Ok I’m going to hell for even typing this, but surely I can’t be the only one who has imagined vampire Elvis ‘eating’ his love in both ways simultaneously…..??!? I’ll just uh show myself out now. I really needed to get that off my chest lmao
Oh hello anon! 🤭 First off, thank you very much for sending to this to me. No shame here when it comes to vampire Elvis.😝 I have to admit… I have had similar thoughts! I mean, it seems like something he’d enjoy. And with those eyes you know… looking up at you… yea that would be a deathly scene. So you know I’ll have to write that somewhere haha!
I swear to god I would have never thought I’d still be writing about vampire Elvis but here I am! I get way too many ideas and not enough time in the day to write them all down haha. He’s just a hungry boy sometimes… and needs to satisfy all his desires 😏🫣🫠
Thanks for loving this story after all this time ♥️
I will leave you with delicious pictures of this beautiful vampire🤭🩸
Vamp!E Request! Elvis being shy about his hunger for blood, not knowing how to ask and being a southern gentleman about it 🫣
𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞
Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader
Word count: 6,5K
Warnings: 50s!elvis, vampire!elvis, best friends to lovers, strong language, blood consumption, gladys is alive, mentions of the colonel, mentions of nick adams, partly set at the tupelo fairgrounds, smut; slightly subby!elvis, semi-public, car sex, hand job (f. & m. receiving) vag penetration, creampie, unprotected sex.
A/N: damn, i'm gettin' kinda rusty at smut buuut i had fun writing this! also, i'm shit at writing shy stuff, but i tried. anyways, this has been sitting in my inbox for a hot minute- sorry for taking so damn long, dear! hope you'll enjoy. ❤
masterlist | suggested playlist
“Goddamnit Nick, you’re fuckin’ useless- I asked you to bring enough, I have to get up there in 25 minutes and there’s nothin’ left!”
Gladys visibly cringed at the roar of her son’s loud voice and the slamming of the ice box that was inside the dressing room tent where Elvis was giving Nick Adams a piece of his mind.
People close to Elvis knew he had a bit of a temper now and then, but only few knew that was because he was dealing with heightened emotions he was still getting used to. He had only been turned into a vampire two years ago in an unfortunate accident and both he and the people around him were still learning about vampirism.
Having her son turned into an immortal creature that needed to feed on blood to stay alive was something Gladys had a hard time dealing with in the beginning, but she had gotten used to it now. She was used to the bloodbags in her freezer and the way he’d squeeze her a little too tight when hugging her sometimes, but whenever he was in a mood like this, she knew best thing to do was to stay away.
“What’s going on, Lovie?” you questioned as you arrived at the tent and heard your best friend barking at Adams, who wisely kept his mouth shut despite having been granted with immortality longer ago than Elvis. The beginning actor knew young vampires could be reckless and were hot headed- he had no idea how, or if, Elvis would lash out if he’d say or do anything.
“Oh, Y/N,” Gladys sighed with worry in her eyes, grabbing your hands and squeezing them softly to comfort herself rather than you. “You know how he gets- I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure you can calm him down. He always listens to you,”
It was true- he did always listen to you, because he knew he could literally say anything to you and you wouldn’t bat an eye. You’ve been friends with Elvis since you were children- he knew all your secrets and you knew his. When he had become a creature he knew nothing about, you were the first person he came to- scaring the living shit out of you when he stood in front of your door covered in blood.
But you didn’t turn him away, didn’t leave him to deal with everything alone. He trusted you, sometimes even more so than himself.
You turned to look over your shoulder, meeting the eyes of The Colonel who stood a few feet away, talking to Tupelo’s local press. He gave you a little nod, knowing that you were the only person that was able to go in there and come out unscathed- he sure as hell wasn’t going to try.
“Please, Y/N. I don’t know what to do with him anymore,” Vernon softly begged as he wrapped an arm around Gladys’ shoulder. You sighed softly and looked at her, giving her a gentle smile and a nod of your head.
“I’ll see if I can get him to calm down- don’t worry. Everything will be okay,” you assured Gladys, kissing her cheek and squeezing her hands before letting them go and stepping inside the tent.
Empty bloodbags were littered through the dressing room, Nick Adams very obviously being the culprit of the deed- guilt was written all over his face. He looked up and as he noticed you, he gave you a little nod and rushed out of the tent.
You didn’t give him the time of day, not being very fond of Mr. Hollywood.
“Did you at least get one?” you chuckled softly as you picked up a few bags, trying to lighten the mood. You knew it probably wouldn’t work, and a comment like that would only anger him more if it’d come from anyone else, but this was you.
He had never hurt you before and he wasn’t planning on doing so either.
“That motherfucker took everything, the fuckin’ pig,” he spat angrily, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he leaned against a vanity table and watched you throw some bags in the trash. “I have to get on that stage and I haven’t had a damn sip.. bite.. sip- ah, whatever,”
“When was the last time you fed?” you asked as you cleaned some drips of blood from your hands with a paper towel, walking toward him after you threw that away too. You lifted yourself on the table, putting your chin on his shoulder as you looked at him. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a second- it took him a little bit to give you a proper reply, your scent distracting him.
“T-this mornin’..” he opened his eyes, turning his face to look at you. Your heart skipped a beat when you felt his breath on your face- you had hoped you still had one secret that Elvis didn’t know about, but you were pretty sure he knew you were in love with him.
Your heart gave you away every time.
His eyes wandered down to your lips and to the curve of your neck. The sight of your blood pumping through your veins which was more obvious to his eyes than those of a human combined with the sound of your heart beating faster and faster against your ribcage made his mouth water. For a second there, you thought you could see him leaning in, but he was on the other side of the dressing room before you could even register his movements.
“You’re hungry, El,” you pointed out, a slight hint of worry on your tongue. He tried to act casual, combing his hair in one of the mirrors in the tent and fixing the collar of his velvet blouse. “You need to eat- you need to get your energy up for the show,”
“Y/N.. please..” he sighed as he looked at you, shoving his comb in the back pocket of his pants before crossing his arms loosely in front of his chest again. He already knew what you were getting at, but he refused. “I’m.. I’m okay. I’ll send The Colonel to the nearest hospital for some new bags, I’ll be fine,”
You shook your head at his stubbornness as you hopped off the vanity table, slowly walking over to him. You knew he never wanted to feed from you- it was dangerous, especially for a young vampire like him. But you wanted him to enjoy himself up on that stage and you knew he wouldn’t be able to do that on an empty stomach. He needed blood, one way or the other.
And the thought of him sinking his teeth in your skin made your knees weak- you had been dreaming about it plenty of times before.
It took Elvis a lot of convincing. A lot.
He only had ten minutes left before the show and he could already hear The Colonel pacing outside of the tent, nervous that Elvis would be a no-show. Elvis was growing more nervous himself, not because he didn’t want to feed on you – oh boy, did he want to – but because he didn’t want to hurt you.
He had never fed directly from the source- he completed his transition with a bloodbag, a diet he stuck to. It was hard to fight his urges, but if he wanted a career in showbusiness, he couldn’t go around biting people left and right.
But here you were, sitting on his lap as he had settled on one of the couches in the dressing room. Hair pulled back, the side of your neck on full display, inviting him. Your scent was nearly overwhelming, but still he had his doubts- with you being so eager for it, he found himself becoming a little shy.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he mumbled as he tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest. The tip of his nose ghosted along your jawline and the curse he let out under his breath sent a tingle down your spine and in between your thighs. “W-what.. what if.. I’m not a-able to stop?”
You grabbed onto his shirt, your other hand holding onto his shoulder as your arm was resting around his frame. You pushed yourself even closer to him, making him groan softly as his plumb lips caressed your neck. “You will,” you whispered breathlessly, your hand moving from his shoulder to the back of his head, fingertips tangling in his gelled locks. “I trust you, the way you always trust me.”
He pulled his head back out of your neck a little, bringing his hand up to grab your chin and making you look at him. His cheeks were flushed and the growing erection that was poking your thigh underneath you made you nearly lose your mind. As much as you wanted so much more than just a bite, time wasn’t on your side right now.
“What if I hurt you?” he questioned in a low whisper, his tongue making an appearance to sweep over his lower lip.
“Maybe I like pain,” you grinned playfully, tugging on his hair a little as you arched your back, pressing your chest against his. His hand that was resting on your hip moved lower, large palm squeezing at your curves- just as he was about to kiss you, you pulled back with all your mental strength.
“We don’t have time, El. You need to feed,” you told him, pulling his head back a little by giving his hair another tug. He groaned as he looked at you through hooded eyes, squeezing your ass with a little more strength, stealing a small moan from you. Now you were the one with equally as flushed cheeks and it made him laugh softly, leaning back into your neck when you released the tension on his hair.
He knew he was going to have to be quick and he hated it. He wished he could take his time with this- kissing your neck, letting his tongue trace your veins and feeling the blood pump through them underneath his wet muscle. Right now, it was all rushed and he barely had time to taste the perfume on your neck.
But despite the lack of time, his mama raised him right. It was obvious that you wanted this and he didn’t need to ask for consent anymore, but he still felt it was the right thing to do.
“H-Honey.. can I.. can I bite you?”
The question was almost comical if you didn’t live in a world where immortal creatures roamed around freely. And maybe you would’ve laughed at it in any other situation, but right now it nearly made you jump out of your skin.
You wanted him. You needed him.
“Yes, Elvis,” you moaned softly as you felt him nuzzling his nose in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent. “Please bite me,”
To the best of his abilities, he ignored how his cock twitched in the confinements of his pants upon hearing your words. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to properly kiss you or take you right here and now. He went for the next best thing- placing rushed kisses against your skin before he found the spot he was looking for, parting his lips and pushing his fangs into your neck when they appeared.
Elvis didn’t know how, or if, he could ever go back to bloodbags.
He also didn’t know if it was because you were the first human he fed from or because warm blood was just so much better, but he found the taste addicting.
Your blood gave him a rush of energy, even more so than bloodbags gave him, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting one of his hands roam your body, his other hand cupping the other side of your jaw to keep you in place. He was squeezing your ass and hips, pushing you firmer against his chest and at one point, his hand found its way in between your thighs. You were wearing pants and you cursed yourself for making that decision this morning- before you could even focus if you felt his fingers there, his hand was gone again.
The more blood he took, the weaker you were starting to feel but it didn’t stop you from moaning and clinging onto him. The pain was starting to turn into pleasure and you wouldn’t be surprised if your panties were soaked by now, but your mind was too foggy to care about it.
“Elvis! What’s takin’ you so long?” Vernon yelled from outside the tent, making both you and Elvis freeze. He didn’t want to pull away, wanted to take more of your blood, but he was forced to. Elvis knew if he wouldn’t provide his father with an answer, the man would come inside the tent and Elvis didn’t want him to see you and him in a position like this.
His mother would have his head.
You whimpered softly at the feeling of Elvis gently pulling his fangs out of your flesh, his vampiric features disappearing again as he cleared his throat a little. “I’ll be right there, Daddy!”
You heard Vernon mumbling something you couldn’t make out before he shuffled away from the tent. Elvis turned to you and no words needed to be spoken as he crashed his lips onto yours, laying you down on the couch. He was in between your thighs in a split second, grinding against you and sucking greedily on your lower lip.
You broke the messy kiss by laughing, placing your hands flat against his chest. He whined softly as he pouted at you- which would look a whole lot cuter if his lips weren’t covered in your blood.
“Please, Y/N- I’m fast, baby. I can get you to cum before you even know it,”
You widened your eyes at his words, laughing again as he groaned dramatically when you shook your head. You grabbed his face when he kissed you again, not wanting to pull back, but forced to.
“After the show, okay?” you suggested, sounding out of breath, trying your best not to wrap your legs around his waist and trap him on top of you. “You’re full of energy now, but I need a minute,”
He grinned, nodding his head as he slowly got up from the couch. You sat up as well, pulling some tissues out of the box that stood on the coffee table littered with drinks and magazines, wiping some blood off your neck. Elvis cleaned his face, but he couldn’t stop his legs from wandering back over to you and kissing you again. You kissed him back, moaning softly in his mouth as he let his tongue explore your mouth- another voice calling for Elvis came from the outside of the tent and the young vampire pulled back with a deep, slightly frustrated groan.
“Don’t go anywhere, okay, honey?”
You smiled at him, throwing the tissues on the table. “I wouldn’t dare to leave,” you told him, slowly getting up from the couch. You were a little wobbly on your feet, but you managed to follow him to the exit of the tent. “Go have fun up there,”
He nodded, smiling as he leaned in to steal another kiss but this time, your lips didn’t get the chance to touch. Vernon bursted in the tent and grabbed his son’s arm, pulling him outside. You stuck your head outside, laughing softly at the sight of Elvis being dragged away- when you turned to your left, you saw Gladys was still there, this time with her hands full of snacks she had gotten at the fair.
She gave you a knowing look and a shade of pink colored your cheeks, following her back inside the tent and allowing her to feed you the snacks and tend to the little bite marks Elvis created in your neck.
You just hoped all she thought Elvis did was feed from you- nothing more, nothing less.
Gladys wasn’t born yesterday. She knew you probably just as well as she knew her own son and she was very aware about your feelings for Elvis and his for you- while he might be a little bit better at hiding his crush to you, not to her. He had always confided in his mother and that didn’t stop after he turned into a vampire. She’d sit at the kitchen table with him in the middle of the night whenever he came home from a show and she’d listen to all his, sometimes too, crazy stories- and also about how bad in love he was with you.
She thought you were the perfect girl for Elvis and she wouldn’t accept it whenever he said things would probably never work out because he lived forever and you didn’t. She wanted you as her daughter in law and no one else, so when Elvis was done performing and giving attention to his fans and asked her if it was okay if he’d take you for a ride, she nearly threw you and her son in his purple El Dorado.
Elvis was worried for a second, but she told him to stop worrying and Vernon was perfectly okay driving the pink Cadillac- after all, it was kinda her car, even though she didn’t drive it herself.
Neither Gladys or you seemed to care about the friends you brought to the event and were now kind of stranded in Tupelo and Elvis didn’t really think about it either as he started the engine of the car.
“Thank you, Lovie. Tell Mr. Presley to drive safely!” you told her as you hung out the open window and gave her a quick hug and kissed her cheek, quickly getting back in the car again- Elvis drove off with a wave and you didn’t stop waving until Gladys was completely out of sight.
Pulling the silk scarf Gladys had given you from your neck, you looked at the small bite marks through the rearview mirror.
“Here,” Elvis spoke up as he drove off the fairgrounds, avoiding the festivities downtown as he turned the other way. He bit into his thumb, breaking enough skin to draw some blood- you knew his blood was healing, but you had never needed it before. Despite not needing the substance to survive nor did it taste as good to you as it did to him, you being the one taking his blood now was kind of turning you on all over again. “Quick, honey,” he laughed softly as he noticed his skin healing up again.
Before it could, you quickly grabbed his hand and sucked his thumb in between your lips. His fingers clenched around the steering wheel when he felt you sucking on the digit, tongue lapping around it, your eyes boring into his. “O-Oh.. s-shit,” he stammered softly, his body immediately responding to your actions and the way you were looking at him, blood rushing to his cock.
You giggled softly as you released his thumb with a soft ‘pop’ and placed a quick kiss on the back of his hand before dropping it in his lap. Looking at your neck in the mirror again, you were fascinated by the sight of the marks disappearing like they had never been there in the first place.
“Where are we going?” you asked as you crawled closer to him, resisting the urge to plant yourself in his lap. He bit his lip as his eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds when you ran your fingers through his hair and dragged your nails down the back of his neck- all of his senses were on high alert right now.
He could hear your steady heartbeat, the traffic outside, the radio playing softly in the background. He could hear, see and smell everything but the scent of your growing arousal was the most dominant one and it was driving him insane.
He needed to find a parking spot and fast.
“I-I don’t know… off this road.. a-anywhere we can be alone,”
It was all you needed to know to mark your territory in his neck, having fun with creating hickeys and seeing them heal up before you even had the chance to admire them.
Luckily, Elvis knew his way around Tupelo. This morning, the original plan had been to hang around the fairgrounds after the shows as far as that was possible and then make the drive back to Memphis but both you and Elvis were too impatient to make the nearly two hour drive right now.
The vampire found an empty parking lot near the highway where he sloppily parked the Cadillac and as soon as he killed the engine, you were straddling him and kissing him hard. Right now, you did not care at all if you looked desperate or not, because you were. You had been painfully turned on the second he bit you earlier today and you waited long enough- your chance to have him was being presented right in front of your nose and you were going to grab onto it with both hands.
Elvis sure as hell didn’t mind either- he had been waiting for this moment ever since hormones came out to play during his teenage years.
“Damnit,” he mumbled against your lips with a grin on his face, his hands fumbling with the few buttons of your pants. “Why didn’t ya wear a dress today?” he teased, not really caring what you wore or whatsoever. He’d have the fabric off soon anyways and to him, you looked good in anything. But inside the tight space of the car, it would’ve made his job a bit more easier.
Pulling back from the kiss, you laughed and playfully swatted his hands away to flick open the buttons. He grabbed onto your hips and swiftly put you on your back on the front seat of the car- his movements were so quick that there was no room or time for clumsiness. He seemed confident in himself as he pulled your zipper down and tugged your pants down your thighs after you kicked off the flats you were wearing, but still there was that sense of nervousness coming from the both of you.
You weren’t worried about the fact that you were about to have sex with a vampire, but this was your best friend. The boy you had a crush on since you were a young girl- the boy who gave you your first kiss during a game of spin the bottle, the boy who stood up for you against everyone and everything. Your relationship could either change for better or for worse, but with the way he was looking up at you while kissing his way down your leg and to your thigh, he got you too distracted to let the worries take over your mind.
Elvis didn’t waste time and pulled your panties down, dropping them somewhere on the floor as he placed his flat hands against the back of your thighs, spreading your legs- the sight of you being so exposed in front of his face and the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils so deliciously made him dig his thumbs in your thighs and thrust his hips forward against the seat to create some friction. Despite the sun having set a few hours ago and the only light you had shining in the car came from a lamppost on the other side of the parking lot, he could see you clear as crystal and he found it hard to look away.
Your pussy was quite literally glistening because you were so wet- he was mesmerized.
“How long are you gonna stare at it?” you teased as you raised yourself on your elbows, getting a better view of having him settled in between your legs.
His eyes met yours as he laughed, releasing tension on one of your thighs to move his hand down and gather some of your slick on his digits as he ran them through your folds, making you gasp softly. “Sorry, honey- it’s just so… pretty,”
Your cheeks heated up at the odd compliment- you weren’t a virgin and had seen other guys in this position, although not in a car, but none of them had ever said anything like that. And none of them had ever admired your most sensitive body part as if it was a piece of fine art.
“Been waitin’ too long to see it,” he whispered loud enough for you to hear through the sound of your heart thumping faster in your ears- a soft moan rolled off your tongue as his thumb rubbed small, slow circles on your clit. Your hips automatically moved along to the rhythm of his fingertips and your hand moved down in his hair as he suddenly slipped in two fingers at the same time.
He knew you weren’t a virgin, so he knew you could take it.
“Elvis, please..” you whined softly, trying to push his face closer to where you wanted him most, but it was like trying to move a mountain- he didn’t even move a muscle.
“Impatient little thing,”
You could see by the way he was smirking that he wasn’t done teasing. It took him a lot of restraint to hold himself back, but he wanted to see how far he could take it. He kissed you before, but the both of you had never gone this far- he didn’t know what you were into and what you were definitely not into, but he wanted to find out on his own. He let you tug on his hair all you wanted as he kissed the inside of your thigh, rolling his tongue against your heated skin while pushing his fingers deeper inside of you- he pulled them back, but just as you were about to complain, he sunk them right back in, pressing the palm of his hand against your clit. As he rubbed it against the sensitive nub while bending the tip of his fingers inside of you, you let out a moaned curse.
He brought himself up, squeezing you in between his body and the front seat, his lips meeting yours. You immediately welcomed his tongue into your mouth, roaming your hands down his chest and to the buttons of his blouse. He deepened the kiss as he groaned, picking up the pace of his fingers which he pumped in and out of you as you easily flicked open all the buttons of his shirt and ran your hands up his chest. His skin was warm due to the velvet fabric he was wearing and it was just as soft as well- the sound of him moaning in the kiss when your nails caressed his nipples made your muscles tighten around his digits.
When you moved your hands down to tug his pants down his thighs and your hands disappeared in his boxershorts, he bit your lower lip harshly. Letting out a high pitched moan, you wrapped your hand around his cock and squeezed it softly in response- he sucked your lip into his mouth, tasting the blood he had drawn.
“Elvis,” you moaned breathlessly as he released your lip, swiping his tongue over it to get the last drip of blood. “Bite me,”
He moaned softly as he pressed his forehead against yours, his lips ghosting over yours- your hand picked up pace, thumb swirling around his tip to lace it with some of his pre-cum, and so did his fingers.
“W-wanna fuck while doin’ it,” he whispered as he flicked his tongue against your lips teasingly, making you laugh softly and nod.
Despite having all the time in the world, your body was screaming, yearning, for him- if you wouldn’t have him now, the world might just come to an end.
The stretch of Elvis filling you up as you sank down onto him left you gasping and whining, nails digging into his shoulders which you were holding onto for dear life.
Elvis wasn’t doing much better himself- he hadn’t slept with a lot of people after turning into a vampire. He was already in love with you before that and due to his heightened emotions, those feelings grew tenfold in intensity. Sure, he dated a few girls and did some fooling around now and then but they weren’t you. It just wasn’t the same. So, the feeling of your warm tightness trapping him inside of you right now had him throwing his head back on the seat and his hands gripping onto your hips, guiding your slow and gentle thrusts.
He wouldn’t be able to last long if you’d go any faster.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuuuck,” he cursed, rolling his head around to look at you through hooded lids. “You feel so good, Y/N- fuck,”
You laughed softly, your confidence growing at his words. You were slowly but surely getting used to the feeling of having him inside of you and wanted to pick up the pace, but he moaned deeply and held onto your hips firmer, preventing you from doing so.
“S-Slowly, slowly,” he warned, his cheeks a little flushed. You smiled at him and nodded, bringing your hands into your hair and moving it over your shoulder- he licked his lips at the exposed skin of your neck. You were curious and wanted to find out if you’d experience it in the same way you did earlier today- as he wrapped his arms around your waist, trapping you against his chest, and kissed your neck, it was like even that felt way more intense than before.
Your hands found their way back into his hair and you whined as you felt the sharp pain of his fangs penetrating your skin but as he tightened his grip around you, the pain was long gone. All you felt was pleasure and this was nothing compared to this afternoon- it felt so much better. You took advantage of his hands not being on your hips anymore, thrusting onto him a little firmer- it took him slightly by surprise and he groaned deeply against your skin, some blood slipping out from between his lips and down your collarbones.
He took less than before and you had eaten a proper meal in between his first and second show, so your energy didn’t fade as fast. The feeling of him pulling his fangs out of your flesh was still a strange one that made you shiver and the spot he just bit stung, but as he lapped his tongue over the bite marks, the uncomfortable hint of pain was gone as soon as it came.
Elvis pulled his head out of your neck and you cupped his face, staining your thumb with the blood that was on his lips before letting him suck on the digit. The sight made your muscles clench around his length tightly and he groaned, teasingly but softly biting your thumb before you pulled it out of his mouth. You didn’t know what came over you as you leaned in and licked up some of your own blood that dripped down his chin before kissing him- Elvis sure as hell wasn’t complaining, eagerly and sloppily kissing you back.
“Faster?” you questioned hopefully in between kisses, twirling your hips around teasingly.
Elvis laughed softly, loosening his arms around you and moving his hands down to your ass, harshly squeezing it. “Fuck yes, faster, baby- fuck me,”
You’d never expected Elvis to be a submissive type during sex, but it awakened a whole new side inside of yourself. Having him tell you to fuck him was something you wouldn’t forget about any time soon.
But unlike Elvis, you weren’t much of a teaser and gave him what he asked for right away.
Elvis wasn’t even sure if he was on this planet anymore. This was better than any kind of blood he’d ever tasted, better than the music settling in his bones when he was on stage- this was goddamn euphoric.
The entire car was shaking and rumbling with how fast and hard you were riding him, the fog on the windows hard evidence to people driving by that unholy things were being done in the vehicle, but he couldn’t get himself to care one bit.
He could barely think straight, didn’t even know where to put his hands anymore- they went from running through his hair, to squeezing your breasts which were on full display because he had hastily taken your top off minutes earlier, and squeezing at your thighs. The moans that left you were like music to his ears, but to you, his were even better.
He had completely put down his guard, moaning and whining desperately, calling out your name like a prayer. It got you more motivated than you’d ever been during sex with anyone else and you were pretty sure your thighs were going to feel like jelly after this, but you didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t stop, not with him looking this pretty and vulnerable underneath you- you just wished you had more lighting to admire him in all his glory.
“God, I’m so c-cl.. close,” he grunted, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as you placed your hands behind you on his knees, arching your back to give him a priceless view of your body. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he wasn’t going to miss out on a view like that. “Yes, baby- just like that, feels d-damn good. Fuck, fuck- where’d ya learn that?!”
You laughed softly through your moans at his words, repeating the action of raising your hips until his cock threatened to leave your tightness altogether before firmly sinking back down onto him. It was obvious to you in that moment that the girls Elvis had been with before weren’t as bold as you and this only made you feel more confident, a little smug even.
“You wanna cum inside me, baby?”
Elvis’ jaw clenched at that- never had any girl called him ‘baby’ like that. Never had any girl asked him if he wanted to cum inside of her. But your question sure didn’t fall on deaf ears- he liked having you on top, but he wanted you underneath him when he’d fill you up. Grabbing your hips, he nearly knocked the wind out of your lungs as he changed the position to missionary.
You didn’t mind the change all too much- it gave your legs a little time to rest as you wrapped them loosely around his waist and with the way he was pounding into you in a pace that didn’t even seem or feel human, hitting your spot with every thrust, it had you screaming nearly as loud as the girls at the front row of his shows.
Now his name was rolling off your tongue in a mantra, nails clawing at his biceps desperately as tears stung in your eyes. You couldn’t even announce your climax if you wanted to, because it hit you in the face like a ton of bricks, making you arch your back and spasm so hard that Elvis had to place his hand on your stomach, keeping you in place as he chased his own orgasm.
You were seeing stars, feeling slightly light headed, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off your best friend as he let out a deep moan, followed by a string of profanities. His fingers were digging in your flesh so harshly you wouldn’t be surprised he was bruising you, but you were too out of your mind to comment on it or let it bother you.
His thrusts slowed down, hips stuttering forward as he threw his head back in his neck and grabbed onto your hips to prevent you from moving away. Not that you were planning to, despite starting to feel sensitive.
You were trying to get your breathing under control, whining softly as he pulled out of you and shoved his fingers inside of you again, stopping his cum from leaking onto the seat. You weren’t worried, knowing he wasn’t able to procreate anymore- you welcomed his lips as he softly pressed them onto yours, letting out a deep, content sigh in the kiss.
“We should probably go back to pick up the others,” you whispered against his lips with a soft laugh and he pulled back with a grin, slowly pulling his fingers out of you.
“They’ll find their way back,” he shrugged, going in for another kiss but you placed a finger against his lips, making him sigh and lower his head on your chest, snuggling up to you.
“It’s a two hour drive, El- we really can’t do that. Although Nick kinda deserves to be stranded,” you mumbled, making the male on top of you vibrate with laughter. “Also, I’m kinda in the mood for cotton candy,”
Raising his head, he gave you a goofy frown of his eyebrows and laughed as he shook his head. Then a grin spread across his face and he leaned in closer, kissing his way to your neck along your jawline. “You’re sweeter than cotton candy, beautiful,”
You winced softly as you felt his tongue lap at the bite marks in your neck, the pleasure not there to distract you from the pain this time. He immediately pulled out of your neck with apologetic eyes, biting the palm of his hand before holding it out to you- not feeling as turned on and freaky as before anymore, his blood tasted rather peculiar, but it did make the uncomfortable pain and bite marks in your neck disappear.
“Five more minutes,” you told him as you wiped some blood off your mouth with the back of your hand, wrapping your arms around him to bring him back in your embrace. “Then we’ll pick up the strays,”
He laughed at your words, nodding as he snuggled his face in your neck. He kept his fangs to himself this time, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing and licking the dried blood off your skin, the both of you hugging each other so hard you could barely breathe.
“I love you,” he blurted out in a whisper.
When you didn’t say anything back, panic started to creep into his veins and he slowly raised his head to look down at you. He caressed a strand of hair out of your face, about to apologize or maybe even tell you you shouldn’t feel obligated to say it back, but you beat him to it.
“I love you too, Elvis,” you told him with a smile tugging at your lips. He let out a soft, relieved sigh and kissed you again- eagerly, firmly, passionately.
The strays could wait a little longer than five minutes.
My Fading Voice Sings of Love (Vampire!Austin!Elvis x Reader)
Summary: You’re catapulted to stardom when the release of your debut album becomes an overnight hit. With so much attention on your still blossoming career, a residency at the International Hotel seems like a good way to start putting on your own shows. It’s not just the world’s eyes that are on you, though, as a hauntingly familiar and unsettlingly strange man decides to take you under his wing and guide you during your successful residency at the International. Until, inevitably, like all good things, it comes to an end.
Note: Read the warnings for this fic before interacting! This is based on a request by @brotherhood-of-feels and Jeff Buckley’s song Grace, which is where the title of this fic comes from (please for the love of god listen to the song). Reader is a woman and definitely naive, but no other descriptors are used. This takes place in the 90s because the existence of smartphones would complicate things. As for the Phantom of the Opera AU aspect, I figured instead of doing the mask thing, it’d be more fun to have him hide in plain sight as one of the dozens of Elvis impersonators in Vegas. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 5.5k
Warnings: Dark themes such as emotional blackmail, death, blood, and obsessive and manipulative behavior, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Brief mention of suicidal ideation. Explicit sexual content that involves coercion. Some corruption kink. I’m going to give a warning for bloodplay, but it’s oral sex while the reader is on her period so it’s not too intense(?) Do not interact if you are under 18.
You tried not to shake too much as Aileen, your makeup artist, applied glittery eyeshadow to your eyelids. It was only a rehearsal, you had to remind yourself as much, but you felt like you didn’t deserve it. The astronomic rise in fame and popularity you experienced in the blink of an eye seemed too good to be true, especially when within a few days of your debut album releasing, your manager, Chiara, informed you that the International Hotel in Las Vegas had reached out, interested in booking you for a residency there. The two of you looked over the contract with the lawyer from your label, and after some back and forth with the hotel, you’d accepted the offer of a three month residency playing two shows a day, four nights a week.
Chiara used to manage some up-and-coming Disney starlet, but dropped her as soon as she heard your demo. Her faith in your ability as a singer kept you motivated, even when you felt hopelessly overwhelmed by the music industry. It was all unfamiliarly cut-throat, and you had known your chances of being successful were slim. Between Chiara’s connections and your natural talent and work ethic, you’d generated enough interest in your first album through singles and interviews with every radio station and TV channel that offered. When it was finally released, your album was one of the most successful debuts in history. Chiara said it was all you, but you thought it was just a fluke.
Much to Chiara’s excitement, the first two weeks of shows had completely sold out. Though you forced a smile for her sake, you couldn’t help but feel the pressure overwhelm you. In your opinion, you still had so much to prove and lose. You didn’t deserve to take such a coveted spot from a more established artist.
You figured at least you’d get to spend a few months in a hotel room that was nicer than any apartment you’d ever rented. The penthouse suite was inaccessible due to renovations, at least that was the excuse on paper. You’d heard from one of the stagehands, however, that the penthouse had been pretty much unoccupied for years, and the old wiring meant the lights would turn on and off and the automatic curtains would sometimes open and close on their own. It didn’t help either that the elevator closest to the showroom was broken, the International Hotel’s management unable to give you a timeline as to when it would be fixed.
When Aileen let you know she was finished, you thanked her, letting out a shaky breath as you took in your appearance. The sparkling outfit complimented your body type and skin tone perfectly, with tastefully placed cut-outs that you had to talk Aileen out of applying body glitter to. Your hair was styled perfectly to suit the outfit and your face. In all honesty, you’d never felt so beautiful. Still, it wasn’t enough to calm your nerves as you made your way on stage.
The only people sitting in the showroom were Chiara and Aileen, which should have made you feel better. On your signal, the backing band began to play your opening song. When it was time for you to actually sing it, you only managed to open your mouth for a moment before clamming up. Shaking your head, you waved at the band to stop playing.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I just—you know I’ve never done anything like this before, putting on my own show.”
“Well get used to it, because this is gonna be the rest of your career,” Chiara said.
“What if they’re all disappointed? I mean, I’ve only ever opened for other musicians. Now all of these people are going to be here just to see me.”
“Don’t even think about that. It’s just us, Y/N,” Aileen assured you. “There’s no one else here.”
Being the most recognizable man in the world meant Elvis Presley didn’t have the same freedom that the dozens of other vampires in the world had, able to roam as they pleased as soon as night fell. In truly the most twisted irony, the only place he could do as he pleased was Las Vegas, a city so full of people pretending to be him that he was practically invisible. The crowds of tourists that flooded the city each night hardly looked his way, except to request the occasional photo and comment on how good of an impersonator he was, to his amusement. He supposed it worked out, though he hated Vegas and being tethered to the International Hotel, there were plenty of unsuspecting victims out and about, an endless buffet if he so pleased. He didn’t feed often enough to impact the city’s unsolved murder statistics that much, anyway.
Sometimes he’d wander the streets of Las Vegas until the sun teased its beautiful amber rays on the horizon. It was the closest he could get to seeing it again, as he discovered exposure to sunlight even through windows or tinted glass would result in painful burns on his skin that would take days to heal. Another unfortunate plus side to being a vampire in Vegas, it was a city full of windowless rooms where he didn’t have to worry about sunlight exposure. He missed the sun’s warmth and beauty, though, and in his second decade of loneliness, he increasingly considered staying outside as the sun rose, letting the fire consume him.
He could never work up the nerve to do so, and would slink back to the International Hotel before dawn. His enhanced abilities as a vampire were useful in threatening Kohn into allowing him to reside in his penthouse suite indefinitely, but he found little use for them besides that. Few, if any, of the hotel’s staff knew the truth about the penthouse’s mysterious resident, and he preferred to keep it that way.
Other artists held residencies at the International through the years, but they hardly interested him. Even if their music was to his taste, he could hardly stand to bring himself to the showroom where he had so many terrible memories. He missed performing, though, and playing piano or guitar alone in his suite didn’t give him the same thrill as putting on a show for a crowd of adoring and energetic fans.
In all of the years he’d been at the hotel, though, he never saw as much chaos leading up to any residency besides his own until you came along. He found himself staring at the crisp, colorful poster that announced your shows to support your debut album. He’d never heard of you before, but he figured Y/N Y/L/N had to have been something else to snag a residency with only one album out.
He stood in the shadows during your rehearsal, catching the subtle tics that betrayed your nerves after you fumbled your first attempt at opening the show. Despite that, you were breathtaking, and as you gained confidence, your vocals blew him away. You sang passionately and earnestly, and he could have sworn you looked right at him with an adoration that made him feel alive for the first time in nearly twenty years. You finished your performance with an exaggerated bow and a giggle that was just as musical to him. As soon as the two women sitting near the stage began clapping, he retreated back to his suite, his mind overwhelmed by thoughts of you.
Chiara and Aileen stood up to applaud you and your backing band, with Aileen jokingly shouting for an encore. You had another week to rehearse, and even then, Chiara had assured you that the good thing about your Vegas residency was that you could see what worked and what didn’t for the audience and adjust accordingly. You only hoped that the rehearsals would be enough to quell your anxieties about performing.
The following day, you arrived at the showroom three hours before the scheduled rehearsal time, hoping to practice a bit more on your own and not embarrass yourself as you did the day prior. Even though everyone had told you that you’d done a great job, you could hardly sleep as your mind replayed every time you fumbled over your own lyrics or missed a cue. The residency was so much bigger than just yourself, so many people were relying on you to do well and sell out the rest of the shows. People’s livelihoods were on the line, and for the first time, you found yourself half-regretting pursuing music as a career.
As you dropped off your things in your dressing room, you could hear the faint sound of a piano accompanied by singing. Furrowing your eyebrows, you wracked your brain for who else could be in the showroom too. When you walked onto the stage, you were taken aback to see an Elvis impersonator sitting behind the keyboard, playing Unchained Melody as he sang along. He sounded beautiful and sang with a confidence you were envious of. Even more strange, he looked almost exactly like him if you didn’t know any better. In fact, you found yourself staring at his face, studying his features until his downturned eyes looked up at you through thick lashes, catching you in his gaze as a smile spread across his lips.
When he finished singing, you were in awe, unable to articulate anything coherent. “You were incredible–I mean, hi, I’m Y/N, and–”
His voice was velvety as he acknowledged you. “I know who you are, mama.”
“That’s great,” you said, rocking on your heels during the awkward silence that followed. “I’m sorry–are you supposed to be here?”
He nodded, getting up from behind the keyboard and walking over to you. “I’m gonna help you with your show. Nerves used to get to me too.”
“Chiara didn’t tell me she was bringing in a musical director.”
“Yeah, real last minute thing,” he said.
“Do you always dress like that?” you asked.
He raised an amused eyebrow. “My clothes?”
“Yeah, the whole Elvis impersonator thing,” you said. “I mean, you do a great job of it. You look just like him, really. Sound like him too.”
His answer was a noncommittal shrug. You felt kind of ridiculous accepting his help, like you were in the plot to some corny made-for-TV movie where an aspiring starlet is mentored by an Elvis impersonator, only for it to actually be him as an angel or ghost or something, disappearing by the end of the movie after she’s learned whatever generic lesson about friendship or being humble. When you asked what his name was, he even told you to just call him Elvis. You hoped Chiara knew what she was doing by hiring him, but she hadn’t led you astray yet.
To your surprise, he was a good mentor, giving you pointers on your performance and advice in engaging with the audience during the show. You found it odd when he asked you not to tell anyone else that he was helping you with your performance, assuring you that he was updating Chiara on everything himself. Even when you brought up that his advice would be useful to the backing band or stagehands, he insisted he was supposed to be mentoring you only.
You felt out of your element when he suggested you keep things light-hearted by joking around with them every few songs. You could certainly see his point. It’d endear them to you, make you that much more relatable if your nerves meant your singing had some hiccups here and there. The jokes and quips you’d written down were mediocre at best, with songwriting undoubtedly being your strong suit.
“I wrote some, I don’t know, jokes for the audience. I don’t think I’m much of a comedian, what do you think?” you asked.
He took the paper from you, and you cursed under your breath as the paper cut the delicate skin on your hand.
“Y/N,” Elvis whispered upon seeing the blood bead up and then drip down the side of your hand. He stared wide-eyed at the wound as if afraid of it.
“Hey, it was an accident. Don’t worry about it,” you said.
Just as you were about to pull your hand away, he grabbed it so quickly that if you had blinked, you would’ve missed it.
“Does it hurt?” he asked softly.
“I mean it stings a little,” you said.
He nodded, and in a move that made you feel like you were losing your mind, brought your hand to his mouth and licked the blood away, moaning as he did so. You’d never had an experience like that in your life, and you hated how the sound and sensation went straight to your pussy. Out of all the warning signals blaring in your mind at just about every interaction you had with Elvis in the few days he had been mentoring you, that was the blood red flag that stood out the most.
Looking up at you with hooded eyes, he kept his hold on your hand. “How about now?”
Unable to speak, you shook your head, disappointed when he released you at your confirmation of your well-being. You could hardly focus the rest of the evening, and when you returned to your suite later that night, you replayed the incident over and over in your head as you played with your clit, unaware of the voyuer who could hear you moaning his name as you brought yourself to orgasm at the thought of him and your own blood.
He didn’t bring up the incident the next time you saw him, which you took as your cue to not mention it either. As the next few days led up to opening night, you spent more time on stage with your backing band than with him. Though Chiara and Aileen assured you that you were ready, showing so much improvement from your first rehearsal the week before, you only truly felt ready when Elvis told you he knew you’d do perfectly–as long as you did what he told you.
“You’ll be there tonight, right?” you asked.
“You might not see me, but I’ll be there,” he promised.
You let out a sigh of relief. “Good, I think I’d cry if you said no.”
“Go on and give ‘em one hell of a show, baby,” he said, giving you a kiss on the cheek.
While you still felt nervous on stage, you didn’t let it get to your head as Elvis’ words the previous night echoed in your mind. They wanna see you do good, baby. That’s what they’re there for. Your backing band went right into your opening song, and to your relief, you started off strong, that confidence staying with you through the rest of your performance. It was fun to watch audience members react to your music, especially the ones who stood up from their tables and started dancing along.
The jokes you and Elvis had come up with were corny, sure, but they got a good reaction from the audience, and even the few you made on the spot landed well. Throughout your performance, you scanned the crowd for Elvis, but he was nowhere to be found. You were disappointed, but didn’t let it show as you introduced your last song of the evening.
You ended the show to a standing ovation, crying as Chiara handed you a bouquet of flowers from her seat in front of the stage. It went better than you could have imagined, and as the curtain dropped, you hugged every member of your backing band, thanking them for sticking by you despite the rocky start. Backstage was flooded with people fighting for your attention, but Chiara pushed her way through to give you a hug.
“You were amazing! Holy shit, I can’t believe you ever doubted yourself.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Elvis,” you said.
Chiara looked a bit confused, but nodded with a smile anyway as she continued congratulating you. As much as you appreciated everyone’s congratulations and well wishes, there was one person in particular whose opinion you desperately needed. Barely able to slip away from the pandemonium, you found him near the broken elevator. He gave you a dazzling smile when he saw you, making his way over to you.
Elvis pressed a kiss to your forehead before engulfing you in a hug. “You were perfect, baby. I’m so proud of you.”
You beamed at his words, squeezing him tighter against you. “Thank you. You’re coming to the afterparty, right?”
He released you from the hug, giving you an apologetic glance. “I can’t tonight, mama. You have fun. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”
When he turned around to leave, a smirk spread across his face at the dejected look you gave him when he told you he wouldn’t be at the party. With every day that passed he became more convinced that you were the companion he needed to keep the loneliness of being one of the undead at bay. He couldn’t rush it, though. The incident with your hand was a risk he had taken far too soon, and he considered himself lucky that you actually enjoyed it instead of being scared away.
The next few months were consumed by you. He spent as much time as possible with you, or would lurk from the shadows to observe jealousy as you socialized with everyone who wasn’t him. You didn’t seem to notice that just about every man who made a pass on you at the hotel’s bar or casino disappeared not long after without a trace. Sooner or later, the message would get across that you were off-limits, and he was perfectly fine feeding on whatever bastard tried to get in his way of being with you.
Your residency was going fantastically, and you even had to work on an encore set because audiences started demanding it. Every time Elvis praised you or told you he was proud of you, it felt like getting struck by a bolt of lightning. Usually you and Elvis would work together before your nightly performances, as you found being around him gave you the confidence and motivation you needed to perform well.
For one reason or another, the two of you decided to work on one of your days off from performing, but as soon as you got to your dressing room, you regretted it. Knowing whether or not you’d get bad period cramps was a crapshoot, and unfortunately, they were especially bad that day. As much as you tried to mask it from Elvis, he could see right through you.
“You alright, mama?” he asked.
“My cramps are killing me today,” you said, wrapping your arms around your torso. “I took aspirin earlier, but I don’t think it’s helping.”
He responded with a silent, intense stare, and you interpreted his reaction as disgust.
“Don’t be immature. It’s natural.”
“I don’t disagree with you at all,” he said. “You know, opera singers don’t perform when they’re on their periods. Somethin’ about it messin’ with their vocal range.”
“I didn’t know that,” you said, wincing as you sat down to yet another cramp.
He licked his lips, inhaling through his nose as he added, “You know what really helps with all ‘a that?”
Yes, you knew exactly what he was referring to, and one more than one occasion had masturbated to relieve especially painful period cramps. In fact, you had considered doing so earlier, but you weren’t sure you’d have the time before meeting him.
His voice was so dark and deep you wanted to drown in its depths when he offered his assistance in alleviating your discomfort. It almost embarrassed you how quickly you agreed and ended up naked on your bed, his head buried between your legs as he lapped at your pussy. You gasped as you felt teeth graze your folds, but nothing more. His moans put the one you’d gotten off to before to shame, you wished you could record it–put it as the backing track for a salacious song like some of the metal bands you indulged in did.
He rubbed your clit with his thumb as he ate you out, his pace relentless as you could feel yourself reaching orgasm. Still, it wasn’t enough; you needed more. Sometimes you liked to drag things out, edge a bit to amplify the pleasure when you finally did come. In this instance, however, you allowed your greediness and desperation to guide you.
“Elvis,” you whined. “Elvis—fuck, faster.”
Elvis. You wished you knew his real name, feeling like an idiot helplessly moaning the name of a dead rockstar while getting eaten out by a man almost twice your age who dressed like him for a living. Regardless, you carded your fingers through his greased up black hair, pressing his face closer against your cunt. Just weeks ago you would have considered the thought of this disgusting, but now, seeing your blood on his face only turned you on, and you were too determined to find release to even begin thinking about what that said about you.
An all-consuming ecstasy sent white-hot waves of pleasure through your body that verged on being painful. More intense than anything you’d ever felt before, the moan you let out was guttural, coming from a place of depravity inside you that you weren’t aware existed. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, only feel as you orgasmed and then promptly passed out on the bed.
Still in your state of unconsciousness, Elvis continued eating you out like a man possessed. Truly, he may as well have been, because every time he tried to pull away, the taste of your blood on his tongue went right through him, until finally, he had to force himself to stop. His eyes gazed over the blood that was smeared on your body, and he swore he’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. Cursing himself for not having a camera to capture the state of obscenity he’d left you in, he made a mental note to keep one for next time.
Feeding had become sexual, the release he craved in lieu of actually being able to fuck, one of the things he missed most about being human. Taking blood, taking life sent orgasm-esque waves of pleasure through his undead body that he long since stopped feeling guilty for. If tearing someone’s throat out was sex, going down on a woman when she was on her period was foreplay, the least he could do before the inevitable.
As you lay unconscious beneath him, he reached out, gently caressing your warm cheek. He didn’t want to kill you, it’d be such a waste. Between your beauty and talent, he finally felt close to the sun as he could in his endless night. There was no way of knowing if anyone like you would cross paths with him again, and so, resisting the instinct he’d developed, he pressed a bloody kiss to your cheek before leaving to find a way to satiate his bloodlust before sunrise. Just his luck, she looked almost like you.
The late morning sun peaked through your curtains, waking you up to your bed looking like you’d been murdered in it. You felt nauseous with embarrassment at the thought of housekeeping seeing, let alone cleaning, your sheets. Elvis was nowhere to be found, and while you figured as much, you still found yourself disappointed by his absence. Knowing the ‘do not disturb’ sign was still on the door handle outside your room, you hoped a quick shower would help you brainstorm what to do with your damn sheets.
Your legs wobbled beneath you as you tried to stand up, stumbling like a fawn into your bathroom. As soon as you flipped on the lights, your eyes widened at the state of the lower half of your body. Dried blood smeared across your thighs and legs, and as you turned to inspect the damage, you could see where Elvis had held your hips from the bloody fingerprints that painted your skin.
Using the wall for support, you closed your eyes as you let the shower run until the water was warm to the touch. The blood didn’t immediately wash off your body as you’d hoped. Instead, you had to scrub to get it off, watching the rust-colored water pool at the drain. Even expending this bit of energy exhausted you even more than you already were. Throwing your washcloth aside, you sat down on the shower floor, resting your head on your knees until the water turned cold.
You got out of the shower, drying yourself off with a towel before putting on your bathrobe. Standing in front of your bed with your hands on your sore hips, you still had no idea what you were going to do with your sheets. In a fit of nervous adrenaline, you grabbed them and ran out of your room to the nearest laundry chute, sending them down in hopes the sight of them wouldn’t trigger a homicide investigation.
When you met Elvis at your usual time, in your usual spot, later that night, he greeted you warmly with a kiss to your forehead, pleased to hear you were feeling better. You had so many questions, especially about the previous night, but unsure of how to articulate them, went about business as usual as he continued to mentor you through your residency.
The intimacy that you had developed with Elvis confused you. He wasn’t your boyfriend, yet he’d become frighteningly irate and disagreeable when you’d mention interest in other men, even in passing. Calling him your lover felt odd, as the only time the two of you did anything remotely sexual was when you’d be on your period, and he’d ravage you like it was his last meal and then act like nothing happened. The two of you were far too close for you to brush the relationship off as casual—casual had long since up and gone in the context of you and Elvis.
No one knew about him, though. He had asked you not to tell anyone about him, and whenever it seemed like someone would find the two of you out in some way, they either diverted course or he successfully disappeared into the shadows. Despite all of the time you spent with him, you hardly knew anything about him, long since giving up asking him any personal questions since he’d answer as if he were Elvis himself.
You could admit to yourself that the situation was fucked up. There was nothing normal about it, and you almost wondered how you ended up in that spot in the first place. Still, you weren’t sure if your residency would be as successful without him. Whenever you incorporated one of his suggestions into the show or followed the direction he gave, Chiara would tell you that critics were raving about the changes, and audiences couldn’t get enough—that much was true, as you found yourself having to work out elaborate encores. No one wanted you to leave. At the same time, the rest of the world was growing restless at your residency being confined to Las Vegas.
Chiara had excitedly approached you one evening before your first show of the night with a small stack of papers. As you flipped through them, she explained that your label had put together a report of cities with the most interest in you bringing your show to them as well as offers from international venues that wanted you to perform. Finally, she added that the label had pre-approved your next three albums—so long as you accompanied each one with a show similar to your Vegas one.
It was almost too much to take in at once. The money would be unbelievable, though, especially the international venues which were offering amounts that made your eyes nearly pop out of your head. The next decade of your career was practically set, and you gladly joined Chiara when she brought you to the hotel bar, ordering a bottle of champagne for the two of you to split in celebration.
You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing again, and you knew a large part of that had to do with Elvis. Breaking the news to him wouldn’t be easy, as Chiara had made no mention of him in the plans she had thrown out about your tours, and you wanted to keep true to your word that you wouldn’t bring him up. You supposed it meant he was only helping you during the residency and nothing more.
He was taken aback when you sheepishly told him the following night about the label’s offer and the plans to tour.
“I wanted to thank you for everything,” you said. “Chiara said the label wants me to take the show on tour–”
“You’re leaving?”
“I still have two weeks left of shows, but I couldn’t have done it without you. I mean, I’m pretty much set for life.”
He scoffed. “I’m sure you are. Let me tell you somethin’ mama. There are people out there who ain’t as nice as I am, ain’t lookin’ out for you the way I do.”
“Do you want me to just stay here forever?”
He shook his head, storming out of your dressing room. You didn’t see him again for several days following that altercation. Ever since you gave him the news about ending your residency, his direction was hostile and he withheld the usual praises he poured on you. During your last few nights of shows, he disappeared again, to your frustration.
You couldn’t bring him with you, no rational way to explain the odd relationship you had with Elvis. Chiara had hired him to mentor you, not be your overbearing–fuckbuddy? lover? bootycall? Not to mention, if he was this volatile, you weren’t sure the rest of your team would appreciate having him around. Still, the thought of leaving him made your chest ache. You’d miss him terribly, as much as it pained you to admit it.
You sat in your dressing room after the second to last night of shows during your residency. When you heard the door open and then close behind you, you could tell by the sound of the footfall that it was him. You almost wanted to chew him out for ignoring you the past few days, but when you turned around, he beat you to the punch.
“Y/N, I’ve been thinkin’ about it, your tour and everything,” he said. “Well, you’re not goin’ on it.”
You scoffed, after how he’d been treating you, now he suddenly cares again? “I don’t think that’s for you to decide.”
He smiled, in on a secret you were about to find out. “See, that’s the thing, it is.”
“And what sway would an Elvis impersonator have over my career?”
“I’m no impersonator, mama. I’m the real deal.”
Before you could respond, he bared his teeth, revealing unnaturally sharp canines. Your heart leapt to your throat, which you covered with a hand. Like stars that had aligned, everything made sense to you—his odd behavior, all of the anomalies in his stories and excuses, and most of all, his sexual inclinations. Just as quickly, those stars exploded into an uncontrollable supernova that overtook your mind as the reality of the situation caught up to you. Whether he killed you or turned you, you were going to die.
Your lip trembled as he approached you, hunger in his eyes and the slightest hint of a smile on his face. Using his finger to lift your head, he leaned down and kissed you slowly, sensually. Though the sensation made you feel dizzy, you couldn’t help but keen into his touch, opening your mouth the slightest bit to allow him access, to take what he wanted. If this was the face of death, you welcomed him with open arms.
“You wanna stay with me, don’t you, baby?” he whispered. “Want me to keep you all to myself?”
“Yes,” you breathed, gasping as his sharp fangs poked at your bottom lip. “Elvis, please.”
He grinned, pressing a kiss to your lips. “How can I say no when you ask so nicely?”
He pulled away from you, wrapping an arm around your waist, and without protest you allowed him to guide you to the broken elevator. He pulled a key out of his pocket, turning the access lock next to the elevator doors, which suddenly came to life as they opened before you. The button to the penthouse lit up when he pressed it, and you let out a weak laugh at the revelation that the off-limits suite was his.
. summary / request : being in a relationship with arguably the most attractive man on the planet must seem like a dream-- that is, for anyone but you. you've tried numerous times to bury old memories deep down, but you can never quite stop them from resurfacing.
. word count : 1.6k
. notes / warning : yandere themes, mild sexual content that involves coercion and allusions to sex, mentions of blood, mentions of death, allusions to kidnapping and forced affection, manipulation, domestic abuse, and angst. this is kind of like a drabble, but it's pretty dark, so please read the warnings just in case.
Pleasure was never something that was perfectly pure.
"Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you. I'll give you everything."
You shivered at cool metal brushing against your bare skin, slender fingers gliding along your vulnerable body ever so delicately.
"I want you, Elvis. Only you."
You could practically see his smile grow as you felt his fangs penetrate your sensitive neck, teeth barely piercing your skin. He was teasing you.
"Well, I'm right here, baby," he muttered, before allowing his sharp fangs to break through your skin. Deep inside of you, they went, and you let out a groan as Elvis's free arms roamed your body, heating your body impossibly more.
Pain, as you'd come to learn through so many late nights, was very similar to pleasure. It was almost sweet, yet so desperate, and you found yourself enjoying it-- enjoying the pleasure and pain mixed into one hazy blur. You enjoyed the feeling of Elvis sucking your own life force out of you.
You savored the feeling of Elvis's tongue, wet against your neck, greedily taking what he could from you-- savored the feeling of his teeth gently biting your lower lip, just enough to draw some blood. And then, after some time that felt much too soon, Elvis must have decided that it'd been enough, and you let out a displeased groan as he did so.
"Oh, c'mon on now," he coaxed, crawling off of you and choosing to lay beside your figure. A tangle of legs, you smiled as Elvis moved impossibly closer to you, eyes focused intensely on your facial features. "Can't bleed you dry all in one night. I love ya' too much for that."
At the last comment, you smiled widely, and Elvis did the same as he devoured you in a hungry kiss. You could still taste your blood on his tongue as he did so, the taste salty and metallic on your own. You completely and utterly adored it.
It was nights like these that you truly loved, you and Elvis, alone with no other distractions. It was because of nights like that that you forgot about his numerous crimes. And it was because of nights like these that you felt oh, so guilty.
Because, no matter how many times you tried to forget about the deaths, to forget about the bodies, to forget all of it, you couldn't. You couldn't simply let something like that go.
You tensed in front of Elvis, who, after noticing your resistance towards his affection, albeit reluctantly, pulled away.
"Baby?" he questioned softly, a perfectly confused expression present on his features. His hand traveled up to cup your cheek at your lack of response.
"Y/n, darlin', is anything wrong?"
You wished that you didn't reply at all, wished that you had merely shaken your head and let him continue, wished you would have simply indulged more of his intoxicating poison. But you didn't, simply muttered something about needing to go to the bathroom as you slipped out of the sheets and over to said room.
You closed the door and locked it behind you, knowing your heart was now beating much faster than it was before-- knowing that he could hear it, could hear the blood rushing through your veins and your ragged breath and your quiet coughs.
But that didn't matter. Not now. You needed a moment to breathe.
From outside the room, a deep voice beckoned for you. You knew he knew. This always happened. But you couldn't help it. You couldn't simply let it go.
You'd convinced yourself that Elvis loved you, a while back. Convinced yourself that everything he did-- all the bad and the good-- it was all for you. It was to make you happy.
But, staring at your unnaturally light skin tone and fragile figure, you knew that wasn't the case. You knew those had only been ideas that Elvis had implanted in your mind.
Elvis was always so good at that, you'd learned over the years. He could fabricate such sweet, blissful lies that would make you give anything for them to be true.
And, with help from Elvis, they were.
But you knew that this delusion of his-- the delusion that you'd learned to accept eagerly-- was crumbling. A delusion of affection and serenity. A delusion of love.
But infatuation was something very different to love, and so was obsession. This was something that most could understand conceptually, but could not grasp in the real world. Treating someone as if you possessed them-- as if they were some prized artifact that had to be isolated from the outside world-- was not love.
Elvis beckoned for you once more, this time with a more stern tone. An uneasy feeling slithered down your spine-- a venomous snake, waiting for its moment to attack.
You didn't reply-- you should have, but you didn't. You merely stared at the ghost of your reflection in the mirror, all but disappointed. You had to wonder, how could things have gotten this bad? How could circumstances have gotten so bad that you couldn't tell the difference between love and his own infatuation with you?
A knock was heard on the door. You froze. You wouldn't reply. You couldn't reply.
"Y/n, darlin'," Elvis's tone was dark; a warning. And yet, you stood paralyzed by fear, frozen by the simple idea of what he'd done to get you where you are right now.
"I'm gonn' have to open this door if you don't let me in."
You wished that you could simply move your body to unlock the door, but your limbs refused to move.
"I'm gonna count to three," his voice was threatening. You knew he was mad. You knew he would be even madder if you didn't open that goddamn door, but you were frozen in your fear. You were completely utterly terrified of Elvis-- of the man he truly was.
"1..." One. You remembered the first time you'd met Elvis-- so handsome and charming, he could have fooled anyone with just a smile.
"2..." Two. That was the time it happened. 2 in the morning. He didn't expect you to be awake, or even at your home. You'd told him that you'd be out for the next couple of nights, anyway.
"3..." Three. The number of dead bodies sprawled on the floor that very night, bodies that he'd killed. You couldn't speak or move when it happened, could only watch as he drained the life out of your own family-- your own flesh and blood.
It all felt so surreal, now-- it felt as though you were reliving the moment in its entirety.
Your limbs finally moved when the door was busted open, but not in the way you wanted them to. They buckled underneath your own weight, no longer able to support your fragile figure.
You would have been lying to yourself if you didn't say that it was all his fault-- your current condition.
In came a furious-looking Elvis who, after noticing your shaking figure on the bathroom floor, allowed his expression to soften. He knelt down in front of you, wiping tears off of your face that you hadn't even realized you had shed.
"Oh, Y/n..." he muttered, guilt heavy on his chest. He didn't want to see you like this-- he hated it. He only wanted to keep you safe.
"You..." The accusatory words refused to leave your mouth, and as you tried to pull away from Elvis-- to create some distance between the two of you, his grip on your face suddenly grew firm. You let out a soft whimper as he brought your face closer to his own. You'd never wanted things to end up like this.
"Why don't we go back to bed, hon'?" Elvis's grip was brought from your chin to your arm as he softly tugged it.
You didn't know what had overcome you in that moment-- perhaps fear, perhaps rage, or maybe it was simply a sadness so incredibly intense that you couldn't stop it-- but at the suggestion, your eyes widened and you jerked your arm away from Elvis, backing yourself against the bathroom wall as you screamed in protest.
Because you were scared of him. Because you were angry at him. Because you knew that he wasn't the soft man that he portrayed himself to be.
Elvis's normally electric blue eyes became dark and stormy as he approached you-- a quivering mess on the floor, hardly able to breath as tears blurred your vision.
You knew the weight of what you'd done. You knew what was to come next.
You snapped your eyes closed, and in moments, a hand was felt across your cheek, with a stinging pain to follow. Another sob escaped your lips as you hugged your bare figure tightly.
"El-Elvis-- P-Please..." You managed to stammer out the plea after a pathetic amount of time, your sobs prohibiting you from muttering any coherent words.
At the mention of his name, Elvis just stared at you, blankly.
He wanted an apology.
"I-- I'm..." Your breathing was shaky and your voice fluctuated in tone as you spoke. It didn't help that your body was all but trembling. "I'm-- s-sorry."
You didn't look up-- you didn't need to in order to know that Elvis was smiling.
"Good girl," he praised, bending down and gently picking up your frail form. You wanted to smile as he kissed your temple ever so delicately, but found that you lacked the strength to even curve your lips into the slightest of smiles.
"Now, how about you relax and let me make it up to you, hmm?" He whispered into your ear, and you nodded, giving him permission to lay you back on the bed and to forget your troubles once more.
Summary: After nearly a millennium of being away, Angel lands on Earth, finding herself in 1960s Memphis, Tennessee.
Tags/Warnings: vampire!Elvis, angel!reader, dark!Elvis, controlling!Elvis, religious overtones, mystery/horror elements.
Author's Note: At long last! First chapter of approx. 4 chapters planned.
Word Count: 4,043
The angels were talking loudly today. Normally you’d let this pass, focusing on your tasks. You had quite a few humans under your wing, so-to-speak, and because of your stellar performance you’d only acquired more in recent decades. One such human was Daphne Willows, and she wasn’t audible in the same way she had been previously to you. Something must have happened, and so you did something out of the ordinary. Once securing approval through the proper channels, you traveled down to earth, taking on a human appearance.
It had been so long since you were in the human world that your sense of fashion and behaviors had required a good deal of tweaking. Spying on a few humans out and about, you watched them for some time to understand their mannerisms and clothing choices. Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; certainly, the dress code had changed quite a bit. In place of the more lengthy skirts females wore, you now found knee-high, tight fits and blouses and dresses that dipped low. Even stockings, which as you understood it were for coverage, had become sheer and more for a statement than practicality. Makeup, used to make one’s face prettier (for the male gender, of all things), too, had advanced, becoming a spectacle on a woman’s face with highly pronounced eyes and eyebrow arches. The hairstyle of today was the oddest; many women had taken to wearing their hair straight, but with a beehive sort of look, piling hair at the crown of their head and descending in a curl toward the end. All this had taken milliseconds for you to fashion upon your being, yet you pitied the humans who were forced to contend with it daily.
Daphne lived in a town called Memphis, in the US state of Tennessee. Your knowledge of human affairs was limited, and over time had whittled down to near nothingness; there was nothing required in your job title to understand their customs beyond the need to do your job, and so it was easily forgotten in the millenia or so you’d left the earth yourself. This suited the higher powers, as they emphasized a need to maintain distance between humans and angels. You didn’t understand why, at first, but at one point in time you had a fellow angel you might have called something akin to a friend in the human world lose their angelic powers (including a stripping of their wings, which was not unlike losing one’s identity, and nevertheless extremely painful) due to an inappropriate dalliance with a non-angel being. They were, incidentally, human; you couldn’t imagine how much worse the consequences would have been if it had been an unholy being. At the very least, one would be cut off from heaven entirely.
Memphis was hot. It appeared to have bustling tourism, with people milling about on nearly every corner. You suspected this had something to do with the number of buildings with music notes on them; on one you read ‘Sun Studios’, with many tourists crowding around the perimeter taking pictures and loitering with their eyes peeled inside the dark interior, as if they might spot something of interest.
Humans were funny.
Suddenly your stomach gurgled, and you stopped in the street, much to a driver’s discontent. You watched him drive around you, yelling blasphemous words, before hitting the gas. Humans really could be so short-tempered. Then you remembered that, as a human, you were now susceptible to all the many states and ailments of their kind. One such one, you distantly recalled, was hunger. Grimacing, you continued to pace the downtown until you found an establishment that would serve the energy resource. Unfortunately, upon entering a diner, your simple-minded drive made it difficult to locate something with which to fill your stomach. The waitress, a haggard woman with stains on her pinstripe apron, arrived with a pot of black-looking sludge which she used to fill your cup, and pulled out a pad of paper and writing utensil.
“What can I get you?” She asked.
“What do you recommend on the menu?”
Her eyes never left her pad of paper. “Steak and fries. What will you have?”
You glanced back down, looking at the poorly made depiction. “Yes, I’ll have that.”
“Will that be all?”
“Yes,” you said again. You looked out the window, thinking again how peculiar it was that you couldn’t sense your charge’s exact location. Fortunately, you recalled where she lived, and would go at once. As soon as you received your order, you ate quickly, only narrowly avoiding spilling on your dress. As you rose you noticed an older man’s gaze on you, mid-bite on his hamburger, looking shocked. Perhaps you’d eaten too quickly, or inappropriately in some way. Nevermind, you had no time for the minutia of their manners. However, the woman came to you now looking angry.
“I didn’t just catch you tryin’ to just dine and dash, now did I?”
Your head tilted in confusion. “Dine and… dash?”
“Yes, leave without paying the bill. Are you simple? Not from here?” Her outburst drew the attention of restaurant-goers. If you were human, or here on Earth for a longer duration of time to adapt, you might have felt something like shame or embarrassment. Instead, you very matter-of-factly replied: “how much does it cost?”
“It’s 4 bucks fifty, with tip. You got that on you?” She eyed you skeptically, seeing no pockets on your dress.
The amount materialized on the table, beside your cleaned plate.
“There you are.” You turned back toward the door.
The waitress’ eyes bulged. “But-but, that wasn’t there when-”
Hearing the bell on top of the door chime behind you, you took some steps away from the diner to an alleyway to transport yourself to the house from memory. In doing so, you’d missed the man on the floor sitting in his own filth, an unmarked jug pressed to his lip as he cried, “What the - damn, I gotta get me off the bottle-!”
430 Bismark Road was in a cul-de-sac set off from the main road with nice manicured lawns and friendly folks sitting on their porches. It was the sort of neighborhood you’d come to learn was ‘darling’ in human terms. A far cry from the downtrodden home Daphne had grown up in, she bought the house together with her husband, Daniel, who worked as an investment banker. You weren’t quite sure what that meant, but it allowed them to live the lifestyle they enjoyed, and to which Daphne seemed all too willing to adopt. And you could sense for the first time in her life she was happy, well on her way to having the two point five kids she always dreamed of, having already attained the rich husband, house in the suburbs, and white picket fence. It was a regular old apple pie life, so you’d heard, and you couldn’t imagine what could have taken her away from it.
Ringing the doorbell, you waited until Daniel answered the door. Although it was only early afternoon, his car was parked in the driveway. He wasn’t keeping normal working hours. Strange. You rang again, this time a few more times, finally hearing steps thudding down the stairs, dull and heavy. When he opened the front door, you understood why. Dark circles lined his eyes, his hair was unkempt, and his eyes bloodshot, squinting at the sunlight that filtered through the doorway.
“Who are you? Are you here about Daphne?” He barked.
“I am, as a matter of fact. May I come in?”
Blinking several times, he seemed to come into himself. “Sure, yes, of course! I’ve been waiting so long to hear any news – but you…” he took a second look at you, from head to toe. “You dont look like the police...”
“Police?”
“Yes,” he frowned at you now. “My wife’s been missing for a few days now. Isn’t that what you’re here about?”
“Well yes, but I want to hear from you.” You immediately were regretting your outfit; perhaps he would have taken you more seriously had you presented in uniform. Regardless, you will retrieve the information you need from him. Using your angelic powers on a human was illegal, but under such circumstances, the case could be made.
He looked unsettled, and you put him into a trance-like state that would force him to be more welcoming to your line of questioning.
“When was the last time you saw Daphne?” You inquired.
“Last Sunday. We had a roast and went to bed shortly after. I went to work Monday morning and came back to find the house empty.”
“Is there any possibility she could be staying with someone? A sister? A friend?”
“No. I called her sister Monday evening and she hadn’t heard from her. Her friends hadn’t heard anything, either.”
The possibility that one of them knew but hadn’t told him didn’t escape your notice, although you couldn’t think of a reason why. Either way, you’d be sure to check with them.
“Anything odd about the way she has behaved lately? Something that seemed amiss? Could be anything.” You implored him to consider the words.
Pausing, he answered, “yes, she had been acting differently the past few weeks. I never could pinpoint why, but I suppose I was too caught up in work to take time to figure it out.”
“Differently in what ways?”
“She wasn’t going to service anymore. She always used to be a devout christian, at least since I met her. We would attend church every Sunday, and if not, then Saturday evenings. It was how we met, at church. A friend of a friend introduced us.”
You recalled this, and the news left a feeling you could only describe as unsettling. “That is indeed concerning.” You murmured. “Was there something she was doing instead? Surely this you would have noticed?”
“So she said, she was volunteering at a soup kitchen. I don’t even know how she found it, but it was something she seemed terribly passionate about, and seeing as it was serving the greater good, as Christ would, I didn’t have a problem with it.”
“Hmm.” You highlighted the mental note you made to talk to others in her life, her friends in particular. “What do the police think happened to Daphne?”
“They visited the house and took some fingerprints and photos. Nothing out of the ordinary, they claimed. They also said since nothing was taken, it wasn't likely anything to do with a burglary. Their working theory is that she ran off and just didn’t have the heart to tell me.”
“Do you believe that’s true?”
“No!” His forced calm demeanor morphed into anger. “Of course not. I’m her husband. I did right by her. I don’t know why she’d ever get an idea like that–”
“Was there any reason she could have been unhappy?” You interrupted his tirade.
He faltered. “I… I don’t know.”
“Think carefully, Daniel.”
His head fell. “I gave her everything she ever wanted, with the exception of children, which we were well on our way to having. There was no reason Daphne would have left of her own free will, I can tell you that.”
He was convinced of his own words, and his mind felt rigid now to you. He wouldn’t be of any further help.
“Thank you, Daniel. Be well.” You waited until you were several steps from the house to relinquish your hold on him.
You were certain now more than ever that there was something very wrong with Daphne.
Night had come to Memphis, and you were feeling sluggish from your travels and interrogation. Using your powers was more draining in the human plane, and this had exponentially zapped you of your energy. Recalling humans laid their heads to sleep in hotels, you found one such one of low-profile. This took you back to the downtown area, which had emptied of the larger crowds of earlier. More of a motel, which as you understood was of less quality, you walked to the front desk, where a man stood behind looking skittish.
“Booking a room?” He said, taking his eyes off the small television in the corner.
His eyes had barely landed on you before you understood what he was.
“Angel?!” He hissed at you, eyes glowing dark as midnight as he immediately assumed an aggressive stance.
“Incubus,” you mirrored, narrowing your eyes in disgust. He was one of the unholy, and one of the most abominable creatures that there was. They existed off of the misery and taint leftovers that other unholies like vampire and werewolf kind alike had discarded. They were the bottom-feeders of their class.
“Well I’ll be. A goddamn angel in Memphis of all places. Guess you got bored and decided to slum it down here with us heathens,” he grinned meanly, showing his rotten incisors. To humans he would appear irresistibly handsome, but to your keen eye, and that of other supernaturals, this was a mere illusion for the dirt and rot that his true form possessed. His looks weren’t the worst part – to you he stunk of sin, and that was only displayed in the form he took. “I’ve got business, which incidentally, is none of yours. Now give me a key,” you reached over the counter.
He nearly seized your arm before remembering himself with a humorless laugh. The unholy burnt at the touch of an angelic, some even said to burst into flames; the reverse was not said to be true, although it would surely be unpleasant as well as lower your status in heaven.
“Ah, I suppose you can seize it as you wish.”
His eyes followed you up the stairs, licking his lips quick as a gecko as they narrowed into tiny flints. “I’d wish you sweet dreams, but I don’t think they will be.” He smirked.
He wasn’t wrong. Your night brought you a fitful sleep. Nearly drained of your powers for the day, you weren’t able to utilize as many protective measures as you might have otherwise, using what little you had left on the forcefields of your room that protected you from physical harm. The incubus’ face appeared in horrible visions, only disappearing at your wake. These were interspersed with dreams of your charge, Daphne, who flit from scene to scene like an actress appearing in film, never appearing clearly. In fact, even her surroundings were blurred, which was highly unusual. Your mind's eye had sought her presence in a dream-like state once before, and it was never like this. The only thing that became clear was the presence that surrounded her. It was dark, like ink flames that followed her wherever she went. Towards the end you might have caught something red pooling… blood? You couldn’t be sure. A terrifying smile that shook you to your core revealed itself to you, forcing you from your last attempt at rest. It was unfamiliar, yet so horrifying it could only belong to that of an unholy creature. Something told you that it was not that of the incubus’. Could it have been Daphne’s captor? This would mean you were most assuredly up against an unholy. Alas, you needed more information.
Being in the human realm in long periods made your angelic powers less accessible to you. It was dangerous, but you felt you had no choice but to move onward. The sooner you found Daphne, assured her health and safety, the sooner you could return home to heaven. This was what you told yourself as you sought a different source of sustenance in the early morning hours. Now remembering to pay, your breakfast went seamlessly, and you felt recharged enough to tackle the day. Daphne had three close friends varying in intimacy, and one sibling, her sister Sarah, who she’d reacquainted with later in her married life. Her friends were located only twenty minutes or so from her neighborhood, while Sarah was located approximately three-hours northeast in Nashville. You vowed to preserve your powers today, and would forego teleportation in favor of driving. If you made good time, you could return to Memphis by sundown and resume your search.
You quickly learned that Daphne’s friends were in the dark about her extracurriculars, all except for one that was.
Mary Jane. She was a forthright woman, which you could respect. She brewed you some coffee and revealed Daphne had talked about meeting someone at the soup kitchen.
“What kind of someone?” You’d asked.
“A man. I don’t know his name,” she shrugged, “she’d never said, but he was a real charmer apparently.”
Your eyebrows rose. “You don’t think Daphne had an affair, do you?”
Mary Jane looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so. If she did, I don’t think she could have fibbed so easily. She’s a terrible liar,” she gave a sardonic laugh, “but she was definitely taken with the man. I think it made her feel awful about it. She didn't talk about him after that, so I assumed it fizzled out. But then she got really distant, not wanting to get together as much. She said it was something at home, not related. Now that she’s missing. . .”
“What?”
“Well, I wonder if it’s about this mystery fella after all,” she looked perturbed. “Sorry, I can’t help more than that.” Probing her mind, you could tell Mary Jane was telling the truth.
Sarah wasn’t much more helpful. Her sister had only recently reconnected, and much of her time was spent wrangling four young children; there wasn’t a lot of common ground. Still, Sarah was appropriately concerned about her sister’s wearabouts. When asked about any new person in Daphne’s life, Sarah seemed completely in the dark. “I can’t say. I wish I could be more helpful.”
Night had descended by the time you returned to Memphis. The ‘Night Crawler’ was a night club just on the outskirts of the city limits, with the backdrop of corn fields all around; in darkness it was nearly pitch-black, save for the odd flickering lamp light that was only ever enough to illuminate a single parking place. An imposing figure stood guard outside the door of the nondescript building, arms crossed. He appeared to be checking for identification, which you would be lacking. Fortunately you had a trick up your sleeve.
“ID?” He asked boredly, eying you up and down. When you attempted to use a simple spell you felt a brick wall not unlike the building’s surface.
Cursing at you, he warned, “Whatever you’re trying to do, Angel, it won’t work.”
It became immediately clear you had run into another supernatural. But of what kind, was the question. You felt aggravation prick at you: what were the chances you’d run into so many non-humans in one place? Either there was more going on than met the eye in this city, or you were naive to the number of supernaturals that had immigrated to the human realm. The incubus hadn’t been entirely wrong in that angels were unaware of the goings on outside of heavenly affairs. Perhaps to your detriment, you were soon learning.
“What are you?” You demanded, feeling a sense of foreboding. “I can’t read you.”
The guard laughed, large chest bouncing with the effort. “It is amusing to see you out of your depth, Angel. I’m one of you. Well,” he considered, “technically, half of you.”
“A nephilim?” You gasped. “But I had heard you were extinct? Run out after the third war, the rest captured and killed.”
“Indeed,” he growled, “I don't need a history lesson on your kin’s ways. Abomination, right? Anything that’s not pure angel is.” He laughed humorlessly.
You remained silent.
It was a belief held by the most conservative of your kind that angel hybrids were to be rooted out with the same level of vengeance as an unholy, because they committed the most heinous of betrayals by diluting the heavenly essence. Both the parties that were found guilty of committing the act, and their offspring as a consequence. You yourself were neutral, but that didn’t seem like the right approach in this circumstance. “It’s unnecessary, and I don’t condone it.”
“But you wouldn’t stop it if you saw it happening either, would you?” He sneered.
Two men, or what appeared to be at first glance, broke into fight in the parking lot, their faces transforming into something monstrous. “Hey, break it up you dogs!” The guard bellowed, eventually pushing himself off the wall to intervene physically. Even half-angel, his strength was a force to be reckoned with, and was more than enough to subdue two fully-grown werewolves without further bloodshed. He looked back at you, gesturing toward the door. “Go on ahead, I won’t stop you. But if you cause any problems, you’ll regret it.”
With a solemn nod of understanding, you went inside, swallowed by the darkness within.
Third Person Point of View
Elvis sensed you the moment you entered the building. Powerful that he was, it was not out of the ordinary that he was acutely aware of others, particularly females, who were his preference of the human sexes. What was highly unusual was the preternatural need he had for you without ever having laid eyes on you. When he found your figure, standing out-of-place in the crowded dance floor while humans and supernaturals alike writhed up against one another and occasionally against your body, clueless thing that you were, he was mesmerized. He’d have thought it an act of God if he weren’t so far removed from heaven. Indeed, his dead heart raced in his chest, long deceased veins thrumming with pleasure as he drank in your view from afar. If you’d only look up, you might have seen him staring greedily, but alas, a woman on a mission, your focus appeared to be elsewhere.
No trouble at all, Elvis thought to himself, reclining back on the long couch surrounded by his scantily clad thralls. He was patient when he had to be. And for you, he had nothing but time.
Elvis tells you he's a vampire during sex. Any questioning he quiets down with a bite to your neck.
He tells you you’re his favorite just one gulp in. He says he couldn't help himself, not when your blood was running so hot.
You push against him and he lets you. He’ll stop when you want to. But he knows you pushing back is a game.
He can read your mind.
He makes it pleasurable. Elvis cares after all. Especially to his most recent favorite. He wants you on the edge of your seat, on the edge of his tongue.
From then on there’s no going back, you’re his. He marks you in a way you can't see. You feel it.
On the road, at home, it doesn’t matter. When you see him sweating and angry you know what he needs. He needs a feeding.
You hold his hand, say baby I'm ready for you, and it calms him down right away.
He drives a bus road trip style to LA when you see it again, you take him to the back where you can be alone and tell him he doesn’t have to want anymore. You’re here.
You push him down to his knees first. It’s only fair. He loves the feeding down there as much as he loves it at the neck.
Behind the curtain in the back, he shushes you just as much as you shush him.
He licks at you, hungry. He goes from one pair of lips to the ones on your face and you can feel his eyes on your neck.
“Eat me," you say it with a smile. He bites you at that sly little comment. And he drinks like you're fine wine.
When the two of you are done and back from behind the curtain, one of the memphis mafia gives you a look.
“Haven’t you ever seen someone that’s had a bloody good time?” You say simply.
You don’t know what Elvis likes eating more, blood or pussy.
