ilovembappeandmount

[ilovembappeandmount]

dis has my heart go check out @sissylittlefeather shes a really good writer all creds go to her..

It’s 1974, Elvis is on tour and you’re his current gf so you’re on tour with him. 2/3 through you return to Graceland because you’re feeling kinda under the weather and need rest. When he gets home he finds you sick as a dog dragging yourself around the house trying to take care of yourself since most of the staff goes on tour with him. He demands that you stay in bed and waits on you hand and foot for several days until you start feeling better. (I just tested positive for covid for the first time and need some comfy bde vibes)

I'm so sorry that you have Covid! That sucks! Sending all the good vibes for quick healing. Hopefully, this will give you some comfort ❤️. I enjoyed writing this one. Sweet, caregiving BDE is right up my alley, so thanks for the ask!

Warnings: reader vomits, otherwise this is pure, precious fluff!

Enjoy!

You Give Me Fever

"Honey, are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Elvis, don't be silly, you still have three shows before your tour is over. I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine to me, doll."

"I'm just going to go to Graceland and rest for a bit. I'll try to come back for the last couple of shows."

******

But you don't make it back. You just get sicker and sicker. Most of the staff is on tour with Elvis or has gone traveling while he's away. You're alone in the big house, trying to get over this flu all by yourself. You want to call your boyfriend and tell him to come home, but you know he's busy. It's 1974 and his tour schedule is full. He's been in high demand since he started doing shows in Vegas and touring again. Instead, you just lay in the bed you normally share and try to will yourself into feeling better.

******

You hear the front door open and there's a ruckus downstairs as everyone comes in after the tour. You should get up to greet them, but you can't. Your head is pounding and it feels like you're running a pretty good fever. Nothing has stayed in your stomach for several days now and you can't stop coughing. Honestly, it's pretty gross, and you were really hoping to feel better before anyone got back.

"Little? Are you here?" You hear Elvis call from downstairs. If you don't answer, he's bound to come looking for you eventually. You try to call out to him, but it just comes out as a whimper. After a few more minutes you hear him come up the stairs. He opens the door of the bedroom excitedly, still buzzing from the energy of touring. When he sees you in the bed, though, his tone completely changes and he walks quickly over to you.

"Honey, you're still sick?" You nod weakly as he puts his hand on your forehead.

"You're burnin' up." He kneels down so that he's eye level with you.

"I'm going to go get rid of those hooligans and then I'll be right back to take care of you." He kisses your forehead softly and curses under his breath for leaving you here alone for so long. You hear him holler downstairs.

"Y'all clear out. Y/n is sick and she doesn't need any of your noise right now. I'll let you know when you can come back." You hear the guys protest and ask if they can help-- you've gotten to be on pretty good terms with most of them and they like you.

"No, I'll take care of her. We'll be alright." After a couple minutes, Elvis shows back up in the room and sits on the bed gently.

"What do you need, Little?" You gesture for him to lay next to you on the bed.

"Right now I just need you to hold me. It's been a long few days. I missed you." He lays next to you and scoops you into his arms, kissing your forehead again. It's sticky with sweat from your fever, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Honey, I'm sorry I left you here by yourself. You should've called me or somethin'. I would've come home to you. To hell with the damn tour." He speaks softly and strokes your hair gently.

"No, I'm okay. I'm just glad you're here now."

"Well, you just let me know what you need and I'll get it for you." You're about to say you don't need anything when something comes to mind.

"I'd really like to take a bath. I feel disgusting."

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything..." he teases for a bit and you laugh weakly. "I'm playin', doll; you're beautiful. One bath, comin' right up." He slides off of the bed and goes in the bathroom for a while. You lay in bed just happy he's there with you. Even though you still feel like garbage, knowing he's close by helps a little.

"Are you ready, honey?" He comes back and helps you into the bathroom. You're so weak that he has to take off your pajamas for you. You sink into the deliciously warm water. He's somehow managed to get it the perfect temperature.

"Can I wash your hair? I've always kinda wanted to wash your hair." You look at him funny.

"Really?" He nods and smiles. You don't protest, though. The thought of doing it yourself is exhausting. You let him get your hair wet and then lather it up. He's very gentle in his motions and you can tell he's enjoying taking care of you. Once your hair is rinsed clean, he moves on to using a soft, fluffy sponge to wash your body.

"If you weren't feelin' so bad, I'd try to get in there with you." He jokes, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You smile up at him as he runs the sponge across your front.

"If I felt any better, I'd let you." After he's finished with your body, he pulls the plug out of the tub and grabs a thick, black bath towel to wrap you in. You notice that the towel has "EP" embroidered on it in gold cursive. Something about him wrapping you in an item that is so clearly his is both comforting and intimate. You are part of him and he's not afraid to let you know it.

He finds you a pair of fresh pajamas and moves you to the couch in the tv room. The maid is back, so he has her change the sheets on the bed for you. Once you're comfortably back in bed in clean sheets, he lays down next to you again. You know he must be tired from the tour, but he refuses to rest until he knows you have everything you need.

"You need to eat somethin' doll."

"No, I haven't kept anything down in days. I don't want to be sick again."

"You'll never get better without energy. I'll have Nancy make you some soup." When he's in this mode, it's no use arguing with him. And he isn't wrong. You need sustenance. Eventually, he comes back in with a tray that has soup and crackers and a ginger ale. He feeds you slowly, giving you small sips of ginger ale, and you let him, despite the fact that you could probably do it yourself. You eat as much as you can before you have to stop and rest. He moves the tray and holds you gently, rocking you and humming. You fall asleep like this, snuggled against his chest and praying that you keep this round of soup down.

When you wake up sick, he follows you to the bathroom. He holds your hair and rubs your back while you lose all the soup you ate earlier. Finally, you finish and lean back against him where he's kneeling behind you. He holds a wet rag to your forehead.

"I'm sorry. That was so gross."

"Honey, don't apologize. You're sick. Are you ready to get back into bed?" You nod weakly and he carries you like a baby back to bed, laying you down gently. Then he crawls in next to you on the other side and wraps his arms around you. He strokes your hair and sings to you quietly. You go back to sleep in this position.

Finally, morning comes and you can tell that your fever broke because you're drenched in sweat. Elvis is wearing his black silk pajamas, sleeping quietly in bed next to you. You feel the slightest bit better, but still not back to normal. He feels you moving and opens his eyes.

"Good morning, Little. What do you need?"

"I think my fever broke. And I'm hungry."

"Well, those are both good things!"

He pulls you into a hug before he stretches and yawns. You look at the clock on the wall. It's 11:37 am, which is still early for him, but he gets up and puts on his robe anyway to go get you some breakfast.

He spends the next two full days nursing you back to health, fetching you food and drinks and medicine. He bathes you again and makes sure you feel as fresh as possible. He reads to you from his favorite books and snuggles you whenever you ask for it. In a way, you're sad when you start to feel better. It's been nice to have his undivided attention for a few days.

You're in bed about to tell him to call the guys to come home when you notice he's looking a bit pale. You put your hand on his forehead and feel his high fever.

"Well, now. Looks like it's my turn to play nurse."

"Will you wear one of those little outfits?"

You laugh. Even sick, he's still Elvis Presley...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I hope you feel better soon! ❤️

[ilovembappeandmount]

im going through my Elvis era like he just so fine.

sould i start righting fics.