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Literally amazing!!!!!!! LOVED it so, so much💓💓 will be rereading <3

DADDY ISSUES - Part Sixteen: God is a Woman

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Now that you have a plan to save Elvis, it's time to put it into motion. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: mentions of drugs, nsfw themes, the colonel, and i think that's all!

Rating: M || Word Count: 12,217

A/N: the fact that i can't finish a novel based on my own ideas but can sit down and in like two months write an entire novel about a man who passed on almost 50 years ago...how expensive is therapy?? fohaufhej

My sincerest thanks to everyone who has read along and given any of your time, energy, and love to this fic. I couldn't have done it without y'all!! I'm incredibly proud to be posting this last chapter and presenting a fully complete fic for only like the second time in my life. I usually quit projects halfway through but this fandom gave me the juice to keep going. TL;DR I love you guys and I hope you've enjoyed ✨ Daddy Issues ✨ :) 💕

Song Rec: god is a woman - ari

This is Part 16 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

When you wake up the next morning, you roll over to an empty bed. You sit up quickly and run your fingers through the sheets just to make sure. The sheets are cold. Your heart jumps and aches as you wonder where he could have gone and if he decided not to wait for you, after all. Your fingers stumble onto a small piece of paper in the sheets. You pick it up and unfold it. You smile and breathe a sigh of relief at the familiar scribbles.

Princess, I hope I didn’t disappoint you by not being in bed this morning. Sorry about that. I was thinking about what you said and you’re right. We’re leaving today, all of us. By the time you read this, I’ll be downstairs getting everything ready. I packed up some of my stuff last night. Whenever you wake up, just meet me downstairs. Interior parking garage. D

You run your finger over the letter, relieved that he’d listened to you. Mostly, you’re overjoyed by the small heart drawn next to his signature. You refold the page and hop out of bed to get ready, feeling utterly giddy as you pull your clothes on. You pause to check and see whether there’s anything Elvis left that you might want, taking a quick moment to glance around the hotel room.

As you walk around the bed to look through his nightstand, you remember the box of letters underneath the bed. The framed photograph of Lisa Marie is gone, but when you drop to your knees and glance under the mattress, you see the cardboard box. Reaching underneath, you pull it out and smile fondly. Although this box does contain the letters of Elvis’ previous women, you put your jealousy aside. He might want to have it. You pack it up, along with two of Elvis’ shirts, and head downstairs. On your way out, you notice a variety of pill bottles on the bathroom counter, all closed up and stacked together. You sigh happily. He left the pills.

After sprinting down to the front desk, you ask for the number to Trixie’s room. When she answers, you quickly explain the situation and wait for her to meet you in the lobby. She hands off your bag and, after a quick hug, you dash into the staff elevator. You know the way, without hesitation.

Hugging the letters and shirts to your chest, you climb into the elevator and hit the button for the ground level, where you can walk straight out into the interior parking garage as Elvis had instructed in his letter. You smile as the elevator starts descending. You can’t wait to get him back to Graceland and just make everything right, to help him relax and refuel.

As the elevators open and you step out, you freeze immediately. You’re caught right in between Elvis and the Colonel, who are clearly involved in some sort of massive argument. Your fingers go weak and you drop the box of letters onto the ground. Elvis is half-leaned over with a finger pointed firmly toward his manager. The very picture of tranquility in contrast to Elvis' anger, the Colonel is peacefully smoking a cigar on a couch in the lobby.

“Don’t you Mr. Presley me, you toad!” Elvis is in the middle of yelling.

When you step out of the elevator, accompanied by a loud bing announcing your presence, both men look over at you with surprise. You glance at Elvis first. His gaze softens immediately when it lands on you. His eyebrows fall into their normal position.

“If you are so determined to get out of our contract-” the Colonel begins talking again and your gaze shifts over to him. You squint your eyes and cross your arms over your chest.

“Ya goddamn right I want out!” Elvis yells, recentering his attention on the Colonel.

“Well, I will personally lend you the money that you owe to Jamboree Attractions.”

“You still got your claws in me! You’ll still have me workin here like some goddamn slave in a salt mine! You phony no good piece of trash! I should shoot you in your fat goddamn face! Let’s go, princess, we’re outta here.”

He turns to leave and you step forward, glaring at the Colonel as you pass. With your attention diverted, you can’t avoid Elvis’ body when he steps back. He gently bumps into you, pushing you back a few steps. You place your hands on his back to stabilize yourself and then leave them there to help support him. He turns back toward the Colonel.

“Who are you?”

“I am you and you are me,” the Colonel replies, standing up and taking a few steps toward you both.

You can feel yourself growing more defensive by the minute as he approaches. Your fingers curl into the leather of Elvis’ jacket and you clench your jaw to keep yourself from doing anything drastic.

“Cut the horseshit!” Elvis shouts. “Everythin I’ve ever known about ya’s been a lie!”

“EP, you good?”

Jerry’s familiar voice reaches your ears. Elvis holds up a hand to show Jerry that he’s alright. You glance around Elvis’ body to see Jerry sticking his head out from the inside of a black Cadillac, probably the same one Elvis had once used to take you to such a lovely dinner so long ago. That was the night he gifted you the EP collar. You resist the urge to reach up and touch your neck, where that very necklace should be.

“My past is the least of your problems my boy. Everyone else you associate with lives from you, Mr. Presley. Even Vernon. Yes, that’s right, even your own daddy has looked after himself before he’s looked after you.”

You feel Elvis’ body tense up and look up to see his jaw clenching. He must have felt you move because he glances over his shoulder at you. His eyes trace up and down your face with furrowed eyebrows.

“Yes, even her. Your…princess. She, too, lives from you. When you weren’t enough for her, what did she do? She left you, didn’t she?”

Elvis' eyebrows furrow momentarily. You glance up at him and shake your head. You gently slide your hand around to his chest to hold him closer to you. Your heart aches with the Colonel’s words because you know it's true. You have lived off of EP, even though he’s the one who offered in the first place. And you did leave him; you betrayed him even after everything he had done for you.

But as the Colonel's accusation floats around in your brain, your chest swells with anger. You glare at the hideous man in front of you. As if he hasn't also lived from Elvis. As if he hasn’t been taking 50% of every damn cent Elvis has earned. As if he hasn’t taken advantage of Elvis’ talent himself. Your fingers curl into the strings of Elvis’ shirt, white-knuckled. The Colonel continues, as if he had heard your innermost thoughts

“Yes, I have lived from you, too. But the difference is that you have also lived from me. We have supported each other because we shared a dream. We are the same you and I.”

You glance back over at Elvis to see that his eyes are glassy. You can feel his chest rising and falling shakily and you hear his uneven breaths as he stares at the man who ruined his life. No, claimed his life.

“We are two odd lonely children reaching for eternity," the Colonel continues.

Something in what the Colonel says, you're not sure what, triggers you. You can’t stand here and watch as he destroys the love of your life. You unlatch yourself from Elvis and step forward, pointing harshly into the face of the devil himself.

“How dare you,” you hiss. “How dare you compare yourself to him. How dare you claim to have supported him, to have shared his dream, when you’re the one who takes 50% of everything he makes and you're the one who uses it to gamble away your entire fortune. You bastard.”

“Oh, the little girl has opinions,” the Colonel raises his eyebrows, stepping forward to challenge you. “How wonderful. At least I stayed with my boy when it got hard. You ran off like a petulant little child, like a spoiled brat who didn’t get what she wanted.”

“Colonel Tom Parker, or whatever the hell your real name is, I want you to listen and listen good,” you step forward, even closer to him, and stare him straight in the eyes. “You will not send any additional bills or charges to Mr. Presley. You will not conduct any additional business with or in the name of Mr. Presley. You will not sell any memorabilia or merchandise using Mr. Presley’s name or likeness from this point forward. And you will not attempt to contact Mr. Presley again.”

“And why on earth would I respond to your trivial threats, you stupid child?” he asks as he raises the cigar to his lips.

“Because if you don't listen to my advice, you will be receiving a notice in the mail. That notice will inform you of a cease and desist filed against you for your harassment of Mr. Presley and his family as well as your mismanagement of Presley Enterprises. You will be taken before a judge, tried, and convicted of every crime you’ve ever committed, including being an illegal citizen of the United States of America.”

“Oh for god’s sake, my boy,” the Colonel attempts to step to the side of you to get to Elvis but you slide over in front of him, offering a curt smile.

“No. I wasn’t finished. For your reference, and because I'm a better person than you could ever be, here’s a little draft I had written up,” you reach into your purse and fish out the stack of paper, shoving it into his chest. He takes it from your hands, unfolding it to read.

"If you think anyone in their right mind, Colonel, will stand by you when Elvis Presley is the victim, if you think any jury will vote in favor of your manipulation and abuse, if you think I will ever stop pursuing you until you go down, you are dead wrong. I will do everything in my power to make absolutely certain that you cough up every single fraction of a cent you stole from this man, the true talent behind your fortune. I will make sure that you rot in jail for the rest of your sorry days, and I will make sure that you can never, ever, be a presence in his life again. You will live in fear, pain, and regret each and every single day until you die a miserable death. I, therefore, advise you to take my 'trivial' threats very, very seriously. Do I make myself clear?”

The Colonel lifts his chin, his eyes searching yours. Not surprisingly, he seems to find your attitude satisfactorily serious and genuine. He nods and steps away, shoving the cigar back in between his teeth.

“Very well," he replies, turning toward the elevator. "Maybe you should fly away, my boy. Away from all of this. But if you do choose to leave then I, for one, will be very lonely. So would your father. But I think…you may be lonely too."

“He won’t be lonely," you interrupt the Colonel and gesture behind you to the crew waiting. "He has me, he has Priscilla, he has Lisa, and all those people out there. Unlike you, Mr. Presley is a person worth loving and anyone with sense can see that.”

“Perhaps true, my dear. But, you see, Mr. Presley knows the truth about the rock of eternity. It’s forever just beyond our reach,” the Colonel replies just as the elevator doors begin to slide shut in front of his face.

You wait a couple of seconds, your fingers curling and uncurling into fists., your jaw clenching and unclenching, your chest rising and falling. You close your eyes and blow out a frustrated breath before gathering the courage to turn around and face Elvis. When you finally do, your expression softens immediately. He’s staring at you with those same glassy eyes. A tear has escaped and is rolling down his cheek. His head is tilted. He’s gazing at you, just as he did last night when you told him for the second time, and the first time in full confidence, that you love him. You bend down to pick up the box and shirts that you'd dropped before turning toward Elvis.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, approaching him. “I didn’t mean to be so forward, I just…fucking hate him. To see the way he’s hurt you, what he’s done to you…I couldn’t take it any longer.”

You reach up to cup his cheek and he gently leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he nods.

“Let’s go home, princess,” he says. “I wanna get the fuck outta here as soon as possible. This prison ain't gonna hold me no more.”

You smile weakly and wrap your hands around his bicep as you make your way toward the already packed and loaded Cadillac. Jerry holds the door for you and you climb into the car, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself. Elvis hops in after you and you’re off. After a few moments of driving in silence, Elvis breaks it.

“Thank you."

You turn toward him.

“For what?”

“For tellin the Colonel to go fuck himself,” he says, his teeth breaking through his lips in a huge goofy grin. “For standin up for me back 'ere. For doin what I shoulda a long time ago. You was pretty badass, I ain't gonna lie.”

“Really? I was so nervous,” you return a smile and shake your head. “I didn’t even know what I was saying, really. It just all came out at once.”

“Well, it was damn impressive. But I still don’t understand how you can do this. Don’t those typa legal things cost money? How does it all work, anyway?”

“This is what I was telling you about last night, the idea Jerry and I had. Trixie. My roommate back home has a family friend, Mr. Benson, who also happens to be a very good lawyer. Yesterday morning, I met with him and had him write up this draft. Of course, we can change it if you want. I wasn’t sure what you wanted it to say but at least this gives us something to start with. Jerry and I think that if we threaten real legal action with evidence, then the Colonel will leave you alone and just back off. Frankly, he would be stupid to challenge you in court. But if we do have to go that far, the jury will surely side with you when they can see how much abuse you’ve suffered. I grabbed this too. I thought it might help.”

You gesture to the box of letters. It hadn’t occurred to you before now, but you remember seeing an old receipt in there toward the bottom. Its existence provides real, tangible evidence that shows the Colonel taking 50% of Elvis’ earnings. And that's in addition to whatever evidence Elvis might have kept himself. When you grabbed the box from under the bed this morning, you mostly figured Elvis would like to have it for sentimental value. Now, it could mean so much more.

“Where the hell you get that?” he asks, taking it from your hands. “I thought I lost it.”

“It was under the bed. If I remember correctly, you have an old Presley Enterprises receipt in there which will show just how much the Colonel is taking from your earnings, and I-”

“How do ya know that’s in 'ere?” he glances up at you and you freeze.

“Uh…I sort of…leafed through it one day when you were gone. It caught on my foot and I just wondered what it was, that’s all. I realize…I probably shouldn’t have. I know a lot of those letters are probably personal and all, but…”

There’s really no excuse for what you did, other that the fact that you wanted to so you did. You can feel heat creeping into your face and neck as he stares at you with a quirked eyebrow.

“You read everythin in 'ere?”

“I’m...afraid so, sir,” you say, suddenly terrified that he’s angry with you.

It’s not very respectful to go through your sugar daddy’s mail while he’s not around. That’s private information and some of the letters were most certainly very…private. You release a breath of relief when Elvis chuckles warmly, glancing down at the box. He runs his fingers over it.

“But how did ya pay for it? I thought you was havin money troubles as it was when I was payin ya?”

“I…I’m sorry, Mr. Presley, but I had to sell the gifts you bought me. The dresses, the jewels, all of it. I had to so that I could pay off my debts and the legal fees and the fee for the order and... I know you’re probably furious with me but there was no other way. I knew you needed to get away from that man. I didn’t know how else to do it other than threatening legal action. I-”

“And ya did this all yesterday mornin? Fore you drove four hours up 'ere to convince me to leave?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. But what does that have to do with anything?”

He reaches up to remove his sunglasses, pushing them up through his hair. He stares into your eyes with furrowed eyebrows. He shakes his head.

“Colonel was wrong, ya know.”

“Not that I’m not glad to hear you say that," you giggle, "but about what?”

“He said that you're an ungrateful brat. I know I’ve called ya that myself a time or two. But I’ve never been caught more of a fool. Yeah, it’s true that you left, maybe…maybe when I needed ya most. But the difference between you and him, between you and my daddy, between you and everybody else who’s left me in the dust? You came back. And now I find out that ya came back fully equipped to fix every dumb ass goddamn problem that I caused for myself. You came back with the answers to every question I got, to every crisis I need solved. And you did it all in one day, for me. Ungrateful brat is the farthest thing from what you are. And I’m ashamed to ever have called ya that, to ever have believed it.I have never met somebody so selfless.”

“Oh, Mr. Presley…” you shake your head but freeze when his warm hand lands on yours. He curls his fingers around your palm and smiles.

“Ya know somethin else the Colonel was wrong bout?”

“I love the direction of this conversation,” you giggle again. “What’s that?”

“He said that we, me and him, shared a dream. That we supported each other cause we shared a dream. But that shit just ain't true. He ain't the one I share a dream with. You are. You was the one who inspired me to dream. To think, and talk and stand and walk and…and to dream.”

You feel the corners of your mouth turn downward and tears quickly brimming in your eyes. He’s talking about If I Can Dream. It feels like a lifetime ago now, the '68 special. The flash moment of courage in which you told him to sing the song, the first time you were alone together. That girl feels like a different person to you now, so naive and full of hope.

“And you’ve done a helluva lot more to support me than he ever did. But I ain't been supportin you. Financially, maybe, but that's not good nuff. I’d like to fix that. Come live with me at Graceland. There’s plenty of room now without Cilla and Lisa. Without daddy, too, I guess. When I tried to go up and get him to leave, he...he’s convinced we ain't got no other choice but to crawl back to the Colonel. I ain't gonna do that no more. I don't know how much longer we got the house if this cease and whatever doesn’t work but…it’s a big house, I’m sure there's enough space for us both.”

“Mr. Presley, I don’t know if-”

“Please. Don’t make me beg,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

“What if that’s exactly what I want to see,” you reply with a smirk. He chuckles. Damn it. You're a goner for those puppy dog eyes. "I would be honored to stay with you at Graceland. You know, I’ve never been to Tennessee.”

“No shit?”

“Never been out of California.”

“Well, I hope Memphis lives up to your expectations.”

“You know, I have a feeling it just might.”

By the time your conversation ends, someone is opening your door and leading you across the tarmac of an airport. You and Elvis board his private jet, the Lisa Marie. You can now confidently say that you vastly enjoy the private jet experience.

Three short hours later, your jaw is practically dropping to the floor as a purple Cadillac pulls up to the beautiful scene that is Graceland. Words can’t describe how picturesque the house is. Your heart flutters with excitement as the driver pulls you around the long driveway up toward the front door.

“Oh my god…” you mumble to yourself. “She's…not at her best," Elvis says as he peers out the window. "I gotta admit I been neglectin her but we’ll get her fixed up real nice for ya.”

You smile at him as the car rolls to a stop in front of the house. A few staff members help you unload your bags and take them into the house. You laugh at the sight of Elvis’ belongings piling up next to the one bag you’d frantically packed overnight. You'll have to call Trixie and arrange for her to bring your things up. After the bags have been unpacked, the driver and staff vacate the premises, leaving you and Elvis totally alone. You help him upstairs where he flops onto the bed and promptly falls asleep, his mouth hanging open as he snores softly. You gently throw a blanket over him and, this time, you don’t hesitate for a minute. You lean down and press a chaste kiss to his head.

“Sleep well, Mr. Presley.”

You start to unpack while he snoozes, too restless to sleep yourself. As you clean out his bathroom belongings, you grimace and pull out a pill bottle. Gripping it tightly, you swear to yourself that you’ll use some of the leftover cash to pay for therapy. You know there are places where people with addictions like Elvis can go to get help. And you intend to make that a priority. Starting on Monday.

─────

The next three and a half months pass as slow as molasses while you get settled in at Graceland. The conversation wasn’t necessarily pleasant but you somehow managed to convince Elvis to attend therapy for his drug addiction. During your argument, he mentioned that Priscilla had also begged him to get therapy so he could be a better father for Lisa Marie. You silently thanked her and hoped you would get the chance to apologize for everything. Although he put up a real fight, Elvis left three days later.

While he was gone, you spent your time cleaning up the house, both outside and in. You got to painting the walls, dusting the decor, planting some flowers, vacuuming, reorganizing, and finally restocking the fridge. You accomplished your housework all while working at a local diner on Beale Street. You served there during the day and worked on Graceland at night. Although you didn't enjoy the flashbacks to your previous job at Chadney’s and the horrors of that lifestyle, working on Beale Street turned out to be quite enjoyable. The people were kind and lovely and fun.

You would never tell Elvis but sometimes you pretend that you own the house yourself, that you’re the mistress of the property. That fantasy helps you get past days when you just want to sleep through the hours.

Despite all of your work, you still find that something is missing. Every time you pass Lisa's room, which happens often since her room is two doors down from yours, you think about those visions of the children on the front lawn, laughing as they play football with Elvis on the bright green grass. Of holidays and barbecues and birthday parties. Of winters, springs, autumns, and summers in the house. And each time you have to shake yourself back to reality and remind yourself that it’s not your place to wish that. Nor it is fair to the ex-wife and child that Elvis already have. You remind yourself that your visions will stay a dream, albeit not a dream you and Elvis get to share.

Trixie came up to visit you for a few weeks, helping clean up around the house and giving you a bit of a break. She also brought a carload of your stuff and asked, whether jokingly or not you’re unsure, if she could move into Lisa's room. With a teasing smile, you said you’d have to check with Elvis.

If you don't say so yourself, what you've been able to accomplish with the house is nothing short of a miracle. In three months, you have completely transformed the place. Every night as you lie down for bed, you're hit with a bout of excitement thinking about how lovely it will be to show Elvis what you've done with the place.

And today is finally the day. After three months, he's returning from therapy. You’re practically jumping out of your skin. Not only are you vibrating with anxious excitement to see how much healthier he looks, but you’re also dreaming of his touch. You now fully understand the sentiment of the saying 'distance makes the heart grow fonder.' You've grown tired of seeing your relationship in sections. Your entire journey together has felt like a series of snapshots and you just want to finally piece them together into an album.

When you hear the car rolling up the drive, you jump up and smooth your skirt down. Gulping and closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and open the front door. You step outside. Your eyebrows immediately raise at the sight of Elvis as he steps out of the car. Your heart pounds in your chest.

He looks incredible. He’s thinner than he’s been in years. He looks fit as a fiddle, stronger even than he was during the filming of the special. He has a healthy tan and his long dark hair is trimmed neatly, although a few pieces hang loose, handsomely on his forehead. When he lifts his head, you lose your breath. He looks almost identical to how he did in 1968. His bright blue eyes are sparkling and when he smiles, you can see it in his eyes. He’s wearing a white button-down, half unbuttoned of course, with black pants. The sleeves are teasingly rolled up to his elbows, tempting you with a glimpse of his muscular forearms. He looks simple, relaxed, comfortable.

“Mr. Presley!” you say excitedly, biting your lip to keep your tears at bay. “You look…wonderful. You're practically glowing.”

“Thank ya, darlin,” he says with a grin. “It’s good to be home.”

“Well, I hope you’re hungry.”

“Always.”

You smile and press your back against the door, opening it for him to enter. When he steps in to walk past you, his head tilts to the side and he pauses, glancing down at you with a smirk. His eyes trace your figure up and down quickly before he sighs softly and enters the dining room. Your heart is pulsing in your head, you can hear it. Words can't describe how much you missed being looked at like that. You close the door and follow EP into the dining room where the food has already been laid out.

You portion out the dishes and then sit in silence while you eat, the room unsettlingly quiet aside from the clinking of your silverware on the ceramic dishes. Every once in a while, you smile up at each other from across the table. You aren't sure about him, but you feel heat in your cheeks each time.

“So, how was it?” you finally ask. “How do you feel?”

He’s silent for a moment, just nodding with a smile.

“Better than I have in a very long time, princess. Much better.”

The next several weeks around the house follow suit. Things are much better than they have been in a very long time. Elvis is doing so much better, looking healthier and happier each day. Unfortunately, though, all those years of drug use have taken a steep toll on his body. You help him every day with gentle stretching exercises just to help keep him in shape. You're also responsible for ensuring that he eats a healthy and balanced diet with lots of water.

To your surprise, Elvis is furious when he finds out how much you’ve been working. So much so that he sets out immediately to look for a recording studio. He suggested a normal job but you quickly reminded him of just how famous he still is. You doubt anyone would hire Elvis Presley for anything other than music.

He starts to spend hours every day in the Jungle Room, writing and recording. Sometimes you join him and just listen or take a nap while he plays softly for you. You’ve taken up football, as much as you can. In the warmer weather, you both play on the front lawn. Or wrestle around on the grass is more like it. You’ve begun to teach Elvis how to cook and how to dance. In turn, he’s teaching you how to play the piano and the basics of karate. Every day feels like a gift and you wake up with a renewed sense of purpose and life.

And you could never miss the tension when your fingers overlap on the piano, or the longing glances you cast each other when you’re directing his body on the dancefloor. Or the way he asks you to stay with him at night, the silence when you lay next to each other, both waiting patiently for the other to be bold.

Elvis is doing so much better, looking healthier and happier each day. Although all those years of drug use have taken a steep toll on his body. You help him every day with gentle stretching exercises just to help keep him in shape. You're also responsible for ensuring that he eats a healthy and balanced diet with lots of water.

In December, you decorate the house for the holidays and learn quickly that Christmas is Elvis’ favorite time of the year. He’d never mentioned it to you before and, with the hullabaloo of the 68 special, Christmas and Elvis always felt like enemies in your mind. A giant snowstorm blew into Memphis just in time and you found yourself buried in beautiful white snow. Graceland looked absolutely magnificent, just beautiful and picturesque like a Christmas card from an old friend. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

As a thank you for all the work you've been putting in, Elvis has offered to cook dinner tonight. While you’re skeptical of his abilities, the idea of a night off is just too good to refuse.

After a long, hot, relaxing bath, you walk into your bedroom to get dressed and, instead, find a beautiful red silk gown folded on your dresser. You spy a note resting on top of the fabric and giggle.

Princess, Surprise! I finally have enough cash to do this again. Not like before but I want you to have something special for tonight. Hopefully my cooking doesn’t ruin it all! I can’t wait to see you in it. D

Your fingers love the feeling of the silk on your skin. The color compliments you wonderfully and you feel just beautiful in it. Although you don’t have an interest in doing a full face of makeup and styling your hair, you do slip on some black heels before making your way downstairs. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, your heart drops. None of the lights are on and it’s pitch black. You immediately assume that the storm probably knocked your power out.

“Mr. Presley!” you shout, squinting into the darkness.

You round the corner, still squinting but following a ray of light from the dining room. Once you step inside, you gasp. Candles are strewn everywhere and spread on the dining room table is a feast, probably edible although it's not too nice to look at. Your eyes take in the scene, pausing a record spinning in the back corner. Finally, you dare to glance over at Elvis’ frame. He’s standing behind your usual chair, holding it out for you. He’s in a stylish black suit with a big grin resting on his face.

“My lady,” he says, gesturing to the seat.

You’re so overwhelmed you can’t even say anything. You just take your seat in the chair as he does the same. You chat while you eat, laughing and flirting throughout the meal. When Elvis gets up to put on another record, your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god!” you shout. “Is this-?”

“The Genius Hits the Road,” he nods with a smile.

You laugh and shake your head. That old record from what feels like so long ago. Elvis takes two steps toward you and holds his empty palm out. You glance up at him.

“Dance with me," he says."

Even after all this time, five years and some change, you still feel those butterflies that tickle your stomach. The snapshots of your relationship have meant that every little move forward, every romantic gesture, every small thing feels a thousand times greater. The longer the wait, the sweeter the kiss.

You stare into his eyes, as the light from the candles flickers gently onto his face, and slide your fingers into his. He gently pulls you up and expertly guides you into his arms, his hand sliding around your back to hold you close to him. As you sway to the music, you glance up into his eyes and he down into yours.

"I'm sorry I could never get you the rock of eternity," you say quietly.

"What are you talkin bout?" he asks with a chuckle.

"That's what our deal was. That we would take the journey together. You got me the Ray Charles album, but I never could get you the rock of eternity. Just...too far away, I guess."

The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smile.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you? Honey, the rock of eternity ain't my dream no more."

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows.

"What do you mean?"

"Just like Colonel said, the rock of eternity is forever out of reach. But I got everythin I could ever dream bout right here in my arms."

You shake your head to tell him that you still don't understand.

"You, princess," he chuckles, his fingers reaching up to pinch your chin. "You're my dream now."

Your smile falls and your breath catches in your throat. He smiles handsomely and you clench your jaw to keep the tears at bay. You sway in small circles across the carpeted dining room floor.

“I see ya didn’t sell everything that I gave ya,” he says.

“Oh, I could never do that to this record. It was the best gift I’ve ever received.”

“I was talkin bout this,” he says, and you’re confused until you feel his finger jiggling the TCB ring back and forth on your finger. You glance over at it and smile.

“Oh…that.”

“Yeah, that. How come you kept it?”

“Well, I just couldn’t sell this. My daddy gave it to me,” you say quietly, sliding your hands away from his and onto his shoulders.

His free hand joins his other on your back, pressing your body taut against him. You raise yourself up onto your tip toes and press your forehead against his. He leans down to meet you, both of you closing your eyes and swaying in the darkness together.

“Oh, I see,” he says quietly in that deep southern drawl that you missed so much. “You musta been a real good girl to get such a nice ring, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know. If I’ve been such a good girl, maybe I deserve something better than a ring.”

“Yeah? What did ya have in mind, princess?”

You open your eyes momentarily, just long enough to see that his are closed and a soft smile resting on his lips. With a gulp, you close your eyes again. As carefully as you can, you slowly tilt your head upward and to the side, your nose brushing against Elvis’. You feel his grip tighten on your back and his hot breath ghost over your lips. You nervously bite your bottom lip and hover in the space between for a moment. Your heart is racing in your chest, pounding against your ribcage. Your heart is fluttering and you can barely stomach the shallow breaths you take. You move forward just an inch, barely enough so that your lips are gently touching. Elvis exhales sharply, his lips twitching under the touch of yours. You hover there for a moment, swaying slowly to the music.

“You gonna kiss me, princess?” Elvis finally whispers against your lips. “Or are we just gonna stand ‘ere?”

You smile against his lips and then, finally, press yourself onto him for the very first time. His lips open to accept yours hungrily. The kiss is warm, deep, and slow. One of his hands gently slides up your spine and wraps around the back of your neck, pressing your kiss deeper into his own. You shiver under his touch, your hands wrapping around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair.

When your lips pull apart, your eyes remain closed and you drop your forehead onto his lips. He presses a warm kiss to your skin. While you sway back and forth, Elvis presses another kiss to your forehead. Then one to your temple, then to your cheekbone, your cheek, your jaw. His hand glides forward onto your cheek, tilting your head up so he can access your neck. You sigh happily as his lips press down on the skin while his hand pulls your back forward. He kisses your neck again and then gently sucks on the skin. Your fingers grip his roots, tugging his soft black locks. Your head rolls back and your eyes close in delight.

His fingers curl around your jaw, as they’ve done so many times before. His thumb rubs over your bottom lip. You open your mouth and it slips between your lips. You swirl your tongue around his fingertip as he nips at your neck. You can feel your heart fluttering under his touch and your core inches toward tenderness. Stuck in a glazed-over euphoria, you barely even notice when the record clicks off, spinning a song of silence. Elvis pulls back and removes his finger from your lips. You drop your chin and stare up at him through your eyelashes, begging him to understand how badly you need him.

“I don’t want to fuck tonight,” you say quietly.

“What do you want, princess? Ask and its yours.”

“I want you, all of you. I want you to make love to me, Elvis.”

He reaches forward and his thumb pinches the skin of your chin between his fingers. You’re immediately flashed back to the first time that you were alone with him. When he had asked you whether the panties he held in his fingertips were yours. You can almost feel the heat returning to your cheeks now as you think about it.

After he takes your body in, his eyes tracking up and down your figure, he moves to your side. One of his arms snakes underneath your upper back and the other underneath your knees. You yelp and giggle as he hoists you up into his arms, holding you bridal style. You wind your arms around his neck and bite your lip as he smirks down at you. He carefully walks you up the stairs and down the hall into his bedroom. The whole while, you keep your gaze on him, watching his soft smile. When you reach his bedroom, the door is just barely cracked open, too closed for you to enter comfortably.

“Damn,” he says, his shoulders falling. You release an awkward sigh as you can feel the mood starting to drain. He glances down at you with a crooked smile and you furrow your eyebrows.

“What?”

“Hold on tight, princess.”

You raise your eyebrows but clutch harder onto him. Elvis laughs, his chest rumbling against you. He grips tightly onto you and leans back before kicking his heel into the door. It swings open with a bang. As he carries you inside, you laugh, throwing your head back.

“Hell yeah! Those badass karate moves were finally worth something,” you giggle.

He smiles down at you and then pauses beside the bed. He gently lets you down onto the floor. Your hands slide down onto his chest and you tug at the material of his suit jacket. His big hands return to your lower back and he holds you steady. He tilts his head and leans down slowly. You raise yourself up on your tiptoes to meet his lips, pressing against him. He grips your waist and his lips move in between yours. He kisses you again and again and again, somehow pushing harder against you each time.

Your hands travel everywhere, pulling on his clothes, his hair, the skin of his cheeks, as you try everything you can to pull him closer into you. You push back against his chest, disconnecting your lips with a clear pop. You heave as you take the opportunity to push his suit jacket from his frame. It falls onto the floor, lifeless. You run your fingers down his chest before deftly unclipping each and every button. When you reach the bottom of the shirt, you curl your fingers into the fabric and yank it up from under the band of his pants.

You bite your lip as your fingers dance across his bare chest. In the moonlight, you can barely see him, but you prefer to appreciate him through touch only. Something about not being able to see his face makes you pay closer attention to the way his skin feels on yours. You carefully push the shirt from his muscular shoulders. You run your fingertips down his biceps, strong and taut. Your heart pounds in your chest as your mind conjures images of Elvis sweating while lifting weights or doing push-ups. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks. After all this time, you still find yourself flustered by his beautiful masculinity.

His finger slides underneath your chin and he tilts your head up, pressing his lips to yours. You hum contentedly into his mouth, the warmth of his chest radiating onto your skin. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you open your mouth for him. The feeling of his tongue against yours makes you clutch him closer. His mouth is warm and wet but you love the taste of his saliva on your tongue.

His lips slip from yours and he presses hot kisses down your jaw and onto your neck, biting harshly at the skin. He tugs it between his teeth and then swipes his tongue over it. When he nibbles on your collarbone, you arch your back into him and moan quietly. His fingers find their way to the zipper in the back of your dress. He pulls it up, agonizingly slowly, his fingertips ghosting over your skin so lightly that it almost tickles. When done, he slides his warm palms onto the skin of your back. You suck in a breath as he hovers by your ear, his breath on your skin. Neither of you say anything and you don’t kiss. You just press your cheeks together and his fingers unclip the back of your bra.

When he pulls away from you, you continue to stare up at him. His eyes refuse to leave your gaze even as he lifts the dress from your shoulders. His fingers curl onto the straps of your bra and slide the piece of clothing forward off your arms. His eyes immediately drop down to your chest. He smirks and steps forward, tossing your clothes elsewhere. His hand snakes around your back and he pulls you hard against him. You yelp quietly and then smile as he drops his lips down to you again.

Your hands return to his hair and you tangle your fingers into his locks. His hands cup your hips to push the rest of the dress down where it pools around your ankles. Then, his palms curl around your ass and thighs.

Against your lips, he mumbles, “Jump.”

You obey his command and he pulls you up onto his hips. You curl yourself around him and he walks a few steps back. Your lips move together in harmony as he gently lays you down on the bed below you. He hovers on top, his hand trailing along the side of your mostly naked body. His finger hooks into the side of your panties and he pulls them down. You bend your knee so he can slide them off your leg. He pulls away from your lips and falls to his knees by your core. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see what he’s doing. He flings your panties away, glancing up at you with a smirk.

“Nice panties,” he says with a smirk.

He’s referring to the pair of red panties he bought you to replace the ones you originally gave him in 1956. The pair of panties that brought you both to this moment right here. You giggle and he props your foot onto his knee, quickly unlatching the strap to your heels, one by one. You curl your toes in satisfaction at the freedom.

He takes your foot in his hands, pressing a gentle kiss to your toes, up your foot, your shin, on your knee, your thigh. When he reaches the inside of your thigh, his breath teases your folds and you throw your head back in anticipation of feeling him. He presses his hand onto your stomach and licks the skin right above your heat. You wriggle underneath him, your core throbbing with need.

You glance down at him and bite your lip. He stares up at you with glazed, dark eyes. His focus is solely on you, nothing else. Without breaking eye contact with you, he curls a hand over your thigh while the other gently tugs at the skin of your inner thigh. You breathe frustratedly and grasp at the bed beside your head. You can feel how swollen you are, just waiting for his attention. His finger moves inside, massaging the outside of your pussy. You gasp at the moment of pleasure when your clit gets stimulated just right from the pressure.

He smirks up at you and, holding your gaze, glides a finger along your wet folds. You bite your lip in response, resisting the urge to wriggle against him. He repeats the action again, applying some pressure by your entrance. You watch his chest heave and his lips part as he slides a finger inside of you. You moan quietly at the relief of stimulation.

He removes his finger and then reinserts two more, pumping you slowly and deeply. In a matter of seconds, you find your body reacting, moving in time with his fingers. He suddenly stops, withdrawing his fingers and sticking them into his mouth. You pout as he licks his skin clean, still glaring at you. Your pussy aches and you rub your fingertips together as you consider touching yourself.

Instead, you decide to tease your daddy, at least one last time. You sit up, scooting toward the edge of the bed. Grasping onto Elvis’ belt, you pull yourself up to standing. You slide a hand around his neck and yank his lips down to yours, kissing him hungrily as you spin him around. His hands grip onto your waist, pulling you against him. You latch onto his bottom lip with your teeth, pulling it out for a moment before releasing it and shoving him down onto the bed.

He falls with a thump and you lean over him, your fingers working to unlatch his belt. You pull it out and then unbutton his pants. With a coquettish giggle, you lean down, keeping your eyes on your daddy, as you take the zipper to his pants in your teeth and pull it down. Elvis smirks down at you, shaking his head.

“Goddamn, you still got it, princess,” he says quietly.

You smile and yank his pants down to his knees. He’s already kicked off his shoes. You drag your fingers over his bulge, tracing the outline of the tip. He breathes deeply, a sure sign that he’s ready for your touch. You remove his underwear and gasp at the sight of his perfect cock. You’ve missed it so much. You saw it so many times before but, even now, it looks just as perfect as it did the first time. The veins pulse before your eyes and the tip twitches. You tap your finger on top and swipe your tongue to taste salty precum, all gathered up nicely for you.

His dick twitches under your touch and you giggle. You trail a finger down his length and then lick the tip with your tongue. He releases another breath and shakes his head. You tap the tip once more before leaning forward, still gazing into his eyes, and wrap your lips around the head. You lean over, pushing him deep into your throat. When he hits the back of your esophagus, you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid gagging. When you release him, your saliva is wet on his dick. You spread the liquid around and pump him a few times. He leans back and moans deeply. You bite your lip and hum against him.

“I missed that,” you mumble against him.

“What?”

“The noises you make for me,” you reply with a giggle.

He smirks, suddenly sitting up and leaning forward. Before you can react, his hands are wrapping around your waist and pulling you up on top of him. You chuckle as he turns you over and positions himself on top of you. You settle in below him, your hands resting on his chest. He smiles as he reaches down for his dick. Without leaving your gaze, he positions himself by your entrance. You sigh in pleasure as he runs the sticky tip up your wet folds. He does it twice more.

“I should get a condom,” he says with a laugh.

“No,” you reply, grabbing onto his bicep to stop him. “No, don’t.”

His eyes search yours for a few moments. He shakes his head in disbelief.

“You sure, baby girl?”

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation.

“No argument from me," he smirks, leaning down to kiss you.

You giggle as he grabs himself and gently pushes into you. You breathe deeply and shut your eyes as you adjust to the pressure. You moan at the feeling of his length inside you, so gradual and gentle. Of course, you’ve had him before but never like this, never so slow, so tender. You open your eyes when you feel Elvis’ hand on your forehead, pushing your hair back from your skin. His head is tilted, a soft smile playing at his lips. He drags his knuckle down your cheek. You lean into his touch, winding your arms around his shoulders and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. You close your eyes and buck your hips against him, telling him to go. He follows your request immediately, starting to slide in and out of your folds. You instantly feel relief at the stimulation that your core so desperately needed. You move your hips against him as his length pushes in and out of you. You moan with his movements, the pressure building inside your body. You turn your head to the side as your moans grow louder and more frequent. He presses a kiss to your jaw and then rests his forehead against your cheek as he moves against you.

Your eyebrows furrow from the mixture of pleasure and pain. Elvis' arms slide underneath your shoulders and he holds you close to his body as he drives in and out of you. You tug at his hair and he moans against your cheek. His pants are loud in your ear, edging you on.

You smile, the pleasure building quickly. He growls as his movements start to become sloppier and sloppier. You hold him close, steadying him as he pushes into you. You feel the pleasure like waves of need crashing into one another. You bite down on his shoulder, tasting the sweat on his skin. You gasp loudly as he hits your g-spot perfectly, the pleasure so overwhelming it’s almost painful. He buries his head in your neck, his sweat wiping away on your skin. Your fingernails dig deep into his skin as he thrusts in and out of your dripping, swollen folds.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers against your skin.

Nothing else he could ever do or say would send you over the edge like this does. Your heart soars with pride and you feel your body shaking underneath him as you orgasm at the touch of your daddy. Your eyes fly open when you notice the sensation of his warmth flooding inside of you. You both shudder together as you drop down from your highs.

Your chest heaves and you fall limp. With your eyes closed, you barely notice Elvis flopping onto the sheets beside you. The quiet air is filled with your pants as you both gain the energy to check on each other.

Finally, you open your eyes and maneuver so that Elvis’ head is in your lap. His fingers drape lazily across your inner thigh and he starts to draw circles on your skin with his fingertips. You gently stroke his hair away from his forehead with a stupid soft smile resting on your face.

“I like it when ya do this,” he mutters against your thigh.

“Do what?”

“Stroke my hair like that. It reminds me of my mama.”

“...Is that a compliment or should I be freaked out?” you ask and he laughs, turning to lie on his back so he can look you in the eye. You adjust but continue to stroke his hair, watching in pleasure as his eyes close from the sensation.

“It’s a compliment. The highest one I can give. My mama was always my bestest girl. Sometimes I wonder if you wasn't sent to me to take her place.”

“Elvis Presley, are you calling me your bestest girl,” you ask and he opens one eye before closing it again.

“Ya know you never done that fore, neither,” he says and you tilt your head.

“Done what?” you ask with a laugh.

“Called me Elvis. You only ever called me Mr. Presley or daddy. Never Elvis.”

“Yeah…I guess I hadn’t noticed.”

“Why?”

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you ever call me by my name?"

“I guess it felt too intimate somehow? I don’t know. You never really called me by my name either. Not until tonight.”

“I was scared to. I thought it'd make us too close and I's terrified of hurtin ya. Y/N, baby, you don't know how badly I wanted to when you told me you loved me."

"Which time?" you snort. "The romantic time or the embarrassing one?"

Elvis shifts to sit up, crossing his legs. He places his warm hands on your thighs and gently pulls you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his back, holding yourself firmly onto his body. His hands circle around your back. He reaches up to brush a rogue piece of hair from your face and then his eyes gaze into yours.

“Don’t you ever be embarrassed bout lovin me. Baby girl, ain't nobody ever loved me like that before. Nobody. I ain't felt this loved since my mama left me. It don't make no sense to me, why you do. How a woman like you — beautiful, talented, smart, kind — could love somebody as pathetic and selfish as me.”

“Because you’re not,” you whisper, reaching out to cup his cheeks. He scoffs. “You were being abused, Elvis, abused and used by someone you trusted. By someone you loved and someone you thought loved you. And after all of that, you’re still not selfish or pathetic. You’ve never been either of those things with me. I’ve never seen you that way. I wish I could show you how I see you. Not Elvis the rockstar, not Elvis the movie star, not Elvis the Vegas daddy. My Elvis. Who you are in here.”

You gently poke your fingertip into the middle of his chest, where his heart is pumping underneath. A few moments of silence pass as he stares up at you, his eyes glassy. You continue.

“You asked me once why I gave in and said yes to the arrangement. Do you remember?”

“The day after the reporters snapped us together. Yeah, I remember. Course I do.”

“I couldn’t answer you then. I can now. I came because of who you are. Because you and I are the same. We’re both dreamers, idealists, hopeless romantics. Because I knew, even from that first moment at Russwood Park, that you were something special. Something so different that you were out of this world, like a superhero or something, I don’t know. I came because I needed so badly to know that there was another soul out there who understood mine. And you did, you always have. I think you always will.”

“Y/N,” he whispers, moving his hand to cup your face. You lean into his touch with a soft smile. “I adore you. I-I can’t breathe without ya. When you left it was like…” he winces, “like my heart got ripped out my chest, like everything hurt. Like I was dyin'. The only thing made me feel better was drugs. I got so drugged up, so high. But when you came back and it was like…a ray of light just burst through all that darkness. Ya voice, I heard it and I just-I woke up. I have never been more alive than when I’m with you. I do love you, Y/N. Darlin, I’ve loved you for…too long now. I can’t even 'member when it happened.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?” you ask, bursting into tears. Your shoulders begin to shake as you cry. He shakes his head, dropping his gaze to catch yours as his hands tilt your face up. He wipes your tears with his thumbs.

“No, no, don’t cry, honey. Please don’t cry, baby. I’m sorry. I know I shoulda but I's scared and too proud to admit it. Every woman I ever said I love you to has left me. The thought of you leavin me for good, forever? I can't take that. I couldn’t imagine it and I don't want to. I was horrified you’d leave me again.”

“I will never leave you, for as long as you want me,” you say, grasping at the chain around his neck. “I promise you, Elvis Aaron Presley, I’ll never leave you.”

“You better not,” he replies and you both chuckle sadly. “Cause I got a lot of makin up to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“For the shit I put ya through. All those late nights and long days, the way I treated ya like an object. The things I said to ya, horrible things. I don’t mean none of 'em and I intend to make it all up to ya.”

“Yeah? How are you gonna do that?”

“I got some ideas,” his eyes drop down to your heat and you playfully smack his arm with a giggle.

“Elvis Presley. Behave, daddy.”

“I do have one idea that I think might just be the perfect start.”

“And what’s that? A shopping trip to replace all the things I sold to save your ass?”

He says nothing in response but takes your hand in his. Your smile begins to drop as he runs his fingers repeatedly over your ring finger. You glance down at your hand and then back up at him with wide eyes.

“Y/N, I been the dumbest fool there ever was. I wasted so much time that I shoulda used bein devoted to you. You give me purpose in life, you give me strength, and you give me the will to dream. I want ya to share that dream with me. Marry me.”

Your smile flattens and all you can do is stare at him. Your heart is racing. The question you never, ever thought you would be asked by a man like him. The Elvis Presley wants you to marry him. Starstruck doesn’t even begin to cover it. You shake your head to bring yourself back to reality and glance down at your naked fingers.

“Well," you say, laughing through happy tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. "Then I guess you better propose."

“What do you mean? I just-”

“A real proposal, Presley. On your knees, with a ring, in a place that’s not your bedroom, please.”

"I'll work on it."

He grins and shakes his head, jolting forward and knocking you down on the bed. You giggle and try to fight him off as his fingers dig into your skin, tickling you up and down your body. When he pulls away, he gently brushes his nose against yours and then presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. You smile and pull him down for a kiss.

───── August 16, 1977 ─────

“I just don’t know how to move on without him. The house and everything are just so…empty now,” you say, sniffing back another tear that threatens to fall.

“I know,” Trixie says, reaching out to hold your arm. “It was all so sudden. I just can’t believe he’s really gone.”

You nod as you both stare at an old photograph. You smile sadly and run your thumb over the glass. Putting it back down on the counter, you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye and turn your back on him forever.

“I can’t either. We lost someone very special. A once-in-a-lifetime man.”

“How is he handling it?” Trixie asks, gesturing out the front window toward the man who’s playing football with her fianceé.

“It’s been hard on him,” you say with a sigh. “Edmund was his favorite dog. He was such a good dog, too.”

“Poor, poor guy,” Trixie says, and you shoot one last look at the photograph of your beloved pomeranian dog, Edmund. “At least Elvis is doing better. I’m so glad to hear that therapy worked so well and so fast, too.”

“You’re glad? How do you think I feel?” you say and Trixie laughs. “He does look so much better and healthier, though, doesn’t he?”

You glance out the window at your husband, smiling as you absentmindedly rub your palm on your stomach. You bite your lip as he tackles Trixie's fianceé.

“Do you two need some private time?” Trixie asks.

he throws you a sideways glance with a suggestive quirk of her eyebrow. You shake your head and giggle.

“No, of course not. If you think I’m in the mood to have sex when I’m like this,” you pat your hand on top of your very pregnant belly, “then you’re the one who needs therapy. Even if my husband is the hottest man on earth. At this point, I just want the thing out.”

“Oh, speaking of babies, I think they’re here!” Trixie says, pointing down the drive. You smile at the sight of the familiar car driving up the way.

“They are, indeed! If you'll excuse me, Trix, I'd better rope him in,” you say, taking your leave to approach the husbands. “Elvis, honey, Priscilla and Lisa are here.”

Your husband's head shoots up, his enthusiastic expression complimented by a grass stain. You giggle and shake your head. His disheveled hair flops up and down as he hops over to you with a wide grin. Your eyes catch his bright blue ones and he wraps his arms around your waist. Holding you as close as he can with your belly, he presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You scrunch up your nose and push him away.

"You taste like grass," you laugh.

He shrugs and chuckles.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

You both turn at the sound of little Lisa Marie's voice. You smile down at her tiny figure as it runs up to her daddy. At nine years old, Lisa is beginning to look a lot more like her mother. But you can still see parts of Elvis in her, like the straightness of her nose and the soft downward tilt of her eyes.

Elvis kneels down and Lisa runs into his arms. He picks her up and spins her around as she giggles and laughs. Your gaze lifts up to see Priscilla and her new husband approaching you. Smiling, you hold your arms out and Priscilla gently wraps herself around your shoulders, rubbing your back gently.

"Priscilla! I'm so glad to see you, and Lisa, of course," you say.

You bend at the knees and scrunch down to allow Lisa to tuck herself into your arms. She rests her head on your belly, her ear pressed against the skin.

"I don't hear anything. Is she still in there?" Lisa asks, glancing up at you.

"Yes, she is. Although, I hope not for very much longer," you reply and shoot Priscilla an exhausted expression.

Priscilla laughs and nods. She steps forward and presses her palm to your stomach. You sigh happily.

"I'm sure it won't be much longer now," she adds. "You look ready to pop to me. How are you feeling?"

"My feet are swollen, my back is killing me, and I'm thinking about selling my soul to the devil for a good night's sleep. So, pretty standard for this late in the trimester, I guess."

"Oh yes, that sounds about right. It'll be over soon. I know Lisa is just ecstatic about having a little sister to fawn over. Have you decided what to call her yet?"

You nod with a smile.

"Love. It was Elvis' mother's middle name."

Priscilla smiles again and your conversation is interrupted by Elvis giving Priscilla a big hug.

While they get to talking, you take the opportunity to observe the guests at your summer party. A retired Vernon and his new wife, Dee, are sitting together on lawn chairs talking to Lisa Marie and some of the other kids. Steve and Jerry are drinking beers while their wives and children play cornhole. Trixie and Max — yes that Max who turned out to be a perfect match for your absolute best friend in the entire world — are lounging on a picnic blanket with plates full of classic summer barbecue.

You snap your attention back to Priscilla, the woman you long considered to be an enemy. Now, she's one of your best friends. It was easier than you expected to work out your differences, especially after you became engaged to Elvis. Lisa Marie was always a priority and turned out to be the best possible bridge to friendship for you and Cilla. Anyway, you both have a lot more in common than you previously thought. One of your favorite shared activities is poking fun at Elvis behind his back. Priscilla is the only other person in the world who truly understands.

You married Elvis less than a year after your engagement. Then, you took a lengthy honeymoon, a cruise across Europe. Elvis finally got to visit so many of the places he always wanted to see. Italy and Greece were his favorites and were so incredibly, almost unimaginably, romantic. You dream every single day of going back.

And you might be able to soon, with the release of Elvis’ newest album, the shining star of this summer get-together. "Dreamer" is the first album Elvis has released since March 1974 and the very first album he's released without the name Colonel Tom Parker pasted all over it.

After several months of settling back into life at Graceland, Elvis did receive threats from the Colonel. You'd called up Jerry and met with Trixie's family friend Mr. Benson to get the cease and desist order finalized before presenting it to the Colonel's people. After a bit of arguing back and forth and a final threat of taking his ass to court, the Colonel finally backed down. It all happened just as you and Jerry had suspected. Agreeing to settle out of court, the Colonel was ordered to repay Elvis back for 50% of what he'd stolen. Although your goal was to take everything Colonel had, every half of a cent felt like a win on Elvis' behalf.

With that situation finally resolved, Elvis became desperate to get back into music. This time, he wanted to do it his way. You watched with unmatched pride as he threw himself into gospel, the genre that had always spoken to his innermost soul. He continued to record with RCA and produced an album that he's happier and prouder of than any other piece of music he ever recorded. You could always tell his passion rested with this kind of music, music that matters, music you can feel in your soul.

As you look at him now, sitting on the grass and drawing shapes in the dirt with Lisa Marie in his lap, you know it. The void he'd been nursing back to health for so many years, that he'd been trying to fill, to replace, to erase. It's gone. He's finally healed.

Later that evening, after all your guests have left, you settle down in the living room with Lisa to watch a movie. Priscilla and her husband dropped Lisa off for the next week and you have plenty of plans to keep the little girl entertained. As you get settled on the couch, Elvis brings you a glass of water. You shoot him a thankful expression. He leans down and gently presses a kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, you slowly and begrudgingly open your eyes, smiling up at him.

“I love you,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against yours. You scrunch yours up against his.

“I love you, too.”

Your husband settles down on the other side of the couch and Lisa cuddles in between you, completely invested in the movie even though it’s just started. You readjust as a painful cramp rages in your stomach. You’ve had quite a number of them today. But, as with the others, you breathe through it and push further into the cushions.

You all sit in silence as you watch the film. Soon enough, Lisa has fallen into a deep slumber, her head nestled onto her daddy's tummy and her feet resting on your thigh. You feel Elvis’ fingers intertwining with yours on the top of the couch and glance over at him. He winks at you and you squeeze his hand before refocusing on the movie.

You only make it about five more minutes before you suddenly realize that you’re sitting in a wet spot. You gasp and look down to see that your water has most definitely broken.

“What’s wrong?” Elvis asks, jumping to his feet and walking around Lisa Marie to get to you on the couch. You place your hands on your cramping belly and glance up at him.

“I hope you’re ready to be a daddy again,” you say breathlessly.

“Well, thank god I have extensive experience. In both departments,” he replies immediately with a crooked smile.

“You may have extensive experience but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have my fair share of daddy issues," you quirk an eyebrow and he chuckles. "Now, get over here and get me to the hospital before I pop.”

“Yes, mommy,” he says and then pauses, his face flattening in embarrassment as he looks up at you.

“Mommy, huh?”

~ The End ~

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