rockahulababyy

[rockahulababyy]

MIGHT BE GOING TO DANEMARK TO VISIT A GRACELAND REPLICAAAA

[rockahulababyy]

hello... idk if anyone can help or if i'm going crazy or whatever but i really need to talk about this somewhere

so everything started on august 16, 2024. i had planned to pray for elvis at 10:30PM because he died at 3:30PM in america and i live in a different timezone. i had prepared everything for days. i started by asking God to let my prayer reach him and then i just talked. i told him how he’s missed, how people haven’t forgotten him, and then i started telling him about my life. i told him how, weirdly, he helped me more than even my own familly have — and he’s been dead since 1977. we never met, but still... i cried a lot that night.

after the prayer, i suddenly felt like i was floating, like i was high or something. i don’t do drugs obviously, but it felt like peace in my whole body. then i went to sleep. and when i laid down, i swear i felt like someone sat behind me on the bed — the mattress moved — and then i felt someone’s hand in my hair. but i was too relaxed to even think too hard about it, so i just fell asleep thinking it was just bc i was tired (i was absolutely FINE before that prayer)

a week and a half later, i started noticing i didn’t feel alone anymore. i don’t mean like “being watched,” not in a scary way, just... like someone is there, always on my right side. and now, whenever i hear his voice or see his face or even just think of him, this insane heat rises through my whole body — from my feet to my ears — and i get the urge to cry or throw up or something. it’s like my body reacts on its own. and again, i don’t feel alone anymore. since that day, it’s like someone is constantly around. and like the feeling i feel is like in my back, idk how to explain

then weird stuff started happening. in september, i went shopping for school supplies with my mom, and there was graffiti of elvis on a wall that had never been there before — and now it’s gone. then every time a song of his came on, my airpods would disconnect randomly and the music would start playing out loud in stores or in the street. the same day but the evening i looked up at the TV while eating and they were showing an aerial shot of the international hotel in vegas even though no one in my house was watching a documentary or anything, it was a movie with Sylvester Stallone and a little boy about a truck or sum...

also, ever since august 16, i keep seeing the number 42. all the time. like everytime i look at the time on my phone, watch etc...it's alaways 42.

i know this sounds insane or whatever, i just need someone to tell me what this might be?? like... is this spiritual? am i making it all up? am i going insane?? it’s not ruining my life or anything — i’m still doing normal stuff — but this has been going on since august and it’s now may and it’s still happening.

has anyone ever experienced anything like this? please be honest...

Confession #6

I really love that, btw. i cried about him and miss him deeply, I always think, what is he's doing in heaven with his family? I always pray he's happy that he's with his family in heaven, his parents, grandparents, and now he has his daughter and grand son, just wonder how he feels now that daughter is with him, since 2023. Like, I just think about that a lot. I think about him a lot on his age at death, birthday, and death day. I think about a lot things about his life and afterlife. I miss him. ❤️‍🩹 I think what youre experiencing is spiritually. Although im not a professional on Christianity, i have trouble reading things correctly to even try to read the Bible (im dyslexic..). But that's what I think is going on.. is spiritually just by reading this, and I think that's beautiful ❤️❤️

Anyone else's thoughts on this??

[rockahulababyy]

my heart's so full of him I can hardly call it my own

I sometimes feel the need to scream how much i love Elvis and tell everybody how much i love him. Also i wanna scream his name so everybody hears it because i love him. I feel like my heart is gonna burst with my love for him

[rockahulababyy]

respectfully, fuck me

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, ELVIS ON MARCH 31, 1972 Man, THE STYLE! The guy had more swag in a slight shake of his head than most people moving their entire body. E looks like a pimp LOL. Unbelievably good looking man. He's 37 here.

[rockahulababyy]

I need submissive bde right tf now.

[rockahulababyy]

y'all request will be out on May 5th !! Don't hesitate to request more angels, I always enjoy writing y'all ideas <33 and btw i'm thinking about writing a fic but I don't have any ideas ☹️ so if u have some, reach out !!

kisses, little egypt 🎀

[rockahulababyy]

I need submissive bde right tf now.

[rockahulababyy]

[rockahulababyy]

"Are you sure you don't need your top?" - Elvis Presley

[rockahulababyy]

I love Jerry’s voice so much. It’s so warm and comforting 😭

[rockahulababyy]

Jungle love 

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader 

Word count: 309

Warning(s): smut, penetrative sex, dominant Elvis?, Age gap (19 years)

Authors note: who hasn’t wanted to be fucked in the jungle room by big daddy Elvis? I sure have! Enjoy!

Tag list: @ccab, @epsdoll

Your knees pressed firmly into the soft lux fur of the couch on either side of Elvis‘s hips, your ankles planted on either side of his knees as you ground your pussy against his bare cock. You dug your nails into his shoulders, your head lolling back in pure ecstasy. Lifting your hips, you allowed Elvis to reach down and guide his cock into your tight entrance. 

Elvis groaned, placing his hands on your ass as he guided you to bounce up and down. “Atta girl” Elvis breathed out, squeezing your ass cheeks before smacking it harshly, causing you to squeal in pleasure.

Following his lead, you began to bounce rapidly up and down, desperately chasing your high. The sound of your skin against Elvis’s rang through the jungle room. Gasping, you fell forward when Elvis bucked his hips upwards, shoving his cock deeper inside of you. You moaned, gasping for air at the sudden change of pace. You continue to bounce on him, meeting his pace, feeling his cock begin to twitch.

“you gonna cum, daddy? Cum inside my tight little pussy?” you called out, pressing your forehead against his, kissing him heavily.

Elvis gave your ass another smack before muttering “yeah, baby. daddy’s gonna cum”

After a few moments, you felt Elvis‘s hot load shoot itself deep inside of you, his cock twitching as he came. You couldn’t help but topple over the edge as well. Your pussy squeezing him like a vice, the two of you moaned in unison as you orgasmed, collapsing into one another.

You relaxed your muscles, allowing Elvis to slip out of your pussy before sliding off of him and onto the couch. Elvis rested his hand on top of your kneecaps as he slowly, but surely caught his breath. The two of you sat together, recovering from your intense orgasms.

[rockahulababyy]

going to the hospital tmrw, i will not post today but imma try to work on y'all requests while waiting at the hospital xx

[rockahulababyy]

[rockahulababyy]

y'all i'm so tired of health anxiety, I've been in a hypochondria crisis for a month and I'm convinced I have like 4/5 different cancers, my appointment with my doctor is not until May 5, I don't know what to do in the meantime, it's literally ruining my life. So i'm sorry if I don't post much, angels xx

[rockahulababyy]

y'all follow this angel on c.ai xx

HIII ANGEEEEL do u still make bots ? if yes, can you make a bot of late 70s Elvis (maybe like 1976) and he come home from a long tour and he's just like so tired and he sees y/n with jerry and joe who stayed with her while ep was touring and so, they're in the living room playing cards, and y/n is in a mini skirt or sum and he get mad and say mean things cause he's a lil jealous, ANDDDDD she cries and he apologize and then yeah so yeah. I'M SOSO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG LMFAOOO TAKE UR TIME AND IF U CAN'T INCLUDE EVERYTHING IT'S OKAYYYYYY

Hey!!! I just saw this like a half an hour ago 😭

But this is the bot https://share.character.ai/Wv9R/kr8mer7v

I hope you like it!! Sorry for the wait :))

[rockahulababyy]

Do you do imagine posts? Id like to hear what being Elvis wife would be like

Hii angel !! Thanks for your request <33 I just wanted to clarify that since you didn't give a specific era like 50s, 60s or so, I chose late 70s Elvis (my baby) but you can totally imagine whatever era you want or ask for another era. also this the first imagine i've ever wrote so y'all tell me if it's good !! xx

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐒' 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 ?

It’s not what people think.

It’s not rhinestones and flashbulbs and screaming crowds.

It’s soft lamps at 3AM.

It’s his fingers brushing against your spine while he hums something you can’t place, lying awake beside you while the world sleeps.

Elvis doesn’t sleep at night—he never has, not really. His world comes alive under dim lighting, when the air is quiet and everything feels suspended. He’ll wake up after dark, hair messy, voice raspy, moving slow as honey while he finds you. Always looking for you first. Doesn’t matter who’s in the house. Doesn’t matter what the schedule says. His day starts when he sees you.

Some nights, you find him in the den, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with his nose in a book about chakras or ancient prophecies, incense burning low beside him. Other times, he’s pacing. Deep in thought. Rambling about something he read, or a dream he had, or how everything’s connected. He’ll talk until his voice gets hoarse, then just sit with you in silence, letting his hand fall into yours like it belongs there.

You’ve learned to follow his rhythm. Late-night peanut butter and banana sandwiches in the kitchen. Midnight drives. Curtains drawn during the day so he can sleep peacefully, your body curled against his under the heavy sheets. You’re his peace. His anchor. You didn’t ask to be, but he gave you that place without question. Like he just knew.

Some days are harder than others. You see it in his hands when they shake just a little trying to open a bottle. In the way he leans on you more than he lets anyone else see. The meds slow him down. Some of them make him tired, foggy, forgetful. But he tries—for you. He tries to take less, or take them later, or ask the doctor about changing things up. Because he sees the worry in your eyes, and it kills him. He says it doesn’t bother him, but you know it does. He doesn’t feel like himself sometimes, and that makes him feel like less of a man.

In the beginning, he was scared. Scared you’d want someone younger, stronger, someone who didn’t flinch at mirrors or dread mornings. He couldn’t touch you the way he used to touch women in his younger years. He couldn’t always feel what he used to feel. He cried once, thinking you were asleep—held your hand to his chest and whispered that he was sorry he wasn’t enough.

But you stayed. You didn’t need him to be the man the world saw. You just needed him to be yours. So now he kisses you softer, slower. He holds you longer. He asks if you’re happy and believes you when you say yes. Because happiness here looks like coffee at midnight. It looks like his head in your lap while you play with his hair. It looks like soft pajamas and gospel records and half-finished conversations at sunrise.

The boys—the Memphis Mafia—thank God for you more than once.

They don’t say it outright at first, not when it’s new and Elvis is still pretending everything’s fine. But over time, you catch it in the way Jerry’s voice softens when he says, “He’s been lookin’ better lately.” Or how Joe gives you that knowing nod when Elvis eats a real meal or skips a pill because you asked him to. Red jokes that he used to have to drag Elvis outta bed, but now? He gets up for you.

They see the way he tries. The way he holds himself a little straighter when you walk into the room. The way he reaches for water instead of another handful of pills. He still struggles, of course. Still has those days where the weight of everything gets too heavy. But they’ve seen what he was before you—how he let himself slip deeper into the dark. And they see now: he wants to stay in the light, if only to be the man you deserve.

Some nights are soft and sacred. You don’t need fireworks or grand gestures. Just him. Just the two of you. Sometimes, the world feels far away—shut out by blackout curtains and whispered “I love you”s under breath. You’ll make love slow and quiet, like you’re trying not to wake the house. Like time’s frozen around you. And afterward, he’ll tuck you against his chest, bury his face in your hair, and sleep through the whole day with your body wrapped in his arms. It's not just passion—it's safety. It's home.

Other nights, he’s all wide-eyed and playful, coming into the room with a sly grin and that little bounce in his step that only means one thing: he’s got a plan.

“C’mon, baby. Get dressed. We’re goin’ out.”

Out means he's rented out an entire movie theater in the middle of the night just so you and the boys can watch some old western or kung fu flick. Popcorn for everybody. Blankets just for you. He watches you more than the movie—smiles every time you laugh, kisses your temple during the boring parts. For him, your joy is the main event.

And then there are the quiet, thoughtful things he does that no one else sees.

Like the time he went into a little church while he was away—just wandered in after a long day. He found a rosary in the gift shop, held it in his hand for the longest time. Later that night, he gave it to you, eyes low like he wasn’t sure if it was silly or not.

“I figured… when I ain’t here, you could hold it while you pray. Think ‘bout me. That way I’m always with you, baby.”

You cried, soft and quiet, and he held you like the world could end right there and he’d still be content, as long as you were in his arms.

Being his wife means learning how to love a man who's seen too much and felt too deeply. It means patience when he's quiet, comfort when he's overwhelmed, and laughter when he forgets how to smile.

But in return?

You get a kind of love that’s rare. The kind that fights for you, even when he's tired. The kind that shows up at 2AM with a peanut butter sandwich and a kiss. The kind that holds your hand during gospel songs and stares at you like you’re something holy.

He’s not perfect. But he loves you like it’s the only thing he’s ever done right.

And maybe, in a way, it is.

Being Elvis’ wife means living in a world that turns upside down—where night is day, and love is whispered in the quiet hours.

It means seeing the man behind the myth: soft-hearted, haunted, trying his best. It’s devotion wrapped in silk sheets, gospel records at dawn, and a hand reaching for yours even in sleep.

It’s not always easy. But it’s real. Raw. Sacred.

And in the end, it’s this:

Loving him in the dark, and being the light he always comes home to.

[rockahulababyy]

y'all i just finished working on my last request i'm so bored CAN Y'ALL PLEASE REQUEST STUFF 🥰🥰