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neonlight2 · 2 years

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Trouble | austinbutler!elvis x reader

Warning: mature language/ mentions of misogyny because it’s the 40’s and men can be pigs/ mentions of racism/ homophobic comments

A/n: I know it sounds super irritating, but I swear the main character pops off. This is also my first time writing on tumblr. So please be kind. I’m thinking about writing more parts connected to this storyline so if you do like this… don’t worry there will be more. (Also if enough people see this and care enough to, I absolutely love requests so go ahead.) part 2

Summary: Elvis is so tired. Everyone is at his throat. The politicians want to lock him up, the Colonel has him performing in tail coats, and he can never seem to make his momma happy. He needs an escape, an he knows just the place: Club handy. Luckily for him, his good friend BB King knows just the person he should talk too. Loved, hated, and everything in between.

She was it.

Elvis couldn’t take it anymore. No matter how hard he tried— no matter how hard he worked— it was never enough to please everyone. The Colonel wanted him to be the perfect ‘all American boy’. One that did what he was told without care and idolized the government like the Bible. Someone that thought it was queer to put gel in your hair and too girly to put makeup on your face. Not to mention he had to stop dancing— feeling the music he sang. How was he supposed to carry on when this was going against everything he believes?

Oh and don’t forget his poor momma. God she tore his heart to shreds drinking so much, and her yapping about his performance with the literal hound dog made his ears ache— and not in the way he loved. He had already felt bad as it was, even with his daddy trying to console him by saying ‘the bit with the dog was good, funny’; as if that would make him feel better. It only made his humiliation fester more. He had to get out and fast. Just for a while. Just for a little.

So he rushed out to his car, taking off without care for what his rowdy cousins had to say as they chased after him. He ignored the shouting voices as he drove off, opting to shun them out by blaring the radio. However, that blasted thing seemed to hate him too. Driving passed adoring fans, trying to skid through without running one over, Elvis almost broke the damn thing by pressing it so many times. Channel after channel he was met with himself.

“You ain’t nothing but a—,”

“Hound dog-,”

“Cryin’ all the-,”

“Cryin’ all-,”

“The singer Cherry’s outlandish behavior makes the public—,”

“Cryin’—,”

Until finally Elvis was given peace; club handy’s station tuned in like a miracle sent from god. He knew where he would go now. ‘BB would know what do’ he thought. Little did he know that there was someone else that knew exactly what he was going through.

BB had noticed him the minute he drove up in his pretty ‘little’ Cadillac. If that’s not what had attracted his eyes to the only white boy walking down Beatle Street, it would have probably been the huge crowd forming around him. Mounds of people, men and women all alike, they all wanted to be close to him; to be acknowledged in some way. A simple head nod would do, a hand shake appreciated, and an autograph celebrated. The sight was almost comical to the older musician, but he had the mercy that most didn’t.

“Elvis!” BB yelled, gesturing for the distressed looking boy to come over to the overzealous club.

This put Elvis more at ease in an instant. Waving back at his dear friend, adrenaline pumped through his whole body as he tried his best to weave through the large crowd, which grew by the second. Elvis tried his best to greet anyone he possible could as he perused the entrance of finely lit club. But in all honesty, he only had one thing on his mind— and his mission was to get rid of it.

When he had finally made his way to the barricaded door, BB practically yanked him in whilst shooing the mounds of people snatching at Elvis’ clothes. Security shut the door in a hurry, not a care for those whose fingers could get caught. Such a horrific sight was a rarity; this is why most artists prefer to use the back entrance with the rest of the staff. Sadly, that hadn’t crossed Elvis’ mind. It was already too clouded to see a damned thing clearly.

As they walked through the hallway leading to blaring music, BB guiding Elvis by the arm like one would a child, while he ranted and raved over his troubled mind and aching heart. His eyes crinkling in in agony and voice cracking in desperation. BB pitied the boy’s despair and pulled him aside before opening the buzzing door.

“Look man, you’re feeling down, you’ve come to the right place. You wanna feel up? You’ve come to the right place. So just enjoy yourself and forget your worries.” BB said, nudging the door open to reveal what Elvis thought to be magnificent.

People dancing, blues and jazz blasting, and everyone smiling. There was no displeasure to be found within these walls. Laughter echoed off the walls from people sitting together in larger groups. Booths and bars overflowing with howling conversation. All while the open floor was left to shaking legs and quick hands. Bodies on top of bodies, sweat beading at their foreheads from the vigorous movements. Thriving with the energetic song booming from the stage. A tall, black man stood loosely with lined eyes and suit. His voice was almost as shell shocking as his performance. The way he oozed charisma was beguiling; a proper showman he was. Elvis felt chills run up his spine and a smile open his mouth wide.

Whistling in admiration, Elvis follows BB as they make their way to their own booth. “He sings the hell out of that song!”

BB smiles at the boy’s enthusiasm, nodding in complete agreement. “A friend of mine introduced him to Sister Rosette a little bit ago. Brought him from the backwaters of Georgia, and she’s been helping him out ever since. Names little Richie.”

Elvis shakes his head enthusiastically as he watches little Richie buckle his knees and twist his heels. His gaze only moving back to his friend after hearing a tap on the table.

“That’s who you should talk to.” BB states with a small smile rising from the idea as he takes a sip of his drink.

Scrunching his brows Elvis asks, “Sister Rosetta?”

Almost choking on the burning liquid running down his throat, BB shakes his head vigorously before laughing audibly. “As much as I’m sure she wouldn’t mind it, no. I meant my friend. Been in the game for a while, gone through what you have, and honestly just the best advice giver there is. You two have a lot in common actually.” He says, watching Elvis’ more intently now as he takes in the similarities.

Elvis nods with a puckered lower lip; nothing to lose really, he thought. “Where could I meet him?”

Another snicker involuntarily leaves BB lips, truly amused by the boy’s assumption. “Her name is Cherry, and she comes around every now and then. Says she likes to keep us on our toes.”

Taken back slightly, Elvis quirks his head momentarily. Why did that name sound so familiar?

“You’ve probably heard of her.” King remarks, playing with the rim of his cup. He had dipped his head back slightly closing his eyes not to soon after; he was imagining her to perfection. “She’s on the news quite a bit, a scandal that woman is, but because of all this ruckus you’ve caused some of the heat has been off her back. Hell, the only time I’ve been in the line of sight for any politician to acknowledge me was because of her.”

Eyebrows still scrunched Elvis asks, “ ‘ell what would they have a problem with her for?”

Sighing deeply through his nose, BB smile grows enough to display his luminous teeth. “They think she’s trouble. Just like anything else that they don’t like.” Tutting under his breath he shakes his head at the thought. “You’d love her man. Her sound, her moves— if you like what little Richie can do— ha she’d knock your socks off!”

A warm chuckle leaves Elvis at his usually mellowed friends enthusiasm. “Better than me?”

King slaps a hand onto his shoulder, rocking him back and forth with a proud laugh. “Oh she’d give your little hip wiggle a run for its money alright. Man, I wish she was here, this would have been—,”

Cut off with a dozens of screams, both BB and Elvis look over at the building commotion. Their eyes almost popping out of their skulls the moment they see what’s got the crowd so riled up.

It hadn’t been enough for Little Richie to be up there alone, making the crowd go wild with his fluid moves and eccentric voice. No, a great surprise had sent everyone into a frenzy, even the man who had been sporadically wiggling on the stage not two second before.

A woman with a messy bob and an effervescent wardrobe steps on stage; confidence oozing from her like fine honey dripping off the comb. Her olive skin looked gilded in this light, contrasting beautifully with the sheer, corset-like bodice she wore. Fitted tightly to her figure to make her waist indescribable, while holding cup fulls of her breasts as she shimmied and swayed along to the music. Toward the bottom it fanned out into a flowey silk skirt— or rather loose fit pants.

Her red and green painted nails shined vibrantly as she reached out for Little Richies suit tie, reeling him in close to her. Their bodies entangled together, fully letting the music rush through them. A cheeky grin stretched across her red lined lips as she dipped into the boys neck— practically sending the audience into a cardiac arrest as their hearts leaped in their chests. Such excitement, such chaos; all of it made by a simple lipstick mark on the collar of a shirt. And the show didn’t stop there.

No, both laughed joyously at the excitement they had received. Hungry for more, Little Richie rips his tie off and tosses it to the side before taking hold of the woman’s wrists. Spinning her around to face the audience, he dips her to the side. As they both lean closer to the floor, more and more hollers follow after. People start dancing with more energy than before. Twisting, shaking, gyrating, you name it.

The performance only escalated with time. Little Richie’s jacket was shed, flying into the air without care, and not too long his shirt followed. A show like this would give the people Elvis worked with a heart attack. Both little Richie and the woman would have been locked up quicker than a robber caught red handed for their ‘provocative’ display. Shamed for the way her hands trailed down the man’s chiseled torso, she would have been called indecent, among many other things.

But Elvis found it absolutely invigorating. The only time he felt any discomfort at all was when the instruments had stopped, and the two performers movements halted.

Though he found solace in the open laughs they shared. It had seemed that Little Richies stage charisma melted in front of the woman, now instead of heated passion his face expressed deep warmth. Pulling her into a rocking hug, the woman smiles at the display of affection. Her eyes wonder every now and then as she whispers something into his ear, until they finally stop at Elvis’ table. Making him hold his breath for the short duration their gazes connected. BB on the other hand waved at her without hesitation.

“I told you, you’d love her.” He whispered smugly, amused by the dumbfounded expression on Elvis’ face.

“I’ve never seen anything like that.” Elvis mutters, still in complete awe.

Patting him on the shoulder again, BB gives a teasing smile. “We’ll pick your jaw off the floor cause she’s coming over here, and she will pick at you for it.”

And he was right.

There she was, sauntering over while kissing any voluntary person’s cheek she passed that applauded her performance. As she got closer Elvis noticed that she was a bit shorter than he imagined. From the stage she looked like a giant, but now, as she grew near, it was as if she had shrunk a whole foot. Not that it mattered, she was just as incredible. Maybe even more so.

When she had made it to their table, BB got up from his seat quickly. Her arms had stretched out high, and she yelled out a playful greeting.

“BB! It’s good to be in the presence of royalty again!”

BB dips slightly to accommodate her height, enveloping her waists with his bigger arms. The color palette of their clothes clashing eloquently. After a few seconds pass, their hold on each other loosens and her arm falls to the man’s lower back. She leans against his taller frame once parted and shifts her intense gaze to Elvis. A spark of intrigue lighting up her chocolate eyes, which happened to be lined in black just like his.

“Elvis this is a good friend of mine—,”

The woman gasps dramatically, mouth agape and brows playful. “Friends? I see how it is. I leave for a few weeks and you go on and move on to the next girl.” She shakes her head with fake disappointment and steps towards the table, a hand held out for Elvis to take.

“Well I sure hope you’re more of a gentleman than he is Mr.Presley.” She says, with a sly grin.

Elvis couldn’t help but smile too; her smile was infectious. Taking her hand in his, he kisses her knuckles lightly. “Nothing but.”

She hums melodically at his answer before poking his nose with her red finger nail. “Yeah he’s nothing but trouble alright.”

“You’re one to talk Cherry.” BB remarks, while pulling out a chair for her.

“I never said there was anything wrong with it.” Cherry retorts back in an innocent tone as she sat. “Besides it’s not like I actually go looking for trouble.”

The claim made BB’s eyebrow arch with suspicion. A look of disbelief crossing over his face. “Sure.”

Scrunching her nose, Cherry glances over at Elvis and stops her hand from flying up to give her friend the bird. Opting it better to stick out her tongue like a child, Cherry huffs through a pout. “It’s not my fault our government is filled with a bunch of prudes.”

The statement made Elvis shift in his seat, sitting a little taller with peaked interest. “Yeah, I’ve heard they’ve been giving you a little bit of trouble to. What have they been saying about you?”

“As much as they say about you I’m guessin’.” She answered, chewing on what Elvis thought to be gum. “And I gotta say, I never thought I’d be outshined in scandal by a famous white boy.”

There was a fresh sliver of silence after her remark; the gaze between the two new acquaintances not helping its intensity.

Coughing to hide a laugh, BB slowly starts to walk backwards away from the table. “I’m going to go see Sister Rosetta for a sec, interrogate her over why she didn’t tell me you were coming and what not. Give you two a chance to… talk.”

That man had never moved faster in his life.

“At least being me back a cherry cocktail!” She screamed back, rolling her eyes after seeing him throw a thumbs up as a response.

“Is that where the nickname comes from?” Elvis asks curiously, totally enraptured by her presence. The way she sat: leaned back with her legs widespread and her hands gliding down the smooth fabric. It was all so enticing to him. He’s never seen a woman act the way she did.

“What nickname?” Cherry asks with a deadpanned expression, snapping him out of the daze he’d been in. Sudden embarrassment flooded the boys body, face heating up and ears going bright red. The sight made Cherry hysterical, and an infinite amount of apologies fly from her mouth. “I’m just messing with you Elvis.”

God his name sounded so nice when she said it. There was something different in her voice that he couldn’t really place, but dear god was it gorgeous.

“Yes, it is. BB started calling me that when he bought a barrel of them, and I ate almost every single one.” She chuckles at the memory. “And I liked the way it sounded, though it was ‘stage worthy’— but I’ll say, the press’s theories are much more entertaining.”

“Mm?” Elvis hums, bringing his own drink to his prodded lips.

Grinning mischievously, she watches him with amusement. “My favorite has to be the one where I ‘popped my Cherry far into my youth’ and that’s how I got the nickname.”

An abrupt spur of coughs escape passed Elvis’ lips from shock. Quick to cover his mouth, as to not spray any of his drink onto her, Elvis’ tries to compose himself.

“I’m surprised you haven’t seen any of them.” Cherry says, bemused overall by his reaction. Almost everyone everywhere knew of her ‘scandalous’ behavior. It had been slapped on every newspaper and tv screen possible. She was supposed to be set as an example of what women weren’t supposed to be.

So how has this boy— this white boy, surrounded by the voices of the American politicians who despise her the most, able to escape from it all?

“But maybe that’s thanks to you.” She realizes, tilting her head to ogle the boy’s infamous figure. “‘Elvis the pelvis.’”

Wincing at the horrid nickname, Elvis shakes his head and hand. “Well I’m glad something good has come from that blasted name.”

Taking pity on the poor boy, Cherry sits up and rests her head on her hands, deciding not to prod further. Although, her closer proximity gave him chills.

He thought he had seen everything when she came up to the table— assumed that being that close was enough to take in all of her. Her beauty, her charisma, her attitude. He was wrong.

Elvis could swear on his grave that he could count every single, individual freckle lining across the woman’s nose and cheeks. Sometimes when she blinked her long eyelashes would even kiss the small dots, seemingly leaving behind a blush mark. Oh and her eyes, god he’d never seen any like hers. Rich and radiant with speckles of gold surrounding her blown out pupils. But what practically screamed for Elvis’ attention was the red staining her lips. At first, on stage, they had looked glossy and a deep scarlet. However, now they looked ravenous. Plump, raw, and wet. Actually, now that he got a closer look— it was as if she hadn’t been wearing any lipstick at all. And that’s when he noticed it.

The cherry seed resting between her teeth.

“Elvis?”

Blinking away the day dream fog beginning to cloud his eyes, Elvis looks back at the woman sheepishly.

“M’sorry, what’d you say?”

Laughing at his childlike gaze, intrigued slightly by the behavior, Cherry repeats herself. “I asked if it was true you and BB met buying suits. King always goes on about it, so I was wondering if the story I’ve heard over and over again is true.”

This made Elvis chuckle; the image of his friend talking continuously about him seeming hilarious. “Uh yeah, we uh met in Lansky’s shop.”

“Oh my god, is Bernie still running it?!” Cherry quickly asks, eyes widened in excitement.

Smiling profusely at her exuberance, Elvis nods. “Sure is.”

Absolutely elated at the news, Cherry bites her lower lips to lessen her smile; it was so wide it became painful. “God it’s been forever— I have to go by and see him later. But his whole inventory while I’m at it.”

Eyebrows raising and mouth agape, Elvis’ shoulders loosen. “And leave us with nothin’?! What are BB and I to do without his suits?”

“Seems like you’ll have to be put on a waiting list Mr. Presley, because if I’m the one offering Bernie never rejects.”

“Oh lord, what are you planning to do to poor Mr. Lansky?” BB asks, appearing out of nowhere with two drinks in hand. One in a half hourglass shape, holding a liquid red as the cherries dangling off its rim. While the other is filled halfway with brown liquid that only some have a taste for.

“Oh just that I might buy out his store again.” She says, patting BB’s arm after kissing her fingers as a thank you.

Scoffing BB says, “You’re menace to my wardrobe woman.”

“It’s not my fault I’m his favorite.” Cherry shrugs innocently, sipping on the fruity drink— earning a delighted hum from her shortly after.

Elvis couldn’t help but fawn over the sight, but soon regretted it after being caught. Cherry’s eyes had met his eyes almost instantly. Luckily, she was in a rather good mood, and simply grinned discreetly to herself instead of teasing his for it.

“Isn’t that what got you into the papers in the first place?” BB asks, scratching his eyebrows as if to rekindle his memory— indirectly grabbing Elvis’ attention.

Shaking her head vigorously, trying to swallow down the gulp she had just taken as quick as possible. “No, no, no.” She replies, waving her finger dramatically. “They first wrote about me coming to America from Europe. You know they always go straight to race and nationality! The ‘suit incident’,” she continues, using her fingers to accentuate the quotations of the so called paper, “was the second piece written about me. That is what sent me into the openly hated category.”

“Over a couple suits?” Elvis questioned, beguiled by the situation.

The rekindled duo stared at the shocked boy with knowing eyes.

“Well what do you expect EP?”

“I mean, have you ever seen a woman openly wearing a suit before? Let alone pants?”

The thought skyrocketed in Elvis’s mind, whirling around a hundred miles an hour. “Well I— no not really, but I just thought it’s c-c-cause they like dresses. I mean they look aw-awfully comfortable and pretty.” He sputters.

They had broke the poor boys mind.

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