries and moans all night long

Only for you to say thank you at the end

Because you're such a good girl

But it isn't them that gets to experience that, and it never will be

It's Elvis, it's always Elvis

He has your heart

But the members of the Memphis Mafia will settle for having even just a conversation with you

Because even if Elvis has you, at least they have their sinful thoughts of you

[presleydreams]

✶ elvis's wedding took place on may 1, 1967. the ceremony was held in a private suite at the aladdin hotel in las vegas. it was extremely short, lasting only eight minutes and with just fourteen guests.

"regarding the wedding, i didn't want to see that wedding happen and neither did he. five minutes before the ceremony he told me he didn't want to go through with it and i told him it was too late unless he wanted to leave her at the alter, which would have resulted in her father suing him for breach of promise as he threatened to do if he didn't marry her." — marty lacker.

[hooked-on-elvis]

What do I know, right? It sure was insane when people saw Elvis - Joe and the other guys had a job to do after all - but this photo is annoying.

On set "Change Of Habit", 1969. Elvis and Joe Esposito.

[doll-elvis]

MARTY LACKER : “I'll tell you something about Elvis. If he watched a football game on TV, he wore a helmet. He dressed for every occasion. If he watched guys on TV riding motorcycles, he would have his motorcycle helmet on. You'd walk in and it looked funny. I mean, you walk in, he's sitting there with a football helmet on. You’d say, ‘Good lord, Elvis, what are you doing?’. He’d say, ‘I'm watching the game'”

quote from “Friends remember Elvis Presley” on the Larry King show

[rjmartin11]

Happy Birthday to Jerry Schilling! My favorite member of the Memphis Mafia!