#austin!elvis x oc

[angelinajoulie]

lord have mercy

[mamasturn]

dirty dancing pt. 9

pairing austin!elvis x black!fem!oc (cynthia). warning: 18+ steam, suggestive themes. content: cynthia and elvis get married. tags: @neeville @dulcewrites @crash-and-cure @cvpidspearl @blackwriter48 @wonderprince @venus2eros @adoreyouusugar @sunshinetoday1 @cosmic-parker @kaitaesupremacy @librarydame @louderfortheback @thetaoofzoe

note: well…long time, no see

“Marry me, baby.”

Cynthia’s hands released the utensils they held. A loud clatter ricocheted off the decorated walls of the dining room. The curls upon her head curtained her eyes, but they were blown wide in shock. Slowly, she tuned to the left. Her eyes found his baby blues, which were filled with hope as he descended onto one knee.

In his hand was a black velvet box. He pulled the cap back to reveal the most piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. And, it was authentically her. She’d expressed to him that as she’d gotten older, she found an indescribable beauty in the color green. Cynthia was well-aware that he was attentive; she just never knew he was so attentive that he’d propose to her with an emerald ring.

It was beautiful, goodness, was it beautiful. The emerald diamond was at least three karats, and it was the star of the show. Its setting was gold with vines entagling the band. He pulled it out of the box and brought it closer to her.

“I don’t want to spend my life with anyone else but you, Cyn. You came in my life and changed my desires. I’d be a fool to let you slip through my fingertips. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine, as long as you’ll have me.”

A tearful laugh fell from Cythia’s lips. “Where will we go?” The four words held so much weight, and he knew why. No one in the south would approve of the union of a white man and a Black woman--it was unheard of. But, Elvis knew that already, and he was determined to get what he wanted. There was one state that would grant their wishes--California. California had legalized interracial marriage in 1948, and if she said yes, he already had the first flight there arranged. He just needed a yes.

He stood to his feet and placed the box on the table. Cynthia looked up at him, her brown eyes teary and filled with a million unreadable emotions. “California. They’ll accept us out there. They don’t believe in the silliness them people in the south believe. We can get married, baby. All you gotta do is say yes, and we’ll go. It’ll be me an’ you forever. Baby…”

Cynthia stared at the ring and it stared back at her. What would she tell her parents? They were already suspicious of her relationship with Elvis and feared for her safety daily. Their Black daughter was in a committed relationship with the most famous singer in the world. That was dangerous enough. How much further was she willing to go?

She wanted to be his wife, she truly did. But she was scared. What would happen when people found out? Would they try to hurt them? A part of her challenged her concerns because her relationship was nobody else’s concern, and who was society to tell them who to love? Yes, they were of different races, but it was no reason to repel a love that was so strong and profound. They weren’t hurting anyone.

Her lips twisted as she nodded. “Let’s get married.”

“You look beautiful, darlin’.” Cynthia’s eyes dropped toward her dress. It was a simple, white slip dress that’d been hiding in her closet. It was form fitting and stopped just below her knees. Accompanied by silver pointed heels, she was the most stunning bride. She rushed her makeup in the courtroom bathroom and took the rollers out of her hair, which produced the most voluminous curls. The new layered haircut fit her wonderfully.

“Thank you. You look handsome as always.” He wore a simple black suit, nothing too crazy. He was flamboyant any other day, but chose to have the more simplistically beautiful wedding of his dreams.

“We are gathered here today…”

Their eyes met and giddy smiles spread across their faces. A dream had become a reality. All the worries and fears were washed away when she heard, “you may now kiss the bride.” Cynthia welcomed the passionate kiss and scattered applause from the judge an the officiant. It wasn’t the most ideal wedding, but it was perfect for them, and that’s what mattered. “Mr. and Mrs. Presley, congratulations.”

“Mrs. Presley…I love the sound of that.” They’d found a hotel to stay in for the evening before flying back to Graceland the following morning. The hotel service was luxurious, as they wanted the best for Elvis Presley and his wife. They stayed in the presidential suite on the top floor, which was decked out to the nine.

Large windows that oversaw the city, flowers and plants that reminded her of Graceland, chandeliers above them, and a King sized bed with an angel-white comforter, which she laid on comfortably.

Cynthia turned her head to meet his eyes and smiled gently. She loved it too. Cynthia Irene Presley. Music to her ears. Elvis stood at the end of the bed admiring her beauty. She was freshly showered and dressed in her white nightgown with lace trimming. Her makeup had been removed and her hair was tied with a satin scarf. God, she looked so beautiful to him.

Her brown eyes were blown wide with love and adoration as they followed his movements toward her. She sat up on her elbows and spread her legs just slightly to make room for his body.

Elvis crawled over her, his breath fanning her lips gently. Cynthia shuddered. His pink lips captured hers and she welcomed the feeling.

She loved intimate moments with Elvis, and she could only imagine how much better their interactions would get since they were married. It would mean they’d finally go all the way.

Cynthia and Elvis had dabbled in other forms of sexual intimacy, but had never crossed the line of penetration, as Cynthia requested. She was grateful for her husband’s patience with her, and was more than ready to give herself to him fully.

“Elvis,” she moaned softly as his lips traveled down her body. What a sight to see, it was. Him working his way down her quivering body with darkening eyes and swollen lips. Her, jerking at every touch he gave her and calling him name so gently.

“Yeah, baby…” His large hands cupped her hips as his thumbs traced the waistband of her panties. Slowly, he slid them down her legs. Cynthia kicked them to the side.

“Come here.” She pulled him upwards and kissed him again. Her lips moved toward his ear, which she nibbled on softly. Elvis moaned softly. “Make love to me, Mr. Presley.”

He burned with desire. Elvis hummed softly and instructed her to lay back. His hand slid up her abdomen, leaving goosebumps in the wake. He reached behind her back, looking to unclip her bra. She lifted up to help remove the article of clothing.

Soft pants and breaths of anticipation passed through her lips as Elvis’ warm lips traveled down the valley or her chest, around her clothed hips, and between her thighs, where he teasingly and strategically kissed around the place she wanted him the most.

He lifted his eyes, finding Cynthia with closed eyes and a heaving chest. Her lip was caught between her teeth. She looked down at him when she felt him stop.

She tensed suddenly. Elvis rubbed her thighs gently as a way of reassurance. He wouldn’t push her, though. If she needed time to prepare, he’d give her all the time in the world.

“Relax, baby, relax…”

Cynthia nodded slowly. She didn’t want it to be weird, but she was indeed nervous. But, it was Elvis, she reminded herself. She had no reason to be. All of her worries went away when she felt his lips on her. A gasp fell from her lips, “Elvis…”

“You okay?”

Cynthia nodded tiredly against his chest. “I’m okay.” She’d fantasized what her first time would be like, and Elvis exceeded her expectations. She felt so loved, adored, and honored. He paid close attention to her body and made sure her pleasure was the priority, and for that, she couldn’t have been more thankful.

“Mrs. Presley…” Elvis said for what seemed to be the millionth time. It didn’t bother her, though; she enjoyed hearing it. “I love you, darlin’.”

“I love you more, Mr. Presley.”

[starlightandfairies]

Insecure nights ~Austin Butler~

Description: The reader isn't really too great, her self-esteem is very low and Austin reassures her that she is gorgeous and that she needs to look after herself.

Warnings: Swearing, she/her pronouns, fluff, angst, low self-esteem, body issues, social media bullying, rude fans

Key: POV = Point of view

Word Count: 1,184

*Please know that you all are gorgeous no matter what you look like, I've been feeling insecure lately so I've just written this and I hope you know that you're insecurities do not define you. Have a lovely day.*

Being Austin's girlfriend was great, he was the best guy that you could ever hope for and he was everything that you needed in the relationship. Like all people, you were insecure, though, you had your moments where you felt so confident and loved yourself for your body that you were happy to be existing just as you were. It all came crashing down though, one day you're minding your own business and you're scrolling through social media and you come across a photo that some random took of you and Austin out in public where Austin's mid-spin with you in his arms as he hugs you. 

The caption was supportive of you and your relationship, reading: 

Look how cute they both are! You can really tell Austin loves her 

It always made you smile knowing that there were fans that were supportive of your relationship and tried to defend you both when mean comments popped up but this time, it got under your skin. 

She seriously needs to lose weight

I love her, she's so pretty and so sweet 

Look at his arms, you can tell he's struggling to hold her up 

Does Austin hate seeing her acne? Because I do 

She's gorgeous, she shouldn't be dealing with you assholes.

I saw a beach photo the other day and her stretch marks were fucking hideous -#Ihatestretchmarks. 

You fell into a cycle, you were trapped and you couldn't get out of it, couldn't stop reading all these awful things. You felt sick as all your insecurities were being judged and picked on. You snapped out of your thoughts as a door slammed closed, you dropped your phone on the bed and quickly placed a smile on your lips before you walked over to investigate what happened. 

"Sorry, darling, I didn't mean to scare you. The wind picked up and got the door." Austin walked over to you, a charming smile on his lips as he embraced you in his warm arms. Austin rested a kiss on your forehead, then caught your lips in his, you smiled against his lips and stared at him with a gentle look in your eyes. 

"Doesn't bother me any, just glad it's you." He smiled at you, staring at you with an amused glint in his eyes and rested another kiss on your lips before taking a breath. 

"I'm gonna have a shower, we can watch some movies afterwards, okay?" You simply nodded, smiling lightly as he rested one final kiss on your forehead and walked to your shared bedroom. You walked to the living room and started picking out some movies to choose from, giving Austin the chance to what he wanted to watch instead of just giving him a sappy rom-com. 

Austin walked over to you, he wrapped his arms around you, pulled your back against his chest and leaned down to rest a kiss on your cheek. 

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" 

"I'm feeling fine, how about you?" Austin turned you around, he rested a kiss on your lips and crouched down to stare at you. He led you over to the couch, gave you reassuring smile and held your hands in his. 

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" 

"Nothing is going on." You lied. 

"I love you and I know you. I know when something is on your mind and I've seen that look before. I don't want this to become something that hurts you, you're my girl and I love you. I don't want to see you hurting." 

"It's getting into my head again, I hate feeling like this, I hate not thinking I'm pretty and I hate that those assholes can get to me when they don't know me and I don't know them." Austin rested a hand on top of his, you stared at him and sniffled as he wiped away a tear that fell from your eye. 

"Darling, you're absolutely gorgeous, they don't know what they're fucking talking about." 

"Sometimes... sometimes I feel that I'm not pretty enough for you or good enough." Austin grabbed your hands, staring you deep in the eye. 

"You're fucking stunning, darling, don't think that you're not. You're more than good enough for me and you're always the prettiest girl in the room. My eyes are always on you and you're always got this lovely glow about you. You're gorgeous, you're beautiful. These insecurities of yours, I'm sorry they get you down and I'm sorry that these awful people think that they have the right to hurt you with them." Austin took a breath, bringing you closer to him and cradled you close to his chest. 

"You don't think I'm too big, or my acne is ugly or my stretch marks make you embarrassed to be seen with me when we're at the beach or the pool?" Austin shook his head, bringing your eyes to meet his and smiled at you. 

"I think you're perfect, I think you're gorgeous and you're not 'too' big, you're perfect just the way and I love you. This acne, it's normal, you're human. Humans have these things, I love them because it shows how real you are and I think it's actually really cute. These stretchmarks, I love tracing over these when we're cuddling, you always smile and sometimes it turns into a tickle fight and I love having these with you. Darling, you're gorgeous and I love you with my entire heart. I'm sorry that people aren't treating you right and I hope you know that whenever you feel like this you can talk to me." 

A smile formed on your lips, Austin smiled with you and rested a kiss on your forehead. Austin flopped on the couch, you still in his arms and rested your head on his chest. 

"You're not uncomfortable?" 

"Not at all, I promise you, sweetheart." The shorts you were wearing were pyjama shorts, Austin slowly started tracing patterns on your skin, near your hip and trailing down a little lower to get the ends of the stretchmarks. 

"You're gorgeous, I love you, I love you so much." He whispered watching as you just put something on and snuggled in closer to be held tighter by him. Austin hated seeing you feel so down, hated that these people who knew nothing about you treated you with insults and made you feel like shit and you were the greatest thing that had come into his life and he didn't want you to feel like you weren't pretty enough or good enough. 

"I love you, thank you." You whispered. 

"What are you thanking me for, darling?" 

"You just no what to say to make me feel better." 

"I mean them all." 

"I know you do. I love you so much." 

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! (Coming Soon)

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Hospitals, illness, allusions to abuse. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: It’s good to be back, my lil’ darlin’s! I’ve missed y’all! Broken Glass has a decidedly different feel than Pink Scarf, and I really hope that you enjoy it. This will be more of a slow burn and not quite as smut heavy as PS, but we’ll get there eventually! The original character of Dolores can also be read as Reader, but her back story needed to be pretty specific so I decided to go the OC route. I’m excited to dive into some of my favorite tropes with this one, and hopefully I can do them justice.

Delicious 1960 Post-Army E has me in almost as much of a chokehold as ’69 E, so it was only right that I give him the attention he deserves! 

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Bellevue Hospital

New York City, New York

March 1960

“Nurse Cannava!”

The shrill call of Charge Nurse Irma Hunt grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but you don’t dare show it on your face. Instead, you take a deep breath through your nose and hurry over to the severe woman.

“Yes, Nurse Hunt?” you say as evenly as possible. You’ve only been an official Registered Nurse for a few months and cannot afford to make a wrong step with this drill sergeant of a woman. You’d rather be extra deferential and placating than looking for a new job, no matter how much you want to run in the opposite direction any time she calls your name.

She looks at you critically, peering down over her glasses with her sharp stare. “Nurse Calhoun was pulled away to surgery before she was able to finish her other duties. I need you to change the sheets for our VIP patient while he’s upstairs for x-rays. I need you to be quick. In and out, no funny business, you understand me?”

“Of course, Nurse Hunt,” you nod frantically. It’s the middle of the night, so it is strange for the patient to be doing tests at this hour. Though if they are trying to keep his identity under wraps, it makes sense that they would choose an hour where less people were involved.

“And absolutely no telling anyone about our patient. We must uphold the strictest confidentiality, now more than ever,” she adds with a glare.

The threat is clear:

Don’t mess this up.

“I understand.” Curiosity of who it could be itches at the edge of your mind, wondering about this VIP that has the woman in more of a harsh mood than usual.

Maybe it’s Ricky Nelson or Mario Lanza or Marlon Brando, your mind titters, but it’s probably just some stuffy politician. You figure it’s better to have low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to have high ones and be disappointed.

Ever the realist.

Regardless of who might be, you don’t have time for silly schoolgirl fantasies. There is a job to do, and you best be getting to it before getting into trouble.

You scurry away to gather fresh linens, then make your way back to one of the few private rooms on the floor. Most patients are relegated to the open wards here in Manhattan’s biggest hospital, but there are special cases, such as this, it seems, where a more private setting is needed.

There’s a large man at the door, keeping watch, and he looks you up and down with narrowed eyes longer than you’d like, sending a chill into your gut. But this is nothing new. You hold your ground, straightening your spine and lifting your chin.

“Nurse Hunt asked me to change the sheets,” you say, clipped. He smiles, as if in on a joke you’re not privy to, then opens the door.

At 20, you are the youngest nurse on the ward. People, especially men, tend to underestimate you, but you have something to prove and no time for nonsense. Graduating high school early, you were thrilled to be accepted to Bellevue School of Nursing, one of the best programs in the country. The four-year experience had been grueling, but since you had to live in the dormitory, it got you out of the house and away from your damned father and his cronies.

In the process, you discovered that helping people truly is your calling. So, while young, you are good at your job and take it seriously.

This is why you hurry in and start stripping the bed as quickly as possible. As curious as you are as to who this mysterious man might be, getting the job done is much more important than snooping around the room.

You tug and pull the sheets as taut as possible, perfect hospital corners making the bed crisp and neat. Your attention to detail and cleanliness are a sense of pride, so spending a little more time than necessary making sure the bed is perfect is worth it. The intention isn’t to linger, but if this VIP is as important as everyone is making him out to be, you want to make sure everything is done right.

Finally, after inspection, you gather up the dirty sheets and make your way around the bed, just as the door opens to the room.

Damn. You weren’t fast enough.

Your gaze cannot help but drop to the man in the wheelchair. A bandage is stuck at the edge of his thick chestnut locks. Although he is obviously ill, his sapphire eyes rimmed with dark circles and his pallor pale, there is absolutely no mistaking who the VIP is.

America’s biggest rebel-turned-G.I., the one and only Elvis Presley.

You are not a fan, but your heart unwillingly kerthunks against your ribcage anyway because he’s still one of the most famous men on the planet, and you are shocked at how pictures barely do the man justice.

Dear lord, even sick, he is wildly gorgeous in person, you catch yourself thinking. His essence seems to fill the room, pushing all the oxygen out, because suddenly you can’t catch your breath. Suddenly, you understand why millions of ladies fall faint at his feet.

Surprised to see someone in his room, his eyes rake up your body from your toes to your little white nurse’s cap. You hold back a shiver as those famous bedroom eyes finally land on yours.

“Well, hello there, little bird.”

Little bird? You know you shouldn’t let it bother you, but the pet name rankles you in its familiarity. You’ve been called all manner of things by all manner of men, both in and out of this hospital, but this is a new one, and though certainly not the worst, it bothers you all the same. Perhaps it’s because he acts as though he is owed this familiarity and expects you to be grateful for it.

His lilting Southern drawl is creaky and hoarse from illness, making him a little less mystical, which allows you to quickly recover your wits. Trying not to show annoyance on your face, you straighten your posture while moving aside to let the orderly push Elvis into the room and help him onto the bed.

“Goodnight, sir,” you say politely, as pissing off this VIP will do you no favors, but your eyes harden at the way his gaze openly lingers on you. You attempt to skirt around him as quickly as possible, but the room, though private, is not large, and the wheelchair and the two men take up much of the space.

“Hey, little bird, wait!” he calls out before you even reach the door.

Stopping in your tracks, your infernal heart continues to pound in your ears. All you want is to get out of this suffocating room, but you inhale and turn around instead. The orderly gives a wink before sliding out of the room behind you. You resist the urge to huff.

“It’s Nurse Cannava, sir,” you say firmly, trying to take the edge out of your voice, albeit unsuccessfully. “Is there something I can help you with?”

That sly, signature grin spreads almost bashfully across his face and if you weren’t so perturbed by the suggestiveness of it, you might keel over from its brilliance filling the small space.

“Call me Elvis, little birdy,” he drawls, blatantly ignoring using your given name, as requested. “Could ya be so kind as to get me some water? Please?” he asks kindly, which is far more than you expect.

“Yes, certainly, sir,” you reply, equally ignoring his request to call him Elvis. You turn on your heel and escape as quickly as possible before he can ask any more of you.

A breath shudders through you once you’re out in the hallway. You hadn’t realized you were holding it. You are as bothered by this reaction as by the fact that you must get this man water and go back in there without showing him that you are in any way affected by the fact that he’s Elvis Presley or that his behavior has you decidedly on edge.

He’s a patient, you remind myself silently, and this is part of my job. A job I desperately need to keep if I want to get out of that nightmare of a house...

This thought steadies you more than anything. You’ll do almost anything to be in a position to permanently leave home and to do so without having to marry that mook Gianni. And hell, you’ve dealt with much worse in terms of patient behavior. Getting Elvis water is objectively the easiest thing you’ve had to do all shift.

You can’t seem to help straightening your starched white apron before taking a deep breath and marching back into the room, pitcher of water and a glass in hand.

“Here you are, sir,” you say, trying not to sound terse, trying not to look directly at him. It’s almost like the feeling that you shouldn’t be looking at the sun, yet your eyes want to do it anyway. Even without looking at him, you can sense his heavy gaze lingering over you. You blush involuntarily, the blooming warmth a betrayal of your modesty. In response, you place the pitcher and water down on the table near him and turn to flee as quickly as possible without making it seem like that’s what you are doing.

“Hey, now, little bird,” Elvis says, catching the hem of your skirt, halting your exit. “Why ya tryin’ to fly away so fast?”

“Oh Madone,” you mumble under your breath, your Italian heritage making an appearance as you roll your eyes to the heavens before turning back around and pulling the fabric from his long fingers. Heat washes over you in an angry wave, turning your blush a deeper shade of red.

“I have other patients to tend to, sir.” It’s not a lie but sure feels like one with the strained way it falls off your tongue. Your lips press into a thin line of a smile, desperately trying not to glare at him but catching his eyes with your unamused ones all the same.

“Elvis,” he corrects me, maddingly, that smirk playing on his lips, a playfulness in his glassy, feverish eyes. “And I was just wonderin’ if ya could pour me a cup, since it’s all the way over d’ere?”

The water is on the table right next to the bed, and he certainly looks able to pour it himself, and you both know it, but he just smiles, playing this infuriating game, wasting your time.

Finally, you sigh and relent. It’ll be faster to just do it than to try an argue about it. He’s a patient, after all.

You still feel his eyes on you as you turn sideways and dutifully pour the water out. His presence, especially when focused on you alone, feels incredibly overwhelming, mixing a healthy dose of trepidation in with your irritation. You keep your face as neutral as possible and hand over the glass.

What you don’t expect is for him to touch you, his fingers circling over yours, blazing hot from the fever he looks to have. You loathe the way your heart flips in your chest when he looks up at you through impossibly long, feathering lashes, those gemstone eyes of his expressive beyond imagining and conveying more than just playfulness.

“Thank you, little bird,” he whispers. The sound swirls up your spine, breaking through your annoyance just enough to see the blithe, handsome boyishness of him. It promises an unfamiliar temptation, one you’ve seen only in movies and never willingly and truthfully experienced for yourself. Your mouth goes bone dry.

He is dangerous, you think, but not because you are afraid of him in a physical sense (and lord knows you’ve feared too many men already in your short lifetime). No, his is a danger of an entirely different sort. He makes you want to trust him, and in your experience, men are never, ever to be trusted.

“Nurse Cannava! What are you doing in here?” Nurse Hunt’s shrill admonishment startles you out of the hypnotizing stare of the teen idol, causing you to jump back as though he was on fire. You let go of the glass, slipping your hands out of his, but he does the same, and the glass spills water all over the newly changed sheets before tumbling to the floor where it shatters with a crash.

The tinkling of the glass explodes in your head, and a latent and all-too-familiar fear associated with the sound freezes you to the spot. Try as you might, you cannot stop the involuntary trembling that rushes through your limbs. Air attempts to fill your lungs, but the breaths are too short and shallow to do any good. The wave of panic threatens to undo you, right here, in front of both your superior and the most famous man in the world.

It's just broken glass. I’m safe. I’m at work. He can’t hurt me here. The mantra plays in your head over and over as you clasp your shaking hands in front of you, trying to pull yourself together before anyone notices anything amiss.

“I told you to be quick and quiet, not go around cavorting with our patient!” Hunt hisses harshly, glowering, but it snaps you out of the trance-like state that has overtaken you.

Now, instead of fearing things that cannot hurt you here, you are suddenly afraid for your job. Nurse Hunt is a terrifying and formidable leader and being on her bad side means a world of hurt going forward. Your heart feels like a hummingbird’s, fueled by anger, embarrassment, and lingering panic. You resist the urge to give Elvis a scathing look, knowing it will likely just result in more trouble. Instead, you quickly raise your eyes and catch a strangely curious yet concerned look from the man.

“I-I’m s-so sorry, Head Nurse,” you finally stammer out, realizing she is waiting for you to say something. “I’ll clean that up right away.” You start for the bed but are stopped by the crunching glass beneath your practical white nurse’s shoes.

“Ma’am?” Elvis croaks out suddenly, gently, capturing the older woman’s attention. “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t mean to be a bother, but it wasn’t the young lady’s fault at all. I asked her for the water. She was just doin’ her job, and I distracted her. It’s my fault.” His bedroom eyes widen with an almost childlike deference as he looks at her through those long lashes.

Elvis oozes an effusive charm that makes the formidable woman’s hardened veneer crack. It might not be obvious to one who doesn’t know her, but her gaze softens ever so slightly.

You almost want to roll your eyes and scoff, but the strange thing is that it doesn’t feel at all like a put-on. It first strikes you as some sort of malevolent manipulation, like he wants to impress you somehow by getting you out of the mess he got you into, but he seems nothing but honest. He looks truly sorry.

You stand stock still, hands still clasped in front of your apron, needing to know your fate before moving. Nurse Hunt finally sighs, having weighed her options of denying her VIP’s puppy dog eyes or making your life miserable.

“Alright, Mr. Presley. Nurse Cannava will help you move to that chair there so she can change your sheets again and clean up this mess,” she says through pursed lips. “And you let her be and do her job, you hear? You’re not the only patient on the ward, young man.”

“Of course, ma’am. I really am sorry about the mess,” he says softly, seriously, nodding.

“Quickly, Nurse!” Nurse Hunt barks. Picking your jaw off the ground, you hustle to the other side of the bed, still amazed he was able to soften the old goat in any way.

It’s not until your arm is around his waist while the other steadies him in a well-practiced and trained move that you realize that you are holding a barely clothed Elvis Presley. A brief but decidedly improper and embarrassing thought flirts in the back of your mind as you help him into the chair in the corner. His skin is hot with fever, easily felt where your skin touches his and it radiates through his thin hospital gown. It burns into you, through you, melding with the unnerving, angry fire that already consumes you. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare to look at him, not with Hunt watching, making sure you don’t drop the prize patient.

You suppose you are glad for the fact that your cheeks were already on fire from humiliation, so neither can see just how uncomfortable and ashamed you feel right now. The way emotions flash rapidly through you, you’re amazed you can concentrate at all, but you manage to deposit the singer in the chair, unscathed.

Nurse Hunt huffs a little, but seems satisfied, and takes her leave, on to the next crisis.

A relieved but shuddering breath releases from you and without looking at the man in the chair that has caused so much trouble tonight, you jump to removing the sheets you made so perfectly not minutes ago.

“Hey, little b—Nurse Cannava,” Elvis catches himself, “I-I-I meant what I said—I really am sorry I made things harder on ya.”

You refuse to look at him. Instead, you grit your teeth and yank the sheets off, furious. Storming out of the room, you quickly retrieve a new set of sheets and a broom and dustpan for the glass on the floor.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he mutters as you stomp back in the room, dutifully ignoring his presence. You busy yourself with the glass first, sweeping it into a pile, then bending over to sweep it into the dustpan. You realize too late that you’ve just effectively but unwittingly shown Elvis your rear end. You can practically hear the smirk on his face, which is confirmed once you flit your eyes over to him.

A new wave of heat flushes over your cheeks, but you pretend you don’t notice his leering. Nothing good has come tonight from you paying any sort of mind to what Elvis is doing. You go about your business as swiftly as possible, counting the seconds before you can remove yourself from his suffocating presence.

“You just gonna ignore me now, honey? Come on, I-I-I said I-I was sorry,” he stutters petulantly after another minute of silence.

Your response is to tug the sheets as tight as you can. You move around the other side, hating that your behind will be in his face while you finish the bed, but it can’t be helped. You grit your teeth and focus on smoothing the sheets instead of the hole Elvis is burning through your backside.

“Well, at least I got a nice view in the room…of the city, I mean,” he chuckles. The innuendo is crystal clear.

You whirl around and want to slap that stupid grin right off his pretty face. You’ve never felt so unprofessional or off the rails as you do with this man.

He’s a patient, he’s a patient, he’s a VIP patient, you remind yourself, trying to take calming breaths. But try as you might, you can’t seem to keep your damn mouth shut, that Italian temper flaring, boiling your blood.

“Eyes up!” you snap your fingers at him. “I have work to do and a job to keep, and talking with you only gets me in trouble, so leave me be!” Blood throbs in your ears as you attempt unsuccessfully to keep your fury at bay.

“Ooh, I heard New York cherries were feisty, but I hadn’t the occasion to see it for m’self,” he muses, thinking he’s just about the funniest thing since Lenny Bruce.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” you mutter under your breath, fuming, turning around to finish the bed. Once it’s done, you breathe a sigh of relief and make to leave.

“Hey, little bird, you want an autograph or somethin’?” Elvis asks, still vying for your attention for whatever reason.

God, the ego on this one. “I don’t want anything from you.” You can’t help but turn towards him, even though you know you should leave as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Not a fan, huh? Bet I can change your mind,” he says, his left eyebrow quirking up suggestively. The man is as gorgeous as he is infuriating.

“I prefer Ricky Nelson, so no thanks,” you shoot back at him.

He fully laughs at that, a big, hiccupping, musical sound that under any other circumstance might be attractive and endearing, but now it just seeks to make you angrier. Your seething seems to amuse him all the more, however, as he erupts into more peals of laughter.

“You’re somethin’ else, lil’ bird,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. But his face suddenly turns alarmed as he can’t seem to catch his breath, the laughter turning into gasps.

“Elvis, enough of that. Let’s get you into bed.” Your training immediately overrides whatever negative feelings you might have towards the man. “Try to take slow, deep breaths,” you say calmly, crossing the room quickly.

His face turns red and panic starts to bloom in his darkening, churning eyes as he wheezes. You help him up and out of the chair, and he shudders, leaning all his weight on you. His breathing is too labored and he’s burning up, and you’re not sure he’ll make it the short way to the bed.

Indeed, the two of you only make it a single step before his long legs give way, and it’s all you can do to brace his tall, lean body and keep him from hitting the tile floor hard. Instead, you slide down together, and you make sure to cradle his head as he collapses.

You don’t panic. In fact, you are the calmest you’ve been since meeting the superstar because this you know you can handle. This is what you were born to do.

“We need some help in here!” you shout out to the ward before turning your attention back to Elvis, now sprawled on his back on the floor. You quickly grab the oxygen mask from his bedside and turn the nozzle to get the air flowing.

“Elvis, you’re going to be okay. I need you to try and breathe deep for me, as deep as you can,” you say, fitting the mask over his mouth. He coughs, struggling to get the air in his lungs. He seems in and out of consciousness, those panicked eyes of his now a stormy, glassy gray as they try to focus on you.

“That’s it, just breathe now,” you coo at him, taking his vitals. His pulse is too fast and thready. You give him a small smile, trying to keep him calm.

An orderly, a doctor, and another nurse rush in. You quickly rattle off numbers and facts regarding his respiratory distress.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” the doctor orders, and the four of you lift him on a count of three.

Elvis flails his hand, gripping your arm. It’s certainly not the first time a patient has grabbed you out of fear, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt a jolt of electricity running through you from it. Looking in his eyes, the terror you see there gives you pause.

He’s just a man, you think. A very frightened young man.

And he wants comfort. Care. So, despite wanting to throttle him earlier, you hold his hand. He clings to you as the team tries to stabilize him. Your touch seems to settle him a little, despite the way his eyes flutter and he still gasps for breath.  

You all manage to get him breathing better, but he won’t let go of you. He starts to panic again every time you try to move away, throwing his vitals into a tailspin. As weak as he may be, that strong guitar-playing hand of his has you in a vise-like grip. The doctor looks at you judgmentally, and you make it clear that you have no idea why this is happening, that you’d rather not be relegated to hand-holding duty. But since his vitals are better holding your hand, the doctor nods his okay.

Give the VIP patient what he needs, is the clear message.

Elvis stabilizes. The room clears, and you stand at his bedside, waiting for him to fall asleep, to relax, to release you—anything that will allow you to leave and get back to work and forget the last half an hour ever happened. His eyes are closed, but every time you try to slip away, he just pulls you back. You try not to sigh audibly, to let your frustration show. You are usually much more compassionate and professional, rarely letting patients get under your skin. But Elvis…well, he seems to bring out an unwanted side of your normally mild and shy self.

He’s not consciously trying to be bothersome like he was earlier; he’s much too scared and out of it for that, you reason.

And at least this is better than cleaning bedpans, you chuckle, finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed and make yourself a little more comfortable. You take this somewhat surreal moment to really look at him.

He is truly beautiful. There is an almost angelic innocence about him with his pale skin and high cheekbones, the way his cheeks are somehow both full and soft, but his jaw chiseled at the same time. His lips are pillowy and full, though nearly colorless now due to the lack of oxygen. His hair gleams, a deep, golden chestnut—a far cry from the rebellious black locks he was known for at the height of his fame a few years ago. With his straight nose and fanning, long lashes, it seems as though he was carved in stone by the masters and brought to life somehow.

Your heart skips, quite involuntarily.

Of course, there are imperfections. He’s got a day’s worth of dark stubble growing and you can see places where his skin is mottled from what was probably youthful acne. The circles around his eyes are too dark and…

I am really reaching here, you think. No, you are quite at a loss because even his “imperfections” add to his beauty.

Okay, so objectively, he’s pretty—when he’s quiet and sleeping. It’s just when he opens his big mouth that he becomes less attractive. This reminder makes you feel better and less like a fawning teenager.

Finally, his hand relaxes, and you slip out of his grasp without him reaching for you. As if trying not to wake a sleeping baby, you very slowly and quietly raise yourself off the bed. But curiosity gets the better of you, halting your leave, and you quietly open his chart at the end of the bed.

Your eyes scan the pages quickly, widening, hardly containing your disbelief. They glance up at the unrealistically beautiful young man in the hospital bed. Though you barely know him, and what you do know of him has already driven you mad, you can’t help but feel a sense of sadness and dread.

It’s the thing all his bravado and beauty distracted you from.

Elvis Presley is a very, very ill man.

*

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[foreverdolly]

would it be a sin? | austin butler x fempresley!oc

part one

pairings: austin butler x fem!oc

word count: 3,422

summary: austin is over the moon about getting the lead role in the up and coming elvis biopic, but he's beginning to buckle under the immense pressure. there's a fine line that had to be drawn between himself and elvis presley, but it's beginning to blur as the days go by. when austin is introduced to lisa-marie's daughter, it's love at first sight. he's terrified of blending work with pleasure, but it's getting impossible to deny his heart.

warnings: mild cursing and fluff- the mouthwatering smut comes later.

notes:i wanted to start this first chapter off by saying that all of this is a work of fiction. i will be talking about things that are personal to both austin butler as well as the presley family, but i will be doing it with the utmost respect. this first chapter is tame, but there will be smut as well as the mention of the loss of family members through unfortunate circumstances in future chapters. the topics of drug use and death will not be romanticized or sensationalized in any way. if you have any requests for one shots for austin!elvis or austin butler x reader, please feel free to ask!

masterlist | requests are currently open for business !

Austin, most days, no longer felt like himself. It was hard to differentiate where Austin started and Elvis began. Over the months of nonstop research and dedication, the two of them melded together somehow. Who was who? He didn’t know anymore. Couldn’t really remember, either. 

Austin wasn’t just playing a part in a film anymore. It felt too real. Too dangerous. It was bound to all get worse before it got better. When Baz officially calls it all a wrap and shuts off the cameras for good, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He was already flailing, trying to get a grip on things. . .  on life. His long term relationship of nine years had ended towards the very beginning of the project. He had just cut and dyed his hair and had thrown himself into his art. Maybe it was his fault that things ended, but he didn’t regret it. Not even for an instant; no matter how horrible that may sound. Working on the movie had made it an easy transition from living everyday life with a long term partner to suddenly being single and alone. He had hidden himself away in his new flat in Australia. Due to Covid he rarely had any visitors. He had been able to sort out his own feelings back then. He took the time to really sort through his emotions and wrap his head around things.

 His ex had been a major part of his life. She had helped to mold and shape him into the man that he was today. Austin had learned what he liked and didn’t like in a relationship. He learned how to be patient and how to properly care for a woman. She would always be an essential part of who he was- but as a building block. She had been an essential stepping stone. That first relationship had acted as his training wheels- but Austin knew how to ride now- so it was natural for him to take them off. So he had. 

He mourned the relationship for a few short days, but the tears didn’t last for very long. He had ripped off the band-aid, and there was something oddly cathartic about it all. He felt better than he really had in years, and it was because things felt right. He had been resolute in his decision, and though he knew that it had been painful for her, she had agreed with him on all points. All that they had ever known was each other, and towards the five year mark, that had been the only thing that really kept them together. Familiarity and comfortability had been the glue that kept them stuck in that odd state of limbo. Austin stopped thinking about marriage and children as the years ticked by with her. He had stopped planning out their future. Instead they seemed to live day by day, making excuses to themselves and loved ones whenever anyone pried or if they tried to do any serious soul searching. 

The call where he had ended things had only lasted fifteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds.  He had kept things simple- sugar coated some things so that they would be easier for her to digest- and waited for her reaction. There had been tears. He could hear them, but she understood. He could tell that she agreed, and maybe that had been the hardest part of it all for her. The realization that they had been clinging onto each other for dear life, all while knowing that they weren’t the ones for each other. Change was a terrifying thing, and so they had ignored their own feelings and desires, hoping that eventually it would fade out. 

Austin’s true feelings never flickered out though. They had stayed, and with it came the doubt. Then the decision. 

He had told himself that he wouldn’t date for a while. He needed to dive head first into his project, and he couldn’t have any distractions. For a time that was exactly what he had done. He had put so much pressure on himself to do well that he found it hard to think of much else. He lived and breathed Elvis. For four long months there hadn’t been much else. It had been a lot to get used to for his friends and family. For the first couple of weeks, his sudden change of accent had been shocking for them. His father had been the most worried about it. He was scared about what would happen after they finished everything. Austin had assured everyone that he wanted the accent to feel natural to him, and that he had just chosen to take a more method approach so that he could fully immerse himself into the project.

These days, he had trouble remembering what he sounded like before they started filming. That was terrifying. He felt his grip on reality shifting. He was losing an uphill battle, because if he was going to be completely honest with himself, his mental health had never been all that great. 

It was the day after that self realization that he had sought out personal advice, going to Tom Hanks in the hopes that he’d help to ground him. The man’s words had been simple, yet crucial. He needed to take time for himself. Not Elvis. Austin. 

Austin had ordered a book later that night that reminded him of his years in high school. He had been forced to read it for an essay, but had found himself unable to put it down. Every night that week he curled up on the couch and read The Great Gatsby. Instead of feeling like somebody else completely, in those moments he only felt nostalgic. The line between Austin and Elvis had slowly been carved, no matter how faint. 

But then she came along. 

It had been a regular day on set, and a particularly hard one at that. After all of the karate lessons, dialect coaching, and dance classes the man was absolutely exhausted. He didn’t have too much left in him to give that day, and he was excited to crawl back home and fall asleep under his weighted blanket. He had moved to stand behind the camera, one of the crew member’s playing a scene back for him so that he could see exactly where he had gone wrong. Rather than moving his hips while he performed, he had been using his knees instead. He was hurting badly because of it, and it didn’t look the same. It didn’t look right. His mood had soured instantly, his blue eyes narrowing on the small screen as he took a step closer, watching his footing again and again. “Play that back one more time for me.” The crew member started to wind the shot back, but Baz had stepped in, his arm wrapped tightly around an unfamiliar figure. Austin was in no mood to meet anyone or exchange niceties with any of the extras. Not today at least. Today he was feeling majorly self conscious, and it was bleeding into his attitude. 

“We’re about to wrap up for the day, so I wanted you to meet someone.” Austin wanted to groan. To ruffle his greased up hair and throw an absolute fit. The entire Presley family were eventually going to see the film, and he was letting them down, he just knew it. He was letting everybody down by this performance. How the hell was he supposed to smile and play nice? Austin turned on his heel, wishing that he had mastered the art of the fake smile over the years he had spent in Hollywood. He was good at acting, but he had the inability to be fake. 

He turned on his heel, shoving his hands into the pockets of his blue slacks before eying Baz. The older man gently pushed the mystery woman forward, motioning with his head in her direction. Austin let his eyes focus on her in the dim studio lighting. He found himself instantly regretting everything. His initial expression, his inability to properly execute today’s scenes, the fact that he had eaten garlic hummus with his lunch that day- all of it. 

Oh god, it was almost as though the world had shifted beneath his feet. His heart jumped up into his throat, his hands began to sweat, and he found it nearly impossible to function. All words escaped him. The only thing that left his lips for the first few seconds was a breathy huff, his blue eyes locking on her small figure. She was short and compact, daintily made in a way that made his protective instincts flare. Her hair was dark against the bright colors of her dress, the contrast a bit shocking. The first thing he noticed were her large eyes- so bright and so very blue. Then she smiled at him. The words weren’t the only thing to escape him. So had the ability to breathe. If Baz noticed the man’s reaction, he didn’t say anything. Instead he took the opportunity to fill the silence, gesturing between the two of them. 

“Austin, this is Elliot. She wasn’t able to meet you back when we had the original luncheon with the rest of her family.” His reaction was delayed as he tried to piece together exactly what his director was trying to say. 

It wasn’t until she reached her hand out towards him that it finally registered. “You’re related to Priscilla then?” He felt stupid the second the question left his lips, and he couldn’t help but smile nervously as he reached out and took her small hand in his, giving it a couple of shakes. 

Thankfully she found humor in his reaction and laughed, and though the busy studio overshadowed the gorgeous sound, it reverberated in his ears nonetheless. “I’m one of her granddaughters. Lisa-Marie is my mother.” Austin’s eyes really honed in on each one of her dainty features. Her small pointed nose, her warm smile and bright blue eyes. He felt embarrassed that he didn’t instantly recognize her. It was almost as though he was shaking hands with Priscilla back when she was in her twenties. The resemblance was uncanny.

“That’s it for today people! You all did great!” Baz called out, the bright lights shutting off loudly as the cameras were moved out of position. Elliot stumbled out of the way, moving to Austin’s side so that extras could begin making their way off stage and to the dressing rooms. She lingered by his side, her arm gently brushing against his as cast and crew filed past. A few people looked in their direction, staring a little too long as they tried to decipher just who she was and what they were doing together. “I got here about thirty minutes ago, so I saw the last few takes.” She explained. 

Austin pinched the bridge of his nose, his cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. Of course she just so happened to show up today of all days. He had been off of his game all day long. “You were dazzling.” His eyes flickered open so that he could stare down at her, his mascara coated lashes brushing against his brow bone as he watched her expression carefully. He raised an eyebrow dubiously at her, completely unbelieving of the sweet sentiment. She threw her hands up in surrender, her smile widening. 

“No, no. I’m serious, Austin. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. It was surreal.” He had been getting a lot of positive feedback as of late, but he still wasn’t used to it. He couldn’t keep the grin off of his face as he stared down at his feet, raising his hand so that he could nervously rub at the back of his neck.

“Well that means a lot comin’ from you.” He felt like an idiot talking to her in the accent, but he was already neck deep in it. He was positive that he couldn’t turn the voice off even if he tried. 

“Baz is incredibly proud of you, by the way. He kept telling me about how dedicated you are to playing this part, and it really shows.” Elliot would never know how much her words meant to him. Today, of all days, he really needed to hear those things. 

The fear of getting it all wrong kept him up most nights. Last night had been incredibly hard for him. The anxiety was eating him alive. He hadn’t even been able to keep down his breakfast this morning, his nerves getting the best of him. “One of my grandfather’s biggest fears was people dehumanizing him. Everyone has turned him into more of a character and less of a man. He wanted to do something important with his life- make an impact, you know? Your performance felt human.” The woman was quick to reach out, placing her warm palm against his sleeve. Her fingers wrapped around his arm, giving him a few quick squeezes. Austin wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure him or comfort him. Either way, she was handling him with a sort of softness that he wasn’t used to. 

The actor could listen to her talk all day, he was positive. There was something about her voice that made his muscles untense and his mind quiet. It was soft and melodic, and if it wasn’t the kindness in her eyes that made him melt, then it was certainly the gentle way that she spoke to him that did the trick. Austin was certain that his knees were quivering beneath him. “I want to pick your brain,” He spoke up before he had time to second guess himself. “Would you like to have dinner with me? If you have other plans, I completely understand. Just thought it would be nice, is all.” 

The girl shook her head, her dark locks falling off of her shoulders with the movement. For a second he was scared that he was being rejected, but she motioned towards the door with a sweep of her hand. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.” He let out a sigh of relief, a nervous laugh bubbling up and out of his throat soon after. 

“Just let me go get changed, okay? It will only take a minute.” He had to remind himself not to run through the studio, his heart pounding in his ears as he closed the door firmly behind him. He had been terrified out of his mind whenever he had met Priscilla and Lisa-Marie for the first time. He had called Baz the night before, hoping for some sort of guidance. The director had become more of a mentor over the last couple of months, and he was hoping for some kind of a pick-me-up. Despite his constant words of nonchalance and encouragement, the anxiety lingered. He carried it in the pit of his stomach the next afternoon, and it didn’t ease throughout the entire luncheon. Austin wasn’t quite sure how he had managed to eat, but he had scarfed down way more than he was used to consuming. He went home with sweaty palms, an overactive imagination, and a stomach that was packed to full capacity. This felt oddly similar, but different at the same time. 

This wasn’t a date, but Austin couldn’t seem to get the point across to the rest of his body. “Fuck.” He whispered under his breath, reaching for the hanger so that he could neatly begin taking off the outfit. He took the time to make sure that everything was hung up to Catherine’s liking before grabbing his leather duffle bag, pulling on his clothes like a mad man. He had worn a pair of light washed jeans and his favorite pair of brown boots to the studio this morning. He had spilled coffee on his shirt early in the afternoon, so Catherine had given him a spare white tee to wear home. He made a mental note to thank her whenever he saw her in the morning. Clearing his throat he moved closer to the mirror, taking a look at his hair that had been slicked back hours ago. He ran his fingers through it, trying his hardest to disarrange the hairstyle, but it only made his hair look dirty. With an exasperated groan he used his fingers to put it back into place, taking a step back to look at the eyeliner that had been dragged over his top lash line. He had half the mind to try and rub it off as well, but he knew that he’d only make himself look like a raccoon, what with the mascara on his top and bottom lashes. 

This entire situation was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. Here he was, giddy over the potential of getting to know her better, all while dressed like her grandfather. The humor of the situation was lost on him. Instead he rubbed his large hands down his cheeks, letting out an aggravated groan. He felt like he was in high school all over again. He hadn’t been this nervous about a girl in. . . well. . . - now that he thought about it, had he ever been this nervous over a girl? He hadn’t been single since he was twenty-one. He had been fresh out of high school, and the only dates he had been on prior to his ex had been double dates that his guy friends had coerced him into. He was nearly thirty years old, acting as though he was still in his twenties. He felt ashamed. 

Austin braced either of his hands on the dressing room counter, staring up at himself through his lashes. He had rather liked the dyed black hair, but he suddenly felt ridiculous standing there in the mirror. He had to go ahead and set himself up for disappointment. If he didn’t try, then there would be no chance of rejection. He needed to go ahead and dash whatever fantasies were floating around in his brain before they got the better of him, because how embarrassing would that make things for him? He wouldn’t just be friendzoned, he would be grandpa-zoned. Elliot saw him as one of the men tasked with telling her family’s tragic story. This was important to her, he could tell. This dinner was going to be nothing more than two potential friends talking with one another. It was going to be a great opportunity for him to hear rather intimate stories about the legend, passed down to her by the only woman that really knew the true Elvis. After a few deep breaths he stood up, brushing his hands over his shirt a few times before heading out the door. The overhead studio lights had been turned back on, a few of the crew members still lingering around as they taped wires to the floor, readjusted certain lights, and readied themselves for tomorrow's busy schedule. 

Elliot’s back was to him, so he took the opportunity to get a better look at her. Her dress was a seventies style slip dress that brushed against her upper thighs. Her short dress and calf high boots made her look a lot taller than she really was from where he was standing. Of course he had seen her up close, and knew that she was well below his chin. Both her mother and grandmother were on the shorter side, so he wasn’t surprised. Her hair, which he hadn’t gotten a very good look at when the two had first been introduced, was incredibly long. It cascaded down her back in loose waves, ending right at her hips.  Austin didn’t allow himself to stare at her for too long, not wanting to get carried away. ‘Friends’, he reminded himself as he walked up to her. “Elliot,” He called her name to get her attention, his eyebrows furrowing when he noticed that there was something in her hand. She turned her head to face him, grinning ear to ear as she flashed him a pair of ivory white panties. She had her fingers looped into the waistband, and it didn’t take him long to figure out that she had stumbled across the prop by accident. She must have been laughing to herself for a little while. Her cheeks were slightly red from smiling. “Nice.” She said simply, tossing them into one of the crew member’s folding chairs before nodding her head towards the door. “Shall we? I’m starving.”

[dulcewrites]

What do you think about this: you work with Steve Binder for the 68 special and Austin!Elvis develops a crush on you during your time working with him? I just watched Elvis. Down bad.

Ask cont: Same anon. I forgot to add to the last request about the 68 special. OC is black and he dedicates a song (if you could call it that - trying to get to you or another song of your choosing). Thanks for taking these requests. Your writing is so good!!

Can’t Help Falling in Love

Pairing: Austin!elvis x black!reader (wc: 2730)

Requested: yes (thank you for saying you love my writing 🫶🏽, and thank you for sending this in.)

A/N: I was excited to write something from the special. If this goes well, I might still write my journalist!reader idea. Priscilla does not exist in this universe. Elvis is giving us eternal bachelor vibes till he meets the reader. In terms of timing since this is in 68 so elvis is 33 and oc/reader is 27. I want this to focus more on the behind the scenes of the special rather than the special itself. I’m pretty sure this is typo free but sorry if there is some.

There are some days you wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into.

You’ve always loved tv and film. It’s why you, despite the pleading from you parent not to, moved out to California after graduating from college. You’ve been out here since then, doing odd tv jobs here and there till you met Steve Binder on a set in 65. Sheer timing, and you being probably the most determined and capable woman he’s ever met led to him hiring you as his executive assistant. You’ve worked your way up from there to a production coordinator. You were his right-hand woman.

It’s been amazing but you seem to find yourself in peculiar situations a lot of the time. Today being an example of that. You were a bit taken aback when Steve told you the meeting wouldn’t be in the office, but up in the Hollywood Hills. And then you were even more shocked as the ride went on and realized the Hollywood hills was meant… literally.

“I didn’t wear the right shoes for this,” you mutter holding onto the door after a particularly turbulent turn.

Steve looks over his orange sunglasses down to your new red slingbacks and raises an eyebrow with a smile.

“Who are you trying to impress with those,” he asks with a laugh, and you roll your eyes.

“Myself. They went on sale, and I’ve been eyeing them for a couple months.”

Your tailored black cigarette pants and your sleeveless red ruffled shirt were new and bought after convincing yourself you deserved to treat yourself. Your fashion sense was always something important to you. Looking good and looking the part helped you navigate a workspace you sometimes felt small in.

You flinch when the car comes to a extreme stop after sliding into a flat area overlooking Los Angeles. You still don’t know who you guys are supposed to be meeting; being in the dark is not something you’re used to. Steve just told you this probably wasn’t going to be a normal meeting and left it at that.

Bones, who rode in another other car, gives you two an equally quizzical glance when you all get out. The whole situation is strange. The meeting location, the cars being sent, and the accompanying men who drove you guys.

“Mr. Binder, Mr. Howe thanks for coming,” a man with aviators and shaggy hair like Steve’s says. “I’m Jerry Schilling, we spoke on the phone.”

You wait for him to introduce who he works for, but it doesn’t come; he simply walks towards the Hollywood sign.

Steve graciously holds out his arm for you to take as you guys walk on a rocky, dirt path. Yeah, you’re going to regret wearing these shoes. You all follow Jerry till you get the Hollywood sign. The man sitting in the sign has his back slightly turned toward you. All you can make out is an impeccably tailored suit and rich dark hair.

“When I first came to Hollywood, I’d come up here and sit for hours,” his voice rich and twangy. As a southern girl yourself, it reminds you a bit of home.

It wasn’t until the man turned to the group and took his sunglasses off that you realized you guys were standing in front on Elvis Presley. What could he possibly want with Steve and Bones? And honestly what the hell would Steve and Bones want with him? There are talks he’s doing some kitschy holiday special for NBC.

There’s something so.. melancholy about his dementor. Warm but slightly defeated. He takes the time to compliment the guys on their work with the T.A.M.I Show.

“Elvis, we are big fans of yours,” Steve starts earnestly. “But Christmas specials aren’t really our thing.”

Elvis nods, his eyes growing from Bones, to Steve, and then landing on you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen eyes that blue. The intensity of his eyes makes you need to hold back a shiver.

“Tell me honestly, where you think my career is at?”

You’re a little surprised he’s asking you and not the boys that. You pull your sunglasses to look him in the eye off and sigh.

“Well… it’s in the toilet Mr. Presley,” you say then wincing a bit.

It’s the truth. You personally can’t remember the last time you’ve heard someone mention Elvis for anything outside of the couple box office bombs he’s been in recently. There’s a moment of silence amongst the group, and you start to fear you’ve said the wrong thing. You’ve been around your fair share of entertainers that don’t like being told the truth.

The tension is broken when he breaks into a huge grin and gives a hearty laugh, turning to Jerry who is also laughing at your bluntness.

“See I knew this was the team I needed for this job,” he says.

Based on his tone and words you get the vibe that he isn’t used to having people around him that are honest and want to truly help him. He gets up from his seat in the sign.

“When you’re lost, people take advantage,” he has a desperate look in his eyes. “I need you guys to help me get back who I really am.”

“And what does the colonel think about all of this?” asks Bones.

“I really don’t give a damn about what the colonel this.” Elvis replies firmly.

Steve looks at you with an eyebrow raised, and you recognize that gleam in his eyes. He wants to do this. You can see the little creative gears turning that head of his. He wants to help, and you get why. There is something… horribly earnest about Elvis. Very few people of his status would even go this far to ask for help. You try not to let personal feelings affect your work but his want to get back to a happier place tug on your heartstrings a bit. You give Steve a simple nod before he turns to Bones who gives him an accepting smile.

You sigh internally as you watch Steve and Bones give Elvis handshakes in agreement. This is either going to be the best thing y’all have ever done or… you don’t even want to think of the other outcome.

“He wants what now?” you ask wondering if you heard Steve wrong.

Rehearsals for the special began in early June. You were first tasked with finding the best backup dancers and singers you could find in Los Angeles. The try outs were easy enough. Set designers had been called, and choreographers and stylist had been flown out. The show was slowly but surely coming together.

“We need trained kung fu fighters with a dance background or trained dancers with a kung fu background,” he repeats nonchalantly. “Whichever is easier to find.”

You stare at him for a second realizing he isn’t pulling your leg, and you add it to your ever growing list of things to do.

“And I need you to oversee Elvis’s outfit fitting in like 5 minutes.”

“But you love costume day,” you laugh at the disappointment on his face.

“I do,” he starts, a growing smile comes over his lips and you know where’s he’s going with this. “But he specifically asked for you. Said he trusts your opinion.”

“Don’t start.”

“I can’t believe Elvis Presley has a crush on my employee,” he laughs.

It’s been a running thing that Steve won’t let go. It started after Elvis told you during the first week of rehearsals that if every producer looked like you, he would’ve gone into tv instead of film. And the teasing got worse when you received flowers from him when he went back to Memphis for a week. Is it extremely flattering? Yes. Is it professional? God no. And if it’s one thing you are, it is professional.

“I think he’s trying to court you,” Steve shrugs. “He asked if I knew if you were more a jewelry or shoes type of woman.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“And what did you say?”

“That you like both of course.”

You roll your eyes. Well, yes that’s true…. but Elvis did not need to know that!

“I also said that though you like the finer things in life, you are not the type of woman that is bought,” Steve reassures.

That statement makes you feel a bit better. You have a lot of your plate. The last thing you need is someone trying to flirt with you just because they can. Let alone someone that’s famous and known for his womanizing. He’ll finish this special and move on to the next pair of nice legs he sees.

Hearing that he specifically asked for you makes you a little nervous for what’s in store. While you can appreciate Elvis’s commitment to bold fashion choices, you are quite sure you and him do not have the same taste.

Taking in a deep breath, you knock on the door to the studio wardrobe room.

“Come in,” a familiar voice call from within the room.

You walk in to see Bill Belew. The wide room consists of various mirrors, fabrics laying around, and different garment hanging on dress mannequins.

“Ah there you are. We are just getting started,” Bill smiles at you, making room on the couch for you. “Elvis is trying something on right now.”

You nod sitting down. You look around at some of the outfits on the mannequins. An array of different color tailored suits. As well as outfits you assume are for the backup dancers and singers. Vibrant pink miniskirts catch your eye.

“Elvis are you ready?” Bill calls to the curtained part of the room. He turns to you with a hushed voice. “We’re very excited about this outfit.”

You think of Bones words when you all sat down for the first meeting.

We need an outfit that signifies his start. Something dirty and raw. Something rebellious.

Your thoughts are broken by Elvis pulling back the curtain. You’re sure your eyebrows shot up to your hair line. He’s wearing a full leather outfit; the jacket is open slightly revealing a bit of his chest. It’s tight, it’s shiny, and frankly it’s sexy. You can’t help the smile that comes over your face. It really doesn’t get any more rebellious than full head to toe leather.

“Wow,” is all you can make out, and Elvia gives you a curious look.

“A good wow or bad wow sweetheart?”

“A very good wow,” you say honestly. “You look great really. I think the guys are going to love it.”

He looks a bit sheepish at your compliment. Bill begins doing small alterations on the suit while going over other outfits he thinks would work for the special. Despite how good he looked in the leather, your personal favorite is the burgundy suit he tries on.

By the way he looked at himself in the mirror, you can tell he’s still nervous about the whole thing. It hits again how important this is to him, to his career.

“This is going to be good,” you start when Bill leaves after the try-on session. “Steve and Bones are the best. With your talent and the guys' vision, everything will work out.”

You don’t know that for sure. In fact, this special could go very wrong but he does not need to hear that.

He doesn’t look all that convinced but none the less gives you a smile.

“You know what would make me feel a bit better,” his lowers a bit. “Dinner... with you.”

You should’ve seen that coming. All the advances he’s made leads to him wanting a date. But you’re still a little shocked he asked. You know you’re a catch, but you haven’t had someone fixate on you like this.

“Elvis, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“That’s the point honey, I don’t want to be appropriate with you,” he says sitting next you on the couch, his smile even brighter. “I want to very inappropriate with you.”

Despite the situation, his statements makes you laugh. He’s too charming for his own good. For your own good too.

“Let’s get through the show, and I’ll get back to you.”

Being around talented people is just one perk of your job, but it’s easily one of your favorite things about it. People in front and behind the camera, all coming together to make something beautiful. The past few days of filming the special have been no different.

There’s been some trying times so far. Your argument with Elvis’s promoter/manager being one of them. You already didn’t like that colonel guy, but after the third time (in one day) he bulldozes his way into the control editing room, you kind of lose it on him.

You don’t know how Elvis has put up with him for so long. And your distain for him only grows after seeing how he treats Elvis during the shooting.

It was Steve’s idea that Elvis should make some sort of statement on the state of the country. One thing you like about your job is the escapism of tv, especially in times like this when it feels like the world is on fire. Steve’s idea was much to the chagrin on Colonel Parker.

You feel your eyes glaze over once you hear the words ‘Christmas’ and ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ come out of the colonel’s mouth… again. You think he might make you hate the holiday by the end of filming.

“I can take him out for you,” you joke trying to get Elvis to laugh after a particularly ugly argument between him and Colonel Parker, and he just gives you a watery smile.

“This is your career and life. You need to do what you feel is best,” you squeeze his hand. “Sometimes you have to put stuff on the line for something you believe in.”

It’s a simple statement. You know little about music, especially compared to how Elvis. It does warm your heart, and make you a bit emotional, when he sings you the lyrics to a new song. A beautiful song that clearly expresses how he feels about everything that’s going on in the world.

You had grown so close during this process. It’s hard to believe it’s coming to an end soon. If either of you had a problem or anxious feeling about something, you go to each other. But after this, he’s going to go back to Graceland, and you and Steve move onto the next project. Growing attached to projects, let alone people, is not good in this business.

More sit-down segments are being shot in front of an audience. You catch glimpses here and there of different performances as you run around fixing different small problems that pop up. You finally get a chance to breathe after going back up to the control room.

“I actually wanted to dedicate the next song to someone very special I’ve met during this time,” the words make you pause a bit.

You can feel Steve’s and Bones’s eyes on you. The all too familiar starting notes to Can’t Help Falling in Love starts playing.

Oh god

Instead of the embarrassment you expect to feel, you try not to melt in the puddle of mushy feelings. What is this man doing to you?

"Maybe you should go down," Steve whispers to you. "We can take a break after this song."

You give him a nervous look. You're toeing a dangerous line with Elvis, but Steve has never been one to tell you to back down from stressful situations. He always seems to be the one making you run to them.

You get up slowly. You probably look weird with the number of times you turned around, then turned back convincing yourself to just go down. By the time you made it down, they had stopped rolling. You and Elvis made eye contact from across the room, and you wave him over. He gives the guitar he was using for the song to one of the stagehands before walking over to you.

"That was really inappropriate," you say when he finally gets over to you. He winces clearly not expecting that reaction. "But... luckily for you, I maybe want to be inappropriate with you too."

He breaks out into grin.

"Let's talk about that dinner baby."

[pxnsneverland]

Beauty and the Boss | austin!elvis x oc (part 9)

plot summary: Laura Jean Walker is the daughter to Louisiana’s most powerful mafia boss, but to her, he’s just her jail warden. When she sneaks out to the Louisiana Hayride with her friend she sees Elvis Presley perform and instantly knows something is special about this boy. Especially when he saves her from being assaulted by a townie. She thinks she’s on cloud 9 until she gets kidnapped in the middle of the night by the Memphis Mafia led by Elvis himself. Will Laura Jean try to free herself or will something hold her back from finding her way home?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 1845

warnings/notes: Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long since I posted a part, but I finally got some time today :)

Chapter 9

               The funeral of Gladys passed in a blur, and before we knew it, the wake was upon us. A steady stream of visitors flowed in and out of the house, all eager to pay their respects to the departed soul lying in the casket. It was a somber sight, made all the more poignant by the fact that it now occupied the very spot where Elvis's grand piano once stood. Beyond the threshold, amidst the ebb and flow of visitors, a throng of journalists and the flicker of camera bulbs stood poised, anticipating Elvis' emergence and any utterance he might offer. The dogs were ravenous, and they seemed intent on exploiting his grief. In the interim, Elvis had not crossed my path since our return from the church. He vanished up the stairs, never to return. I empathized with the agony he was experiencing and yearned to offer solace with my words. However, I was aware that words would be futile in this situation. The death of my mother continued to linger in my mind even after all these years, and it was not an unexpected heart attack like Ms. Gladys.

              Perched upon the plush velvet carpeting of the steps, I observed the bustling crowd from a safe vantage point. I was disinclined to respond to inquiries or receive expressions of sympathy that were rightfully intended for Elvis. The memory of Mama's funeral flooded back to me, overwhelming my senses. Hollow utterances emanating from individuals who lacked sincerity in their speech. It was precisely the phrase one utters to console those who have suffered the loss of a cherished person. Their assistance fell short of your expectations. With a firm grasp on the hem of my black dress, I attempted to free myself from the labyrinth of my own thoughts. I found myself being pulled into a recollection that I had no desire to revisit. I felt a sense of gratitude as Colonel descended the stairs, his expression conveying more than just dissatisfaction.

              The Colonel grumbled, “He won’t come out of that closet.” Though he averted his gaze, I sensed that his words were directed towards me. He leaned against the wall adjacent to my position. “There are some fine folks from the press waiting outside. A few questions, pictures, and they will leave us alone.”

              With a cool gaze, I observed him closely, and his subtle response indicated that he was aware of my piercing stare. “You want him to go talk to the reporters? After his Mama just died? The person he was closest to in the world?”

              “I know, I know.” The insincere tone of his voice sent shivers down my spine. “He trusted her like nobody else, and now she’s gone and who does he have now?” He finally looked at me.

              “You’ve picked the wrong person for an ally, Colonel. I ain’t forcin’ him to go talk to nobody.”

              “No, no. That’s not…that’s not what I meant. I care about my boy whether you believe that or not, Ms. Walker. I tried talking to him but it’s really not my place. You, however, have his heart perhaps just as much as his dear Mama did. He trusts you. Despite our differences, you and I, we have one thing in common. We want what is best for that boy. And today, you are what is best.”

              The art of deception is often employed by conmen, who skillfully blend elements of truth with their own ulterior motives. The art of perception was a skill passed on by my father, and it allowed me to easily discern the true intentions of the Colonel. Perhaps his interest in Elvis was genuine, but it was overshadowed by his preoccupation with his own celebrity and public persona. As the reporters continued to exploit Elvis's sorrow, the Colonel's pockets grew increasingly lined with cash. Despite the presence of the man standing next to me, my adoration for Elvis remained paramount. I rose to my feet, delicately smoothing out the fabric of my skirt.

              “I’m not makin’ him come down if he don’t want to,” I declared, preceding my ascent up the stairs towards the room that was once occupied by Gladys.

              Not a single thing had been disturbed since her passing. The room appeared to be suspended in time, a poignant tribute to a person who would never again occupy its space. The faint sound of Elvis's subdued weeping emanated from the depths of her closet. I advanced cautiously, mindful of the potential for startling him. My trepidation stemmed from a fear that he might bolt from my presence, much like a skittish cat. The door of the closet was slightly ajar, allowing a breath of fresh air to seep through. With a hesitant hand, I gradually pushed the closet door ajar. Inside, I was met with a heart-wrenching sight - Elvis was seated on the floor, his thin frame huddled amidst his Mama's dresses. Tears streamed down his face, his sobs wracking his entire body with each passing moment. He stole a quick glance in my direction before turning away, pressing his cheek against the soft fabric of a dress.

              I lowered myself onto the ground, maintaining a safe distance from him, as I positioned myself directly in front of him. “Hi, baby.”

              “She’s gone…”

              “I know. But all your friends and family…they’re wonderin’ where you are.”

              A deep sob escaped his lips. “I can’t go out there, Laura Jean. I can’t. I just want to stay in here forever.” Tears streamed down his face as he buried it into the soft fabric of the dress's skirt.

              My heart shattered into even smaller pieces for him than it had for myself when I experienced the same misfortune. With a deep breath, I closed the distance between us and enveloped him in a warm embrace, my arms encircling his broad shoulders. He maintained his grip on the garments, yet refrained from deterring me. “I know how you feel. When my Mama died, all I wanted to do was crawl into the ground with her. I felt like my whole world was in pieces and the person who usually picked them up wasn’t there anymore.” I gently massaged his back. “No one could ever replace her. Why, Ms. Gladys was a one-of-a-kind woman who raised a one-of-a-kind son. I wish I could be half as strong as she was some day.”

              Elvis buried his head in my shoulder and embraced me with such force that it became difficult to catch my breath. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without her. She was everythin’. All this…all this was for her.”

              My fingers glided through his hair. “You cry now. You cry your little heart out for as long as you need to. And day by day, you just keep on movin’, keep on livin’. Cause that’s what your Mama would have wanted. For you to live your life as fully and as happily as you can.” I gently pressed my lips against his forehead. “And I’ll be here for you, too. Whenever you need me. I’ll work and I’ll worry in your Mama’s place. Okay?” With a nod, he buried his face deeper into my shoulder. To hold him felt like I was holding a baby who was twice my size. Gradually, I rose to my feet, pulling him up alongside me until we were both standing upright. With a gentle touch, I wiped away the tears that had gathered on his face, my fingers softly caressing his cheek. “Now we’re gonna go downstairs and you’re gonna go say goodbye to your Mama.”

              With a sniffle, Elvis enfolded me in a warm embrace, pressing my head against his chest. He clasped my head firmly, as if he feared that I might vanish into thin air. All the while, I listened intently to the rhythmic thumping of his heart. “I ain’t never gonna let anyone take you away from me, you hear? Not your Daddy, not the Colonel, no one. I don’t care about money or stupid mafia business. I just care about you.”

              “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” I vowed.

              With tears streaming down his face, he whispered, “I love you, Laura Jean.”

              “I love you too.” I grasped his hand firmly and led him out of the bedroom, descending the stairs in unison. Silence fell over the room as Elvis made his way towards the open casket of Gladys. No expense had been spared for her funeral, from the casket to the flower arrangements and every detail in between. As I gazed upon her, she appeared serene and undisturbed, nestled within the soft and luxurious velvet that lined the interior of the casket. Elvis gazed intently at her, his grip on my hand unyielding. He parted his lips, as if to utter words to her, but they were abruptly stifled by a wrenching sob. I rested my head upon his shoulder.

              The Colonel shuffled up behind us and placed a hand on Elvis's shoulder. “I can’t even begin to understand what you are going through, my boy. But you have comforted your friend and your family. You need to go comfort your fans too, hmm? They are worried about you. And if you don’t go do that all that your mama sacrificed for you will be for nothing.”

              The desire to expel acid from my mouth consumed me. Using Elvis at this time? How could he? He was in no position to have a conversation with anyone. He needed the freedom to simply exist as a young man who had suffered the loss of his mother, rather than being burdened with the weighty expectations of embodying the iconic figure of Elvis Presley. In spite of my innermost insults directed towards Colonel Parker, Elvis gravitated towards him and sought solace in his embrace, shedding tears upon his shoulder. I yearned to persuade him that the presence of the elderly gentleman was superfluous. The Colonel hesitantly rubbed Elvis's back.

              “You stay with my through thick and thin, okay?” he asked, his eyes searching for reassurance. Elvis expressed, “You’re like a father to me.”

              My eyes locked onto the Colonel's, and he met my gaze with a smug expression that made me itch to wipe it off his face. Despite my constant challenges, he relished the sense of power he wielded over Elvis. I persisted in my efforts to liberate Elvis from the clutches of the snowman, refusing to give up until my mission was accomplished. As Elvis withdrew, the Colonel offered a reassuring pat on his shoulder. “Just a few questions and some photos and we will be done.”

              “C-Can Laura Jean come with me?” Elvis sniffled.

              The Colonel's gaze met mine, but I refused to back down, my expression daring him to confront me. I was determined not to leave Elvis, even if he forbade my presence. He let out a deep sigh and replied, “Of course. You need her now.”

              With a nod, I followed Elvis as he led me through the throng of microphones and cameras outside.

Stay tuned for part 10!! Click HERE to view!

[jpnriikicore]

paring: austin x actress!fem!reader

summary: the reader has never kissed any before so your best friend of thirteen years offers to help.

note: this is my first time writing something out of k-pop! decided to write this since I have been obsessed with austin since the elvis movie came out.

playlist: lovers rock ღ. tv girl

"how many woman have you kissed?" you asked, looking towards austin and away from the papers you wrote on. days after contemplating wether or not you should ask him, but your mouth spoke before you could think properly. "a few, why?" he asked, looking up from the book he was reading.

"because they want me to do a scene of kissing my co-star and I’ve never…done..that…before." you replied, looking down fidgeting with the rings that decorated your fingers. "I can help you, if you want." he offered. you looked down at the wooden floor of your bedroom biting your lip, a nervous habit you have. I mean having your first kiss with your best friend whom you have had crush on for years is better rather than having your first kiss with your co-star you met a few months ago. even thinking about kissing austin made you blush. "it’s alright we don’t have to." he spoke, as he got closer to rub your knee in comfort noticing your in your deep thoughts. "no! it’s i-i-i want too." you agree to his offer, as he nodded. "if you want to stop or get uncomfortable at any time tap my arm three times, okay?" he said, as you nodded understanding. "use your words." he said. "okay." you replied, glancing up at him for a split second as he got closer.

your eyes bounced all cross the room beside him. he bought his hands up to cup your cheeks the cool metal of his rings touched your warm skin making a shiver go down your spine. your eyes finally meeting his blue ones making your breathe get caught up in your throat. you follow after him, closing your eyes as he leaned closer to you. you were still, expecting him to close the gap between you both. you leaned in more deepening the kiss as you got more comfortable. his hands found their way to your waist under your t-shirt that belonged to him. you finally moved your hands up to the back of his head getting your hands tangled in his hair as he pulls you closer to him. shifting his weight to lay you down on your plush comforter. you pull away to catch your breathe to shy to look at him in the eye. kissing your best friend of thirteen years was normal, right?

© JPNRIIKICORE, 2022

[flowersforjude]

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Elvis x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | While on the road with Elvis, you find yourself in a dangerous situation with a drunk stranger at the fair.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1,209

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Attempted assault, unwanted sexual advances, bit of homophobia. None of it’s too graphic.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I want Elvis to punch someone in the face while defending my honor🥰

masterlist | read on ao3

The crowd was still shouting at an almost ear-shattering level. The electric atmosphere created by your boyfriend hovering thickly around you. You locked eyes with Elvis as he pushed his way through the group of adoring people to make his way to your side.

Once he reached you, he wasted no time in drawing you tightly to him and lifting you off your feet. Kissing the side of your head and traveling down to both your cheeks. He sat you back down, still keeping a warm hand on your hip, while the other grabbed one of your hands to play with.

You smiled brightly up at him. “You were amazing, baby!”

“Thank you, Sweetness.” He grinned back down at you. “Listen, Colonel needs me to speak to some newspaper guy,” he said. “I’ll only be a minute doll, alright?”

You nodded your head understandingly. “Go ahead; there's no rush.”

Elvis looked over his shoulder. “Jerry!” The man in question whipped his head toward Elvis’ booming voice. “Watch Y/N for a second. I’ll be back soon.”

He pressed a hard kiss to your lips before running off to find the Colonel. Jerry looked at you, and you gave him a thumbs up to say you were alright. Satisfied you were in no real danger, he turned back to the conversation he was having with some girl.

You stood in your place for a moment longer, just watching the buzz around you. You had to admit the appeal of this life wasn’t lost on you. There was always something going on around you. Children devoured anything sweet they could talk their parents into buying them. Groups of high school kids walking around gossiping and giggling. Shouts of happiness every few seconds. So, yeah, the carnie life wasn’t so bad.

Your feet were tired after standing for the entire show, so you went to claim a seat at a nearby picnic table. You’d almost reached your destination when an unwelcomely rough hand latched onto your wrist.

“Hey, aren’t you Elvis’ girl?” A voice asked loudly beside you.

Instead of answering, you glanced down at the stranger's hand that was still around your wrist. He noticed and let go real quick. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he laughed. You weren’t laughing, though. The smell of one too many drinks wafted off him. He was obviously drunk, and you were smart enough to know to be cautious of drunk men.

“I am.” You said slowly trying to move away from his opposing form, which was practically standing on top of you.

“You know, I always thought he was one of those fairy faggots.” The man chuckled again, leaning closer to you. He put his hand up on the wall of some booth you had accidentally backed into while trying to put distance between you and him. “But here he is with a pretty thing like you on his arm.”

Elvis called you pretty thing sometimes, or at least some variation of it. You adored it coming off your boy’s lips, but hearing it from this man’s mouth made something vile turn in your stomach. It left an uneasy feeling floating in your chest.

“I don’t appreciate you calling my boyfriend those kinds of names.” You snapped, glaring at the man's ruddy face. You knew what some people thought of Elvis, and it made your blood boil every time. They had no right to make assumptions about something like that solely based on the way he dressed and acted on stage. You honestly didn’t see why it mattered so much, even if he was. But you knew not everyone thought like you did. “What I would appreciate is you backing away from me and leaving me alone.”

You saw the man’s drunken carefree expression fall, but he quickly replaced it with one of offense. He laughed again, but this time it was full of malice. Your words did nothing but fuel his interest in toying with you.

“Is he any good in the sack? I mean, if he can move around like that on stage, he has to be.” The man moved so that most of his body was pressed against yours. You were trapped between the booth and him, with nowhere to run. “What do you say about seeing if I can outdo your fairy boyfriend?” He whispered the last part. His rancid breath made you cringe as he began to nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck.

You gasped as you tried to find your voice with tears welling up in your eyes. You wanted so desperately to yell out, but the lump building in your throat made that difficult. The man moved his arm from above you to wrap it around your waist and bring you closer to him. Bile rose up in your throat when you felt that hardness against your thigh. Your panic clawed its way to the surface, and in one big breath, you finally screamed.

“Help!”

You began to struggle as you regained control of your body.

“Elvis!”

You were about to scream again when a sharp crack sounded out. The man stumbled back while cursing. You blinked dazedly and saw Elvis standing over the man, who was now on the ground holding his hand to a bloody nose. Elvis yanked the man up by his collar and got close to his face.

“You ever come near her again; you ever so much as look at her, I will kill you.” Your boy growled in a low, dangerous voice. He harshly let go of the man’s collar, causing him to fall to the ground again. Elvis landed a kick to his side when he didn’t move away fast enough. “Get the fuck outta here!”

A guilty looking Jerry had just run over after seeing the scuffle. He opened his mouth to probably apologize, but Elvis beat him to the punch.

“What the hell happened to watching her?” Elvis yelled while waving a hand around carelessly. “Distracted by some chick while my girls about to get her head done in!”

Jerry mumbled an apology, but Elvis already had an arm around you, guiding you into an empty canopy. Once the two of you were alone, the severity of what just happened crashed down on you. You gripped Elvis’ silky black shirt in your hands as they started to shake. Your breath came out in short gasps.

Elvis pulled you closer to him. Your head found home in his chest, inhaling his scent in hopes of calming yourself.

“Breath, baby.” He whispered, rubbing his hands down your trembling back. “You gotta breathe, darlin’. I’m right here.”

“I thought he was gonna…” You trailed off, not wanting to finish that thought.

“I know.” He said, lifting your head up so he could look at you. He wiped the tears that had escaped down your cheeks. “I’m here now, though. You’re safe with me.”

Standing under that canopy with Elvis’ arms around you, you knew he was telling the truth. You knew he wasn’t always going to be around to protect you. But you took comfort in the fact that no matter what, as long as he was able, he’d crawl through hell just to make sure you were safe.

I literally wrote this in the span of an hour but I've wanted to start posting some of my writing so here's this! Hope you enjoy! <3

[venus-haze]

Since we're in a spooky mood this early, how about Ghost!Elvis x Reader? In which Reader buys a dilapidated and abandoned Graceland as a fixer-upper, with rumors surrounding it that some young semi-famous singer, who died tragically before his career could really take off, bought it in the 50s and to readers horror he never left.

Thank you for requesting! I had a lot of fun writing this and was partly inspired by the song House Carpenter by Joan Baez (I’ve never seen the movie where Patrick Swayze’s a ghost and does pottery so if there are any similarities it’s unintentional)

Ghost!Austin!Elvis x Reader

Warnings for mentions of death, divorce, some emotionally manipulative behavior, hauntings (obviously). Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Your marriage falls apart after you discover that your husband had been cheating on you, the only good to come out of it was that you got half of everything he had, which was a lot—including a property with an unoccupied house on it in the outskirts of Memphis, which you quickly decide to move into

Graceland was once the home of a successful star from the early days of rock n’ roll who died mysteriously. The place had passed hands over the years, before your now ex-husband had bought it and had been unoccupied for some time

It was definitely a fixer-upper, the exterior with signs of neglect and the interior woefully outdated, but you were always pretty handy, taking shop classes in high school, and with the money you got from the divorce, you could focus full-time on renovating to resell it

The first night there, in one of the ground floor bedrooms that was most put together of the ones in the house, you heard strange noises, but chalked it up to the house being so old

While some of the renovations had to be contracted out, you were confident in your ability to do a lot of the work yourself. You were pleased with the progress you’d made after a few weeks, but spending almost all of your time inside the house made you acutely aware of odd occurrences that were going on—things you knew you put in one place being in spots where you know you’d never put them, cabinets being open for no good reason or slamming shut at random, and lights flickering despite the handful of electricians who came in and all told you there were no issues with the wiring in the house

The nights were lonely in the mansion, and while you tried to fight through it, sometimes you’d be restless and begin working on projects you’d set aside for the day until you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore. One night, you inexplicably decided to torture yourself by looking at the box of photos of you and your ex-husband through the years and ended up breaking down in tears. You wailed louder as the lights in the house all seemed to blow out at once, an electrical surge, you figured, but it seemed to reflect the woe you felt

You were in a daze when you picked up the phone in the early hours of the morning, and you could hardly remember who you called or what you said, but just as you were pouring yourself a cup of coffee for the morning, you heard a knock at the front door, and pulled yourself together as much as you could before running to answer it

You were taken aback by the handsome man in the stylish yet a bit outdated clothes standing on the front porch with a toolbox. “Can I help you?” you asked

“I’m here to check on the lights, ma’am. You called earlier this morning, somethin’ about the lights blown out and some electrical problems the past few weeks,” he answered

You smiled and let the man inside the house, “I’m Y/N, by the way”

He smiled, “Elvis, nice to meet you”

He began working on replacing the bulbs, rejecting your offers for food or something to drink throughout the day, but he was incredibly charming and friendly, and said he’d come by the next day to check on the house’s wiring

Elvis came by almost every day, citing different electrical issues that you couldn’t believe the other electricians didn’t catch. He was sweet, and you found yourself developing a crush on the man, especially when you heard him singing to himself while he was working. His voice was incredible, but you could swear you’d heard it somewhere before, it was so familiar

“Have you ever considered singing professionally?” you asked

He gave you a terse smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “Tried it once, but it didn’t work out”

It was obviously a touchy topic for him, so you dropped it, especially since after he finished fixing up the electrical issues in the house, he offered to help with other renovations, telling you not to worry about paying him until everything was finished

For the first time since the divorce, you felt happy. Having Elvis around brightened up your days and made you feel less lonely. You gushed about him to one of your friends one day when the two of you had met up to get coffee. Her response when she’d asked the name of this handyman straight out of a romance novel made you feel like someone had turned your brain inside out

“What, like the singer?” your friend laughed. “That’s kind of a sick joke considering you’re living in the guy’s house”

“What are you talking about?”

“Y/N, Graceland used to be Elvis Presley’s house before he died. His music is on those oldies stations sometimes, you know the ones”

You felt your throat begin to contract, what the fuck is going on? After coffee with your friend, you went to the nearest library, grabbing the first book on Elvis Presley you could find. Your vision began to blur as you read more, he worked for Crown Electric before stardom, and in 1958 died mysteriously in Graceland, no autopsy was performed and his family sold the place shortly after his death

Ghosts weren’t real, you knew that much. Maybe you were just delirious from everything that had happened to you the past few weeks, or it was just a weird coincidence. Regardless, when you arrived home, you were ready to confront Elvis, marching upstairs to the room he was working in

“Is this your house?” you blurt out when you see him, your previously rehearsed confrontation immediately thrown out the window

“It used to be,” he answers honestly

“You died here. I read that much,” you say. “That’s why you’re here all the time, you can’t leave, can you?”

“Please don’t leave, Y/N,” he pleads, the lights begin to flicker wildly, the room you’re standing in shaking. “You’re the only person who’s come into this house since then and loved it too”

You know when he says ‘house’ and ‘it’ he’s referring to himself, his own identity long tied to the place he died. Then again, so has yours, the ashes of your failed marriage practically spread about the house as you try desperately to start anew. The day will come, sooner than you’ll expect, when you have to make the choice between the living and the dead, and as you look into his worried eyes, you already know what your decision will be

Taglist: @eliseinmemphis @kittenlittle24  @crash-and-cure @im-lame-irl  @loudwombatmugkid  @rxsesss  @roseymary04  @queendelrey @jovialladyaurora @positivitylane112 @moonknightswif3 @holy-minseok @datsavageavenger @21bruhs @luckyevansstan @djsjs13949 @butlerslut @ash-omalley @powerofelvis @sad-bisexual-bitch @peachy-deaths @kibumslatina @adoreyouusugar

[idkwhatimdoingherehonestlyy]

Moments like these | Austin!elvis

Warnings : super fluffy. mentions of alcohol . — I don’t really check my spelling so if something’s messed up I’m sorry!

I have never really written before soo pls criticize me with stuff but pls don’t be to harsh given this is my first time 💞

Austin!elvis x Fem!reader (I will also try to write with black fem reader in the future considering I am a black girl but this just fem reader todayyy <33

—————————————

Elvis hated a crowded space.

He loved privacy and spending time with people who were closest to him.

But he was in for a rude awakening when his friends from the Memphis mafia asked him if they could use his house to throw a going away party before his tour.

Elvis was never a party animal. He was pretty laid back and just enjoyed calm spaces.

So originally his answer was no. “I don’t want no goddamn strangers runnin around my house, No billy” was his first answer.

So the boys went to phase 2, which was you.

You were Elvis’s baby, you could convince him to do almost anything, but you didn’t want to force him to throw a party he obviously wasn’t comfortable with.

“What’s in it for me tho? Guys if he doesn’t want to do it just leave it alone! ” “Please y/n your the only one who could convince him to do anything” Billy tried to reason with you.

So after a while of almost the whole Memphis mafia nagging you, you finally said yes. So that’s how you are in this predicament, Your currently sitting in Graceland chatting it up with some friends while random strangers you’ve never met before wander around the house.

“Girl how did you even get Elvis to agree to all of this you know he hates parties” Zina, your friend spoke up

“Well it didn’t really take much convincin’ you replied back, You were telling the truth it didn’t it was almost in clockwork for him to say yes to you.

“Speaking of elvis let me go find ‘em!” You said to the little friend group you were talking to. They waved you off and with that you walked off to go find your boyfriend.

After walking for a while you finally found him. Sitting off in a corner, manspreading, with a beer in his hand. Elvis hardly drank only when he was stressed and wanting to get really relaxed.

“Hey baby” you said as you softly rubbed his hand.

“Mm hi mama, you havin’ fun?” He said taking off the black sunglasses looking back to you with his sweet southern drawl sounding really tired.

“Yes, but you don’t sound like your having much fun.” You stated with an apologetic look and tone.

He took a swig of the beer in his hand

“I’m fine don’ worry about me” He grabbed your hand kissing it looking up to you with those intensely blue eyes you loved so much.

“Uh uh elvis, look how tired you are let’s just go upstairs” You tried to convince him, rubbing your hands up and down his arms.

“But mama if your having fun I don’t want to make you go upstairs” That made you smile. He was always worried about other people more than he worried about himself

“Stop it cmon’ I can tell your already drunk” You whined as you reached out for him, receiving a groan.

He sweetly accepted taking both of your arms as you two walked upstairs to his room.

Once you made it into his room, you went into your bag that you always took to his house when you slept over and reached for your nighties to change into.

“Babe get comfortable please” You said as you watched him click on the tv and just get under the covers with his regular clothes still on.

“I am comfortable!” He whined but tried to sound tough at the same time, which you saw straight through.

You huffed walking towards his dresser opening his night drawer and grabbing his sleep clothes walking up to him, exchanging the sleep clothes with the tv remote.

“Urgh” he groaned walking towards the bathroom with the clothes in his hand. You following behind him

You giggled and started to undress and elvis was starting to stare at you. “It’s rude to stare” you giggled some more pulling up your nightie and fixing the straps, It was smaller than you want to admit.

You pulled out your pink toothbrush and started to brush your teeth as Elvis did the same

Once you finished you started to walk out until you felt his hand collide with your butt.

“ELVIS AARON PRESLEY! I know your mama raised you better than that” You said practically screaming at him.

He sent you a sweet toothy smirk before laughing at you “Sorry mama just so much back there, Can’t help myself.” You rolled your eyes at that. Sometimes he just had to act so childish

You walked over to the bed pulling the covers over your body and Elvis was right behind you.

You put yourself under the covers giggling at him, As he large arms pulled you across the bed to cuddle you.

“I love you” you whimpered kissing all over his face.

“I love you more” He groaned, his hands still on your waist.

“I hate when you do that you make it seem like I don’t have alot of love for you” You send him a sassy remark.

“Y/n go to sleep before I put you to sleep and we don’t want that” He said kissing and nuzzling his head into your neck.

“Mhm yea” you agreed with him

And with that you dozed off to asleep! Drowning out the party wrapped around eachother. It was moments like these that made you realize that you loved Elvis Presley more than you loved anyone in your life.

————————————————-

A/n : soooo what do you guys think?🥺 This is my first time writing so any other writers please let me know what I could fix!!

Also you can request just please don’t request any smut, I don’t feel comfortable writing it in really sorry💞

[angelinajoulie]

Here’s another small extract from my upcoming dom!Austin x shy!girlfriend!reader one shot.

➡️ read the entire work here!

18+ content below the cut MDNI.

"You're such a good little girl for me, you know this?" his voice gets deeper enough to make you feel soaked as he tucks your hair behind your ear.

"So submissive" he praises you in a whisper, his calloused digits moving to caress your cheek, allowing you to surrender to his touch by resting your head on his thigh.

“So responsive" the intense feeling of the cold gold of his rings hits your warm skin and your spine tingles.

His voice is so soft, yet so firm while he praises you that a weak moan leaves your parted lips, Austin taking advantage of it to shove two of his long fingers in your mouth.

You know what to do so you embrace them with no hesitation and start sucking, wrapping your lips and tongue around his knuckles as the metallic taste grows strong in your mouth.

"So greedy..."

You are a vision to him, you look so tempting that his hand falls on his crotch to palm himself, his growing erection begging to be freed from his slacks and swallowed up by your throat.

As I already said, English is not my first language so I’m currently translating this work (from ITA to ENG) and I can tell you that the warnings will include size kink, praise kink and some other very VERY filthy things. It will be a 5k words piece, should I post it in two parts???✨

I read all your previous requests for the tag list and I wanna thank you sooooo much for em😭😭😭 if you want to be added comment down here, I’ll add you as soon as the one shot will be posted💘

[mamasturn]

austin butler masterlist.

intro; hiya! below are links to all ab related pieces. those with steamier parts have a 18+ warning.

series’

dirty dancing, ep. elvis presley (2022) finds interest in a young woman he meets at club handy. 18+ steam

la douleur exquise, original. a toxic relationship between childhood frenemies. 18+, complete.

is it a crime?, original. sequel to la douleur exquise.

one-shots

suspicious minds, ab. his marriage is on the rocks, and he is determined to make it right before it’s too late.

attention, ab. flirtatious banter between two old flames.

philia, ab. he and his wife hit the red carpet for the first time and are met with scrutiny.

discussions, ab. he shares how having discussions with his wife helped him prepare for his role.

want this, want you, ab. friends to lovers trope.

henny talk, ab. two ex’s reunite over drinks and let the hennessy do the talking for them. 18+ for language.

cry, ab. the aftermath of heartache. triggering scenario.

ruby, ab. how his mind processes the thought of an intense connection with his lover.

let me, sk. she’s new to the school. he’s the cute boy.

nothing without you, sk. two lovesick teenagers are head over heels with one another. II. III.

like a prayer, sk. in which an inexperienced individual gets the test the waters with his lover. 18+ steam

pretty browns in gowns, ep. ep becomes infatuated with a seamstress on beale street.

kisses through the phone, ep. ep falls asleep to the voice of his girl.

crown, ep. she’s insecure about her natural hair, but he’s always there to reassure her of her beauty.

[starlightandfairies]

Leg injury -Austin Butler~

Description: Reader injures leg filming a scene and Austin takes care of you.

Warnings: Broken leg, fluff, implied female

Key: POV = Point of view, Y/N = your name

Word Count: 989

*Please send through requests!*

2nd Person's POV

Austin had met you at a photo shoot, you weren't originally meant to be the model standing in with Austin but the other model had dropped out and chose that she didn't want to do the photoshoot. So going through the books, looking for anyone that they thought could be a good match against Austin, they found your headshot. At the time you were an actress trying to get any sense of work. So, you ended up doing the shoot with Austin, the two of you finding an interest in each other and that created the pathway for your relationship. 

Across the next three years later your friendship turned into a romance, and you started to gain more roles as a guest in tv shows, having a couple of episodes before being written off as there was no longer any use for your character and had also been placed in movies for ten minutes before your character was either or you were playing the younger version of the main character so once you had filmed your scenes you were sent off. 

So, over the last two months, you auditioned for a movie, got the lead role and began filming with the others that had also been cast in the movie. You didn't do some of your own stunts, some of which made you uncomfortable. This current stunt was not meant to be a difficult one, you had been strapped into a harness, a suspension-like bungee wire hooked onto the back. All you had to do was stand on the edge of a tall platform, jump to a lower one and then switch with the stunt double who would be thrown off and onto a crashmat. 

Normally, Austin would be there, watching you perform your scenes, however, he had to do some interviews that he had been requested to attend. After the whole process of being hooked up to the wire, getting into position and making sure everyone else was ready. Getting into character, you ran and jumped where the marking previously was. You had no clue how it happened or what happened to begin with. 

The wire snapped before you could reach the other platform, you fell and just missed the crash mat, a scream escaped your lips as pain raced up your left leg. 

You had been raced to the hospital, an obnoxious plaster cast placed on your leg, resting in bed while you waited for Austin to come home. Austin raced into the hospital room, looking panicked and worried. 

"Sweetheart, how are you doing?" He whispered, sitting at your side as he placed a hand on your face and rested a couple of kisses across your face. 

"I can't feel the pain, I'm on a lot of painkillers." You explained, smiling at him and holding his hand, Austin was glad to know that besides the broken leg, you were otherwise okay. Austin rested a kiss on your lips, holding your hand and looking over your form. 

"They won't be mad at me?" You asked, Austin shot you a look and brought your hand to his lips and rested a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. 

"No, sweetheart, they won't be mad, if they are I'll yell at them. Y/n you're the one that should be mad at them for not checking that wire." You nodded at his words, taking a breath and smiling as he handed you some water. 

"Thank you." He nodded and grabbed a marker out of his pocket. 

"Can I draw on it?" You nodded happily at his words, Austin chuckling as he moved the chair he had been sitting on closer to your leg and lightly began drawing over the plaster. You watched some sitcoms on the tv, ate the food that was brought in for you and talked with Austin as he drew cute little pictures on his new canvas. Austin placed the marker down, moved back to you and rested another kiss on your forehead. 

"The doctors were saying that I would need to be in a wheelchair for a while, then be placed on crutches and then I'd also need physical therapy in the end." You explained sighing at how drastic it all sounded. Austin caressed your cheek, resting loving kisses on your forehead and gave you a caring smile.

"I'll be there with you, all the way. I promise." He reassured, grabbing something from his bag and smiling at you before showing you a teddy bear. 

"You brought me Cookie!" Your teddy bear from your childhood was named Cookie, it normally sat on your bedside table and Austin didn't call you childish for keeping the childhood comfort. You cuddled the sentimental item close to your chest, smiling happily at the boy and rested a kiss on his lips. 

"I love you."

"I love you too." He whispered, sitting back in the chair and watching as you fiddled with the ears of the loved but well-maintained toy. 

"They're talking about returning to filming two weeks after I'm out of here, they just film me from the waist down or do scenes where my leg isn't showing. They don't want to use CGI unless they have to." 

"We'll see how that goes. We don't want you pushing it too much." He stated lightly, standing up and closing the blinds as the sun was pouring in violently. He switched the lights on, smiling as you looked more relaxed from being able to see properly. 

"Thanks for taking care of me." 

"Always. I'll look after you. You're my girlfriend and I'd be a pretty shit boyfriend if I didn't." Austin reassured, resting a kiss on your lips and tracing patterns on your arm. Austin discovered it to be a way to soothe or calm you whenever you needed it. 

[missmaywemeetagain]

Madisyn May Series Masterlists

Hi, my lovely little darlin's! Welcome and thanks for stopping by my currently Elvis-obsessed blog. 💗 Here you'll find the links to my Elvis Presley fic masterlists. I so hope you enjoy!

Join my Patreon HERE! (for early access & other awesome benefits!)

Read the entirety of Pink Scarf 💗🧣💗 HERE! (18+ only)

Read the ongoing Broken Glass 💔🥂❤️‍🩹 HERE!

Read the new series A Million Little Heartaches 💔💫❤️‍🔥 HERE!

Requests/One-shots (EP/Austin):

Snap (Post Army!Elvis 18+)

When Tears Are In Your Eyes (Austin Butler 18+)

Sergeant Presley (Army!Elvis 18+)

How Sweet The Sound (70s Elvis)

Sweet Symphony ('68 Elvis 18+)

Need Your Love Tonight ('61 Elvis 18+)

Paisley Dreams Part 1 ('70 Elvis 18+)

Velvet Sky Part 1 ('73 Elvis)

Trick or Treat ('74 Elvis 18+)

Paisley Dreams Part 2 ('70 Elvis 18+)

⚠️ This blog & my fics contain mature themes. 18+ MDNI

[cheesy-cryptid]

I'm formally asking if you can do an artwork of tropical himbo Elvis getting his first love bite from his vampire girlfriend. Does she have a name, if so I'm sorry for not remembering what it is.

I really like your art and tropical himbo Elvis is my favorite subject.

//SUGGESTIVE

Not me using this ask in particular to draw more Halloween themed art for once 👀🫣 also this serves as a nice break from doing college work too . Its actually been a while since ive done another digital artwork besides doing plates 😭 i lowkey feel guilty not fully indulging into the whole spooky month BUT ANYWAY here ya gooo

In this house we LOVE AND ADORE TROPICAL GOTHIC VAMPIRE GFS AND HIMBO BFS

I think we could call her Barbara or like “Babs” for short yknow. Being a vampire who lives on an island paradise isnt exactly a conventional aesthetic / occurrence associated to creatures of the night but the idea sounds wacky enough for several hilarious situations with the himbo.