#elvis smut adjacent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elvisabutler · 1 year

Text

spark ( chapter two: prayer )

fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( fameless big daddy electrician/handyman ) x female original character word count: 10570ish so just shy of 11k this time. warnings: talk of children. a bit of negative self talk. infidelity in some form. elvis in glasses. religion playing an at least faintly important part. use of a washcloth in inventive ways. faint naivety regarding come and precome and pleasurable parts of sex, i suppose. fingering. implied/referenced masturbation ( m and f ). pining. talk of female reproductive issues. author’s note: so before you read anything involving this. i need you all to either go into this chapter blind other than my note about female reproductive issues or i need you to scroll all the way down to the bottom of this past the tag list for a bit of an explanation for that warning. i'm fine either way but i didn't want to spoil it in the warnings considering i left what happened fairly nebulous. all that being said hi y'all, welcome to the second chapter of spark! there is not a lot i can say other than telling you all i am so very thankful for every single one of you who read it and especially those of you who left comments in the notes or reblogged because hearing what feelings i invoked or what i did to y'all was a highlight and truly makes me want to interact with all of you more and makes me just want to hear more from all of you. this chapter and the next are a doozy but this one specifically has the nearly 6k bath scene as i've called it so you're in for a treat. special thank you to my southern gothic/southern sticky romance soulmate @precious-little-scoundrel because y'all know this wouldn't exist without her little whispers. additional thanks to my discord wives @ab4eva and @butlersxbirdy, my princess and my peach y'all know how much hearing y'all scream about my snippets made me know i was heading in the right direction. @blurredcolour thank you for also reassuring me that the one bit i showed you worked and wasn't just completely a mess. and last but not least @powerofelvis and @prompted-wordsmith thank you both for the edit job and smitty specifically for a few choice lines. i still am never gonna not laugh about you trying to sneak weepy in there though. and now before this author's not gets much longer, i present the second chapter of spark, titled prayer.

It's so quiet in the room. It's too quiet in the kitchen. It's too quiet even as Lilly hears Elvis's deep breaths against her back, hears her own softer breaths mixed with something that sounds almost like a whimper—a soft cry of elation with every other breath and shift of her body against his. Her vagina—her pussy—oh, she doesn't know what to call it now—aches in a way she's never felt before, not even when her husband took her for the first time in their bed. It aches but it doesn't hurt, it burns but in the way her legs burned after she would go running with Melly or how her arms burned after lifting up a basket of Nathan's clothes. Her—what had Elvis called it?—her clit, her button throbs as she feels his soft cock brush up against it as he moves forward just a bit, causing a noise that sounds so obscene Lilly can't help the way her cheeks darken even as another noise leaves her. Another whimper, this time lower in pitch, a keen leaves her mouth as Elvis stills his attempt to separate them.

"Lilly, darlin' I gotta—you gotta let me let ya down. Ya leg's startin' to hurt, ain't it?" Elvis murmurs, his hand moving down her flank, watching how her body starts to shiver, their shared sweat starting to cool on her body as the fan–the fan he just fixed whirrs above them. "Don't… it's gonna start hurtin' the more we stay here, darlin'. Let—" His hand moves to her thigh, feels how it's so sticky and slick with God knows what fluid, his or hers or both, and he's not sure how he's going to take his hand off of her if it starts to stick. Her shivers are starting to strengthen, be it from nervousness or the cool air or a combination and Elvis can't help the way a singular one flows through him, causing him to tighten his hold on her thigh and bury his face against her shoulder, a groan leaving his lips as he feels her clench at it. "It's—come on, Lilly, I gotcha, let me help ya."

It's those words, that mild parroting of words he had just whispered against the shell of her ear not even 15 minutes ago that has her head falling forward just a little, has her body going lax completely, a rag doll for him to maneuver how he sees fit. She doesn't trust herself to help him, doesn't trust the thoughts in her head that tell her to make him keep her this way, to keep him inside of her and keep her filled and aching all at once. Doesn't trust the traitorous thought that tells her Nathan would have never done this, would never be this gentle and calming with her. She'd already be standing on shaky legs with him tucking himself in his pants before telling her that was good. Elvis's arm catches her, holds her tight against him still as he helps her pull her leg down off the counter even as she hears that noise again that—squelch of her arousal and the sheer amount of come he had released in her. If this is how he sounded inside of her, what would happen when he pulled out of her? What would happen as he left her stretched and satisfied? Would—perhaps some would take. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

"Lil." His whisper is gentle, almost as if he's scared she'll bolt. "You hold onto me. Gonna get outta ya now. Gonna pull out of ya."

Her arm and her hand grip his own tightly, her shivers increasing as she feels Elvis start to pull out. The more he inches out bit by bit the more empty she feels, the more she feels as if there's a wound there that won't heal caused by him leaving. It's never felt like this with Nathan and she knows, she knows so deep in her bones and soul that should worry her. But her mind, her body, her everything has narrowed down to her and Elvis as he finally breaks free of her vagina and she feels a wetness like she's never felt before slide down her legs. Unbidden and unrestrained, a sob is wrenched from her throat as she's set down, her feet finally touching the floor once more. A sudden shift back to reality she wasn't prepared for.

Elvis's arm tightens around her even as her shivers worsen and as he feels and hears the sob that comes from her. He doesn't think he hurt her—not physically, at least—but he can't… he can't check her like this. Not when he looks down at her legs and sees his release sliding down her leg.

A realization hits him in that exact moment as his arm tightens around where—where a child would grow if any of his release caught. Where their child would grow if it caught. He hadn't worn protection. He allowed himself to enter her bare and come not once, but twice. Right in this very moment he could be sealing both of their fates. Her to have the child of a man who is not her husband and him—him, to see another man raise his child. To see his child grow up through pictures instead of being there for every waking moment. His thoughts are interrupted by another of Lilly's sobs and he shakes his head. She–she needs a bath, he can't let Nathan come home and see her like this. Even if he had been neglecting her, leaving her to wilt and leaving her to be watered and in the worst of cases fertilized by another man, Elvis couldn't be sure of his reaction to seeing the proof leaking out of his wife.

The fan creaks as it spins, unused to spinning after the break it had been given from being broken. Elvis's brain settles on the noise even as the air circulating causes even his body to let out a shiver. His own natural heat feels like it isn't enough in this one moment, as if it's too busy trying to keep Lilly warm to remember to keep him fully warm and yet he thinks he can handle it. It's nothing compared to winter in France. Nothing compared to the bite of the cold against his skin then. And yet—and yet it cuts far more to the bone, through his muscles and fat and everything that should protect him. Straight to the heart of him.

His arm finally falls from around Lilly’s waist as she moves to stand on her own, her legs a little shaky like a newborn deer. He hastily tucks himself back into his jumpsuit—she can't see what he put inside her, can't see his uncut cock even if it brought her pleasure he wonders if she's never had before. When she finally looks at him he has to stop himself from pulling her into his arms to kiss her. She looks… she looks like an angel and he's corrupted her like a devil. He's touched something that might not have been pure and innocent but was as close as he’s seen in such a long time and sullied it. Touched it with hands that have seen war and have seen death and threatened to cause death even in peacetime. What sort of person did that, what sort of man who believes in God with all his being now would do this to another man’s wife? Breaking not one, but two sins, and for what? To try and fix something that it isn’t his place to fix, that will never be his place to fix? To try and fix something only to potentially cause more things to break inside and out. He hopes she doesn’t see how his hand clenches into a fist, hopes she doesn’t see how he can’t look her in the eye right at this moment. He hopes—he hopes—he hopes she can forgive him, he hopes God can forgive him.

Lilly can’t help the way her legs shake slightly and how her body trembles just a little bit. She’s not cold, not in a way that would cause this much shivering and yet here she was acting as if she had been dunked in a bath filled with cold water and shoved into a Yankee winter. Elvis was—is warm in a way she knows would help. Or at least she feels as if it would help because it would just be an extension of taking care of her, wouldn’t it? It would be him continuing the duty he’s given himself despite not… not being the man who promised to love and to hold and to take care of her in every conceivable way. He is just a man. He is just a man who she has grown quite fond of but a man nonetheless. A man who is not her husband and yet—no, this was just both of them being tempted and falling for temptation. In her mind, she thinks of never having Elvis speak to her again, thinks of a world where this act has ruined their relationship. No, their friendship, and she bites her lip to keep from crying out in anguish. He had been such good company. He is such good company and to lose that would have her all alone once again with nothing to show for it except… perhaps. Perhaps his release could catch inside her. Perhaps it could catch and form a child, their child and she would have someone to be with. She would have the child she longed for to spend her days doting on and mothering. She would have her company and she could be so much less angry—despondent over her friends and she could enjoy Melly’s pregnancy and any other ones that would come after because she’d at least have her own child. Too preoccupied with her thoughts, she nearly misses Elvis speaking to her and grabbing ahold of her hand.

“Lil darlin’, ya shakin’ like a leaf. Ya got a robe or somethin’ in that bedroom of yourn?” He asks all while walking them ever so slowly to the bathroom near the other bedroom. It has a bathtub, that much he knows from using it but he knows it’s likely not anything compared to the one in the main bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. Lilly can only nod as an answer. “Ya good to go grab it? Don’t wanna—it’s not my place to see ya bedroom.”

He’s right and she knows he is but a part of her, the part of her that’s clinging onto his hand for dear life and doesn’t trust her legs to carry her into the bedroom and back to him shakes her head. “I’m—I don’t—walk me to it?”

“Lilly,” he starts before he looks up and sees her face pleading with him, begging silently in almost the same way it was up against the sink and he stops himself before nodding. “Just keep holdin’ my hand. I’ll walk wit’ ya.”

Between the walls and Elvis’s hand, Lilly’s steps are a little more certain by the time she makes it to the doorway of her bedroom where just on the inside there’s a hook that has her robe. She creaks the door open just slightly to grab it before pulling it on. It smells faintly of Nathan’s cologne and she can’t help but crinkle her nose in distaste, wishing it smelt different. The walk over to the other bathroom is just as slow and just as measured but the moment they reach it, Elvis moves to set her on the toilet after shutting the lid. His knees crack audibly as he gets down on the floor with a groan. Lilly winces as she hears the water turn on. “Warmer than you think I should have it.”

He hadn’t asked what temperature she wanted the water but she figured it was best to tell him ahead of time, just in case he thought she needed it only lukewarm. His response is a chuckle before he turns the hot knob just a bit more.

Her mind wanders as she sits there feeling more of his release sticking to her leg. Her mind wanders as she looks at Elvis in his jumpsuit still half open but done up so she can’t see what was between his legs, what had given her such pleasure that her vagina clenches

involuntarily at the memory. Clenches at the memory of how full it felt, how it felt like it was catching, how it felt different than Nathan’s penis. Surely—oh surely with how full she feels even now with his release inside her it would take. It would catch and take and her belly would swell with new life. Her child would grow inside her and kick and roll and make her so happy even as she pushed them out, painful as everyone had told her it was. Her child would look like her if it was a daughter or perhaps a healthy mix of her and Elvis if it was a boy. Her breath catches at the image and she finds herself leaning against the toilet and clutching her hands to her stomach with her eyes shut. Her eyes shut so that the lord could hear her prayer because she’s only focusing on Him and the words she was praying up into the heavens. Please, Lord, please let it catch. Bless me with just this one baby.

Elvis looks over at Lilly over the rims of his glasses and is struck by how she looks so serene in the moment. How her robe covers her and how her head is tilted up as if she’s praying for something. His eyes drift down and notice her hands on her belly. Her hands that seem small compared to his on her belly and briefly, in a flash he berates himself for later, he pictures her growing round with his baby after the release he's just left in her has taken root. Pictures her blossoming and blooming right before his eyes as she thanks him with his favorite dinner with their child rolling inside of her under an apron. The word please leaves her lips, though, and it shatters that image quicker than anything else. She is married to an idiotic child, yes, but he is still her husband and is still a strapping young man. Perhaps still more suited for her than him. More suited to give her those children to help her bloom. He has to shut his eyes and pray for forgiveness and for God to dissolve his come before it reaches those parts of her that can bear fruit. She’s pleading with God that it doesn’t take—that they aren’t caught with their indiscretion and his mind is being selfish with the desires it has for her.

It doesn’t take long for the tub to fill and Elvis turns off the water before it gets to be too much. He can’t look at Lilly, hasn’t looked at her since he heard the word please fall from her lips and yet he knows he has to. He knows to help her into the bathtub he has to but he stares at the water, watching it ripple just a little until he hears Lilly’s voice.

“Are you—? You can… can you stay?” Her skin flushes at her own question, as if it’s the worst possible thing for her to say, as if it’s mortifying to have it leave her lips. He is not her husband. He is, at best, a new friend—and she wants him to see her completely bare. “You don’t—”

Elvis cuts off her words with a shake of his head. “I’ll stay for ya. Since ya want me to.” He pauses, his eyes finally looking at her: specifically looking at her legs where his release is still sliding down onto the floor of the bathroom. Had he honestly come that much? “Ya—e need to—I came in ya, Mrs. H—Lilly. It’s gonna need to be washed outta ya,” his hand twitches as his eyes drift to her stomach and he has to stop himself from placing his hand on it with his next words. “Don’t want ya bein’... Don’t wanna cause ya any issues.”

Don’t want to have my child growin’ inside of ya, is what he means, Lilly thinks. Her traitorous mind wants to be that mean woman Nathan’s accused of her of being and spit that she wants to swell with his baby. She wants to grow round with his baby because she wants a baby and Nathan won’t give her one. She wants a child to love and dote on and to cherish. She bites her tongue though, because it’s not right to say it, it’s not proper to admit she might do anything for a baby. Instead she nods and moves to take off the robe, motioning for Elvis to help her with the rest of her clothes as she stands up. Ever the gentleman, he obliges, and Lilly can’t help the goosebumps and shivers that dot her in his hands’ wake as his fingertips glide across her skin. Her body hunches over just slightly to protect her modesty as if he hadn’t just had her against her kitchen sink not once, but twice. Elvis frowns slightly when he sees this, the frown only deepening as she moves to step into the tub on her own. It doesn’t take him but a second to scoop her into his arms.

Lilly squeaks slightly at the unexpected touch before she leans against him, her hand moving to play with his chest hair until he sets her down softly into the tub. A whine escapes her lips as her vagina hits the water, the temperature difference reminding her of their actions. A moment passes before Elvis opens his mouth to ask something and Lilly tilts her head to the cabinet above the toilet. “Middle shelf.”

A nod is his only response to her direction until she hears the crack of his knees signaling how he’s back down on the ground. Her eyes haven’t left the water, watching how there’s little bits of white, stringy and almost clear swirling around the water. It was all going to waste. It was all going to be going down the drain and she was going to remain barren, a woman with no fruit of her loins to call her own when there should be no reason for that. Elvis eyes her before setting the washcloth in the water and humming, his hand moving to touch her shoulder, a strangely domestic touch that she doesn’t shy away from.

“There’s so much of it.” Lilly whispers absentmindedly, her head tilting just so as Elvis hums and chuckles slightly because she’s not wrong.

“It’s just—that’s my—that’s what I produce before I actually release inside ya. Hell, I think most of it might be that ‘cause I ain’t ever produced this much.” A truth if he’s honest with himself, even in his younger days he doesn’t remember this much being in a condom and yet he had filled her with so much it’s just leaking out of her. He had filled her like he was her husband and they were trying for a child. He had done the unthinkable and yet there’s a small part of him that wonders how much of his release is inside of her. That small part has his cock twitching just slightly against his leg, ready to give her more if she asks, to fill her up and replace what’s being lost in the water. He shakes his head to clear it, to direct the blood flow back to his thinking self and not the desirous snake in his pants.

“This ain’t the part we gotta worry ‘bout anyway. It’s the thicker stuff,” he points to a small bit that’s floating from her vagina as he speaks, “like that right there that we gotta worry ‘bout. But the rest? Ya see how it's slidin’ right out? We don't gotta worry bout those parts.”

Lilly has to stop herself from perking up at that knowledge. That there’s more where this came from and that this? She can lose as much of this as she is right now while still perhaps having his seed catch. This was just the initial bit, the majority of it is still inside of her and she clenches, tightens her vagina even as it feels to be an insurmountable task as it throbs and pulses from the effort. She can't tilt her hips up like her mother had told her but later, perhaps, later she could lay in bed and tilt her hips to help whatever is left behind reach where it needs to be.

Elvis can't put it off any longer as he stares at rippling water, he needs to help this along, other than those small bits not much of his release is coloring the water. If too much stayed within her—her body would change soon, her body would change and it would be all his fault. He would be responsible for her blooming and blossoming but with a child that wouldn't be, couldn't be taken care of the way he'd want them to. He leans closer to Lilly and finds his hand holding the washcloth sliding up her leg.

"Don't—I gotcha Lilly. Gonna help clean ya out, alright? Gonna be as gentle as I can." He waits to see her acknowledgement of a nod before he finally moves his hand up to between her legs, the heel of his hand against her mound and his hand covering everything else.

Her body—her vagina feels as if he's shocked her, as if there's a live wire from his hand to her. A gasp leaves her lips even as she inadvertently grinds down on his hand, chasing a feeling she can't quite put her finger on. It’s almost instinctual the way she reacts, the way her eyes shut as she hisses, the pressure too much while at the same time too little. At her hiss Elvis pulls back his hand as if it’s been burned. It’s not his job to take care of her, it’s not his job to make sure she’s alright after their intercourse against the sink and yet he doesn’t think he could live with himself if he hurt her. He knows how to take care of a woman after sex and he’d be damned if he didn’t treat Lilly with all the respect—and love, his mind traitorously whispers—she deserves.

“Lil, ya alright? Did I…” he starts before his words are cut off with a violent shake of her head. Words are failing her and his eyes search her face for a clue as if that will explain her actions and finds it in the way she shifts in the bath slightly. “Ya sensitive down there?”

Lilly nods and breathes slowly through her nose. “I think so? It’s—It feels like it’s throbbing, Mr. Pre—Elvis.”

In the back of his mind he knows that means she took him well and that he pleasured her thoroughly. It means that her body is overwhelmed with the sensation. It means that it’ll be like that for days to come. A small, sick bit of joy shoots through him at the thought of her aching for him and his stomach roils as soon as the thought comes to him. He would be no better than her husband who ignores her if he took pleasure in the idea. If he took pleasure in knowing he left her aching for him while she is married to her husband.

His words are measured when he speaks, a low murmur as he leans closer, taking the washcloth back in his hands. “Ya ain’t—I’m a lil bigger than most, should have prepped ya better. Jus’. We both got a lil’ overwhelmed, didn’t we? ‘S’alright, ‘m gonna make it better, darlin’. Gonna be gentle as I can. Gonna help ya get all this out of ya. Keep ya from having my baby.”

Lilly’s face falls at his words even though he doesn’t notice, too preoccupied with shifting his focus downward to her vagina. Her breath is slow and measured as she watches him, trying to give this a clinical air, trying to make her body realize there’s nothing arousing about this. This is him just trying to clean his release out of her to keep from being tied to her in some way permanent. Her hand drifts to her belly as she curls into him, her head leaning onto his shoulder. He’s methodical with the outside of her and using the cloth he tries to reach between her folds, tries to open her up only to feel as she tenses just that little bit harder. Forcing her open isn’t an option, not one he wants to seriously consider, at least, and he pauses. His fingers through the rough washcloth threaten to ignite another fire low in her belly as they rub slightly against her skin—at least, if the way she whimpers softly is any indication. Perhaps if he brushed against her clit, perhaps that could open her up. It’s helped in other times when he’s wanted to pleasure another woman. His thumb is already near it and without dwelling on his thought his thumb swipes against it, the wash cloth adding friction that has her unclenching faster than he thought was possible, the shock of it ricocheting through her system. A gasp escapes her lips. A gasp that sounds like his name. He refuses to dwell on what that means as he brushes his thumb against her clit once more.

“Elvis,” she whimpers his name as his thumb swipes a third and a fourth time and she can feel her vagina clenching and unclenching at the feeling, at the sensation as finally she relaxes fully, allowing his fingers to enter her without a question. “Sensitive.”

Her mind is narrowing to single words, the swirl of arousal curling tighter and tighter in her abdomen with each brush of his thumb and each press of his fingers inside of her. The washcloth shouldn’t help the feeling, it shouldn’t make her eyes want to roll in the back of her head from the friction and the slight roughness. The splashes of his arm and hand hitting the water as his fingers move in and out of her ground her and yet have her floating away. Her brain registers him speaking through her whimpers of pleasure. Pleasure that she doesn’t know what to—to do with, having been denied it for so long.

“I know it’s a lot but gotta be thorough, Lilly. Gotta make sure it's all out,” he whispers softly to her, his fingers never stopping their task. “That's it, unclench for me, Lil darlin. Let—ya gotta help me, we gotta make sure there isn't anything left up there."

Faintly she can hear him and feel herself nodding, too busy trying not to rock against his fingers. That’s not what he’s doing this for, he’s trying to prevent—he’s trying to prevent a child. He’s trying to protect her marriage and yet her body wants to move on instinct. She wants to be beholden to her instincts just this once. Just this once she wants to have pleasure and happiness she doesn’t have to beg and plead for. It’s nice, this haze that overwhelms her senses, and she can’t truly recall the cold, distant figure of her husband leaving each and every day for work without so much as a kiss on the cheek as it has been recently. Instead she is nestled into the crook of Mr. Presley’s neck, lips tasting of the salt of his sweat. She wants to feel like he made her feel against the sink. Her body cants itself just so in order to earn another swipe of his thumb and she feels herself dangling on the precipice of something—of her orgasm, maybe? Was she about to find release on his fingers as he cleaned her body out with a washcloth? As he cleaned his release so a child didn’t form inside her, giving away their actions from tonight? A miniscule part of her feels as if she ought to be mortified but it doesn’t drown out her sighs and whines as she feels his fingers curl just so—trying to make sure she’s clean. It doesn’t drown out how her hips move once in another attempt to grind before he puts his hand on the back of her neck. A comforting gesture, yes, but when paired with his next words seals her fate.

“Take what ya need right now. Jus' takin’ care of ya. It’ll help get more outta ya. That’s it, Lil darlin, Elvis’s gotcha.”

A keen, high pitched and pained, leaves her mouth as she feels herself fluttering around—no, clenching around—his fingers before becoming practically boneless against him, the aftershocks from the orgasm causing a new round of shivers and goosebumps to happen. Her face burrows into his shoulder as he works her through them gently before her hand moves to grab his wrist, the sensitivity finally becoming too much.

“Elvis it’s, o-oh—” Lily struggles to articulate her words and breathe and exist in this moment, the sensation drowning out any thoughts other than the pulse of her own heartbeat she feels between her legs. “It—”

Elvis shushes her, trying his hand on her neck, rubbing it and tightening over and over as he finishes cleaning her out, knowing that whatever is left is too high up for him to reach. He’d have to just pray to god for that to be done away with. "Shhhh, Lilly… Darlin', I'm sorry, bein' as gentle as I can.”

Lilly should object to how his hand at her neck feels almost as if she's a kitten being dragged along by their mother but she can't find it in her to do such a thing. She can't find it in her to since objecting would mean he'd remove something that truthfully is keeping her tenuous grip on reality and the Earth there. She figures she'd float away without it. There's a part of her that doesn't think she'd mind in that moment, that she'd understand floating away after what's happened because it almost doesn't feel real, especially as he takes care to wash her body despite her being fully capable of doing it herself. His grip loosens for the last time as she watches him lean over and unplug the drain. The water swirls slowly at first, gaining speed the longer she stares at it and the more of his release slides down the drain. She hears the crack of Elvis's knees as he stands up and winces for him even as his shadow towers over her. She should get up out of the tub, she knows this and yet her legs feel just shaky enough that she finds the task impossible until she feels his arms underneath hers.

Getting out with his support allows her to fully catch her bearings as he hands her a towel that she wraps around her body, drying herself off as he grabs another and assists with her legs, his knees cracking once again at him getting back down. She makes the mistake of looking down at him and seeing him look up at her with a surprising sense of worship she only ever usually associates with church and God. A shiver makes its way through her at the realization.

Her voice sounds like it's going through a tunnel as she says something about how she's fine from here. She swears she hears herself say Mr. Presley and hears him say Mrs. Harris like he hadn't seen her naked and like he hadn't just helped her to clean out his release. Their formalities would make her laugh in any other situation, especially if she thinks of his seed catching inside of her. It wouldn't do to call her that when she was carrying his child, now would it? Wouldn't do for her to call him that as her belly rounded out with his baby, would it? Would it?

He leaves and she waits until she hears a goodbye burst forth loud enough to break through the tunnel her ears are in to finish drying off and getting ready.

She barely finishes making dinner as Nathan walks through the door.

Elvis… Elvis finds himself under his shower cursing his actions even as he remembers her face and her pleasure. He dreams of a life. He dreams of a life with her. He dreams of their life together. It feels worse than any nightmare.

Charlie notices something is up the moment he walks in the diner and sees Elvis already sitting down at their table, a plate with just bacon in front of him in addition to eggs and what looks like toast, or at least he hopes it’s toast. It looks like a plate for him and Elvis and yet he sees the man he's willing to call one of his truest friends eating it all as if it's just for him. He ought to be gentle about the whole thing, ask Elvis a question calmly and innocently.

Instead, as any sensible friend who’s seen you naked and bleeding and cryin’ for your mama does, he steals two pieces of bacon and sits down in the chair across from his best friend and chomps on said bacon before asking one, singular question: "What are you doing?"

Elvis's hand darts out with a speed that betrays his army training to grab the other piece of bacon only to be rebuffed with a frown. "Eating bacon, Charlie. Ya suddenly blind now? Short and blind, what a catch for ya wife."

Charlie visibly recoils and waits for Elvis to apologize or give him some clue that the statement was just his normal, playful ribbing. The crunch of the bacon disabuses him of that notion as the minutes tick by. "We got a family so she must've seen something in me. Just thankful she didn't see you first."

"Ain't that everyone's damn thanks. Thankful I didn't see their wives back then but if I see 'em now they ain't gotta worry. Women don't go for this body like they did back in the day." Elvis stabs at his eggs and Charlie—Charlie thinks he knows what's going on and he can't help but roll his eyes internally.

"Did some woman turn you down and now you're moping? Over a plate of bacon after church?" He tries to keep the judgment out of his voice but there's still a hint there that he can't do away with.

If looks could kill as well as every gun both he and Elvis have ever used, Charlie's certain in this moment he would be preparing to go to sleep in his eternal resting place. As it stands he once again realizes that perhaps he ought to not poke his absolute bear of a best friend. Elvis's next words punctuated by another crunch of bacon and a laugh so bitter Charlie's never heard it come from him seals that idea.

"Oh. Charlie, my boy, my boy, that would have been better. I would have handled that like a champ," he shakes his head, "ya 'member Mrs. Harris? The—the woman I told ya 'bout?"

“Yeah, the one with the niece and the husband who can’t work his way ‘round a wrench. What about—?” Charlie stops mid sentence and stares long and hard at Elvis trying to school his face into something normal and something less like he looks about ready to murder him before realizing it’s impossible and saying the first words that come to mind in the most hushed tone he can manage. “Wasn’t one of your rules you wouldn’t sleep with a married woman?”

Elvis can’t help but curse the fact that Charlie has seen him through some of, if not the worst, parts of his life and can regrettably read him like an open book sometimes. He doesn’t answer with words. Instead he allows himself to eat a piece of toast that is both soggy and crispy all at once. His silence is practically deafening before Charlie exhales.

“You—ou got me thinking your daddy died or something and all this is because you slept with another man’s wife? A man who’s practically ignoring her despite how she looks like a—” Elvis swallows and holds up his pointer finger before practically growling.

“Not other fuckin’ word, Hodge. Not a single fuckin’ word. Lilly ain’t some fuckin’ European floozy we forgot ‘bout the next day. Don’t ya say ‘nother fuckin’ word.”

A chuckle leaves Charlie’s mouth despite his best efforts to stop it. Elvis is moping about a woman alright, just not the way Charlie thought he was. He wouldn’t have—He loves Elvis, he does but he would have never predicted him managing to charm a woman like that if she didn’t know who he was beforehand. If she didn’t know him as he was when they both came back from the war, both struggling with things they had seen yet pared down to a lean type of beauty: the scraggly pines that grew on Italian mountaintops. Yet maybe, just maybe, there was hope. Very stupid and unwise hope, but hope nonetheless that Elvis might be able to enjoy the same sort of life he has.

"Cursing on the Lord's day. At me. She's got you—pass me your whole pig's worth of bacon and tell me what happened, E."

Elvis stares at the plate and lets out a heavy sigh as he scoots the plate over. “It ain’t a whole pig’s worth of bacon.”

“It’s as big as my head.” Charlie states, motioning to get the attention of one of the waitresses in an attempt to get a plate and different food even as he eats a piece of bacon.

“Ya have a tiny head, Hodge. Like a damn lil hedgehog.”

Meanwhile across town Lilly finds herself in her sister’s kitchen, sitting at her dining room table with the light of the sun shining on her through the window. Her sister Melly busies herself with the finishing touches of a lunch for the two of them and Jerry. Lilly had tried to help only to be waved off with an ease that had her sitting down in the chair watching, her hands settling on her stomach as they had been since that fateful afternoon. It’s too soon to know, she reasons, too soon to know if Elvis’s seed took and has filled her empty womb with a child she’s craved for years. Yet her hands gravitate there anyway, almost trying to provide a cradle as if to tell the child she hopes is forming inside her that it’s okay to stay, it’s alright and that she’ll be their mother. She’ll take such good care of them and they’ll get to meet their cousins. They’ll get to meet their cousins and grow up with the one swelling underneath Melly’s apron.

Melly notices this, of course, notices how her sister is cradling her belly and yet she doesn’t dare ask. She doesn’t dare ask if Nathan’s finally done right by her sister and given her the baby she so desperately wants. Her chest hasn’t changed and she hasn’t felt a firmness when she’s brushed against her but perhaps it’s just too early.

“You’re looking happier,” Melly comments as she sets down the plates of food. She leaves Jerry’s on the counter, knowing her husband will grab it when he comes back inside from dealing with the yard.

Lilly can’t help the way she smiles slightly and practically preens at the acknowledgment that she seems happier. Elvis might not be—Elvis might not have been by since that afternoon but there was something so beautiful about his actions, so gentle and nourishing about him that it stuck with her. The throbbing in her vagina’s finally stopped after days of her cupping it and playing with it next to Nathan’s snoring body, wishing her fingers were thicker and longer and wishing it was Elvis’s cock sliding in and out of her. That he was keeping her full and telling her he’s got her, he’s always got her while filling her with so much of his release that there’d be no other choice but to swell with his child.

She doesn’t dwell on the fact that it’s taken another man to make her feel a way she hasn't for years. She can’t dwell on that because it’s improper and she’d like to just bask in the glow of everything for now. She’d like to bask in the glow of things before a different glow would overtake her.

“I feel happier.” Lilly answers, still continuing to grin as she digs into the food. There’s a hint of nausea at some of it but she chalks it up to being hungry. “I feel different.”

Melly’s eyebrows both move upward as she settles into her chair and takes a bite of her toast first, knowing how her stomach reacts to food without a bland base to start off with. “Different. Does that have anything to do with Nathan and you? Anything you want to tell me?”

Lilly’s hand stills in its subconscious rubbing as her eyes widen. “No. Not—not yet.”

There’s something that shifts in Melly, a brightness that shines through as she looks at Lilly. If she is pregnant it's too soon to tell but the idea that she'd be carrying her second while Lilly is finally carrying her first delights her in ways she can't put into words. It's perhaps a secret dream she's always had. The scrape of her chair against the linoleum is harsh to both their ears and yet it’s a small price to pay for the feel of Melly’s hand against her stomach.

“You’ll tell me as soon as you know?” Melly’s voice comes out as a whisper, as if she’s scared to speak it any louder. “You’ll tell me I’ll have a niece or nephew on the way?”

Lilly nods quickly as she hears the door open and hears Jerry’s voice carry into the kitchen. Melly’s hand moves off of her stomach as quick as can be before Jerry pops his head in and smiles. “Won’t ask what you two were doing before I got here.”

Life doesn't stop that Sunday and instead continues on and on with one week passing by and then another and another until Lilly knows she's due for her cycle and yet it doesn't appear. Her underwear remains pristine and white with not a drop of blood in sight. She doesn't dare tell Melly or anyone yet, knowing it could be a fluke, a stress induced issue but she swears she feels her womb hardening. She swears she feels it bloating in a way that feels different than what comes before her cycle. Perhaps, perhaps Elvis had done it. Perhaps Elvis had filled her and their child was forming unbeknownst to either of them. It occurs to her that she should try and reach out to him and see if he can come by her home. There's nothing that's broken for him to be fixed and yet he deserves to know what's happening inside her. That soon her stomach will round outward and their child will kick and roll and grow inside of her. That she is still married but it would be cruel to deprive him of ever knowing of their child.

It's too soon for him to know, she'll tell him when she's sure, when there's no mistaking what has happened to her because of their actions that afternoon. She'll tell him then, she'll convince him to come by and press his hand against her stomach so he can feel what he's—what she wished and prayed to have happen even as he washed himself out of her. He ought to be able to be in their life somehow because he's their father and he'd make such a brilliant one. He'd make such a brilliant one and her mind traitorously tells her it's a shame she wouldn't be raising the child with him.

Six weeks is a long time for him to be avoiding Lilly and he knows that. He knows that she didn't deserve to be left out in the cold like that—to be left without company and companionship like that but he can't help it. He can't help how his mind drifts when his exhaustion sets in remembering how her body felt against his when they danced and when she sagged against him. It’s a sin to covet a man’s wife as much as he covets Lilly. It’s a sin to want to be in another man’s home taking care of his wife in any way she’ll let him. It’s a sin and yet it feels so right, it feels like he’d be doing what he’s meant to be doing. Elvis is not her husband and yet his mind—his traitorous mind and soul tells him he should be and tells him she needs him in some way. She’s been happier, he thinks, since that afternoon—and his mind tells him that he had something to do with that. There’s a glow about her and it draws him in like a moth to a flame before he pulls himself away every Sunday when she passes off her niece. A nagging thought crosses his mind as the weeks go by and he swears that glow is stronger every time he sees her, that perhaps it wasn’t just happiness and joy causing her to glow that way. He ought to ask her and yet the idea feels invasive in a way that makes him think he has to find the right time for it. If his suspicions prove to be correct, he figures they both will need time to process it.

Six weeks is a long time for him to avoid her and it makes it so that when he gets a call that sounds like Lilly crying there isn’t a moment of hesitation before he finds himself jumping into his truck and driving to her house she shares with her husband. Her door is unlocked and he wants to admonish her for it, tell her that she shouldn’t leave the door unlocked because you never know who might come in but then he sees her. He sees her tear stained face and her rumpled dress and fears the worst. A flash of pure anger courses through his veins as his mind swirls with possibilities of why she’s crying. Why her face and body betray such anguish that it twists his gut and has his mouth opening to speak before her voice sounding so small in a way he’s never heard interrupts him.

“I was waiting. I was being careful!” Her words don’t make sense to Elvis even as his eyes trace over her form and around the house where they’re standing as if either thing holds the clue for what’s going on. As if some part of the way she’s carrying herself—hunched over—or the way things seem out of place—her lunch was sitting on the table only half eaten—would explain what’s happening, why she had called him crying, muttering about needing to fix things.

His tone is soft and comforting as he moves to touch her shoulder, to pull her into some form of a hug. “Darlin’—” The word slips out before he can stop himself but he continues. “What’s… what’s wrong?”

Her eyes look up at him and he’s struck by how bloodshot they look. How long had she been crying? How long had her body been wracked by sobs that no one was there to comfort her from? Elvis watches as her mouth opens and closes several times before she shakes her head. “I—the oven is broke again.”

“Lil—Mrs. Harris, things I fix don’t break like that. Not this quick.” He tries to defend his work, knowing there’s no Earthly way that it was broken already. He had made sure to fix it, he had made sure that her oven wouldn’t need his touch for quite a long time after he was inside of it that day. In the back of his mind he thinks he’s missing something.

“It’s broken, Mr. Presley. It’s broken and can’t keep heat and bake anything and I’ll call someone else over if you won’t fix it. Just please take a look at it. Just make it work like I thought it was.” Lilly’s voice shakes but doesn’t waver when she speaks. If anything it seems to get stronger the longer she speaks. It seems she’s more insistent with every word that comes from her mouth. Something is broken—the oven he was supposed to fix is broken and she wants him to check it again. That nagging feeling grows as he looks at her in confusion. He prides himself on being a smart enough man, but… maybe it’s because she clouds his judgment. He can’t tell what she’s talking about.

“Lil—Lilly, why did you call me here?” He manages to almost stutter out the words, wincing he hears it. She has to answer him when he asks point blank, doesn’t she?

Lilly is silent for the longest while and Elvis thinks he pushed too hard, thinks that he’s overstepped for once—twice—in their friendship and opens his mouth to apologize before she grabs his hand and places it on her stomach. In a rush everything clicks into place for Elvis and swears his heart stops. He should move his hand and yet he can’t, it’s almost as if there’s a magnet keeping his hand attached to her stomach. The oven is broken, her oven is broken and empty and can’t keep heat.

The night before, when his body gave out and had him sleep he tossed and turned over images of him and Lilly together. Images of her swollen with a child and laughing next to him. He remembers being on his knees kissing her still-flat stomach and laughing with her hand over his and telling her how she’s made him the happiest man alive. He could still hear her giggles ringing in his ears when he woke up. That was fantasy, a dream dreamed up by an old man who shouldn’t be dreaming of a life with a woman he isn’t married to and who is married to another. They’re brilliant company for each other but—but she is not his wife and he is not her husband.

“I’m sorry.” Elvis whispers the words and they feel so insubstantial, so insignificant to what he feels in this moment. The sorrow he feels for her being fed by her tears and the way her silence just drags on and on. Perhaps this was his doing, perhaps there was something there and he had broken it. Perhaps—perhaps he should have been selfish and not cleaned his release from her. Or perhaps—he can’t dwell on it. It threatens to drive him mad if he does.

And yet his mind can't shake another time and place where his hand is there for another reason, with her hand over his, a smile on her face instead of tears rolling down her cheeks and onto his suit as she curls into a hug he offers. She looks so young and yet like she's been crushed by the world all at once. A flower run over on the side of the road, soaked in the gutter. The attempt he finally makes to move his hand is thwarted by her own grasping his wrist, forcing him to press down to feel that she's bloated but still very empty.

It was supposed to be different. Things were supposed to go well, she had prayed and begged and cradled her womb and for what? For her cycle to be off and there to be blood mocking her in her underwear? For there to be cramping that feels like it might threaten to tear her in two. No one she’s known has lost a baby, there’s no one she can ask to see if that’s what’s happening. If the child she swore was growing from the moment Elvis released inside of her not once but twice was gone. Or if there just wasn’t one at all and she had been deluding herself. Either option feels almost unbearable and feels like a lead weight in her stomach.

Elvis doesn’t speak and Lilly’s thankful for it. Her dream of telling him and them figuring out how he would be involved has been flushed down the toilet multiple times today and is currently flowing between her legs. Her hand finally loosens its grip on his wrist and her chest tightens as she looks into his eyes. Those blue eyes shouldn’t be so caring, they shouldn’t look so caring when looking at her. There shouldn’t be sympathy in those eyes directed toward her or her empty womb. Yet there is and Lilly is struck not for the first time at how different Elvis is from Nathan. She’s struck by how she’s been in this sort of position before with her husband and she doesn’t recall there being nearly as much care and—dare she even pretend?—-anguish in his gaze. She remembers frustration at himself or, or her? She doesn’t know. She can’t recall just now.

“I—I was late,” She starts, and shakes her head, sniffling. “I was late for my cycle and I didn’t—I don’t know why I called you.”

Elvis doesn’t dare say the first thoughts that come to mind. Doesn’t dare tell her that he thinks she knows exactly why she called him because the mere idea shouldn’t be put into words. He’s already damned himself and her anguish, her pain is perhaps a consequence of it. Had he not given in to his baser urges perhaps Nathan would have given her a child that she could tell him she was growing inside of her. If he hadn’t given into his baser urges she wouldn’t have thought his child was growing inside of her. He shuts his eyes, trying to not think of the image of her swollen with his child once again.

“Comfort?” The word as an answer feels safe and from the look on Lilly’s face, how it relaxes just a little bit and how her hunched over position straightens out even as she grimaces in pain he was right. However, that urge to fix that had caused so many problems rears its ugly head again and Elvis knows he should ignore it but the grimace on her face reminds him that she’s in pain and to leave her in pain without attempting to help her feels cruel. It feels cruel to just allow her to deal with this on her own. Perhaps that’s why she had called him, taken the chance that he wouldn’t want her to be alone in this situation. Taken the chance to assume he missed her and just wants what he's craved from her more than anything else: her company.

A nod is the only thing she manages before her body is wracked with another flare of pain as Elvis watches. He’s never—he’s never been here when she’s on her cycle so he doesn’t know if this is normal or not but he remembers June and remembers the other girls and knows, in this moment, he can’t leave her like this. Especially after she had called him. His mind tries to think back on what other women would do before he remembers how some would curl up in bed and ask for heat and any number of other things. The flash of memory at her in the bath after their activities and a flash of a fantasy of her in the bath with him runs through his thoughts until he shakes his head to clear it.

“Missus—Lilly. Darlin’, I—wouldn’t it be better to be laying down? For your pain?” His words are chosen as carefully as he can and yet he still feels like he might have said the wrong thing until he sees her move to lean and sag against him as if he’s the only thing that’s going to keep her standing in this exact moment.

“My—oh, just help me to my bedroom, you don’t—” The words are lost as Elvis picks her up, earning a bit of a shocked gasp from her. “You don’t have to pick me up, I can w-walk.”

Elvis stays silent for a moment or so as he walks, ignoring the ache in his knees that tell him he should have prepared more for this. That he should have known better than to pick Lilly up like this and yet he finds that it’s easy to ignore the ache as her protest grows a little quieter and she practically burrows into his hold. He is not her husband and yet he wonders if her husband’s ever done this for her. Ever treated her with care when she’s like this.

Nathan had noticed her pain that morning and brushed it off, much to Lilly’s frustration. It’s not that she wanted him to know she had engaged in a transgression but she was his wife and she was in pain. Jerry had made sure Melly was taken care of after Lizzie and Nathan couldn’t even be bothered to call her sister or anyone. The neglect is what feels like an even worse knife than the one she swears she feels in her lower stomach. The neglect is why she called Mr—Elvis. Even in the short time she’s at least partially known him—the actual him, not the image she had of the man who taught her niece’s Sunday school—has taken care of her and hasn’t left her to rot and wallow in her pain and loneliness. He’s kept her company and fixed so many things around her house that at this point she’s thinking she’s going to have to break things just to have an excuse to get him to visit under the guise of working.

She knows she shouldn’t relax in his hold, she shouldn’t burrow into his arms like he’s her husband and he’s just carrying her to their bed but she can’t help it, the sheer joy and calmness that settles over her from the care he shows overwhelming her. His arms allow her to feel safe in the moment, help her to forget how much pain she’s in physically and mentally. They are a balm to her aches even as she potentially causes some for him. It doesn’t take too long for him to reach her bedroom, using his body to open the door the entire way from its cracked open position. Lilly hears him sigh and feels his head move to try and avoid looking around before she feels him shift her in his arms.There’s a difference, she thinks, in knowing that he would have to eventually set her down on her bed and him actually doing it.

A shiver runs through her body that has Elvis’s grip tightening as he moves his hands away. It’s not cold and yet here she was shivering like she was that fateful night.

“You alright?” he murmurs, low and questioning in a way that he shouldn’t be.

“You’re warm,” she whispers back at him, looking into his eyes and trying to pretend that answers everything. Pretend that telling him he’s warm will get him to stay and comfort her until it’s time for Nathan, cold, icily indifferent Nathan to be home. “I feel—it felt good.”

Elvis opens his mouth to speak before his breath catches in his throat at the sheer intensity of the look she’s giving him. He can’t put a name to what he sees in her eyes, only that it threatens to overwhelm him if he stares at her for too much longer. He has to leave, he needs to go back to work or home or just somewhere where her eyes aren’t burning holes into his soul. He finally starts to step away only for Lilly’s arm to find its way in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. Her hand moves to grab his and grasps it so tightly he can’t wrench it from her.

“Can you—can you stay?” She asks, quiet as a church mouse and looking as if she expects him to say no. As if she expects to be left alone to deal with things once again. It makes his stomach roil and twist and he feels almost like throwing up before he moves to sit down on the bed.

“Not for too long, Lilly,” he answers, as he watches her move to the other side of the bed, letting go of his hand as she does. He sits down, groaning slightly as he does at the feel of her bed underneath him. It dips more than it did when she was occupying the same spot, his weight causing the springs to creak just a bit more. Lilly waits until he gets comfortable to move closer to him. He stays sitting, his body leaning against the headboard, not even daring to try and lay down in her marriage bed. It makes trying to cuddle with him harder than it should be but after a moment of a deliberation she settles on laying her head in his lap. The warmth of his belly seeps into her head, soothing any headache she’s gained from crying and the vantage point allows her to feel encased in what feels like a protective shell. Elvis tries to keep his hands to himself but as he feels Lilly settle against him and sees every wince and shift his hands move to her hair, running his fingers through it. Scratching ever so softly against her scalp. Lilly’s sigh tells him it was the right thing to do and emboldens him to sing, breathe out into the world the first song that comes to mind when he thinks of her.

Lilly hears Elvis’s voice singing Jo Stafford to her, a song she’s only heard once or twice before but it feels so romantic that something inside her chest feels warm and feels almost like it’s blossoming the more she hears his voice singing in that low tone, his hands flowing through her hair.

“But just remember, darling, all the while, you belong to me,” he sings, watching as Lilly’s eyes start to flutter shut, the pain and the emotions of today getting the best of her. The more he sings the more he realizes he wishes those words were true. The more he wishes he wouldn’t have to leave in a few hours. But she is not his wife and he is not her husband and he’ll leave in a few hours as he should. He’ll leave after he shakes her awake lightly, grimacing as she winces in pain and as her eyes practically beg him to stay once again. He'll leave watching her curl back into her sheets but won't see her head move to where he had been sitting or see her hands grab at the pillow that had been behind his back.

She will wake up alone right before Nathan comes home. She will wake up to a simple dinner made with two plates on the table.

She calls him back over the next day.

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @marriedtopresley, @memphis-menace, @steph-speaks, @coolgirl462, @vintageshanny, @memphisflash1935-1977, @j-v-9-2, @sexystarfish, @duhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, @jessicarcates, @chirssycrumble9456789, @shantellescrivener, @yomammalolha, @honey6578, @urmom11111111111119, @myradiaz, @elvispresleyxoxo, @tryingtogettoelvis, @joegramoe, @rainblue-art, @fav-fanficssss, @moodyblueriver, @misspresley, @fallinlovewithurlove, @ash-omalley, @yynneessmons good heavens, i think that's everyone. those of you who didn't get the tag, know i'm gonna head to the messages within the day. also i including those of you who reblogged the first chapter. i would have done likes as well but there- there was a hefty chunk and i didn't know for sure if you all wanted to be tagged.

additional explanation: so if you haven't just read the fic instead of just scrolling down to the bottom to see what's up, hello. but even if you did just read the fic, let the record show that i myself did write this with the idea that lilly had a very early miscarriage. and it's why i added a tag just in case for it since i know some people avoid the subject matter for their own mental health. however i purposefully left it nebulous because she herself wouldn't know for sure and it's- the same result occurs either way, she is not pregnant and that wrecks her emotionally because she had put so much stock in the possibility that she would be. no matter what if she wasn't pregnant she was going to be sad and depressed and generally in a state of anguish. so, you can read this whichever way you want, it does not really change the intent/what happens afterward in this. but i didn't want to directly spoil all of you in the warnings especially since it causes a turning point of sorts, but i also don't want anyone to be in duress because of me. also i promise honestly these two have a happy ending, just trust me like y'all trusted me with professor presley, okay?

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x oc #big daddy elvis #big daddy and lil darlin'#elvis x lilly #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley smut #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #spark universe #elvis x reader #crawfever adjacent #elvis #ally writes #tw: miscarriage

190 notes · View notes

madelynraemunson · 9 months

Text

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI

Chapter 015: Eddie, Do You Copy?

Learning about, understanding, and loving all parts of Eddie.

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 5.8k words

disclaimers — fluff, grief, flight of icarus easter eggs bc of eddie’s mom, ANGST, talks of childhood abuse/negligence/foster care, implied domestic violence, homicide, cancer, mentions of suicide, mentions of underaged drinking/drug use if you squint, lil modern-nostaglia moment btwn eddie and the boys (as a treat ✨), erica and wayne cameo yayyy

author's note: eddie is so boyfriend in this chapter 🫠 happy holidays, you filthy animals ♥️

“I put the record on, wait till I hear our song. Every night I’m dancing with your ghost.”

♡

Your eyes accommodate the first beacon of light as thirst creeps its way into your system.

6:38 AM.

Quietly chucking the covers off, you find yourself hobbling over Eddie in attempts to get to the kitchen. You can only hope that it doesn’t wake him.

Eddie responds with a low grumble. Followed by some mumbling and flailing. And then you watch as he shifts around, doing his best to return to the state of comfort he was in before his sleep was interrupted.

But if he’s anything like you — which you know for a fact he is — his cranky self is most likely awake by now and just pretending to be unconscious to avoid early morning conversation.

To put it to the test, you press a soft kiss onto Eddie’s forehead. He smiles.

You smile to yourself. Called it.

When you get to the kitchen, you seek out Eddie’s Garfield mug for your reservoir of choice. And as it fills with water, the bedroom adjacent from his captures your attention.

Steve’s door is open. A huge indicator that he’s still not home.

Judging by the energy levels of everyone last night, you assume it’s because they were still out partying. And for Steve’s sake, a part of you hopes it’s also because he went home with somebody.

Once you’ve got your water, you sneak back into Eddie’s room, using the newfound, natural light to really study it.

You would’ve thought it was an extension of Steve’s room, not Eddie’s. Everything’s a posh navy blue, something Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead in if he had been anywhere else.

But the corner of his room is more like him, decorated with vinyls and a Crosley just like your sister’s. There were records of his favorite metal bands: Sabbath and Maiden. Anthrax, Metallica, and Judas Priest. And the unsuspecting like Elvis, The Doors, and Pink Floyd. Even country — both old and new, Johnny Cash and Chris Young — followed by a wide selection of Chicago blues and bluegrass.

The rest of his personality could be found on the bulletin board sitting on his desk.

Hand soap, dryer sheets, FUCKING DO PAYROLL

Eddie’s to-do list. You let out a soft chuckle.

Familiar faces canvas the board. There’s photos of Eddie, Jeff, Gareth, and Grant. A picture of him with his uncle — Young Eddie with his hair buzzed and Uncle Wayne’s a subtle gray, most likely Eddie’s doing.

There’s a photo of Steve and Eddie at a Colt’s game. Eddie and Dustin. And Eddie with Will at what looked to be a D&D convention of sorts.

But one photo catches your eye the most.

‘MOMMY & ME: LIZ + EDDIE , 1994’

His mom’s name was Liz. You graze the picture of Liz holding a baby Eddie in her arms. On her face was a dimpled smile like no other, the love-filled look in her eyes having been shielded by her thick wavy brown hair.

But you didn’t need to see her eyes to know how much she loved Eddie. You see it in how she’s holding him, gently pressed to her chest while she supports his neck, his beady brown eyes staring at her with the same amount of adoration.

It all reminds you of Mom. You’re almost certain there’s a picture of you two like that, but it’s back home with Billy… evidently a forbidden turf to trek.

At least there’s still the memory of it. But like the bond with your twin, it’s also growing to be distant.

Your eyes and tears trickle down to another picture of her on Eddie’s bulletin board.

It’s of Toddler Eddie now with Liz in what looks like a kitchen. He’s standing on her feet and, judging by the motion of the picture, is dancing along to a song that was probably playing on the stereo. Behind the two of them sat piles and piles of CDs, all of which were all of the blues.

“She was pretty, wasn’t she?”

Eddie is behind you now. He smiles at you with a dreamy gaze, beaming at the mere fact that the two women who made him happiest could be visually processed in the same frame.

You gulp.

“Really, really pretty,” you insist. “You have her smile. A-and her hair.”

"Yeah, I look a lot like her," Eddie chuckles with a hint of pride. He grazes the photos of her in the same way you did. "She’s influenced me a lot growing up. Bet that's why my sperm donor can't stand me."

You carefully dissect his choice of words. There’s a lot of resent for Alan Munson on Eddie’s part. You don’t blame him, if what Billy discovered had been true. It’s the same reason you and him resent Dad.

Eddie fixates on the expression on your face. He knows why this is so moving for you.

“It never gets easier, does it?” he questions, hinting at your own ongoing struggle with grief.

You cross your arms and shake your head. Softly you mutter, “Never.”

You feel stupid. Eddie’s doing his best to navigate his own baggage, yet you still found a way to make it about yourself.

He pulls you close and wraps his arms tenderly around your waist. Eddie doesn’t have to say it to reassure you that your burdens are safe in his presence. You can just feel it. Two traumatized individuals understand each other in a way others can’t.

“Time just keeps going,” you speak again. “Everyone moves on and you’re kinda just…stuck in place.”

“World just keeps going. Grief doesn’t care about your plans when it blindsides you, taking you for everything you’ve got.”

You swallow hard as Eddie’s words sink into you.

Tragedy just feels so non-consensual. No one ever asks for it to happen.

You and Billy can’t even go surfing without thinking about Mom. Whenever you try you both always end up fighting. That’s why Max tends to go alone or with her own friends.

“I have to stay away from a whole genre of music because I’ll burst into tears,” you scoff in agony. “Billy and I can’t even listen to Iration without thinking of our mom.”

“Can’t listen to Muddy Waters without thinking of mine.”

You and Eddie sway in place to the tandem of your beating hearts. It’s a breath of fresh air knowing you have each other now.

After a while, he ruffles your hair and spins you around so that you can face him.

"But enough about that," Eddie attempts a smile. He rubs your shoulders and you hum in awe. "This is supposed to be a happy time."

"Happiness and despair can coexist," you sniff. “Duality, remember?”

Eddie smiles. It's a you're right kind of smile. "I was yesterday years old when I learned that."

He kisses your forehead and soon you two are in the shower, rinsing up and mentally preparing for the long day of errands ahead.

You’re the first to hop out and get dressed, eager to devour a bowl of oatmeal before tackling the day.

"Hey… babe?" Eddie calls out to you from his closet.

The pet name almost sounds too natural rolling off his tongue. But then again he is the owner of a strip club, and was married for a few years before meeting you.

“Yeah?” you call back, heart skipping a beat.

“Can you make me a coffee while you’re out there?” he requests. “The usual black drip coffee with some hazelnut? Please and thank you.”

“Of course, hun.”

You can get used to this.

So you make your way back out into the living room and kitchen shortly after, practically skipping. But the person you see in the kitchen — with tired eyes and a bowl of his own oatmeal in hand — stops you in your tracks.

"Morning, Hargrove," Steve responds.

You're so dumb. You've gotta start realizing that when you sleep with one of them, the other may pop in at any minute. After all, it’s their townhouse.

As frozen in place as you are, you do your best to shoot Steve a shy little wave. Again, the look on his face indecipherable.

"Morning..." you pathetically respond.

Steve eventually grants you a wave back. He pokes around at his oatmeal while you make your way over to the fridge, your cheeks flushing a timid red as you do so.

You move in a way that seems like you were way too conscious of your actions. Even Steve notices. But he keeps trying to eat, his spoon clinking against his bowl as he intermittently clears his throat, all an attempt to fill the void of silence.

"Did you have a fun night?" you question. "You know... bar-hopping."

"Yeah, I did," he replies. "Argyle had to get cut off cuz he was being real extra with it."

"Oh geez."

"I know."

“How was Max?”

“She was fine,” Steve shrugs. “The bars use the same 21+ wristbands Hellfire does so we were able to sneak her in no problem. Chrissy made sure she got home safe. The girls were just stoked they finally got to have a carefree night.”

“That’s so good,” you breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m so happy for them.”

“Yeah,” he nods in agreement. “I’m really happy for them too. Seems like they needed it.”

Finally, your friend decides to address the elephant in the room.

"We uhh..." he begins. "We should probably end what we have going on here. Just so no one gets hurt."

“I think that’s a smart idea too,” you mumble as you nod.

You make your way over to Steve, stunned that he doesn’t shy away from you when you invade his personal space. Instead he leans into you, opening up his lap so you can maneuver between his legs.

You know, like how friends usually talk.

“It was fun while it lasted…”

"I know. I just feel so bad..." you choke, rubbing his arm softly. "I’ve wasted your time."

"I wouldn't say that," Steve refuses, shaking his head rapidly. He touches you back, running his hand across your arm. "I've thoroughly enjoyed your company."

Eventually his hand intertwines with yours.

There’s a heaviness in the room and something tells you that Eddie is near, looming at the foot of his room so that your business with Steve remains uninterrupted. He knows there’s some dust that still needs to settle. And he will linger until it does.

"You helped me get out of a really dark place," Steve admits. "And Eds too, I'm sure."

You look back towards Eddie's room.

“It wasn’t my intention to fall for him,” you say. “It just…happened. The connection, i-it’s...”

“I know…” Steve soothes you. “Been pickin’ up on that for a while. If you think I’m blaming you, I’m not.”

Steve urges you to meet his gaze again. And when a teardrop falls from your eye, he uses his thumb to wipe it away. Tells you to stop, before he too starts crying.

"This is... a huge step for him," Steve manages a grin. “I don’t think you realize, Shy Girl.”

"Yeah, I bet," you nod. "After Isabelle..."

"Yeah, Isabelle and everything else that dude's got going on," he confirms. "This is really good for Eddie. I can tell. It’s why I think it’s best that we part ways.”

Steve eventually does cry too, but it’s a rather suppressed one. The both of you take turns wiping each other’s tears, embracing the presence of each other for just a short while longer before needing to distance yourselves indefinitely.

You’re never going to forget Steve Harrington. His charm. His integrity. His everlasting devotion to the ones he loves most, and how he’d — time and time again — go to the ends of the earth for them. A noble soul in the highest regard. A true king.

“Thank you for being so kind,” you say to him. “You made my first week in Indiana a lot less intimidating. I hope you’ll still be around.”

“Of course I’ll still be around,” Steve chuckles. “Look at our friend group. Look at where I live.”

You share a laugh with him again.

“Ain’t no getting rid of me that easy, Hargrove.”

“I can sure try though, right?”

“Now why would you do that?” he banters sarcastically, chuckling into you.

He kisses your cheek softly one last time. Finally, Eddie’s door swings open, prompting you and Steve to asunder from one another.

“RISE AND FUCKING SHINE!” Eddie announces his entrance. “Both my soul and thine.”

You get out of Eddie’s way so he can go over and hug Steve good morning. Eddie then breaks the hug with a peck on the cheek and rough slap to Steve’s ass. Steve winces but you can tell he enjoys it.

“Mwah!” Eddie cheers. “Love you, babyboy. What you got going on today?”

“Oh, just gonna work on the online biz for a bit,” Steve mumbles as he ushers his hands through some paper. “Then ’m gonna start recruiting peeps for my other new job.”

“I forgot you dropship now,” Eddie says. “How’s that going?”

“Really fucking good,” Steve smiles. “I shouldn’t count on it too much though. It’s why I also have Newby’s. Speaking of which…”

Steve hands you a flyer. You take it from his hands.

NEWBY’S COFFEE ROASTERS: Even Superheroes Need Coffee!

Steve explains to you that a new coffee shop is taking over Family Video’s old suite. The owner grows his own coffee beans and all syrups are organically made from Hawkins locals. And since they’re a Mom and Pop shop, they were really going to need some help.

“If Maxine is still looking for a job, she’s more than welcome to apply,” Steve says. “We’re gonna need baristas. And we’ll be coworkers so whenever she’s on, I can drive her to work.”

“That sounds like an awesome gig for her!” Eddie pitches in. “Free coffee for employees too, I’m guessing.”

Steve nods at Eddie’s remark.

“That’d be amazing,” you blush. “Thank you, Stevie.”

“Thank you, Stevie,” Eddie parrots you. You elbow him playfully.

“Yeah, anything for you guys. I’ll put in a good word for her to Bob. He’s the owner. Great guy.”

“And what about this owner, huh?” Eddie chimes in. “Hope you can pull some strings and snag me some of those magic beans as well. I’m gonna need it. I also don’t mind paying full price cuz it’s goin’ to Newbs.”

“T’yeah with your job? You can have all the beans you want.”

“Mm, speaking of which,” Eddie scoffs as he stares at the time on his Apple Watch. “It’s almost time.”

Steve imitates Eddie’s gesture. Your eyes dart between the two of them, confused about the context of the whole ordeal.

“What are you guys-” you begin.

“Ah, buh-buh!” Steve stops you. “Wait for it…”

You look at the time on your phone to feel some sort of involvement as well.

7:59 —> 8:00

Eddie’s phone rings.

"An everyday thing," Steve tsks, shaking his head, resuming his breakfast as he does so.

"First problem of the day," Eddie looks at you. "It’s always something with Hellfire. From the moment the day begins...Yello?"

It’s Lucas. Sinclair never really calls unless it’s a dire situation, so you listen closely, doing your best to make out what he’s saying on the other line.

"I can't come in tonight,” is what it sounds like.

"Uh, why the fuck not?" your man demands. He places a sassy hand on his hip. "We need you for front of the house."

"Erica's sick and my car is in the shop."

"I'll pay for your Uber, you're coming in."

"I think it's covid. I don't wanna spread it to anyone if l've been exposed."

"It's not fucking covid, you guys have been jabbed more times than I can count for school."

The two continue to bicker back and forth like they’re brothers. Steve excuses himself from the narrative, going over to the kitchen sink to wash the dishes.

You watch Eddie as he lights up a pre-roll, taking a frustrated drag from it while he listens to Lucas’s, probably bullshit, excuse.

Eventually there’s a scuffle on the other line. Something something, “GIMME THE DAMN PHONE” followed by a “NO” followed by a “PHONE. NOW”. Eddie’s drags from his blunt grow increasingly slower.

Then another person speaks. The voice belongs to a girl. She sounds slightly younger than Lucas. And she sounds sick. And angry.

"Listen here, Ed-NERD Alan Munson," the girl hisses sassily. " I KNOW I did not just hear you tell my brother that he is coming in even when HE TOLD YOU why he can't. It's giving desperate. It's giving exploitation of your employees. If you want my brother to come in for a half shift at your stupid gentlemen's club then you best pull up to our residence, YOURSELF, with them spicy chicken wings level Creeping. Death. My tongue? It needs to be on FIRE. My eyes? They need to be burning from the temperature and sauce. My sinuses? BOYYY, you better be-LIEVE they oughta be SO CLEAR, I could cough up a loogie, SPIT IT OUT THE WINDOW, and have it smack you RIGHT UPSIDE THE HEAD SO HARD you won’t even THINK about forcing my brother to do something he isn’t comfortable doing again. Keep trying me, motherfucker. THE FUCK WRONG WITCHU."

Steve is flabbergasted. Eddie's mouth is wide open. You would’ve thought Lucas’s sister was on speakerphone but she wasn’t.

You're scared of Erica Sinclair. And so is Eddie, the way his eyes widen at her spiel. If Lucas's sister ever got into a heated argument with Billy, Billy would go home crying.

“And some sweet potato fries," she adds softly. "Please. Do we have a deal?"

"At your service," Eddie deals her a salute through the phone, even though she can't see it. "Anything Applejack wants, she gets. I'll be over after my Meijer run."

"As you should, sir."

Eddie turns to you after he hangs up the phone. "Don't ever own a business."

——————— 🛒—————

“WE GROW UP AND MOVE AWAY... The seasons pass, but the monsters stay.”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Hellfire is Eddie’s baby. The man lives and breathes that strip club.

As much as you’ve already harbored that suspicion, you didn’t realize his work-life balance was practically non-existent. Running errands. Frequent call-outs. Always having to prepare for the unexpected. But that’s the price one pays for owning a business. It also only seems to get harder and harder when you’re a handsome business man like Eddie, someone with the drawing power like that of a 13,000 gauss magnet.

“Mike to Munson, do you copy?”

You and Eddie have hit the road now, ready to start your errands run before your shift begins. As Eddie drives, he has you hold his phone up for him while he speaks to the boys in their group FaceTime call.

“Copy,” Eddie responds. “Thank you for covering ground, dear Paladin. It is because of you we are no longer… short staffed.”

God, they’re such dorks. You’d cringe if Eddie didn’t have the sex appeal of a Roman god.

“It’s the least I can do,” Mike insists. “Taking inventory as we speak. We need more ground chili and pop cans. Cola and Fanta, please. When you go to Meijer.”

“Done deal,” Eds nods. “Who’s doing side quests?”

“Me!” Will chimes in. “Doing silverware, stainless steel, and just helping Jonathan open up the bar.”

“Thank you, Byers-squared.”

“And I’ll sweep and do windows,” Dustin adds. “We’ll figure out the front house situation as it unfolds. Gonna be a little late. Getting gas.”

Eddie places a firm palm over your hand. He smiles at you when you look over.

“Running errands with Shy Girl, we’ll see you soon.”

“Pulling in now. Over.”

“Us too. Over.”

“Over and out, boys.”

————- 🚐———-

After your Meijer run, you and Eddie stop by CVS for Wayne’s medications and the ‘morning after’ pill. And shortly after that, you two haul ass to the other side of town to scoop up Nina.

Eddie gives the young dancer a ride to work almost every day. He also smokes her out before the shift, evident by her waltzing in stoned out of her mind all the time. It brings you peace knowing the whole story now, and that there truly is nothing more to it than that.

“Your boyfriend really needs a new car,” Eddie huffs to Nina as she climbs into the backseat. “Been telling him that shit’s on it’s last good tire.”

Figuratively and literally. The 90s Buick that you caught sight of shortly before Nina shuffled in can only be described as a lost cause. Nina knows it too, the way she scowls at the thing.

She tsks as she clicks her seatbelt in place.

“Duh, Eds. What do you think I’m saving up for?”

Eddie holds up an eighth.

“I can think of a few things,” he chuckles. “I take it you’re a fan of all things eco mode.”

“Hey, it’s 2022, of course we’re going green.”

Eddie grins. “I like how you think, sweetheart.”

Nina looks over to see who’s in the front seat. Her eyes glimmer when she realizes it’s you.

“Oh, hey Shy Girl!” she cheers.

You smile at her contently. Securely.

“Hey, Neens.”

Eddie starts up his van once again.

“Alright everyone,” he says as he shifts gears. “Hold onto something. We’re on a tight schedule so expect some Eddie Stops.”

“Not this again,” Nina mutters.

“Oh boy…” you add.

SKRRRT!

———— 🏠 ————

After dropping both Nina and the groceries off at Hellfire, you and Eddie set out to Forest Hills Trailer Park to visit his infamous Uncle Wayne.

“Wayne’s the man,” Eddie boasts as he drives on. “Taught me how to fish. Somehow taught me how to drive. Automatic and stick.”

He laughs at that one.

“Even took me out of the foster care system when I was 16. I lived in his old room for years while he took the pull-out couch in the living room.”

“Foster care?” you echo as he nods. “He was tired of you jumping from home to home?”

“Nah, I just kept running away,” Eddie cackles. “If a kid was ever in the police station for something, nine times out of 10 it was probably me. I was stressing way too many people out, Uncs probably felt bad for them.”

“But he also loves you, I bet,” you grin. “You’re his nephew, Eddie.”

Eddie smiles too. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Eddie pulls into an empty dirt road just yards from the estate. You two climb out of the van together, slamming the doors in unison.

Eddie leads you up the stairs by the hand, then uses his other one to wave at old neighbors close by.

“Hey y’all! How ya doin’?” he exclaims. He lowers his voice when he speaks to you. “Those are the Johnsons. Their sons were frequent customers of mine in high school.”

Your eyes widen in shock. Eddie waves to another pair of neighbors.

“And those are the Jacobsons. I bought their sons alcohol their senior year for homecoming. Buncha lightweights though. Wouldn’t recommend.”

“Well aren’t you a hero,” you jest.

“Hey, someone’s gotta pay the bills,” Eddie shrugs, half-jokingly. “You would think 40 years at The Plant gave you a decent insurance plan but that wasn’t the case. Had to help Wayne out for a fat minute. Still do every now and then.”

Eddie shifts closer to the door and gives it a couple knocks. He leans his head towards the doorframe, placing his lips just inches away from the chipped, painted wood.

“Wayne Munson,” Eddie bellows in his playful, deep voice. “It’s your friendly neighborhood pharmacist here. I’ve come with your percs, your piss pill, and your Motrin.”

Percocet and Motrin.

Two very strong pain killers. Hearing those names send chills down your spine. Those are the same meds Mom overdosed on when Billy found her.

But given Wayne’s circumstances, it’s not too much of a concern. According to what Eddie has told you, his uncle had just retired and is very frail. Heavy machinery and long hours can do that to someone. Just constant, chronic pain.

The door swings open and you hear Eddie greet Wayne like a grateful man would greet his dad. “Hey, Old Man! How are you?”

“Hello, there my boy. Agh, watch it. ‘s hurtin’ again.”

It didn't seem like anyone was at the door when you look over. But that was because you were looking about two feet too high.

Your eyes travel to the level at which Eddie bends down and there you see Uncle Wayne, having wheeled himself to the door to greet Eddie with a warm hug.

Oh this goes deeper than you thought.

A nose cannula. Yellow grippy socks. The wheelchair that housed his thin, fragile body. The navy blue Pacers beanie that concealed the fact that the man had very little hair.

Wayne’s face was extremely chiseled in, deeming him malnourished and underweight. The bags under his eyes that drooped heavily against his sockets took up a good portion of his face — nearly half.

You look at the place behind him. His trailer had lots of rails installed, Ensure protein shakes for adequate nutrition, and the pull out couch was set up to look like a bedroom, with a collapsible dresser right beside it that was nearly lost in a sea of orange medicine bottles.

The realization nearly knocks the wind out of you.

Wayne is sick. He almost looks terminal.

It feels like the ground had opened up and swallowed you whole. Your knees feel wobbly like gelatin, but Eddie is too busy reuniting with his father figure to notice. When he turns back around, he pulls you into him, with the biggest smile on his face.

“There’s uh, someone I want you to meet,” Eddie says to Wayne, his cheeks now a deep shade of pink. “This is Shy Girl.”

“Shy Girl,” Wayne smiles the same bright smile that Eddie has. “So you’re the THEE Shy Girl that my Eddie’s been rambling to me about. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sweetheart.”

You meet Wayne where he’s at, shaking his cold hand at eye level and giving him the warmest smile you can.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Mr. Munson.”

“Mr. Munson,” Wayne smirks cheekily. There’s a hint of who he used to be when he does that. He was most likely a firecracker just like Eddie, evident by how the two start poking at each other in a teasing manner. “Didn’t realize we were at a business meeting. In that case, we shall not waste any time. You and Eddie can come on in now, Miss Hargrove.”

Butterflies form in your stomach. You never told Wayne your last name.

And soon you’re in Wayne’s trailer, Eddie’s old home before he grew his wings and left the nest. A bittersweet energy floods the room. It only becomes more prominent when you see Eddie and Wayne holding hands as they make their way inside.

“Welcome to my office,” Wayne proceeds, carrying on with the banter. “I’ve got some tea in the cupboards, as well as some stale saltines because this one over here thinks I should watch my sodium intake. You’re more than welcome to help yourself.”

“Thank you so much,” is all you’re able to say.

“No worries, doll.”

Wayne darts his gaze back over to Eddie. “Anywho. Now that the formalities are over… son, I need to take a shit.”

The same dry humor too. You giggle and glance over at Eddie while he grimaces at Wayne in annoyance. But, since it’s not his first rodeo, he obliges, unlocking Wayne’s wheelchair to wheel him over to the commode that was concealed behind a DIY curtain.

“Did you do your exercises today?” you hear Eddie ask him.

"I tried. Got tired ‘bout halfway through.”

“What are your oxygen levels looking like?”

“Satting 88 percent without my oxygen. 93 percent on three liters.”

“That’s what we like to see. Good job, baby. I’m proud of you.”

You stand off to the side, giving Wayne as much privacy and dignity you can throughout this very intimate ordeal.

While Eddie is away with him, you keep yourself distracted with Wayne’s mug collection, as well as the array of trucker hats that decorated one of the four walls. You take a look at what’s on the TV: The Price is Right is just about to go on a commercial break. And on the coffee table rested an assortment of dated magazines, all going back to as early as 2008. Ah yes, recession core.

Within a few short moments, Eddie comes back out. You study him as he makes his way to the kitchen to wash his hands, making faces at the friendly neighborhood cats who liked to make themselves at home on the porch.

“Anyways!” Eddie exclaims. “I’m gonna start making Erica’s wings cuz we got everything here.”

He starts back over to you.

“But before I do, want me to show you my old room? It’s like a huge time capsule. Wayne hasn’t touched it since I left.”

You can barely meet his eyes. Eddie is acting way too normal about this. Or maybe you’re too dramatic.

He sees you frowning, thinking.

“…You okay?” he attempts with you.

"Eds... I didn't know," you whisper softly.

But Eddie smiles a bit. "That's okay. I initially didn't want you to know."

"How bad is it?"

"Stage 3. Lung cancer."

"How long has he had it?"

"Siiiince… March of 2020?” Eddie recalls. "We initially thought it was covid because of all the pulmonary stuff..."

He gestures around his own lungs.

"So what started out as a — rather intimate — nose swab turned into a biopsy that turned into getting a team of specialists….”

He glances over at Wayne to make sure he’s still okay.

“To having uncomfortable talks with the case worker about...exploring other options... And then to me being his full-time caregiver."

"March of 2020..." you recall. "Isn't that the same time you and Isabelle got divorced?"

"We were finalizing it..." Eddie corrects you. “But that’s neither here or there.”

“And Hellfire?”

“We were struggling for a bit not gonna lie,” Eddie chuckles. “It was during the start of covid and no one wanted to leave the house. Even when the babes were smoking hot.”

Holding up a palm, you stop him from explaining any further.

“So let me get this straight,” you state. “Your piece of shit dad UNALIVED your mom in cold blood when you were a kid, your father figure has cancer. You somehow manage to care for him full-time all while basically living at Hellfire, your business that your ex wife tried to SABOTAGE; which led to you getting arrested and released on bail up until your trial where you were then proven NOT GUILTY. But even then, your reputation still remains slightly tainted because almost everyone in Hawkins is a narrow-minded, self-righteous prick who weaponizes religion to get an upper hand? And they know you’re an easy target so that’s exactly what they did in this case, making your life and Wayne’s a living hell when it was the last thing you two needed at the time?”

“It be like that sometimes.”

Eddie flashes you a sarcastic, ‘I’m alive’ peace sign. He’s not helping.

Your heart just about shatters.

Eddie has suffered so much. But he hides it so well with his never-ending sarcasm and Munson magic.

And to think all of this — Hellfire, Wayne, and divorcing Isabelle — went down a couple years ago. He still had his childhood to sort through. If that's even plausible.

“It’s also kinda why Chrissy and I were screwing around,” Eddie adds, snapping you out of your thinking. “Apparently I was constantly depressed and she wanted to keep me distracted and all. Again, fun. But very short-lived.”

You fall into him and squeeze him tight. Eddie is almost taken aback by it. But nevertheless, he returns the favor.

"Are you alright?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you demand. "You have all of this going on and you're asking me if I'm alright?"

Oh, how lonely Eddie must’ve felt through all of this. You just want to hold him. Take away all of his pain.

It’s always the angels on earth who get sent to hell and back. Eddie deserves the world, and you’re going to go your best to give it to him.

"Are we alright?" you question him.

"Of course we're alright," Eddie insists, ruffling your hair like it’s the silliest thing you’ve ever asked him.

He pulls away from you. Rubs your back delicately as you soak in all of this new information.

“You sure you want to sign up for all of this?”

You are absolutely more than sure.

“Now why would you even ask that?” you choke. “You know my stubborn ass. I’m not backing down without a fight.”

“Yeaaah,” Eddie squints. “I guess you are pretty stubborn.”

You fall into one another again, kissing each other like it’s the air you need to breathe. Eddie delicately cups your face with his hands, relishing in the last couple of smooches before he pulls away.

“I like stubborn though.”

“You and me, Eddie.”

“You and me, sweetheart.”

“Eddie!” Wayne calls, innocently interrupting the moment. “I’m done, boy, now come help me get up.”

“Comin’!” Eddie cranes his neck, shouting in Wayne’s general direction. He kisses you one more time on the forehead before excusing himself. “Be right back, babe.”

You and Eddie leave for Hellfire shortly after spending a little bit more time with Wayne.

The entire ride there, you let Eddie talk about his memories with his uncle… how he’s attended homecoming rallies, talent shows, graduations, and the less-than-celebratory court hearings — loving Eddie unconditionally through thick and thin. He was there for Eddie’s senior prom, snapping photos of him with the boys and his date Ronnie, who was also his best friend at the time.

Wayne was also there for Eddie’s wedding, even though he didn’t particularly like Isabelle. Again, every milestone, Wayne was there for.

You fawn over Eddie as he continues to talk, the spark in his eyes never leaving for as long as it’s about his loved ones. You can only hope he talks to Wayne and the others about you in the same way.

You can’t believe this is real life.

From here on out, it’s going to be you and Eddie. And you’re going to be by his side no matter what, because he’s proven to you that he is committed to doing the same.

From here on out, it’s going to be Shy Girl and Eddie… and nothing… NOTHING will ever change your mind or get in the way of that.

🏷️ tag list: @chrrymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerr , @jxpsi , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron @kellsck @joyfulfxckery @munsons-mayhem28 @dragonfire @emma77645 @drivelikenina @livosssblog @thinkingth0ts @hugdealer @ellielunamckay

#eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #joe quinn #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #Spotify

232 notes · View notes

curiositydooropened · 2 years

Text

My Whole Life, Too

Seven years after you've left Hawkins, a beautiful day for a wedding in New Mexico brings up old feelings. You're hoping to make the most of it with the comfort of best friends.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader, previous Steve Harrington x Reader

Wordcount: 8,419

Warnings: smut & smut adjacent (minors DNI, thanks!), angst, lots of gushy friendship talk, weddings, drinking, mentions of drugs and cigarettes, so much guilt, Steve Harrington slander, lovin' both the boys, fluff, oh and Jancy

Navigation • Masterlist

---

January 1994 - Albuquerque, NM

The pale blue chiffon of your dress wrinkled in the car, and your mouth tasted of wax from when the peachy pink lipstick clipped your teeth and smeared over your chin a few minutes earlier. You’d scrubbed at it with a wet forefinger, scrutinizing your reflection in an oblong mirror beside the gift table, but you couldn’t help but lick at your front two teeth self-consciously.

You ankles ached under your weight in your new heels, and each burst of winter, mountain air prickled the stubble beneath your nylons, but you were rooted to your spot in the lobby, nearest the guest book, making eye contact with each and every wedding guest as they entered through the chapel doors.

So far, several little old ladies in lace collared dresses eyed you up, and several families with too-many kids stumbled in from the cold. You hadn’t seen a familiar face since you arrived, and you couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse.

From this vantage, you could barely see out into the parking lot, where snow was packed along the curve and inside oversized planters and the afternoon sun was just starting to dip low beneath the mountains, kissing everything in golds and roses. It was a beautiful day for a wedding.

Three teenagers entered, all three of them ducked over handheld video games, and just beyond you saw the swoosh of impeccable brown hair. Your heart thundered in your ears, mouth gone fully dry. You flattened clammy hands to the midsection of your dress and stood at full height to greet Steve Harrington.

Though, suddenly all of your rehearsed greetings had flown out of your mind. The only thing you could think of were the last things he said to you, the hurt blurring those big doe eyes, his mouth slightly agape, his fingertips grasping at your t-shirt as you released his shoulders and said goodbye. Well those things and Elvis’s Can’t Help Falling in Love, which had been playing on loop in this little lobby since you’d arrived.

A woman excused you out of her elbow-range as she signed the guestbook, sending you a little off-kilter and almost into a stunning satin-decked wreath, but you managed to catch yourself on the windowsill, cooling your palms as your prints came back fogged over. You ran a chilled hand over your face and released a breath you’d been holding for minutes and hoped to God this wasn’t a dry wedding.

That’s when you heard the familiar scold of a best friend. “Eddie, top-button. Robin, no more singing. Honestly, how old are you two?”

Nancy Wheeler entered looking tighter-wound than she was a month ago, when you’d last seen her. Her bangs were cut short, hair black, thin fingers busying themselves with Eddie Munson’s bolo tie. Eddie looked miffed by the action, like a school boy embarrassed by his mom, but he daren’t move a muscle lest he get smacked. Beside them, Robin Buckley adjusted a tie of her own, flattened the lapels of her velvet blazer against her chest.

And it was just them, just the three, alone in the entryway, Nancy fussing over their appearances before perfectly manicured nails went to ensure her oversized earrings were still clipped to her lobes. You glanced around one last time for Steve, but found a parking lot full of old people and void of any handsome young men whose hearts you’d broken. With a deep breath, and a clench of your shaking fists, you took a step toward them.

“Hey, strangers.”

Robin let out a shriek that sent a pen flying from gasps at the guest book, and when Nancy shushed her, she snickered and wrapped her long arms around you to breathe a greeting into your ear, all clove cigarettes and patchouli. “Hey, stunner. Missed you.”

“You too,” you smiled and let her rock you into her hug. You were almost her height in your heels.

She released you, her hair sticking to your lipstick, and you reached out to melt the wax off the strands with your fingertips.

“Have you seen him?” Nancy asked, slipping in between you to give you the tightest hug you’d ever received.

Your heart jolted a little in alarm, glancing over her head to the parking lot beyond. Still no Steve. When you pulled away, you noticed Nancy stood on the toes of her own high heels, stretched to get a good view of the chapel behind you, and you realized she wasn’t talking about the same person. “I’m sure Jonathan’s getting ready with the other groomsmen. He hasn’t been out this way.”

Nancy’s gaze met yours then, a harsh glare in blue, but you saw the fear in her eyes, wondered if your stare mimicked her own. She squeezed your forearm and shrugged, as though she could care less, as though she didn’t sit in your apartment last month downing glasses of wine and confessing her and Jonathan had had a Thanksgiving tryst for the first time in seven years. “Oh well,” she nodded toward the hall where the guests had begun to funnel. “Shall we?”

Another gust of wind fanned your hair, ruffled your skirt, and you glanced one last time at the nearly vacant lot before a scraggly head of hair blurred your view. You blinked until Eddie’s smile came into focus, head tilted to meet your gaze. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You breathed a nervous laugh and allowed his arms to envelope you in a hug. He was warm and a little damp under the arms, but distinctly Eddie, all murmured chuckles and cigarette smoke. But with your face buried into his hair, you sensed something else that made your heart stop, something familiar, something Steve.

“How long’s it been? Two years?” He asked, pulling away. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, and you noticed the purple scarring that etched his throat, just beyond too tight of a collar. He must have seen your gaze, because he reached up to unbutton the top button and loosen the tie, two strands of leather and a carved silver demon’s face. You snorted.

“Yeah, just about.” The last time you’d seen Eddie had been on a New Years ski trip to the Harrington’s time share. Your memories of that trip were fogged with White Russians and too much time in a hot tub. You remembered Eddie’s bare ass, stark white, when he’d been dared to make a snow angel.

“You look beautiful as ever,” he flashed you those sharp canines.

“You don’t clean up bad yourself,” you smiled, though his compliment had fallen a bit on deaf ears. You hadn’t dressed up for him.

“Hey, don’t sound so shocked.” He scoffed, adjusting the lapels of an old blazer. It looked a bit small for his shoulders, a bit tight, and you swallowed. Maybe that’s why he smelled of Steve, maybe he’d borrowed it.

A groan sounded from behind you, and you pulled your attention from Eddie’s shoulders to see Nancy impatiently tapping her clutch to her hip, just outside the chapel door. She gestured for the two of you to hurry, and you felt Eddie’s hand on the small of your back to follow you inside.

Robin had already shuffled into a pew near the back and was thumbing through a hymn book. Nancy shoved you out of the way before shuffling in beside her.

“Wheeler said Robin and I aren’t allowed to sit next to each other,” Eddie mumbled just over your right ear, and you snorted before pulling yourself into the seat beside Nancy. He followed.

She snatched the hymn book out of Robin’s hand and tucked it back in its pocket. “Could you sit still for like two seconds?”

“Could you?” Robin snapped. “Jesus, Nance, how much coke did you do this morning?”

Appalled, Nancy shushed her. You snickered. Eddie wrapped his arm over your shoulder to lean in. “You have coke? And you aren’t sharing?”

“I knew I should have left you in Hawkins,” she reached past you to tighten his tie again.

You leaned back against his arm to make eye contact with with Robin, who flashed you a goofy grin, and for just a moment, you felt at peace. You didn’t need Steve to fall back into the chaos of this friendship. You didn’t need stolen moments of romance, you needed Robin’s raspy laughter and Nancy’s neurosis to keep you grounded, to remind you why you agreed to go in the first place.

“So how are you?” Robin asked, propping her elbow to the back of pew.

Eddie reached his fingers to tickle her, and you smiled, shrugged.

“Heard you had a good time in Louisville,” she waggled her eyebrows and your heart sank to your knees.

“Robin,” Nancy hissed. She knew the whole story, from your perspective. You’d gone to Louisville for a conference, invited Steve to join you for the weekend, didn’t expect him to say what he’d said, to request what he did. You hadn’t had a chance to talk to Robin about it. You should have known Steve would get to her first.

“Steve says he’s sorry he couldn’t make it, by the way,” Eddie pitched in from beside you.

You felt your entire body heat with embarrassment, and you turned to face a Cheshire grin. Did everyone know?

“Jesus Fuck, you two!” Nancy squealed, and a woman in front of you turned to shush you all loudly, covering the ears of a little boy.

With a groan, you buried your face in your hands and accepted the squeeze and shake of Eddie’s arm around your shoulder, the vibration of his chuckle against your right arm.

Nancy’s apology was cut short by the chime of the organ, and the shuffle of guests in their seats. You craned to see the minister at the podium, a man with a swoosh of brown hair that had you letting out a frustrated exhale. He wouldn’t be here, but apparently he’d haunt you.

The groom entered first, linked arms with his mother, and you almost didn’t recognize him. Argyle was tightly pressed into a handsome sky blue tuxedo, luxurious hair pulled back into a low pony tail. A handlebar mustache traced his upper lip, and you half-expected it to fall off when he bent down to plant a kiss to his mother’s cheek. She was crying already.

“If it’s any consolation, he told me he was staying home in solidarity with Dustin,” came a whisper to your temple.

“What?” You turned to see Eddie frowning back to you, face the most serious you’d seen it in years.

Eddie nodded sideways to the bridesmaids and groomsmen that had begun to file in two-by-two, arms linked and sleeves ruffled. You watched head after head of beautiful brunette women glide by in lavender. “Since Dustin and Suzie broke up.” Eddie explained into your hair.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe he didn’t shave for his best friend’s wedding.” Nancy scoffed under her breath beside you.

Jonathan stood beside Argyle, warm smile stretched across his boyish features, just beneath the ghost of a mustache. It was clear he couldn’t quite grow one like the groom, tried as he might. He looked more like a French waiter in baby blue. You watched his eyes scan the crowd, and saw the smile widen when he spotted the four of you, and you joined Eddie in waggling your fingers his direction.

“Stop it,” Nancy snapped beside you, and you dropped your hand to your lap reflexively.

You felt Eddie’s chuckle beside you again, warm, welcome. You turned to flash him a smile, and he winked.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise.” The minister announced, and you all shuffled your bags to your seats to stand.

You wobbled a little, sandwiched tightly between Nancy and Eddie, and you groped for his hand for balance until his grasp tightened around yours, firm and unyielding, another safe space.

The music changed tempo, and the organ sounded the first few chords of Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love. You heard humming in front of you, felt the thrumming of fingers against the back of your hand, and you smiled at your friends’ inability to keep quiet. A few notes in, the bride entered.

Eden was a vision in white, hidden beneath a massive veil and more rhinestones than you’d ever seen. She waltzed in on her father’s arm, a portly man who looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon. He also donned a mustache. The detail made you smile, made you think of your own father, made you imagine yourself slow-stepping to the alter.

“Shit,” Nancy hissed from behind you, and you glanced to see her mopping at the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. You laughed and were glad to see Robin reaching around to envelope Nancy in a side hug.

Nancy didn’t do well at weddings. Not since her almost nuptials four years ago in Boston. She’d been a month out, crying mascara stains into steamed linens while you and Robin called florists and caterers and DJs. Pete was a nice guy, but he wasn’t the one. She couldn’t be the hard-hitting journalist she was with a mousy man like him under her thumb. It was right to set him free, and she knew it.

You knew the feeling. You released a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, and the minister asked for you all to be seated.

Eddie released your hand and slung his arm over your shoulders again to jostle Nancy. She sniffled and patted his hand. You gave a squeeze to the soft skin of her knee where her skirt split and exposed her nylons.

“This better not be a dry wedding,” she muttered under her breath, and you laughed at the reflection of your own thoughts while the minister began reciting scriptures about love.

—

You made it through the ceremony and down to the reception hall relatively unscathed, catching up with old friends and grateful to find many men behind an open bar. In fact, you were a whole three bites into your salad (and one glass of champagne in) before Eleven mentioned his name.

“Where’s Steve?”

A cherry tomato evaded your fork and bounced off rose colored linens.

“Back in Hawkins like a loser,” Robin explained, crunching down on a crouton.

You tried and failed to do anything but stare at the food on your plate.

“You guys are living together, right Eddie?” Will asked from across the table.

That caught your attention. You gaze shot to Eddie, who was already watching you, a sheepish look across wolfish features. He nodded and tongued at something in his molars, reaching for the beer bottle in front of him. “Uh, yeah. Since June.” He sipped. You watched the bubbles fizz in the amber liquid.

You supposed it had been an easy detail to miss in Louisville, what with all of the other ludicrous things Steve had spouted.

“Get any time in the bathroom?” Mike snickered behind his own beer.

Eddie smiled, shrugged. “Not really, but hey, beats paying out my ass in rent. You of all people should know that teachers don’t make dick for a salary, and turns out, neither do janitors, so…” He glanced sideways at you again before turning back to the salad in front of him.

“Yeah, but I have a girlfriend who works for the government,” Mike concluded, tugging Eleven tighter under his arm. She rolled her eyes, but seemed pleased to belong to someone.

You felt your own cheeks heat, and you went back to staring at your plate.

“Gross,” Robin managed between mouthfuls.

“Are you and Steve…?” Eleven started, and panic rose in your chest, constricting your airflow, until you looked up and realized the girl was asking Eddie. He nearly choked on his own tomato, slamming his fist to his chest while Robin barked a laugh that stirred the attention of several tables nearby.

“No, no,” Eddie wheezed, taking a chug of his beer. His hair shook around his face, and you noticed the shy smile building on the corners of his lips. “No, I’m not exactly Harrington’s type.”

“Too emotionally available?” Nancy snipped from beside her brother. You shot her wide eyes, and she just shrugged, forking her own crouton between thin lips. Champagne made her bitchy.

“Alright, enough about Dingus. He isn’t even here to defend himself.” Robin sighed, taking a sip from her own flute.

You felt Eddie’s arm drape over the back of your chair again, the warmth of him mixing with the champagne that had begun to tingle the apples of your cheeks. “What about you, Robin? Any prospects?”

She sighed from your other side. “I have been talking to a girl in the Peace Corps.” There was trepidation to her tone.

“…but?”

She glanced your direction and flashed a cheeky grin. “I, too, am into emotionally unavailable women.”

You picked up your rogue tomato and tossed her direction. She squawked and dodged it, and it rolled somewhere far off to be squished beneath a heel or kicked across the dance floor.

“Hey, guys!” A cheerful greeting announced Jonathan’s arrival, and the man placed his hands on his younger brother’s broad shoulders. The table chorused a “Hello, Jonathan,” in greeting. Everyone but Nancy, you noticed. You made eyes at her, and she shot you a dirty look.

“Dig the mustache, dude,” Eddie grinned, and you held back a snicker as Jonathan’s eyebrows raised.

He brought a hand up to scratch at the atrocity, and you noticed his gaze flicker toward Nancy. She remained stoic and focused on her first course. “Yeah? Argyle wanted us all to have a stache. He thought it’d be cool for pictures or something.”

“Yeah, man. It’s sick. I’ve been thinking about growing one myself,” Eddie scratched at the smooth skin above his upper lip, silver rings glinting in the center piece’s candlelight. You hadn’t noticed how full his lips were before, supple beneath a broad nose. He’d arrived clean shaven, boyish face carved away in harsh edges since you were kids. Now he was all strong jaw and defined cheekbones and full lips, a sparkle in his brown eyes.

You must have made a face because he flashed you his canines again. “What? You don’t think so?”

You shrugged. “I think it’d throw off your,” you gestured to his being with your champagne flute. “Vibe.”

“Yeah,” Robin nodded. “Too Mercury. You’re much more of a Brian May.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just compare me to the members of Queen,” Eddie grimaced and lifted his bottle to clink rims with your glass.

“Shit, that reminds me. I have to make a toast.” Jonathan groped for the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out folded pieces of paper.

“Where are the bride and groom?”

You all glanced around. The happy couple seemed to be anywhere but the close quarters of the reception hall.

“I believe they’re consummating their vows,” Jonathan flashed a shy smile.

Eddie clinked his glass to yours again, and you laughed before taking another sip. Will, Mike, and Eleven groaned.

“Cheers to the happy couple.” Robin raised her own glass, which again drew the attention from several tables.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Guess I better find them. I’ll catch up with you guys later, yeah?” And you waved him off. He left with the soft graze of his hand to Nancy’s shoulder. When you met her gaze, you notice her face had flushed a deep pink, and she fought back a smile with an eye roll.

—

The band tapped out the rhythm to a soft jazz tune for all the happy old couples in the room, and Mike and Eleven. You watched her curly head pressed to his gangly chest and wondered if that ought to have been you. If things were different, if you hadn’t have panicked, if Steve had showed. You could still smell him, close, warm, a ghost that lingered.

With a sigh, you opened your eyes back to the harsh lighting and glanced sideways at Eddie’s jacket on the chair beside you. You were tempted to check the inner pocket, to look for some sort of monogram, proof that it was Steve’s. Eddie had slipped out the side door with the bride and groom and the Byers boys. He mentioned something about a wedding present, and flashed you the fattest joint you’d seen in years.

You resisted the pull of the jacket and sipped from your water glass, a vain attempt to curb the steadfast champagne hangover.

“Will that ever be me?” Nancy lamented from beneath her own champagne flute, sunk back into her chair with slumped shoulders and crossed arms, far past the rigidity of the afternoon. Glazed eyes stared longingly onto the dance floor. Robin warmed her bicep with a soft hand.

“Of course it will, Nance,” you sat forward in your chair to comfort her. “You’re brilliant and beautiful, and you’ll make someone the perfect wife someday.”

She offered the softest smile on the corners of her pink lips.

“After all, you’re emotionally available,” you compared with a pointed finger.

Robin groaned and took another sip of her drink, something chock full of cherries. “Both of you are catches, damnit, and I will not sit here and let you talk shit about my friends in this way.” She prodded each of you until smiles cracked on all three of your faces and you let out soft laughs.

The song ended in a burst of applause from dancers who shared sweet kisses and evacuated the dance floor. Mike and Eleven approached with blushed cheeks and smiles they couldn’t wipe off their faces, and the next song really picked up its tempo. Eleven found her seat again, but Mike stood beside his sister with an outstretched hand.

“Come on, Nance. I’m sick of watching you get bitchier and bitchier.” He offered with that signature Wheeler smirk.

“Fuck off,” Nancy shot, but she gripped his fingers and allowed him to pull her to the dance floor.

You watched them with a laugh until you felt a hand wrap around the backside of you chair. Robin had leaned closer. She watched you with sad eyes, big and blue, something mischievous in them. “What?” You narrowed your gaze.

“Steve’s an idiot.” She commented easily, as though his name didn’t feel like a direct hit every time.

You sighed. “Robin.”

“No, I’m serious. He’s cocky, and he’ll never learn. Of course you weren’t going to uproot your life for him.”

You sucked in your cheeks to avoid the panic slamming behind your ribcage. Steve had told her everything, and for some reason, you felt like a bad friend from keeping it from her. Maybe you worried she’d take his side.

“And he’s not here because he’s a chicken. So there’s no reason you shouldn’t be having any fun.” She pried the water glass from your hand and set it beside your empty flute. “Can’t feel hungover if you keep drinking.”

You laughed and watched Eleven’s fervent agreement, brown eyes glowing. “This is a party.”

“What’re you drinking?” Robin prodded you with a long finger again, swishing her glass your direction.

You crinkled your nose, watching the ice melt droplets to the side of her glass, which beaded and splattered, darkening the tabletop beneath each shake. You chewed through her words, realizing that she was right. Steve had chosen to bail. You were the better person here, showing up for your friend despite your worry, your anxieties. Sure, you had wanted to see him, hoped to patch things up, silently prayed for a heated makeup in a coat closet or your themed hotel room. But he wasn’t here, and you were.

You straightened your posture, gave Robin a firm nod. “Dirty Shirley, please.”

“Atta girl,” Robin grinned and pushed off from her seat to head to the bar. Eleven yelled for her to wait up and traipsed behind her, leaving you alone at the table with half-drank glasses and Eddie’s suit jacket.

You stared at the black lapel, wondering if it looked familiar. You glanced upward at Mike and Nancy, laughing with each swing of their arms over their heads. You swallowed and trailed your fingers along the hem, gripped at the shoulder pad. You stared back at the soft material, albeit a bit tattered. Maybe it wasn’t Steve’s. Maybe it was just secondhand. You made to flip the left side over, to look for an inscription, when a voice startled your hand away.

“Dance with me.”

You clutched at your chest, attempted to calm your breath, and spun to see Eddie with an outstretched hand and a wide grin. “When did you get back?”

“Two seconds ago,” he shrugged, waggled his fingers your direction. “Get up. I want to dance.”

There’s no reason you shouldn’t be having fun. A smile tugging at your cheeks, you slipped your hand into his and allowed him to pull you to the dance floor. Only, when you reached the spot beside Nancy and Mike, the song ended and the tempo slowed again, something sweet and soft. Mike and Nancy High-fived.

“Aw man, I was hoping for the fast one.” Eddie groaned, but he pressed a soft hand to the small of your waist and tucked you in tight, cheek pressed to your temple as you began an awkward, off-kilter sway, a bit too dramatic, outrageous. It made you laugh, and you felt his chuckle bubble against your chest.

He was warm, but damp. His hair had been pulled back, low and loose at the base of his neck. Wet curls lined his cheeks and your own. He smelled of cigarettes and spearmint, and you pulled back to get a good look at his brown eyes, wide, but not blood shot.

“I thought you were going for a smoke,” you commented.

He flashed a canine, shrugged. “I did. Nasty habit.”

You cocked a brow. “I thought you were going to smoke.” You reiterated, glancing around the room to ensure the other guests hadn’t caught the inflection in your voice. You were pleasantly surprised to find Nancy tucked into Will’s chest. The poor boy’s eyes were bloodshot, and he had a slaphappy smile etched over his features. Nancy rolled her eyes at you, but she was smiling too.

“I let them have all the fun,” Eddie explained, his voice a low rumble against your chest.

You smiled, allowed yourself to drape a little closer, your own hand warm in his. “Why? This is a party, after all.”

His shoulder raised in a shrug under your palm. “Guess I’m growing up.”

You pulled back again to see the sly smile carving into his cheeks, and you both laughed again before he tucked you back under his chin.

—

You were swung around for six full songs, pink vodka and Sprite splashing the dance floor, and abdomen in stitches from raucous laughter, before you groaned about sore ankles and were all but carried back to your seat. You set your drink next to your discarded purse on the tabletop and slumped into your seat, cheeks flushed and aching. You hadn’t had that much fun in ages.

“So much for keeping your top-button done,” Robin commented as you approached.

You followed her point to Eddie’s bare chest. You hadn’t realized his bolo Demon had nearly slid off, buttons undone to expose a litany of scars around a smattering of dark curls. A few faded tattoos lended to the chaos, shiny.

“It’s freaking hot.” He excused himself, slumping into the seat beside you, that taunting jacket swaying under his weight.

“Eddie, I didn’t know you were such a voracious dancer,” Nancy waggled her eyebrows over her own drink.

Eddie flashed his signature grin and pointed a finger her direction. “You’re next, Wheeler. After I catch my breath.” His chest was heaving. The last number was upbeat, somewhat of a swing, and he definitely prided himself in attempting to throw you around. It was sloppy, to say the least, but fun.

“Watch your legs, Nance,” you rubbed at a Charlie horse smarting at your calf from your heels. “He’s a kicker.”

“I am not!” Eddie gawped, and you squealed when he reached to encircle your ankle and pull it into his lap. Surprisingly agile fingers pulled your strap from its buckle, and he slipped your shoe to the ground, relief flooding swollen toes. You rolled your ankle in his grasp, and strong hands melted the muscles of your calf, coaxing out the tight knot that resided there.

You were a little light-headed, and the buzz of alcohol made it difficult to contain a sound of delight. You clenched to stop yourself from moaning, and hissed when your calf tightened further.

“Relax, will you?” Eddie mumbled, all tease.

You laughed and settled your shoulders, slid further down the cool metal chair.

He released one leg and tapped the other, and you complied, trying to ignore the prickle of gooseflesh beneath his knuckles as they grazed your ankle.

You hadn’t been pampered like this in months, not since Steve offered you an early morning favor you couldn’t refused. You felt your cheeks warm, and you licked the cherry from your bottom lip, watching the glint off Eddie’s rings with each stroke, eyes unfocused. It was definitely the alcohol talking, but you’d always felt safe in Eddie’s hands, cared for, well-looked after.

He tilted his head to face you, curls falling around his face. He shook them out of big, brown eyes, cheeks creasing in a smile. “Better?”

You hummed a thanks and tucked your toes back around the leg of your chair, out of his grasp.

You watched, breathless, as his eyes raked your form, his own cheeks flushing, before he slapped his hands to his knees and huffed a breath. “Ready, Nance?”

Nancy groaned, but pushed herself to her feet, downing the rest of her cup before she allowed Eddie to drag her out onto the dance floor. You never noticed how tall he was, slender yet firm, dwarfing Nancy’s tiny frame as he took her petite hand into his, his other hand wide against her lower back.

“Feeling better?” Robin pulled your attention. She had mischief in her eyes, and she jiggled her glass in the air between you.

She was feeling toasty, you could tell by the rouge of her cheeks, the stained of her lips. Mike and Eleven spoke in giggles behind hands, playing Will at a game of Go-Fish with hole-punched cards he’d procured at some point. Jonathan sat beside them, stoned as all Hell, with a silly grin just beneath that God awful mustache. You felt warm, you felt at home. And for the first time in seven years, that feeling didn’t require Steve.

You released a shy smile, unable to hide it, and lifted your glass to clink with her own. “Much. Thank you.”

—

The bride and groom left in a flurry of sparklers, tucked into a bright yellow van, waving their goodbyes with blown kisses and dazed looks on their faces. The guests made their exits into breath-steaming cold, and you found yourself against the frigid hood of your car, sipping a stolen Dirty Shirley with Eddie’s jacket thrown over your shoulders. Grenadine dripped from a maraschino cherry, sticky-sweet, as Eddie lifted it from your glass and popped it between plump lips. It burst between his molars, and he procured the stem from between his front teeth.

“Can you tie it into a knot?”

His brows furrowed into the most dramatic scold you’d ever seen, and he tossed the stem to the ground between your feet. “I’m not giving away all of my secrets.”

You warmed at the insinuation and fingered around melting ice for the second cherry, avoiding his gaze. When you grasped the stem, he elbowed your side, almost causing you to fling it from the cup. He chuckled at the indignant noise that fell from between your lips.

“Sorry,” he grinned, and you noticed his eyes lingered on your lips when you put the cherry in your mouth.

You both looked away, facing out at the winter night. The stars were brighter here, sky bigger. Shirley had warmed your insides, and Eddie’s jacket had warmed you out. You placed cold fingertips to the embroidered letters on the inside pocket, pretended you couldn’t feel a cursive SFH.

“So,” Eddie mumbled, reaching into the jacket pocket at your hip. You jumped under his touch, and he procured a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, shaking it your direction. “Want a smoke?”

You declined the offer, tossing your cherry stem into your glass while the fruit popped syrupy sweet between your teeth, soaked with the sting of vodka.

“Alright, I’ll be right back though.” He nodded off toward the side building, courteous. Before he stepped away, though, he turned to face you, scratching at the back of his neck. You noticed a soft blush burning at his cheeks, the cold having already nipped his nose a soft pink. “Hey so, would you maybe want to come back to my room with me?”

You buzzed on his words, the softest he’d spoken, the smallest he seemed. You chewed on the cherry and swallowed with a smile, but before you could respond, he clarified.

“I mean, you know because I have that fridge full of mini-bottles of alcohol and peanuts, and the room’s on Harrington’s card, so we really can’t let that go to waste.”

You hoped your face didn’t falter from the sound of his name, his ever-presence. You swallowed again, took a the final few sips of your drink, watered down, and shrugged. “Sure, Eddie.”

“Great,” he breathed, all fog. “See you in a minute?”

You nodded. “I’ll be here.” And he disappeared around the corner, pulling a cigarette between his lips. Maybe you should have joined him, you could have used the nicotine to calm your sudden nerves. You dumped your ice beside you, water splashing your nylons and crossed your arms over your chest, one again feeling for the soft embroidered letters. You closed your eyes and tipped your head back.

Had he been there, you might be doing the same right now, hunkered under his jacket, waiting for a quick smoke before he took you back to his room. Steve had always been warm hands and lingered kisses, flirtation, toeing the line. With Steve it was always about not getting caught, but not caring if you did. It was young and reckless, and now you were older and more responsible, and terrified of settling down.

“Hey, babe. Will and I are tucking in for the night,” Robin approached with Will linked to her arm. He looked exhausted, shoulders slumped, pupils still slightly blown.

You raised your brows at Robin. “And Nancy?”

Robin cracked a sly smile. Will groaned in disgust.

“Good for her,” you snorted.

Robin nodded, pushing Will in the direction of her car with the promise of pizza. She turned to you with an arm outstretched, ready to accept your tight hug. “Will I see you soon?”

“I hope,” you shrugged. “Come see me for your birthday?”

“Hawkins,” she sighed into your ear, squeezing you tight. All warm and patchouli and Robin. “But I’ll be in DC around Easter. Can we meet then?”

You were that age, where you scheduled time with your friends, where you didn’t have fun anymore, where life had begun to slow down. You swallowed and pulled away, holding her padded shoulders at arm’s length. “Robin?” Your pulse began to quicken.

“Yeah, babe?”

You glanced over her shoulder at a skyward billow of smoke. “I’m going back to Eddie’s room with him.”

Her eyes widened, and you worried it might be judgement, disappointment, until her lips cracked into a grin. “Holy shit.” She laughed.

You nodded. “Holy shit.”

“Tell me every gory detail, please? Call me the moment you get home.”

Your heart fluttered at the idea of details, of Eddie’s rumbled voice, of cigarettes and spearmint and cherry. Your ankles wobbled and Robin caught you with a laugh.

“You good to drive?”

Eddie was. You didn’t think you saw him drink anything after the beer. He toasted with water.

You tightened the jacket around yourself, thumbing at the letters on the inside pocket. “Robin, do you think…” You weren’t even sure what you were asking. “I mean, they’re roommates.” You huffed, gesturing off in Eddie’s direction.

Robin rolled her eyes, gave your wrists a tight squeeze. “The three of you are consenting adults,” her voice rasped with exhaustion, the end of a great night. “You asked Steve to come, and he didn’t. That’s on him.”

You felt your cheeks warm. Steve really did tell her everything.

“Tell me something.”

You hummed, glancing over her shoulder at Eddie’s approaching frame.

“Do you want to marry Steve?”

That familiar panic clawed at your chest, and you staggered further into her, the mountain air creating static cling between your nylons and the chiffon of your skirt. It had been a question you’d been asking yourself over and over again for months now, a question that provided you with nothing but hurt, confusion, a question for people your age.

You grit your teeth, stood up straight, shook your head. “No. At least, not right now.”

She smiled at that, another sweet, unexpected smile, one bathed in mischief. “Good. It’s important to have fun while you’re still young.”

—

Eddie lead you into his room in a flurry of apologies, lifting an explosion of clothes off various pieces of furniture to shove into his suitcase. The room was large, too opulent for Eddie’s taste, with pastel wallpaper and a balcony overlooking snow-topped mountains. Or, you’d assumed it would in daylight. Currently, honeyed street lamps glowed at gauzy curtains, the city was pitch black beyond and below.

The thing that struck you the most was the double beds, one pristine and pressed, the other haphazardly shoved together, a crease where Eddie’s body had lain the night before. Steve had booked the room for two. You wondered how long ago, and at what point he changed his mind.

“Ta-da,” Eddie gestured to the open space before giving the grand tour. “Bathroom,” all peach marble and gold fixtures. “Television, with pay-per-view.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And… snacks.” He swung open the door to the mini fridge and reached in to pull out a few mini bottles of vodka. They clinked against his silver rings.

Anxiety bubbled in you, that familiar precipice of a storm. It tingled in your fingertips, thundered your heartbeat in your ears. It was electric like static shock clinging to your nylons. You took a few uneasy steps forward, coughed a laugh.

Eddie tossed the liquor bottles to the unmade bed and tugged at the Demon medallion around his neck. It was barely on by now, scooped neck of a white tank top visible low on his chest. Eddie was rough around the edges, sticky, stretched like taffy over wiry limbs. He moved with umph, a cartoon character. He pulled his bolo tie over his head and deposited it to the bedside table nearest a phone, a lamp, a pad of paper with the hotel’s logo.

“Good for Nancy and Jonathan, huh?” He commented, stirring your attention back to the present, back to the fun evening you had, removing the pressure of it all.

You laughed, tossed your clutch to a side table, leaned against a wall to unbuckle shoes and release your aching toes. “I know, right? She needed it.”

“Did you know they hooked up over Thanksgiving?” Eddie offered like a secret, rolling his sleeves and unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. The tank top beneath clung to bits of him that sweat through, see-through, exposing bits of purpled flesh, like Steve’s.

You sucked in your cheeks and wiggled your toes against the carpet, strode to the mini fridge to find a bag of M&Ms. “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll here about tonight for the next three months.” You shook the bag his direction, and when he held his hands out to catch it, you tossed and grabbed yourself another bag.

“What? You don’t think they’ll be together forever after this?” Eddie snickered, tearing open his bag from the center. The plastic split and a few candy-coated chocolates pelted the carpet, but he kicked them under the unmade bed and threw himself onto it with all of the flair for dramatics he was famous for. The comforter sighed under him.

You snorted, shrugged, tore open the corner of your own bag, and crawled to rest against the headboard beside him. You popped a green one into your mouth, and a brown. They tasted a bit stale, and odd refrigerated, but the crunch between your teeth was satisfying enough.

“Hey, so,” Eddie pulled himself upward and shifted onto his side to face you, all long limbs and chocolate breath, and you turned to catch watchful brown eyes. “I know I’m a thousand percent going to regret asking this,” he licked the corner of his plump, pink lips. “But what exactly happened in Louisville?”

You nearly choked. Eddie laughed as you sputtered, and he darted from his spot with an apology on his lips to pull a sealed plastic water bottle from the fridge. You laughed with him, tears forming at your eyes while you twisted the cap off and sat up for a drink and a gasp of fresh air.

“That bad, huh?” He settled beside you again, his surprisingly weight teetering you on your side.

“Steve didn’t tell you?” You sipped, licked chocolate from your teeth.

Eddie’s eyes were soft, innocent, head tilted to yours as he shook the curls from his eyelashes. “He didn’t say much, just came back grumpier than usual. Robin yelled at him the other day because every time we mention you, he gets all… weird. Quiet. Obnoxious.” His lips split in a grin, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He was concerned, concerned for his friend, for you too.

You took a deep breath, acknowledged the idea of a sullen Steve, moping around at your expense. You thought back to that blessed weekend, boring conference room meetings anxiously awaiting 5 o’clock when you could stumble back into a hotel room, not unlike this one, unzipping your dress and soaking in Steve Harrington’s all-encompassing affection. All weekend, he had been soft words and sweet sounds and roaming hands, until the end.

And then you fought. God, you’d never fought anyone like that.

“Steve asked me to marry him.”

It was Eddie’s turn to choke. “I’m sorry?”

You shrugged, tugged at a run in the chiffon of your pleated skirt. “Well, he more told me to marry him than asked. There wasn’t a ring or anything.” You groaned and slammed your head back into the padded headboard. “He wanted to try long distance, and when I said no, he told me to marry him, told me to move to Hawkins, promised to take care of me. And Jesus, Eddie, no offense to Hawkins or its residence, but you know I can’t do that. I mean, after the Earthquake? After all that happened?” You were rambling, but you hadn’t talked about it. Not since you spewed to Nancy, and that was months ago.

“No, I get it,” Eddie sighed, tugging his hair tie from his end to run his fingers through scraggly hair. “I’m only there for Wayne, and half the time, I think he’s staying for me. Hawkins is like a black hole.”

“Exactly!” You poured a few more M&Ms into your hand and ate them one-by-one. “And like, I obviously like Steve. I mean, he was my first kiss, my prom date. We have history, you know? I think that’s why I know him so well.”

Eddie hummed in response, settled back down beside you, shoulder to shoulder. He tossed a candy, missed his mouth. It settled somewhere between you.

“Steve needs the nuclear family. He needs a stay-at-home wife and six kids, a golden retriever out back.” You mused. You almost hated that you saw yourself in the role, could see yourself melding perfectly into it, had been imagining it for months and months.

Eddie just let you speak, continued to shuffle chocolate into his hand and down it.

You elbowed him. “What, no input here?”

He crunched a few bites, mouth full, and shrugged. He pulled your water bottle from your hand to chase the chocolate coating his mouth, and took a minute to compose his thoughts before he said. “Can I be totally honest with you?”

“Please,” you nodded, tilting yourself to face him.

He glanced your direction for a split second, but looked outward, gesturing to the room, to his invisible audience. “I mean, I obviously want you both to be happy. He’s one of my best friends. We share a toilet, for Christ’s sake.”

You chuckled at the visual.

The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile, and he glanced back at you again. You watched his Adam’s apple bob. “But uh… I’m feeling really selfish tonight.”

You felt it again at his words, that buzz of electricity to your fingertips. “Yeah?” Was all you could manage.

“Yeah,” he nodded, looked away, gestured out to the neatly pressed bed to your right. “I mean, he’s not here. He could have fought for you, and he chose to be a coward and stay home, and I feel like kind of a dick because I’m just so grateful I finally have you to myself.”

You watched the steady rise and fall of his chest before he turned to face you again, his eyes big and brown and watching you watch him.

“Because honestly? It’s been killing me to fight for your attention when Harrington’s around. I mean, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you offered to tutor me sophomore year.”

You licked the crease between your lips, saw it catch his gaze, watched him do the same. A shiver slipped down your spine. “You could try now. If you want.”

A soft sound spilled from his mouth, and his brows furrowed neatly. “Are you sure?”

You smiled, leaned back against the headboard, and whispered, “Kiss me, Eddie.”

His lips were soft, pillowy, all-encompassing. He overtook your space, crowded you with a cascade of curls and a firm hand to the headboard above your head, his other grazing your ribcage, and you leaned into the taste of chocolate and spearmint. He was gentle, timid, a stark polar opposite from the dramatic flair of the man you’d grown accustomed to, a facade, perhaps.

His nose nuzzled your own, and your cheek, and you breathed a warm smile to his temple when his lips found the hollow at your ear. “Can I?” He whispered, and you muttered an allowance before feeling warm, soft kisses down the plane of your throat to the dips of your clavicle.

You pushed at his shoulders, unraveling the collar of his shirt until he was pulling away to yank folded sleeves down his forearms. His lean frame was sinew and faded ink and a smattering of scars that matched a few of your own.

He pulled his tank over his head next, not one to waste time, and you trailed your fingers along tight flesh from ribcage to hipbones, leaving a trail of goosebumps along pale skin. With a groan, he dipped back to capture your lips in a kiss again. You heard the scatter of M&Ms across the side table, felt the shift of the bed as he gripped your hips and pulled you downward until your head rested on a cotton pillowcase.

“I meant it when I told you you were beautiful,” he muttered to your lips, hands ghosting your thighs as he made for the waist band of your nylons beneath your dress.

You felt self-conscious about the creases left to your skin there, but nimble fingers rolled the thin material down past your knees, and you watched it waft to the floor. Firm hands quickly replaced it, kneading at aching leg muscles, pinching the meat of your thighs between ringed fingers. You moaned into an open mouth.

“You deserve to be worshipped.” He sighed into your shoulder.

He was right. You deserved to have fun, to enjoy your friend’s wedding, to party, to live a little. You deserved to not worry about the ever-present stress of adulthood. You deserved to sink into a cushy mattress and clutch curls as a man buried his face into you, as a man praised you, as a man pleased you.

You held chiffon pleats to your thighs, wished you’d shaved, felt pillowy lips to the crux of your hips, tried not to compare calloused hands to smooth ones. You saw stars, eyes and jaw slammed shut, and tried not to compare a round-tipped nose to a flat one. You allowed Eddie to kiss you, lips tacky, breath hot, and tried not to compare sweet sounds to filthy ones.

Eddie was all lips, where Steve was all hands. Eddie was strong shoulders, nimble fingers, and Steve was rhythm and hips and thighs. Eddie was whispered truths and damp and sticky sweet, and Steve was furrowed brow and grit teeth, determined. Eddie let you pin him, hair splayed across a creased pillowcase, your small hands pressed to the faded ink on his chest, tracing lines with manicured fingertips. Steve would have pinned you wrists over your head.

“Can I hold you?” Eddie asked, when you were all spent and sweating and breathless, curls stuck to his temples, eyelids heavy.

You sunk into spindly arms, your legs tangled but spread wide across an uneven bedspread. You dress has been discarded beneath the side table. The soft lamplight accentuated the shadows, a honeyed glow pooling in from the patio beyond.

Something heavy rattled in you, guilt perhaps, and you released a shaky breath.

“Need a smoke?” Eddie breathed into your neck, that warm chuckle, friendly, like he understood, that safe space to bring you back to Earth.

You tucked his hand tighter into your ribcage beneath your breasts, a buoy tying you to the reality of the day, of your life, to the consequences of your actions.

You fell asleep to the low, rumbling hum of Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling In Love.

---

A/N: This has been floating around my head for ages, and for some reason, it chose this week to finally come out, and it's so vastly different from what I had planned. Listen, I'm a Steve girl, trust me. I know it may not seem like it, but I'm really, really a Steve girl. But Eddie's just so... I just love him sometimes, okay?

Also I just really felt like this was so about the friendship between them all. If you can't tell, I think I'm in love with Robin and Nancy. Let me know what you think. Love you forever and ever. xo Amanda

#stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #jancy #jonathan byers #robin buckley #argyle and eden

305 notes · View notes

rjmartin11 · 9 months

Text

Sweet Kisses

Pairing: Elvis & black!female!reader

Summary: Candy, a young enslaved woman, learns the art of witchcraft from her mistress, Margaret. Along the way, Candy meets the mysterious Elvis, who appears to be more than what he seems. A vampire with an agenda. Candy and Elvis form an unbreakable bond that proves to be fatal.

Word Count: ???

Warnings: Witchcraft, vampires, blood, murder, magic, hence the witchcraft, talks of slavery, sadness, forbidden love, smut, death.

Material is not suitable for under 18 years of age. View discretion is advised!

Author's Notes: I'm making this special appearance for a limited time. One of my friends (@powerofelvis) wrote this incredible story about the Vampire Elvis, and I always wanted a prequel to it. Sadly, said friend has quit indefinitely. I'm heartbroken over it, and I hope I do it justice. This is one of my favorite stories written in the fandom. If you enjoy this tale, please like, follow, comment, and repost.

・ʚ♡ɞ・💋・ʚ♡ɞ・

"These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey is loathsome in its own deliciousness, and the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore, love moderately." - William Shakespeare: Romeo & Juliet

1692

Candy toils away in the kitchen as dinner soon approaches. She sweats as the heat of the oven has the room sweltering. She's been working all day to make sure the food is prepared to master's liking. The breads baked to perfection. The roast is honey coated. The mash potatoes are fluffy, the greenbeans seasoned, and the cake's sweet. So she hopes.

Candy wipes her brow as sweat pours down her face from the heated stove. She hears a slight rattling on the table and swiftly turns around to look at the table. Everything is in place as it should be. She takes out the roast, placing on the adjacent bar.

The rattling sound happens again. Candy turns just in time to see a teacup falling to the floor. She's too far away from the falling teacup to catch it, so she does the only thing she can. She stretches out her hand, feeling the energy of her power flow through her. She catches the cup in mid-air. She places the cup back on the table with ease and exhales. Her fear subsides, allowing her to relax once more.

"Very good, young one," Margaret says, stepping out of the shadows of the doorway. "You've been practicing."

"Yes, thank you, Mistress," Candy says, bowing her head.

Margaret walks into the hot kitchen, looking at all the food prepared for the evening's dinner. She pauses, not wanting to take another bath.

"Candy, make it cooler in here, now," Margaret orders.

"Yes, Mistress."

Candy faces the three windows that lead to the outside. Slowly, she raises her hands up, opening the windows. Putting her hands slightly together and widening her fingers, Candy quietly conjures the cool night air to cool down the room.

"Very good, Candy."

"Thank you, Mistress," Candy says, placing her hands back in front of her.

"Tonight promises to be a must eventful evening," Margaret says, looking back at Candy.

"Why is that, Mistress?"

"After dinner, when the men smoke their cigars and have their console. The women will have ours," Margaret says.

She lightly lifts up Candy's chin.

"I will announce you as my apprentice. You will join my council of witches. You will be seen as my equal in a circle where there's no favorites. We will be sisters, and you will call me Margaret."

"Yes. Margaret."

Candy knew, as well as any slave, it was forbidden to cross the line of formal and casual with her mistress and master. Yet her mistress is giving her a direct order to call her by her name as if she's an equal. Candy knows her place. She knows what to say in front of Master Abbott. It was beat into her for the last two years of how to act properly as an enslaved woman. Now that her mistress has commissioned her to be a witch, she realizes she must tread softly.

・ʚ♡ɞ・💋・ʚ♡ɞ・

As the other servants of the Abbott household, Candy has permission to be absent for an hour. She wastes no time, taking a spare pair of clothes with her, and quietly runs through the woods. Slaves don't have the right to wash indoors, but Candy found a private spring a mile away from the Abbott's house.

Running through the woods is almost as good as running through the palms of Barbados. If she closes her eyes, she can almost smell the fresh salt sea air.

When she reaches the spring, she stripes herself away from the chains of slavery for just a moment. Candy places her clothes on the giant oak tree limbs that reach over the water. Without another thought, Candy dives into the lukewarm water, cleasing herself from the Abbotts.

When she comes up for air, she rubs her left shoulder, where her moon shaped birthmark lies. As she washes her hair, Candy sees the figure of a man in the distance. Candy gasps as she back strokes in the water.

"Who are you?!" Candy asks, covering herself with her hands. "What are you doing here?!"

"Who are you?!?" The stranger asks, the bass of his deep voice sends fear to Candy's heart.

"Never you mind!" She shouts, realizing he was a white man she swims back to the shore.

Not caring if he sees her naked body, Candy rings out her wet curls and puts on her clothes.

"You're not a shy one, are ya?!?" He shouts to her.

Candy looks over her shoulder then walks away. She was hoping for a peaceful bath, but she was interrupted by a stranger who could possibly get her into trouble.

"Wait a minute!" He shouts to her.

Candy stops in her tracks, knowing the rules. If a white man, woman, or child asks her to do something, she's supposed to do it without question. Fully dressed, he makes his way in front of her.

"You didn't answer my question," he said.

"W-which question was that, sir?" Candy asks, looking into his eyes.

Something behind his eyes captures her heart. His eyes were as blue as the waters that surrounded her home island. Behind his oceanic eyes lay a rushing wave that spoke to her lonely soul.

"Who are you? You're different. You have fire in you that most slaves would fear to have."

"I'm... Candy."

"What family do you work? Candy?"

"I'm a slave in the Abbott's household," she answers, crossing her arms shrinking away from him.

"The Abbotts... fine company you keep."

"Sir, forgive me. I have to get back to my mistress."

"I never liked the thought of slavery. In fact, it makes me sick to my stomach," he says, lifting her chin. "You're the first servant that's looked me in my eyes since I've been in town."

"Sir, please..."

"Elvis. My name's Elvis, little one."

"Master Elvis..."

"It's just Elvis... Candy."

Candy knew with one breath she could knock him down on his back. But the law would kill her for exposing herself as a witch.

"I have to go... Elvis."

Candy runs past him, heading to the Abbott house. Once back in the house, Margaret escorts her to the ladies' quarters. Inside, about fifteen ladies fill the room, seven of which are black. Light illuminates the quarter as the candles flicker. It sparks that fire Elvis was telling her about earlier.

Margaret and Sarah Barnett bring Candy the coven wine gauntlet.

"Sisters," Margaret starts. "Let us welcome our new sister, Candy, to the coven."

The ladies individually say their hellos and greetings to Candy. Margaret gives Candy the gauntlet of wine and whispers to her instructions on what to say in her induction speech. Candy smiles, taking the gauntlet in her hands.

"I... I drink of my sisters, and I do so entering this unbreakable circle with perfect love and perfect trust. Never putting no one above my sisters and this coven."

Candy raises her glass in a toast and takes a sip. The ladies applaud her, then one by one, kiss her cheeks, welcoming her into the coven. They asked for a small demonstration of her powers. Candy levitates all the candles in the room. This act pleases the coven.

The evening goes on with light wine and conversation. The ladies speak of secrecy and discretion.

"First and foremost, we are to remain quiet about who we are. We also must watch out for vampires," Sarah instructs.

"What are vampires?" Candy asks.

"Our true enemies. They are the enemies of those who produce warm blood in their veins," Sister Miraim squabbles.

Mistress Sarah gently places her hand on top of Miraim's hand, calming her.

"If I may," Sister Beth commented. Beth was the slave of Lord and Lady Blacksmith. "As Miraim more spiritly put it, vampires are our enemies, yes. But moreover, they are undead creatures that look and speak just like us with minor misconceptions. Other than drinking the blood of the living to survive, they sneak through the shadows of the night like evil spirits. They can't walk in the daylight. The sun is a holy relic that burns their pale skin. They are unholy creatures. If they feed on a witch, they gain ten times more strength and speed."

"Vampires are our enemies, and they will be disdained as such," Candy stated.

As the meeting drew in for a close, Beth pulled Candy aside for a small conversation.

"Just between us, Candy. I'd love it if you joined our small group of enchantress," Beth said.

"Enchantress group?" Candy questioned.

"You must never tell your mistress. All of the enslaved women here are a part of it. They may see us as equals here in this room, but once outside those doors, we are mere slaves yet again," Beth states.

"I know this to be true," Candy acknowledges.

"Do you know of the Well's family?" Beth asks.

Candy shakes her head.

"They were absent tonight, but they have a slave by the name of Renée and she's also from the island of Barbados."

"My cousin? Here in Salem? We were separated during the auction two years ago. I feared I'd never see her again."

"Never say never, Sister Candy. She's a part of our coven. Will you join us at your leisure tomorrow?" Beth asked.

"Yes. I will be there."

The next day, Candy reunites with her beloved cousin, Renée. Seeing Renée brought a great joy to her, she thought she'd never experience again. Candy and Renée reconnected, building a strong bond of blood and magic.

Because of this, Candy pledged her undying loyalty to this secret black coven within a larger coven. Together, they formed the Coven of Black Enchantresses. Reading and writing were outlawed for slaves but the sisters taught each other how to read and write. Margaret secretly tutored Candyin her spear time from the Book of Spell Casters.

Two weeks later...

The churches harvest ball was quickly approaching. The autumn leaves were falling, and the weather started to cool. Candy cleaned the house from top to bottom with the assistance of her cousin, Renée.

"Candy, this harvest ball sounds so exciting," Renée said, striking up a conversation.

"Yes. Too bad slaves can't participate."

"True. Can we just imagine, though?"

Candy looks back at Renée's eager face. So full of hope for things to come. Being that Renée is her younger cousin, Candy obliges her whim of imagining a life better than their current one.

"Let's make a small circle, Candy. We're alone," Renée says, grabbing her hands.

Candy and Renée breathe deeply, chanting small incantations. As the circle forms, they open their eyes to look at one another.

"What are we imagining, Renée?" Candy asks.

"A life without servitude, cousin. A life away from this hell."

"Home..." Candy whispers as she imagines the waves crash against the shore of her home.

"Candy, you are of age. If things were different, you could have on one of those pretty gowns and fall in love tonight."

"That's not in the book for me."

"Imagine. Don't break the circle because of things that may not be. Close your eyes as I conjure you up the perfect night," Renée says.

Candy obeys her cousin and allows her imagination to run as wild as horse on a prairie.

"You have on the most beautiful dress of all the eligible women at the ball. Every eye is on you, but one bachelor catches your eye. Oh my. Candy, he's handsome."

Renée says these words, and those pair of blue eyes come back to her mind. The fine cut jawline exquisitely complements his brood shoulders. He's built like a god of legend. He lips... cover a smile of sharp fangs.

"Elvis!" Candy shouts, breaking the circle. Fear covers Candy's soft features.

"Who's Elvis?" Renée asked.

"I wish I knew," Candy says, taking a breath. "Come, let's finish up. No more imagining for today."

The Harvest Ball

The entire town of Salem, with a few residents from surrounding areas, has come to celebrate. All the lords, ladies, and their children are dressed in their Sunday best. They make conversation, sip on libations, and nibble on snacks as the light hymns play.

Candy was excused from the duties of the event. She quietly watches from the window outside. A part of her wishes she could be in there dancing with a handsome stranger. She wishes she could be the bell of the ball. But no, she would rather go for a swim.

She goes to get Renée, Beth, and Phadrea to go for a swim. Originally, her spring was supposed to be a private place, but she'd not dare keep it from her sisters.

As they walk arm in arm through the quiet town, they hear growling like a pack of wolves have surrounded them.

"Those are vampires," Beth says. "Be ready to defend yourselves, sisters."

The three witches fight with their might. Candy turns to her left and sees a pair of red eyes in the dark. Fear seeps within her veins, and her heart races at the face of this loathsome creature. She takes a deep breath and chants her incantation as dark smoke springs from her hands. She throws her hand up, slamming the vampire hard against the side of a house. He laughs with evil delight as Candy gives herself strength to pick him up and throw him. He hits the ground with a thunderous thud. He looks over at Candy, his demonic eyes glaring back. She's ready for him.

Then Candy hears Renée scream at the top of her lungs. A vampire on top of Renée, ready to sink his into her flesh.

"RENÉE!" She shouts, using her energy to throw the off of her.

The vampire Candy turned her back on, grabbed her neck from behind, throwing her to the ground. He growls, exposing his sharp fangs to her. Candy places her foot in his abdomen, flipping him underneath her. He rips the top part of her dress off her shoulder, showcasing her moon shaped birthmark.

"The cresent moon," he says, looking into Candy's eyes. "Little one?"

Candy backs away from him, holding the top of her dress. He stands and shouts at the other vampires. They all scatter in different directions except for him. He glares at Candy for a moment, revealing his human face.

"Elvis," Candy breathes.

Elvis smiles and races into the darkness of the night. Candy exhales for the first time since the first initial attack.

"Candy?" Renée says, coming to aid. "Are you alright?"

"I... I think so," Candy says.

"We are not safe, sisters," Beth states. "There are vampires in Salem. We must inform the heads of the council."

・ʚ♡ɞ・💋・ʚ♡ɞ・

The next day, Candy cleans the house from top to bottom, trying to get that image of Elvis out of her mind. Ever since the first time they met, Candy knew there was something about him. Something different. She never dreamed it was that he was a vampire.

Candy finds time later in the afternoon to make her way to the spring. When she arrives there, it's as silent the grave. She quietly walks to the edge of the water, bracing herself for the unexpected.

"I hoped you come," Elvis said.

Candy throws him up against the base of the oak tree, holding him there.

"We need to stop meeting like this, Candy."

"Why should I trust you?" Candy asks.

"Because, if I wanted you dead, I would have killed you last night."

"I don't trust you. Vampires are the sworn enemies to witches!"

"We don't have to be. I don't want to hurt you."

"What do you want, Elvis?"

"To live in a world where slavery doesn't exist. A world where vampires and witches are not enemies but live together in harmony. A world where humans don't fear us. We shouldn't have to hide in the shadows."

"That's impossible..."

"Why? Because you were told it couldn't?"

Something in Candy wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe him. She eases her hand down, releasing Elvis from the tree. Elvis slowly walks up to Candy, never looking away from his eyes.

"Sit with me, please," Elvis asks.

"Why would you want to sit with me?"

"I find you beautiful and interesting. I've been waiting for you to come back here and spend time with me."

Elvis offers Candy his hand, and without hesitation, she takes it. Noticing how warm his touch is, her heart rate raises.

"You're so warm," Candy points out.

"Yes."

"And you're out in the sunlight."

"Yes, I am. Those tale tales were created to throw humans off our scent," Elvis admits.

He sits her down in the grassy meadow. For a moment, they stare at one another. Elvis admires her dark curls and honey coated skin. He finds her absolutely breathtaking.

"Where are you from?" Elvis asks her.

"Barbados. I was kidnapped two years ago. My cousin and I. Sent here. Away from my family. Forced into slavery," Candy sighs.

"You miss it."

"Everyday. I miss the palm trees and the sandy beaches and the blue water, my mother," Candy said, reminiscing about a life stolen from her.

A tear falls from her eye. Elvis takes her hand and places a kiss on her knuckles. An energy radiates from his touch to her soul. For the first time in a long time, Candy smiles a true smile.

For the next week, Candy finds a way to spend the afternoon in Elvis' arms. They share stories about their lives. Soon, Candy finds herself falling madly in love with Elvis. He's never far from her thoughts.

"How's about we go for a swim, baby?" Elvis asks.

Candy stands up and strips her dress off, being completely bare in front of Elvis. Elvis analyzes her body carefully. Every curve and every scar.

She runs into the water, diving into the water. When she comes up for air, Elvis has disappeared.

"Elvis? Where are you?" She calls out.

"Here," he whispers in her ear.

She turns to see Elvis behind her. Elvis grabs her face and kisses her lips softly. There's nothing between them at this moment but water. Candy wraps her arms around Elvis as he kisses down her neck to her arm. He kisses her birthmark.

"Oh, Elvis," she cries out.

He stops short and looks at her.

"What's wrong?" Candy asked.

"I want to taste you."

"Will it hurt?"

"Yes, but you'll like. I promise."

"Okay," Candy says, bracing herself.

Elvis kisses her neck then sinks his teeth into her skin. Candy feels a rush as he tastes her blood. Candy sees Elvis' past in quick images. Love. Loss. Death. It makes her want to protect him and guard him from the world. She also feels herself wet as Elvis sips her blood. He pulls back for air and licks her wounds.

"You're pure magic, Candy," he says.

"You're pure love, Elvis," she says, kissing his lips.

Elvis lifts her leg and drives into her with his hardened shaft. She moans at the urgency of it all. Her bud is so sensitive, and she feels so needy for what Elvis can give her. She never truly knew about this connection. The bond among her coven was nothing compared to this. She feels herself expand as he thrusts his cock into her throbbing pussy.

A fire deep within her has ignited and feels like Elvis is casting a spell on her. She grips ahold of him chasing this feeling until finally she bursts. Elvis follows quickly behind her.

"Oh, E. That was spellbinding."

"That was lovemaking, darling."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I love you, Candy. I'm in love with you," Elvis says, kissing the top of her head.

Thirty minutes later, Elvis takes Candy to his cabin. Their both still pretty wet from swimming, so Candy lights a fire for them. They sit for a while, getting warm from the flames.

Elvis can't help himself. He strips from his wet clothes and asks that Candy do the same. He lays her down in front of the fire and precedes to make love to her once more.

The flame on the inside of Candy scorch her soul as he pushes and pulls in and out of her until once again she cums. They lay in each other's arms for a while until Elvis breaks his silence.

"Marry me, Candy. Be my bride. Let's rule this world as one," Elvis begs.

Candy looks at him. Seeing the seriousness in his eyes melts her heart. She wants nothing more than to be with him.

"What about my sisters?" Candy questions.

"In time, they will come to accept our union. Please, my love. Marry me."

"Yes, I will."

"You will?"

"I will."

They kiss for a moment, and Elvis cuts his arm to unite them both as one.

"Drink. Be one with me. It won't turn you into a vampire. This will make you more powerful than any witch on Earth."

Candy licks his cut from top to bottom. The blood fills her taste buds with a peculiar taste, but the sensation was a delight. She feels stronger somehow. She feels like she has more control over her powers.

Realizing the time, Candy gives Elvis one last kiss goodbye and runs back to town. When she arrives, the coven is all there waiting to her.

"Where have you been?" Margaret asks.

Candy has no words. She can't lie to them, but she can't tell them the truth either.

"Beth," Margaret called. "Make her speak."

Beth stepped forward, placing her palms up and out to Candy.

"Give me your hands, Sister Candy," Berh orders.

Candy hesitates but does as she's asked. She places her hands on top Beth's hands.

Beth sees all that had conspired in Candy's mind. She sees the secrets they have and all of her moments with Elvis. All their private moments.

Beth gasps, pulling away from Candy she slaps her in the face.

"Sisters, she has betrayed us all! She has lied with a vampire, allowed him to drink blood from her veins, and tasted his blood as well!!!"

An unholy gasp spreads across the room.

"Sisters, please. Let me explain," Candy begs, tears falling from her eyes.

Margaret slaps Candy's face, silencing her.

"You have lost all rights to speak!" Margaret shouts.

"I love him."

"You shall burn for your sins against us. Your betrayal has stung us all to the core," Margaret states. "All witches in favor."

"Aye!" Screamed by each witch except for Renée who watches in terror from the back of the room.

For the next few days, Candy remains locked in an upstairs room with little to no food. She cares not for herself but for Elvis. She was supposed to see him at the springs. With little to no way to get to him, Candy falls into despair.

Suddenly, there's a commotion downstairs. Things are being thrown about the rooms, and there's yelling.

Candy has been patient long enough. She blows the door down with one wave of her hand. She runs downstairs and sees Elvis being choked by Margaret. Candy waves her arm and flings Margaret away from him.

"Elvis, darling," Candy runs to him, helping off the floor.

"My love," Elvis says, kissing her lips. "I've come to take you away from this horrible place."

"Traitor!" Margaret yells.

"No! Margaret, I don't want this! Elvis wants to make this world better for us all. He's a great man!"

"Love, she's set in her old ways. No use explaining to her," Elvis says, picking her up in his arms and racing out the door.

For the next week, Elvis trains Candy on fighting and strengthening her powers. Elvis feels a fight coming, and he wants to be prepared. Candy wants Elvis to fight her with all his might because if she could stand against him, she can face anyone.

Elvis knocks Candy down on her back this time. It's hard enough that blood comes from her mouth.

"Did I hurt you, my love?" Elvis asks, stretching out his hand, helping her up.

"Yeah, but I'm tougher than I look, E," she says, giving him a kiss on the lips. "Do you really think I'll be ready to face them? I mean, they taught me everything I know. Before them, I was a slave who couldn't read or write. I own them everything."

"You're ready, and once we defeat them, you'll be my bride, and we will rule this world together. Hell, you're already my bride, Mama!" Elvis says, pulling her close to him. "They will come around. Eventually."

"I'm ready," Candy says.

But she wasn't ready. Two days later, Candy goes to comfort the coven. It was a trap. They tie Candy up, using incantations, they burn her at the stake. She screams and begs them for mercy, but they ignore her.

Elvis witnesses the whole scene unfold. He tries to save her, but his men hold him back as he cries out to her.

"Candy! You can defeat them! You're strong! Don't give up! I LOVE YOU!!! PLEASE!!!" He screams.

Candy sees Elvis trying to get to her, but it's too late. She cries as the flames of hell fire burn her from the inside out. She let's her last words be for Elvis. He hears her whisper.

"I love you," she succumbs to the flames.

Elvis and his clan of vampires are forced to flee away from Salem back into the woods.

A day later, the witch sent Elvis a box. Inside the box is Candy's burnt heart. Elvis hadn't slept all night from heartbreak, and this is what happens.

Elvis loses it and orders his men to attack Salem. His vampires came in droves and ripped Salem apart. Finding every witch they could get their hands on and bleeding them dry.

The Black Enchantresses, led by Renée, fled for their lives out of Salem and from the bonds of slavery. Renée knew the story of Candy and Elvis was to be kept a secret for all time, and so it shall remain.

After his fill of witches' blood, Elvis, heartbroken, carries Candy's lifeless body away. He wraps burial cloth around her body from head to toe. He places her under their special oak, feet away from their pond where they meet mere weeks ago.

Elvis lays her in her resting place gently, placing the box that contains her heart on top of her. He weeps the tears of a widower. For they had only just begun.

As he places fresh water lilies on her grave, a strange feeling comes over him. As if he's not there alone.

"Elvis." A voice of an angel whispers. His angel. His bride.

Elvis turns to see a figure in white standing in the grassy meadow. As his eyes adjust, he realizes he looks upon the face of Candy. Her hair was curly with little flowers, and the sun kissed her skin perfectly.

"Candy?" He breathes.

"Yes," she answers.

"You've come back to me, love?"

"No," she says, a tear trickling down her cheek. "Wait for me."

"How long?" Elvis beeched.

"I don't know."

"It doesn't matter. I'll wait forever for you. I love you."

"I love you, Elvis. Once I return to you. I'll never ever leave you again. Wait for me." Candy sits in the grass as a light fog engulfs her and she vanishes.

Elvis feels sorrow, but in his heart, he knows Candy will return to him. When she does, they will rule the immortal world together. He will wait. No matter how long it takes.

Taglist: @missmaywemeetagain @beeandheroddobsessions @headfullofpresley @everythingpresley @epforeverohyes @vintagepresley @pianginferno @powerofelvis @ab4eva @foreverdolly @searchingforgravity @thatbanditqueen @daffieapple @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @epsgirl @richardslady121 @literally-just-elvis-fics @eptodaytommorwforever @vintageshanny @iloveelvis @dreamingofep @aliypop @spooky-hazex

Are you bummed at the ending? Here's the link to the original story!!! Better ending.

Sweets For My Sweet by: @powerofelvis (Daisy)

#elvispresley #romance #elvis #Elvis x oc #vampireelvis #vampires #elvis fans #Elvis x black!oc #Elvis Presley x Black!oc #black writers #Daisy Writes #Witches

32 notes · View notes

urelvisgirl018 · 9 months

Text

elvis and the 68’ special 😉

(elvis and susan henning more specifically)

you are a performer for elvis’ upcoming special, when you feel a strong sexual tension drawing you toward him…

tw: i’m not rly sure of the warnings to put here but this is kinda dirty smut sooo like 15+. first time writing smut let me know how i did and if you have requests let me know!

love u ❤️❤️❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you and elvis had chemistry. everyone knew it, the way that you two connected on screen was like nothing before. you had been working with him as a dancer for his 68’ comeback special to be aired on NBC for about a week now, and you were ready for it to be done.

you liked working with elvis and all, but it felt as though he was almost playing with you. you both knew he was married, with a new little girl named lisa marie. still, he toyed with you and teased you. making you feel like a bitch in heat whenever he was near. the way that he would dance with you on screen, how his hot wet lips were almost touching yours, his eyes searching deep in your soul making you feel things you know you shouldn’t. it’s almost like he knew that you touched yourself to the thought of him everynight.

we were working on a scene that we just couldn’t get right. elvis was supposed to seemingly “choose” one of the many women depicted in the scene. the past girls that he had chosen the scene didn’t come out well. this time he picked me. the music started playing as he sat down in a red chair surrounded by “whores” in skimpy pink outfits. he looks at me with the sweltering look in his eye and uses his long slender finger to tell me to come here. the camera was rolling and i tried my best to hide how nervous i was, i was totally gonna fuck this up. as i approach elvis, wide in his manspread with the first four buttons of his dress shirt unbutton, a glimpse of his raven chest hair poking out i was growing even more nervous.

i stand right in front of him as he grabs my cheek with his hot hand making our faces meet. he then drags his thumb along my lip pulling his face closer to mine. the moment felt so real i thought he was actually going to kiss me on screen when the director yelled “cut!”. we didn’t look away from eachother, both of our chests heaving.

“EP we got it! that was sick man”. elvis eventually looks away from me to go talk to his director. he seemed pleased with the cut. I threw on my jacket and started to make my way out of the studio when i felt a hand on my shoulder

“honey wait, where you going?” elvis’ deep southern drawl called after me. i stared at him and started to explain how i was going home, “well why don’t you come keep me some company honey, you sure worked you’re ass off today huh? let me treat you”. I nodded and smiled wanting to spend time with him we went back to his dressing room.

he opens the door for me and i am met with a dimly lit dressing room. a vanity in the corner and a plush sofa sitting adjacent from it. his personal bathroom was next to the vanity. some of his clothes were hung up on a rack as well as a picture of baby lisa marie on the wall right beside it. I walked in and sat down on the sofa.

elvis began unbuttoning his shirt further down and loosening his ascot. “I’m so happy we got that scene done today honey. i’m so sick of this, jus wan be done”. I hummed in response not knowing what to say. he went to go change in the bathroom, and came back out in a black silk robe. his initials imprinted in gold on his chest.

he sat down next to me on the couch and brought me a glass of white wine. i sipped it slowly as we began to talk about some of the other scenes that were bothering him. the room eventually fell quiet. “your daughter is very beautiful elvis”. he looked at me and smiled, “she is my whole heart, didn’t know i could love somethin that much”. i smiled then laughed wanting to bring up his wife, “what about priscilla?” he rubbed his face in stress. “i jus don’t know honey. i mean i love her sure but.. im jus not happy”.

i looked at him with concern. “i-im so sorry elvis. i wish i could help you somehow” he took a deep sigh and said “there’s not much you can do for me honey. what bout you? are you happy doll?” i sat in thought for a minute. am i happy? i don’t really have a love life and i only talk to my parents. i was quite lonely in reality. i looked back at elvis and shrugged “i don’t really know, im just kinda lonely i guess” i began talking about myself and explaining my loneliness and longing to elvis when i eventually started to cry. pretty soon after he started comforting me his long warm hand rubbing up and down my leg. his other hand petting my hair over and over again. i leaned my head on his shoulder.

“shhh baby don’t cry, there’s nothin we can’t fix” his deep southern drawl was very comforting and sexy at the same time, my sadness turning into arousal.

his hand wrapping around my thigh when i could feel my panties start to get wet. i looked up at him through half lidded eyes, he was smiling down at me. i hummed contently and began to hug him.

he moved his head so that his mouth met my ear, his hot breath tingling my ear lobe… “let me help you honey. let me love on ya” my eyes went wide, i wasn’t sure that i had heard him correctly. i sat up with wide eyes.

“what?” elvis looked at me with a smile and put both of his hands on my cheeks and said “baby i know you feel it too, please.. j-just let me love you” you didn’t have a second to relax before he kissed you. his plump red lips meeting and moving with yours. you grabbed on to his cheeks and slid your hands into his hair moaning into his mouth. it was perfect like your lips and tounges were meant to be with eachother, two pieces of a puzzle. elvis pulled away panting, looking through your eyes for a reaction he asked “are you sure bout this honey? i-i mean we can st-“ you interrupted him. you had never been more sure of anything in my entire life. “elvis, please keep going” you practically moaned. he put his mouth back on yours in an instant.

you began to slide your hands down his back revealing his chest from his robe. you slid your hands along his raven chest hair and tugged on a little bit, he laughed then growled in your mouth.

elvis lifted your shirt above your head and took your bra off, breasts now on full display for him. you looked down and you could see his cock pressing up against his stomach from inside his robe. a sight you wish you could have tattooed in your brain.

elvis began kissing and sucking on your neck releasing tiny moans and giggles from you. eventually elvis got down to your breasts, taking his time with each of your hard nipples. he took the first one into his hot mouth and rolled his tounge around the sensitive bud. you looked down at him as he met your eyes and you played with his hair. you moaned lightly and tugged on his hair resulting him to lightly bite on your nipple.

you laughed at him as he started moving even further down your body taking off the rest of the pink outfit that you had worn for the scene you shot. you were left in just your pink thong, he began to lower his face as he smiled at you. you began breathing heavier needing a release from his mouth. he moved his tounge on your inner thighs driving you crazy.

you tried to move his head closer to your core.. “nuh uh honey, be patient” you giggled and let him take his time. he started your clit from the outside of your panties. the feeling was irresistible as his hot wet tounge was almost touching you.

he licked a stripe up your panties from your hole to your clit making you breathe even harder. he moved your panties to the side and began sucking on your clit and rolling his hot tounge around it. you threw your head back onto the arm of the couch and began to tighten your legs together, however elvis held them apart. “fuck elvis” you moaned, he began to thrust two fingers in and out of you as he sucked on your clit.

his warm fingers pulsating in and out of you while his warm tounge sucked on your clit made you a moaning mess. you were writhing under his touch before he pulled away, your juices left on his face while he licked them off. “not yet baby, i want you to cum while i’m inside of you”. you smiled at him as he removed his robe. his cock was huge and veiny, you weren’t even sure it was going to fit.

elvis lined himself up with your entrance. the tip of his cock sliding around your wet pussy making you even more wet. “you sure baby?“ elvis asked with half lidded eyes. he looked as though he couldn’t control himself anymore. he tried to slide into you slowly, both of you moaning loudly until you covered your mouth with your hand.

elvis moved your hand away from your mouth and kissed each of your fingertips while his cock was deep inside you pulsing. “let em hear you honey”.

he started sliding in and out of you at a medium pace both of you moaning erratically and heavily breathing while you listened to the sounds of his cock driving in and out of your pussy.

he moved your knee up so he had better access to your pussy and grunted. “such a good fuckin girl”. your eyes rolled back into your head as you moaned loudly “fuck elvis fuck!”. he smiled and titled his head back while pumping into you, giving you the perfect view of his sideburns and his adam’s apple.

his cock was hitting the exact spot inside your pussy that you needed. you were clenching around his cock as your back arched, your nipples hard. “you gonna cum baby?” he said. “y-yeah elvis fuck”. he dove his face into your neck and began kissing you as you slid your hands through his hair as you came, writing with pleasure. “good girl baby, that’s a good girl” elvis softly purred in your ear. “can ya keep going baby or you need me to stop?” he looked at you with concern. you kissed his lips passionately, “keep going” you said breathlessly.

elvis hopped off the couch and picked you up bridal style, you giggled and kicked your legs. he brought you over to the vanity so that you could see you and elvis naked in the mirror. he positioned you so that your leg was up on the vanity table. a perfect position for his access. “i’m gonna fuck you while you watch baby, you deserve this”.

you looked back at him in awe as he pounded into you animalistically. growling and grunting, sweat dripping down his face as he was coming closer to his release. he pulled on your hair pounding into you from the back, moans coming from the back of your throat you felt his hand snake around to the front of your pussy.

he began rubbing tiny circles over your clit, you moaned elvis’ name loudly. “you can take it baby, cmon baby take it” he grunted into your ear. your pussy continued clenching around his cock, like you two were made for eachother. two bodies moving with eachother in a perfect harmony.

your legs began shaking and your body hit its climax as you came on elvis’ cock. you came down from your high breathing heavily, looking at elvis pumping into you from behind in the mirror made you smile with content.

“want me to cum in you baby?” you moaned in delight, his cock twitching inside of you and his pumps becoming slower. “cum so deep inside me, fuck elvis”. his cock pumped his juices deep into your pussy feeling warm.

you liked the feeling of being filled with elvis. you rested your head back on his chest, both of you breathing heavily. your legs were still shaking when elvis removed himself. you could see his white warm cum dripping out of you from the mirror. “wanna bath baby?”

you looked back at elvis who was turning on the bath water. “yeah that sounds great”. he came over and scooped you up bridal style, knowing that your legs wouldn’t work.

he set you in the bathtub and then climbed in right behind you. you laid back on to his chest as he began to whisper sweet things into your ear. you couldn’t remember when you had felt more loved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#50s elvis #60s elvis #elvis #elvis fans #elvis movie #elvis music #elvis photos #elvis presley #elvis the king #elvis the pelvis #elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvisaaronpresley #elvis history #elvis pictures #70s elvis #elvis presely smut

52 notes · View notes

whositmcwhatsit · 1 year

Text

Stay the Same

A/N: I am so close to the wire with this one! Angsty smut written for last week's prompt: army Elvis (We're sort of army-adjacent because I'm a rule bender.)

As always, shout out to my people: @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @ellie-24, @missmaywemeetagain, @from-memphis-with-love, @vintageshanny for love, support, encouragement and deep, depraved horniness.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“I need you, darlin’. You don’t understand. I need you somethin’ awful.”

It played over and over in Kitty’s head as she sped along the dark highway, praying that none of the wildlife she glimpsed skittering about at the edge of the road decided to do a suicide run in front of her car. She could explain away taking the car, an emergency maybe, a sick friend or someone who was having trouble at home. Lots of her friends were getting married right now, and there were always dramas in the early days. It was plausible. What she wouldn’t be able to explain to her mother was why her station wagon had an armadillo smushed in the fender; not many of them wandering around their suburban streets.

Oh Lord, what was she doing? She lifted her foot off the gas slightly and started to look for a place to safely pull in. She was not a flighty, foolish kind of girl. Ask anyone who knew her and they would tell you that Kitty Cowan was not the spontaneous type. For a girl who graduated early so that she could travel around performing in a country and western duo with her brother, Kitty had a surprisingly level head on her shoulders. Or she used to, until a certain Hillbilly Cat had wandered onto their roadshow with his Blue Moon Boys and promptly melted the sense right out of her mind.

Back then, all he’d have to do was stare at her with those shy, hooded eyes and flutter those long, thick lashes and she would be doing his laundry and pressing his shirts like she was a combination laundress/housewife. Her brother Chick, knowing how she pitched a fit when their mama asked her to help out with chores at home, would gawp at her like she had gone and sold her brain for a dime, but all Kitty needed was that lopsided grin and the press of Elvis’ soft lips against her cheek when she handed over the clean, pressed clothes and it seemed worth it. More, she felt like she had done something important for someone who was worth it.

Only, all that craziness had ended a couple of years before when Elvis had moved up to the big leagues and Chick and Kitty, having grown bored of the same old shows at the same old places, decided to stash their guitars in the garage and settle down for a real, normal life. There was never a question that they could follow him, Elvis paved his own pathway through the wilderness and none of them were quite talented enough to follow it.

Which was fine, Chick had got a job at a radio station, putting that gift of the gab to good use, and he was doing well at it, travelling around again as an emcee for the new rock n roll shows that had burst onto the scene, feeding off the teenage excitement. Sometimes he’d run across Elvis and get to spend time shooting the breeze backstage.

‘He’s just the same,’ he’d report back to Kitty, ‘His performance has gotten real smooth, but off stage he’s still the same old unassuming fellow. Everyone I talk to can’t say enough about him.’

It seemed like no one could say enough about him. Kitty couldn’t read a newspaper without an article about how that shy, charming boy was ruining the youth of America. She often thought about him quietly playing gospel songs on the piano between shows when she read that pastors were denouncing him as Satan in sideburns from their pulpits. When she saw him on television, jiggling and gyrating right there on the screen, she could still see the playful, bashful boy she knew, but there was something else now, something shiny twinkling in his eyes that she didn’t think had been there before. She wondered if that was what had everyone so flustered and furious about him.

Now that dangerous threat, that affront to polite society, was headed to the Army. Chick had spent night after night for the past few weeks fielding calls to the radio station from wailing girls calling to protest their heart throb being stolen by Uncle Sam and also requesting his new single. Chick said he couldn’t work out if it was career suicide or promotional genius, because everything Elvis released was shooting up the charts. And Kitty hadn’t thought much about it at all until the phone rang at home and Chick, up in Memphis for a series of dances, was shouting down the line saying that he had someone with him that wanted to speak to her.

“Hi Kitty Cat? You there?” Kitty’s stomach did a strange loop de loop that had her dinner almost returning the way it came. She recognised the voice immediately, even though it was louder than normal, much louder, trying to be heard over the racket in the background.

“Elvis? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me, darlin’. You forgotten me already, huh?”

“No, no, of course not. Only I can hardly hear you! Where are you?” She heard fumbling and Elvis’ voice off in the distance, followed by some loud guffaws, then a thumping noise. When he got back on the line, it was quiet in the background.

“Had to shut myself in the dang closet,” he informed her, chuckling quietly. “Hi, hi Kitty honey, how are you? It’s been a hundred years. Where are you?” Kitty frowned at the receiver.

“You called me at my house, Elvis.”

“I know,” he laughed in that silly, self-conscious way he had. “I meant, why ain’t you here? Why ain’t you here where I need you, baby?”

Kitty didn’t know quite what to say. She cradled the receiver, feeling how cool the plastic was against her rapidly heating cheek.

“Hey, you still there? Damn stupid-ass phone, I-“

“I’m still here,” she murmured, touching her face, her hair and the back of her neck like she was reminding herself that she had a physical, material body that prevented her from floating down the telephone line that she wanted to.

“Oh, huh, thought I lost ya. You can come, can’t you, honey? You know they’re sending me away soon and I might not have another chance to see you before I go.” He’d had the last two years, a cool, doubtful voice in her head pointed out and she nodded at it before she disregarded it completely.

“Come where? Where are you?”

“Oh, right now? Right now we’re at Hotel Chisca, helpin’ out my pal Dewey on his, uh, show. Red, Hot and Blue, you know it?”

“Yes, I’m aware of Dewey Phillips and his show.” She wondered if he thought she had stopped existing the minute he had left her behind. Perhaps he thought she had been packed away in a closet with her guitar.

“How soon can you get here, darlin’?”

“Tonight? Elvis, I-”

“Now, I don’t wanna hear that you can’t make it. My days are numbered, honey. I tell ya, I just wanna see as many folks as I can before- before it’s all over.” He went hoarse at the end like it choked him up to even say it, and her heart panged for him. In her head she was already imagining herself running upstairs to change and sneaking her mother’s keys from her purse.

“Will you still be there?” she asked finally. “At the Hotel Chisca, by the time I get there?”

“I’ll wait all night if I have to. I need you, darlin’. You don’t understand. I need you somethin’ awful.”

After several aborted u-turns and a whole two-way argument with herself as she hit downtown, Kitty pulled into the parking lot for the hotel. She had been listening to Red, Hot and Blue on the way and Dewey had been hyping up his listeners with the news that Elvis was haunting the corridors and was even choosing some of the records he was playing, so she wasn’t surprised to find the lobby of the hotel packed with kids. Luckily, she spotted Chick having a laugh and a joke with some of the girls up on the mezzanine floor where WHBQ had its offices and booths and she called to him, beckoning with her arm as much as her little black bolero jacket would allow. His eyes widened and he hurried over.

“Kit, what in God’s name, girl?” He waved to the security guard, letting him know that Kitty could be allowed through. “Do Mama and Pop know you’re out this late by yourself?”

“I’m a grown woman, Charles,” she informed him. “And of course they don’t.” She felt bubbles of anticipation in her belly as Chick opened the door into the corridor and revealed a lively group laughing and talking over each other. At the edge of the group, but somehow still seemingly the focus, was an unmistakable tall, dark-haired boy.

“Well, folks, look what the cat drug in,” said Chick in his charming brotherly way.

Leaning against the wall, laughing and about to take a sip of Pepsi from the bottle in his hand, Elvis glanced over his shoulder and straightened sharply. The look on his face would have been comical if it hadn’t crushed Kitty so completely. He looked shocked, like he had not been in the slightest bit serious when he had begged her to come, like he had not thought her stupid enough to rush off into the night the minute he asked. Her face burnt with embarrassment and she leant back against Chick’s hand that was between her shoulder blades, trying to retreat.

As her vision fractured and blurred under the sting of mortification, Elvis shoved his bottle into his cousin Gene’s chest and strode towards her, giving Chick’s shoulder a squeeze even as he was pushing him away. She exhaled sharply when Elvis crashed into her and squeezed all the air out of her body. His arms were locked around her, his face buried in the crook of her neck and his hips were jammed against hers. She was trapped. The guys in the corridor snorted and guffawed like it was part of a skit for their entertainment, but the longer Elvis remained clinging to her, the quieter they became.

“I can’t believe you’re really here!” he murmured, finally drawing back, but only enough so that she could stare up into his heavy-lidded eyes and feel the breath from his mouth as he spoke. “You came all the way up here just for me?”

“You asked me,” she returned, the edge still in her voice because it still stung. Not that he thought she was pathetic now, but that he thought she didn’t care enough to come when he asked.

“Not everybody would’ve,” he said softly, adjusting his tight arm around her waist, tugging her in just a little bit closer.

“I’m not everybody,” she returned, studying his face.

“I know,” he said in a small voice, pecking her softly on the tip of her cold nose. He was almost cross-eyed staring so intently at her with their faces so close together. All of a sudden, that irrepressible, dazzling smile spread across his face and she had turned away from the glare. It hurt to look at.

“Come meet everybody.” He grabbed her hand and yanked her before she had absorbed his words, making her totter a little on her heels as he rushed back to his group. “Hey y’all, this is that little girl I told you about.”

Kitty’s inside froze when she heard those words, her chest tight and heavy. He wouldn’t have told them, he promised!

“Chick and Kitty here were real kind to me when I first started out. Man, I was so green, most everybody laughed me off the damn stage, but Kitty Cat-” He wrapped his arm around her waist again, tugging her into his side and pulling her off balance, making her stumble into him. “-She made sure I didn’t go down in flames inside of a week.”

The guys nodded politely, most of them eyed her chest and ran their eyes down her legs, but it was the handful of girls in the group that examined her most closely. Kitty could feel them measuring and portioning her up, their sharp eyes noting the body language and the way that Elvis couldn’t seem to bring himself to loosen his grip on her. Women saw things that men missed.

They lingered longer in the corridor, someone explaining that Dewey was about to interview Elvis, and everyone was laughing and joking. Elvis was boisterous in a way that Kitty had never really seen before, fooling around with his cousin like they were the two stooges, play fighting and talking in made up words that no one else could understand. The girls kept trying to join in, grabbing his arm and knocking into him, and he would get distracted for a minute, before he retreated back to where Kitty was standing with Chick. She was wondering what she had dragged herself out of the house for, because it wasn’t this brash, loud boy whose thumb had just ‘accidentally’ grazed a pretty blonde girl’s breast as she grabbed him by the waist.

Taking a couple of clumsy steps backwards, he wrapped his fingers around Kitty’s wrist and angled his head behind him, motioning for her to walk backwards with him. In the most ridiculous pantomime, they slipped away, giggling as they ducked inside a door, and Kitty found herself standing in a storage closet, a bare light bulb hanging over their heads.

“Was this where you were when we were talking on the phone?” she asked, glancing around at a broom and the cans and bottles on the shelves.

“Huh? Oh yeah, this here is my office at the Hotel Chisca,” he intoned in a deep, officious voice. “Not much room, but just take in those spectacular views!” She scanned the narrow cupboard and then frowned at him, flushing when she caught his eyes sliding down her body.

“Stop it,” she muttered, shoving him. He instantly placed his hand over hers on his chest and held it there. She could feel his heart pounding beneath the warm cotton of his shirt. “You used to be such a nice boy!”

“I’m still a nice boy,” he returned absently, his free hand slipping onto the small of her back and pulling her in. “Just like you’re still…” He bit his lip and his nostrils flared slightly before he exhaled. “…Sorry, what was I sayin’, honey? I lost track.”

Kitty shook her head, but she was grinning as she sank against him, her mouth finding his as if no time at all had passed. He tasted the way he always had, sweet and warm, which, when combined with the soft muskiness of being enveloped by him, brought her straight back to cheap motel rooms and hastily snatched minutes and hours on the road.

“Hell, I miss this,” he sighed, pulling her with him as he leant against the far wall and the sign that said, ‘All items property of the Hotel Chisca signed by Management.’ “Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty I don’t miss about those early days, the lousy motel rooms, havin’ to grab shut-eye in the back seat while Bill drove my car like a damn madman, washing up in dirty dressing rooms… No, but this, this I miss.”

“You mean to tell me that a big, fancy movie star like you doesn’t have girls just hanging off him at every turn? Because what I saw out there makes you out a liar.” He ducked his head so she only caught a glimpse of his wide, radiant grin.

“Naw, I ain’t saying that,” he admitted to his shoes. “There’s girls, there’s girls all right… None of them are you, though, honey.”

No one else could have said that so sincerely, she reflected, and had it received that way too. She didn’t feel like laughing, because she desperately wanted it to be true even as she knew it probably wasn’t.

“And I ain’t gonna be a movie star much longer.” The light faded from his smile, doors slamming shut and windows being shuttered. “Just gonna go back to being little ole Elvis, whoever the hell he is.”

Kitty put both her hands on his chest, a little surprised at how easily the old familiarity came back. Chick was wrong, she reflected, he wasn’t the same, but somehow he wasn’t any different either. Sliding her palms down his chest, she caught the way his breath hitched as she continued down his stomach towards his belt.

“He was- is- a sweet, talented, devastatingly good-looking man and no amount of time in the army will change that,” she informed him with absolute assurance. He huffed a laugh, tugging her hips in against his, and she tried not to notice there was a firmness poking against her pencil-skirt now.

“Devastatingly good-looking, huh,” he replied with a grin. “I seem to remember you thinkin’ I was pretty goofy looking at first.”

“Well, that ain’t my fault, you were!!” she protested and he burst out in loud laughter, throwing back his head.

“You turned out all right though,” she continued with a playful wink.

“I wore ya down,” he nodded, his features growing calmer and still, those sleepy looking eyes back and fixed on her. “Wore you down pretty good if I recall.” Kitty felt a wave of goosebumps crash down her spine as his hands descended, cupping her ass.

“Elvis,” she murmured, turning away her face, but making no effort to break free of his hands. “We should-“

“Get a hotel room?” he finished with a small smile and a lift of an eyebrow. He said it in a way that meant he could make it into a joke if she refused, but also sounded serious if she agreed.

“My brother and half of Memphis are outside that door,” she reminded him.

“I can handle Chick,” he murmured. “No one would even notice, honey, I promise.” He seemed to realise at the same time that she did how that made him sound: practised, and skilled at impulsive sex in hotel rooms. In response, he draped himself over her, his lips pressed into the crook of her neck, hot breath against her skin.

“I just- I just wanna- Wanna spend some time with you without everyone watchin’. I want you all to myself again, darlin’, like we used to.” She opened her mouth to respond. “You know, I’m heading off to war soon…”

“There’s no war, Elvis,” she answered slightly reproachfully, as if she was stupid enough to fall for that.

“Well, you never know,” he shrugged diffidently. “And you gotta get your kicks while you can.” The effect was ruined by the smirk he was wearing.

“Aw, Hollywood went and got you real good, didn’t it,” she remarked, shaking her head.

She didn’t mean it as a condemnation. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that he had become more confident, more aware of the effect that he could have on people, girls mostly, but she was a little sad. She had liked that boy, the one that had trembled when she first sat on the end of his bed and unfastened the buttons of her blouse. She still sometimes caught herself thinking of how he used to look, mouth open and eyelashes fluttering as he moved above her; the little lip curl as he flushed with pleasure, twitching in her hands.

Whatever she intended, Elvis’ face dropped and his brows drew together, making him look like a confused, sad little boy.

“Now, wait a minute,” he said, starting forward and somehow looming over her in the confined space. “How is that fair, huh? You got no idea the- the bullshit I gotta go through. I mean, I ain’t complaining, I’m blessed, I know that, but… If I act like I’m enjoying myself I’m big-headed and- and I’ve forgotten where I came from. If I try to seem humble I’m ungrateful and a liar… Hell, what am I supposed to do? How do I keep everyone happy?”

“Well, you can’t,” Kitty replied, reaching up and giving one of his beseeching hands a squeeze. “Nobody can make everybody happy all the time, honey, not even you.” He seemed like he wanted to say something else, but someone started banging on the door, disillusioning them that they had ever sneaked off unseen in the first place. They were calling him for his interview with Dewey and he hollered out that he was coming.

“Don’t go nowhere,” he instructed her, squeezing her arm as he sidled past her to the door. “I mean it now, Kitty.” She scoffed as he watched him being dragged along the corridor by his pals, wondering where he got the audacity to demand anything from her. But, of course she stayed, even as she judged herself for it, standing with Chick in the producer’s office, looking through the glass window into the booth where Elvis was teasing the girls peering in and grinning at Dewey’s hyper antics.

“You know what you’re doin’?” Chick asked out of the side of his mouth as they stood smiling.

“Rarely if ever,” she replied, shooting him a wry look. “Relax, Chickadoo, it’s just one night.”

“Yeah, those sound like famous last words.”

After the interview, Elvis strode out of the booth like he was on a mission, announcing that he was hungry and they were leaving. He rushed past Kitty, grabbing her wrist as he passed and not even slowing in consideration for the fact that she was wearing heels.

They took the service elevator down to the kitchens, Elvis bouncing on his heels and humming to himself. He started nudging Gene and they inexplicably engaged in some sort of battle to kick each other in the shin, even as he was entwining his fingers with Kitty’s.

Sneaking through the kitchens, they skidded around cooks and waiters, bursting out into the delivery bay at the back of the hotel. Kitty started to move towards her car, Elvis towards his and they engaged in a little tug of war that ended up with her skittering into his side because of her stupid shoes.

“What you doin’, we’re taking my car,” he said, looking at her like she had lost her mind.

“I need to drive home,” she countered. “I’ll need my car.” He gritted his teeth and looked intensely frustrated for a minute, before shrugging it off and announcing that Gene would drive her car. Gene seemed as unimpressed with this idea as she was.

“Look, everybody needs to stop coming up with goddamn problems!” Elvis snapped. “Y’all are doing my head in.”

It seemed a disproportionate reaction for a minor inconvenience to Kitty, but no one else seemed perturbed or surprised by his outburst. She handed over her mother’s keys with misgivings, making Gene promise, promise, that he would drive carefully what was technically a stolen car.

A bunch of people piled into the big, gleaming Cadillac and Kitty felt hemmed in pressed into Elvis’ side as he swung the wheel, trying to avoid the knot of people that spotted him and immediately tried to crowd the hood as if being run over by Elvis Presley would be an honour.

They drove over to Krystal and the car was flooded with greasy bags of their little square burgers.

“Didn’t you boys get Krystal’s last night too?” asked a blonde girl in the backseat, squashed very much like a slab of meat between two large guys.

“Yes, ‘cause they’re damn good,” one of the men said, shoving nearly the entire small bun in his mouth.

“Gotta make the most of it, huh, EP? They don’t serve chow like this in the service.”

Elvis had been fiddling with the radio knobs, moving his head in time with the music as he chewed, his cheeks filled like a hamster. At his friend’s words, his eyebrows dropped and he shot the guy a death look, which shut him up quickly. It seemed like Elvis was getting sick of hearing about what his life was going to be like after induction.

The atmosphere in the car got a little dense with nobody knowing what to say to ease the tension, when Elvis ducked down, his head pressed against Kitty’s chest, as he sucked on her straw from the cup in her lap.

“Hey!” she cried, overacting to counter the quiet, “that’s mine, you got your own!” She had her hand on the back of his neck and gave the hair at the nape of his neck a quick scratch with her nails, which made him shiver adorably.

“I drank it already,” he shrugged sheepishly, sitting back up and pouting. Sighing, she offered him her cup and he grinned as he took it, repaying her with a lip-smacking kiss on the cheek.

“I like the hair,” she said softly, making the most of the relative quiet while his goofy, boisterous friends were still regrouping. “The black, I mean.”

“Oh yeah, well, it just looks better on film. Actors have been doing it all the way back to Tom Mix and Douglas Fairbanks, honey, right up to Tony Curtis today. Uh, I mean, I’m not comparing myself to them-” She nodded, reaching out a finger to snag a lock that had fallen across his forehead, giving it a gentle tug.

“It looks good,” she told him. “You look like a real movie star.” His lips curved into a more natural smile and he took another pull from the straw, his cheeks colouring slightly.

They drove around for about an hour, listening to the radio while Elvis took her on a whistlestop tour of significant places to him. They drove to Sun Studios. He wanted her to meet Sam Phillips and he thought that Sam might be up late like he often was, but the lights were out and the place all locked up.

“You know, I already met him a few times,” Kitty reassured him when he sighed and let himself drop back against the sooty wall at the back of the building. “Back when we were touring with y’all. I think Chick even talked to him about recording here, but it didn’t work out.”

“I was just hopin’ to see him,” he mumbled, his head bowed as he kicked out at a clump of grass that had fought its way through the concrete. “It feels like… like time’s runnin’ out.” She moved closer and gripped the bottom of his boxy striped sports jacket, giving it a tug.

“It’s just a pause, not the end,” she promised him.

“You can’t know that. No one knows for sure. I’ll tell ya, the Colonel and the folks at RCA Victor, and Mr Wallis, they all say right pretty things ‘bout how it’ll be when I get out, the plans they got to keep people interested and remembering me while I’m gone, but-“ He sighed a deep, chest-heaving sigh and drew Kitty in by the waist, squeezing her against him like he needed the comfort. “Look at how quick I came up, ain’t no one to say I won’t go down just as fast. Or maybe someone else’ll come onto the scene and all my fans’ll-“

“I know, because I know,” Kitty interjected, seeing how he was spiralling, one of his hands rubbing his face with increasing vigour. “I remember when I saw you sing for the first time, you were shaking and could barely put two words together between your songs. Even then I knew that you were something special, that you were different from the rest of us, and I was right, wasn’t I? I’m right about this too.”

“You know because you know,” he huffed a laugh and cupped her cheek with his hand, rubbing gently with his thumb. “Well, I’m convinced, Kitty Cat, by that stunning argument.” She gave his chest a shove with her forearm and ducked away as he laughed, trying to kiss her.

“You laugh now, boy, but when you’re out there in a couple of years buried under gold records and adoring fans, starring in all the movies, I expect you to come find me and beg for my forgiveness. On your knees!”

“Oh, I’ll always come on my knees for you, baby,” he intoned in a low, bass voice into the crook of her neck.

“You are so bad,” she giggled, smacking his shoulder. He nuzzled and nibbled on her neck, gripping her in a bear hold to stop her from wriggling away. Although they were sheltered by the shadows of the parking lot behind the studio, Kitty was aware that they were in public and that, at any moment, one of his friends might get bored waiting in the car and catch them.

“Elvis, Elvis honey, come on now, stop, people can see. Elvis!” She grabbed a handful of the hair at the back of his head, giving it a sharp tug to get him to let her loose.

“Come home with me,” he said one breath, squinting down at her, looking deliciously rumpled and excited. “I wanna show you- I can show you-”

“What about your family?” she asked in a low voice, her palms sliding up beneath his jacket, twitching as she followed the lines and curves, lingering over the peaks of his erect nipples beneath his shirt. He shuddered and didn’t waste time trying to answer, hooking her by the waist and merely lifting her over the low wall that separated the parking lot from the alleyway at the side of the building.

“We’re heading home,” he mumbled to his passengers, slamming his door. The car peeled away from the kerb with a high-pitched squeal. Nobody spoke and the journey passed in a blur of silence. Kitty’s eyes stayed fixed on Elvis’s white knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel. She barely registered the gate with the music notes, the winding drive or the impressive portico and columns.

“Well, I’ll see y’all later,” was all he said as he climbed out of the car, hands grabbing for Kitty’s forearm and tugging her towards him as he backed towards the brick steps. Kitty wasn’t sure whether anyone answered as she was too busy focusing on keeping up with him as he opened the front door. He turned back to her, grinning like a little kid and put his finger to his lips, pointing towards the stairs. Kitty slipped off her shoes, exhaling as she stretched her toes, and managed to grab them before he tugged her again, taking off up the stairs at a breakneck pace. She hissed at him to slow down, but he just shushed her and she could hear him laughing under his breath.

Kitty barely registered the dark room before Elvis shut the door behind her and pressed her into it, his hot mouth on hers snatching away her breath. Safely away from prying eyes, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and moaned into his mouth, pressing herself against him. He froze and pulled back, but she could barely see his face in the darkness and was about to ask what was wrong, when he gathered her up in his arms and threw her onto the bed. She shrieked, hastily slapping her hands over her mouth as she bounced on the mattress.

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” he murmured, kicking off his shoes and throwing his jacket onto a chair like he was competing in a race. “This room’s supposed to be soundproof. Let’s test it out, huh.”

It was reassuring to see him clamber awkwardly onto the bed and throw himself down next to her just like he used to, a sign that the boy that she had cared for was not all gone, just hidden in pockets and alcoves of behaviour and words.

“Kitty honey?” he asked suddenly once he had settled himself down on the pillows and was looking up at her with a slightly furrowed brow. “You know we don’t have to-“

She dove down, mouth catching his and draped herself across him. She felt his lips curved into a smile as his hands settled onto her back, soon grazing her curves until they were palming the weight of her ass, squeezing slightly.

Kitty’s body was buzzing and tingling, she could already feel the muscles contracting in her stomach and lower down and she tried to find some relief from the ache, but could barely move her legs within her tight pencil skirt.

Elvis tried to follow her up as she withdrew, moaning a little when she pulled away, and she snorted at his forlorn expression as she drew up to her knees on the bed. His eyes widened as she shrugged off her jacket and started to unbutton the body-hugging blouse beneath.

Like a true gentleman, he was up on his knees too in seconds to help her. He was more a hindrance than help, his long fingers getting in the way of her slipping the tiny buttons out of the holes, but he seemed to want to be useful. He stared down at her bare chest and bra like a boy who had never seen either, which was funny because Kitty knew for certain that he had. Then, slowly, carefully, he reached out to cup the back of her head and bring her closer, kissing her like she was one of his co-stars and he was the romantic hero.

It was an intricate dance of shadows, Elvis moving with confidence and tenderness, while in her head she was seeing the first time when his hands had trembled and his ripe bottom lip glistened as he had panted, moving too slowly and awkwardly. She had had to guide him, her hands on his hips, around his ass, urging him to move faster, to stop apologising and asking if she was okay.

None of that now, it was more than a dance, it was a routine. Her eyes followed him as he kissed between her breasts, the tip of his nose grazing her skin as he made his way down, taking a detour to lick her nipples, circling them with his tongue before sucking. She arched up into him, noting the contrast of his hair as it splayed against her pale skin.

As his fingers grazed the inside of her thighs, she thought about how his body had changed, filling out and becoming broader, and there was hair on his chest that wasn’t there before. She raked her fingers through it as he moved between her legs, his eyes sparkling with tenderness and a little amusement.

“You okay?” he murmured, biting down on a smile, though his eyebrow twitched against his best efforts.

“You know, I told you that if you ever asked me that again I’d pummel you,” she gasped, tilting her hips so that he was grinding down onto the right spot, her nerves fluttering out and down the inside of her thighs.

“I know, I know,” he laughed breathlessly, his open mouth going slack as he started to inch into her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, tightening her thighs to bring him in closer, faster, harder. One thing hadn’t changed, he was still too careful and gentle with her. He got the message though, thrusting hard until their hips were pressed together, slamming a hollow moan from her as he grunted.

She adjusted her grip on his shoulders, realising that she might need a tighter grip, and stared up at his face. His bottom lip was between his teeth as he adjusted to being inside her, to the friction and the pressure, but under the weight of her eyes, he tugged his upper lip up into his famous sneer, drawing out and then grinding back down just as quickly. She gasped and pressed her feet down onto the back of his thighs, finding a way to cling on as he demonstrated exactly how he had earned one of his cruder nicknames.

Somehow, they got turned around and they were horizontal across the vast landscape of his enormous bed, Kitty’s head hanging back off the mattress. He grabbed a handful of her hair as it trailed down towards the carpet, pulling her head back further, nipping and sucking at her pulse point at the same time as he pressed and rubbed and circled her clit and filled her too. Each time she opened her eyes he had this sly, mischievous look on his face like he knew how good he was, like he was proud to show her what he had learned.

Flushing with warmth, buzzing and trembling, she felt the crest of the wave beginning to build between her legs and she whined a little, gasping for air, wanting the sensation to only ever build and never peak. He tugged at her hair again, this time a little sharper, so that she opened her eyes and her vision swam and then slid back into crystal clear focus.

“Say it, darlin’,” he mumbled breathlessly. “I wanna hear you say it.” He drove into her harder and faster, making her cry out and he tugged her hair again until she relented and cried out his name as she came.

Seconds later, he pulled out and she felt him pulse against her belly as he crushed her mouth beneath his. She could barely breathe with his heaving chest pressing down on her, but she didn’t mind, it would be a wonderful way to go.

Finally, he pulled himself away, passing her his shirt to clean up, and he pressed himself to her back, tugging her backwards onto him like a blanket.

“You know why I kept asking if you were okay that first time?” he murmured, exhaling deeply into her ear as he drooped with exhaustion and satisfaction.

“Why?” she whispered, though she already knew the answer.

“Because I was fuckin’ far from okay,” he giggled, his words slurring and sliding together. “I was scared half to death, thought my heart was gonna pound itself right out of my chest… ‘Bout how I feel now I reckon.”

“You were fine then and you’re gonna be fine this time too,” she promised, reaching up to squeeze one of the arms he had folded around her chest.

“I sure hope you’re right.” He yawned, pressing a kiss onto her neck before dropping back onto his pillow. “You usually are. I just hope everything stays the same.”

It seemed a strange and futile thing to wish for, especially for a man whose life had not stopped changing in the past three or four years, but she crossed her fingers as she relished the time that she had left in his arms and wished it alongside him. Let everything stay the same.

#elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfic #elvis fan fiction #writing prompt game #1950s Elvis #army elvis #whositmcwhatsit #elvis x oc

108 notes · View notes