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thatbanditqueen · 6 months

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Come Hell or Come Sundown

A Charro! One-Shot

Summary: It is the summer of 1968 and Elvis finds himself in a New Hollywood, no more production code, just a ratings system with the promise of more sex and violence. This is good, because Elvis is in transition too! He is hot off the set of his TV special and ready to make a gritty western he can be proud of. Things are going well, he's making friends on location in Arizona, but then first they cut some of the violence, and now he's not so sure there is going to be any sex scenes in this movie. What's next, are they going to make him sing to his horse?

Inspired by the cut nude bath scene and the notes in Donna Lewis' diary that there were originally sex scenes scripted in Charro!

A response to the writing prompt: "Cowboy Elvis"

Warnings: References to past sexual harassment, minor drug use implied and kissing.

WC: 13.4K

Thanks to my lovely writing support group @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @lookingforrainbows @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @shakerattlescroll @peskybedtime and to @whositmcwhatsit for alpha-ing most of this. It is been a crazy two months, I won't go into it, but if you are still reading my stuff let me know it.

July 29, 1968

Apacheland Arizona

Ina leaned against the back side of the sound stage listening to the cactus wren sing their sunrise melody for the desert. Off in the brush she saw a lizard scurry away. It was early, but the air was already beginning to heat up and hung there thick with promise. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the light, sweet taste, her heart full of hopeful anticipation for the sweet day ahead.

She ran her fingers down over her blouse, enjoying the smooth empty feeling underneath where round flesh had been a month ago.

This picture had been the answer to her prayers, a sign that she could still land a part as the love interest role. It was a role she knew well, one she had been playing for ten years in vehicles designed to showcase male stars: John Wayne, Paul Newman, Jerry Lewis, and now Elvis. Ina rarely got a leading role in a picture focused on a couple or a strong female character, but she accepted it was still a good salary and it kept her busy on and off between modeling gigs.

Lately, however, the on and off had been more off, and her agent, Mickey, had started talking about auditioning for roles as older sisters, aunts, and even, gasp, mothers.

But then she got this and bam! She had knocked over her phone with excitement as Mickey described this project as a “modern, gritty western.” She’d even agreed to the nudity, accepting her agent’s advice that this was going to open up even more doors now that the production code was gone and the film industry had a new rating system that allowed for mature content.

The first American western with a sex scene. That’s how Chuck, this director, had pitched his script in their first meeting, while also assuring her it would be tasteful and artistic and mainly shot using her facial expressions. She hadn’t cared, signing anywhere they wanted if it meant staving off cinematic spinsterhood for as long as possible.

And then, after carefully examining every dimple in her bottom that night, Ina had launched into a month-long disciplined regimen of ballet classes, black beauties and one meal a day. Ina took a deep breath and inhaled the earthy, floral aroma of the Arizona desert, letting it fill her with confidence. Her tummy was svelte, her skin glowed with a healthy bronze tan, and she was ready to conquer the shoot ahead. She had a feeling about this picture. A good one.

Hollywood was buzzing about the TV special Elvis had just finished shooting. Apparently it was raw and gritty and unvarnished, just like the script for this film. And Chuck, her director, was the king of the westerns, who had been promoting Charro! in the trade press as Peckinpah meets Leone with more sex appeal and heart.

Ina looked out at the orange glow of the desert sky at sunrise one last time as she stomped out her cigarette butt and murmured to herself with hushed excitement.

“What a glorious start to a glorious day.”

She headed back inside and made her way around the back of the set where she bumped into Elvis’ stunt double and friend, Jerry. Ina grinned, she couldn’t help it, Jerry’s serious eyes and rugged shoulders made her heart skip a beat.

“That was some party last night, huh?”

Jerry looked down, his low chuckle heavy with the weight of words unspoken as they both reflected on the prior evening. Ina was sure she saw an echo of her own desire in the warmth dancing behind Jerry’s blue eyes.

“You should talk, Sandy Koufax. Charlie’s grateful he can still see.”

Ina gulped, covering her mouth.. “ Oh no! Is he really hurt? I felt so bad, I was aiming for his stomach.” Ina said, twirling her hair. “Although I didn’t feel nearly as bad after watching Elvis go after Alan with the whole bucket, intentionally, over and over. He really took it to the next level.”

“Oh, that’s just how the bossman lets off steam.”

“That’s one way to put it. Say, where is the old steam engine, anyway?”

“He just went out front to get some dirt on his clothes.”

Ina raised her eyebrow.

“He wants to make sure he has that real cowboy look.”

“Huh, Elvis Strasberg. Who knew?”

Ina thought of Elvis out rolling around in the dirt and tried not to giggle. This got harder and harder as she looked into Jerry’s eyes, which were also twinkling with amusement.

In a moment of vulnerability Ina decided to let down her guard and step closer, trailing her fingers over Jerry’s upper arm. His muscle flinched slightly under her hand and it made her feel a little flight of butterflies in her tummy.

“Too bad,” she murmured in what she hoped was a sexy, flirtatious voice. “I was beginning to hope maybe you’d have to step in for him today.”

Jerry’s eyes widened for a split second, as he ran his hand through his hair. “Uh, well, as far as I know his scenes today aren’t dangerous at all.”

“That’s what you think.” Ina smiled, walking backwards for a few steps to enjoy the slight blush coloring Jerry’s scruffy cheeks.

She couldn’t be sure, but she felt there was a spark between them, and it made her feel young and giddy. Fifteen years of having her body and self worth surveyed and scrutinized and picked apart had left Ina unsure of her seduction abilities. First it had been photographers and advertising executives, then producers and directors had joined the throng out to shatter her confidence. For some women, the brutality of the business helped them create a calloused, impenetrable outer shell and distorted sense of self worth. For Ina, it had done the opposite, and she frowned as she felt the familiar knot of insecurity tighten in her stomach and vowed not let her self doubt stop her from having fun this time. No, before the end of this shoot she’d get Jerry alone and find out if he was as quiet and soft spoken in bed as he was on set.

Twenty minutes later, Ina was still smiling to herself when she slunk into a chair in make-up and pulled her thick, terry cotton robe tighter around her body.

“Look at you,” Bertie gushed as she toyed with Ina’s long, brown hair. “Excited for the scenes today?”

Ina paused and looked at herself in the mirror, letting out a nervous sigh.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She awkwardly smiled up at Bertie, and told herself to relax even as her shoulders inadvertently rolled upward and she tugged at the hem of her robe.

“You know five, even three years ago, you would kiss, passionately, then the camera would pan to the bedside table and come back into focus with you smoking. But now, Blow Up, Bonnie & Clyde, the new rating system. It’s a whole new ball game out there. I’m not sure - “

“Oh, you’re gonna be fine.”

Ina looked down and studied the top of her cleavage, she felt strangely ambivalent about the nudity and the sex scenes they were shooting. She was proud that they wanted her to do them, it bolstered her self esteem and made her feel longed for and desired, special. But she couldn’t shake that nagging feeling deep down that she would get on set, bare it all and then have the director and DP exchange hushed whispers before pulling her off and recasting her role. She met her own gaze again in the mirror and tried to squelch her self doubt.

“I know, I know, and it’s all very tasteful. I trust Chuck. Still, I’m the one wearing a see-through robe. All Elvis has to do is take off his cowboy hat before he carries me to the bed. He might be shirtless in the second scene, but for the most part all we’ll see is a little bit of his ear.”

Bertie nodded into big rounds of hair she was smoothing over with oil and pinning into place with bobby pins lodged at the side of her mouth.

“Yeah, well, with most guys I’d be fine just seeing the ear, cuz women’s bodies are just more beautiful. But with Elvis, I kinda wished they’d have him nude too, you know?” She clicked her tongue and winked at Ina in the mirror,

“You should get Betty Friedan on that, it would really be a movement for sex equality. Though I bet he’d give you a private show if you asked him, Bertie. He’s making his way through the crew, two at a time I hear.”

Bertie wiggled her eyebrows into the mirror.

“Yeah, I heard about that, two of the pretty Mexican extras, right? They can have him, I just want to look at him. I don’t think I’d survive if he touched me.” She flipped her long red hair over her shoulder and bit her lip. “I don’t know how you are going to make love to him all day.”

“Oh, well, when it’s work, you sort of detach yourself. I mean, yes, Elvis is very handsome, but he doesn’t really send me, you know? You should have seen him last night with his guys. Like a pack of wild animals.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I think Jerry is the only one who has ever opened a book, or doesn’t eat with his hands.”

Ina tried not to move as she watched Bertha pin another round hair piece in place.

“The stunt double? He sure has that silent type thing going for him.” Bertie squinted her eyes at Ina as she stuck a few more pins in. “Ahhhh, let me guess, that’s the type you go for. Over Elvis. Are you telling me that you wouldn’t, you know, play patty cake with Elvis if he made the move? I thought he always dated his leading lady, maybe those extras are just the appetizer before the main dish..”

Ina sat up, admiring the tower of rolled hair Bertie had constructed on top of her head. Satisfied, she leveled Bertie with a friendly but stern look.

“Things can get sticky when you bed your co-star. And giving in just encourages them. You shoulda seen Jerry Lewis trailing me around off set like a creep. like I owed it to him.”

Ina grimaced, remembering Lewis’ sweaty brow as he had pushed her against the wall of her dressing room and promised that she’d like it, that she didn’t know what she was missing. She shuddered, thinking of him and all the others: the photographers who’d grinded into her as they straddled over her during a photo shoot. The producers who had invited her to an audition and then cornered her alone. She felt sick to her stomach and reached out for the random half drunk bottle of Coke on the vanity in front of her to wash away the bad taste in her mouth.

“You ok, Miss Balin?”

“Please Bertie, call me Ina. After that party last night I think we’re all on a first name basis.”

“Ha, yeah, I guess.” She turned Ina around to finish her make up. “You know, I think you might be the only woman here who doesn’t want to sleep with Elvis.”

“Thank god Elvis seems to be somewhat of a gentleman, because I’m not looking to be another notch on his belt, I’ve worked too hard to stay in this business without a casting couch reputation, and I plan to keep it that way. Plus, with all the bed hopping that happens on location, and then having to run scenes together if things get, you know, weird. Better to keep things professional between us.”

“On the other hand, a lonely stunt man...”

Ina winked, she could feel the giddy excitement bubble up just thinking of Jerry. She tried to stifle it and stay aloof as she spoke.

“A month is a long time, even a lonely stuntman deserves some company.”

A cough interrupted their giggles and the women turned to see Elvis leaning against the doorway, one hand on his belt. He squinted his eyes, looking at them with exaggerated suspicion as he wiped his hand over his forehead leaving a dark streak of dirt above his brow.

“Uh huh, and just what’d I stumble into here, huh? You two look like you are up ta no good, boy, I tell ya what.”

Perfectly lined smoky eyes sat below Elvis’ dirty forehead and more dirt billowed off his trousers as he strode toward the two women, his hands hanging off the top of his corduroy trousers. Bertie shot Ina a cautious glance in the mirror that warned her not to laugh, even as the sides of her lips seemed to hold back a chuckle.

“I’ve seen that look before Iny Niny.” Elvis said. “Right about the moment ya took aim and fired at poor Charlie Hodge, square the eyes.”

“I really didn’t mean to hurt him! Really.” Something about Elvis’ easy charm made it impossible not to smile broadly. “I - we - we’re not up to anything, you. Just chit chat. I was saying how I almost didn’t recognize you when I got here yesterday. On account of that beard you got, Presley.”

“I almost don’t recognize myself, honey.” He paused and looked in the mirror, taking a step closer as he rubbed the dirt into his forehead more. “That’s probably a good thing, maybe this picture actually has a chance to be something.”

Ina sat up as Bertie dusted her with a last round of hair spray and swiveled her chair around to face him.

“Oh, now don’t say that, there’s a reason you’re the star here. I love your movies.”

Ina may not have actually seen them all, but she knew of Elvis’ desire to be in more serious dramas. It was a common topic of conversation in Hollywood when his name came up. Ok, well, one of the common topics. Maybe not as common as his reputation for fucking his costars, she mused to herself, but still, as someone who had even less clout to be picky about projects, she sympathized with that ever present double bind of needing the money, not wanting to be seen as difficult, and yet, also yearning for more creative fulfillment.

Their eyes met and he nodded to himself, pursing his lips, as if he were reading her mind,

“Huh, so you're the one.” He grinned and took his cowboy hat off, running his hand through his hair as he tried to fill the awkward silence. “Well, sorry but I can’t issue you a refund, Iner Niner. All I can promise is that this ‘un will be better than some of the stinkers, I reckon.”

Ina smiled big, thinking of the desert sunrise this morning, all the good omens. “I don’t know if I would ever describe an Elvis film as a stinker. But I do have a good feeling about this film.”

Elvis scratched his beard, a naughty blush lighting up his cheeks as he took in the very sheer negligee peeking out from under her white terry cloth robe.

“Huh, feeling better and better the more I look- I mean listen to you, INy”

Ina felt a chill up her spine as she looked into Elvis’ dancing eyes, lingering on his face with newfound appreciation. There was something about the way the stubbly beard he had grown out for this role accentuated his jawline and made him seem more rugged, more handsome than he had looked when he played the polished romantic lead in his previous films. She felt a flutter of something unfamiliar stir in her belly; she had never been gaga over Elvis before.

And you are not now, she told herself, it’s just the characters and the scenes you know you are shooting today. Besides, he flirts with everyone, why he’d been flirting with you and every woman in the bar last night even when he had one or two extras on his lap.

Elvis arched his eyebrow, and Ina pulled her robe closer with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, I think you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of me today.” She chuckled. “I was just telling Bertie I remembered when all I had to do to film a sex scene was lead a cowboy into my wigwam, and let the camera cut to smoke coming out of the top. We left the rest to the audience’s imagination.”

“Yeah, I think I remember that one.” Elvis whistled as he plopped into the make-up chair next to her. “Well, don’t worry, we’re only gotta pretend to make love with an audience of a hundred or so crew members watching, so no pressure.”

They laughed nervously, and then one of the production assistants peered around the door and called to Ina that the DP was ready to work out the lighting for her fully nude bath scene. She stood and gave Elvis a friendly pat, smiling inwardly as she looked over her shoulder to see Bertie trying to wipe the dirt off his forehead.

“See you out there in the ring, Presley.”

“Ok,” he smiled.

Ina studied him for another beat, wondering if the way his beard framed his lips made them look even bigger and more luscious, but she couldn’t be sure.

Striding from the building with wardrobe and dressings back to the soundstage, Ina considered how Elvis had managed to meet and completely defy her expectations. She had never seen him at awards shows, premieres or parties, nor ran into him around town or at the studio canteens. Indeed,he had a reputation for keeping to himself in Hollywood. All she knew was the second hand information she got from people who had worked with him and the Hollywood rumor mill. There were so many contradictory descriptions of him that no, she had not known what to expect when she arrived in Arizona and discovered an Elvis she barely recognized under the scruffy beard he’d grown.

When Chuck, the director, had brought her over to introduce them, he had been shy and sweet, sheepishly sticking out his hand with an affected deep “Hullo, I’m Elvis Presley.” But then by the end of the rehearsals yesterday they had become more comfortable with each other. Something about kissing Elvis inbetween jokes she knew he was making to make her feel at ease had broken the ice between them. And he had started in with the nicknames almost immediately, helping to bring her into the camaraderie that had been established with the crew before her arrival.

The run through yesterday had gone well, all jokes aside, and he had shown himself to be respectful and kind, never pushing or trying anything when they were in each other's arms. It’s probably good that he’s sleeping with some of the extras, Ina thought to herself. That way there would be no pent up sexual expectations and she could just focus on being a professional and perhaps even friends with Elvis.

Yes, she could be friends with him. Ina had only been in Apacheland for a little over 24 hours, but she could tell from Elvis’ warmth that they had established a solid rapport and chemistry for their roles. She felt as safe as she could with him as she readied herself for her first nude role on film.

“Today is going to be a good day,” Ina repeated to herself as she opened the door and entered the sound stage.

Ina was walking along the corridor behind the set when she heard Jerry’s voice on the other side of the plywood and hurried to catch him and flirt a little more. But then he said her name and she stopped, listening, as she realized he was speaking with one of Elvis’ other friends. It sounded like Charlie.

“I saw y’all. Why, she had her hands all over you, ya big stud. You really ain’t gonna try to bury the hatchet in that briar patch?”

“Oh, you know how Crazy can be. All I did was apologize to Alma and Flor for blocking the doorway last night and he ‘bout split in two. I ain’t about to try no funny business with his leading lady.”

“But you heard him call her Groucho, said he could barely stand to kiss her with that mustache above her lip. Said she was so manly, you could almost mistake her for one a the cowboy extras in drag. Like a goddamn drag queen who forgot to shave, is what he said.”

Ina felt the blood drain from her face and she began to tremble, tracing her fingers above her smooth upper lip, the one she diligently waxed every two weeks. They might as well have punched her in the gut with a steel two by four. She could almost taste something metallic at the back of her throat, where a lump formed.Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and it took all her willpower to push them back as she stood there paralyzed while Jerry and Charlie chatted away.

“Aw, well he was off his rocker, she isn’t nearly as bad as that dog from continuity he had in his room at NBC, you know, with the big knockers?”

“Nah, I think In-ahhs pretty cute myself. If she’d been pawing my chest I’d be on that like white on rice, man.”

“Heard you like drag queens, Hodges.”

“Aw naw man, see, now that ain’t fair. Sides, that’s Lamar.”

The busy sound of the crew talking and moving around the sound stage echoed up into the lights with Charlie and Jerry’s laughter, but Ina could hardly hear anything except the pounding of her heart through her whole body. Air. She needed air. Ina hurried out a side door, her mind was racing and there was no way she could stomach the idea of filming a sex scene with Elvis now. Jerry and Charlie’s words had fractured the fragile veneer of confidence she had spent the last month building up. Dieting, ballet classes, early nights, slathering her face in cold cream and plunging it in ice first thing in the morning, staying away from alcohol and ice cream. She had worked so hard to get to a place where she had been able to look in the mirror and tell herself she could do this. Now all her self doubt had returned tenfold.

Facing the desert, she lit a cigarette and muttered under her breath, her voice cracking as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Oh god oh god, why did I take this role? Why do I embarrass myself again and again?”

Ina pressed her hand to her throat as she sucked in deeply, willing the nicotine to steady her shaking body. She longed to run off, get in her car, and maybe drive to that bar down the road Bertie had told her about, the one where all the baseball players went.

The very idea of male attention was like a salve, and it helped her slow her breath as she slumped against the warm, concrete wall of the sound stage and looked out at the desert, focusing on the hills in the distance.

It was like looking out at a completely different view than she had faced that morning. The land was now desolate and unforgiving in the July heat, and the jagged peaks of Superstition mountain loomed like a giant, dark fiery sentinel in the sky. Her chest rose and fell with each inhale and exhale of smoke, her fingers trembled as she tried to quell the turmoil churning inside her.

Just when she was sure she couldn’t walk back inside, she smelled a hint of sage in the dust, it filled her nostrils with renewed energy. The wind whispered in her ear that she was stronger than she knew, she had trudged harder paths than this. She could put one foot in front of the other.

The door next to her exploded open and there was the fresh face of the young, blonde PA who had called to her in wardrobe.

“Oh, there you are Miss Balin, we’re ready for you.”

Ina sucked in another drag of her cigarette and took a deep breath. She could do this. Elvis and his entourage were a bunch of childish idiots. Fuck them.

True to his promise, the director, Chuck, kept the set closed for the nude bath scene Ina was shooting first. It was just him, the cinematographer, his assistant, the boom operator, and three female PAs. One to hold the clap board and two to help Ina in and out of the tub. The scene was blocked so the camera only captured her naked from behind with the side of her breast visible as she donned a sheer blue robe lined with black lace. They would run it from the top, then Chuck would run over and tell her how stunning she was and ask for another take as she shivered. It took eleven takes in all before he and the DP were content they had the footage they needed.

Ina reclined in her chair, trying to warm up during the short break before the next scene. She was rehearsing the dialogue as people trickled in to shoot her first love scene with Elvis, and she suddenly became paranoid that other crew members had heard Jerry and Charlie’s story about Elvis’ calling her a drag queen. She sat up and looked around. Suddenly every hushed whisper was about her, every glance her way was filled with pity. She gripped the side of her chair and told herself to get it to-fucking-gether.

The next scene was meant to occur directly after the bath, when her character, Tracy, discovers Elvis’ character, Jess, rummaging around in her bedroom looking for his gun. They would argue, then kiss, then argue more before he carried her to the bed. After that, he would remove her robe and begin to kiss her neck, stop and then put his hat on the bedpost, before the camera moved in for an extreme close up of her face as they made love.

Then they would break the set and set up for the second sex scene that was meant to take place at the end of the film when Jess has been victorious against the band of outlaws and takes her to Mexico with him to start a new life across the border.

Ina squeezed her hand, using her thumb as a metronome as she said her lines. “I must look new to you - toooo you - I MUST look NEW to YOU now.” She had these little games she had learned in acting class to vary the rhythm and emphasis over and over until she was comfortable in the dialogue, in the character, and it rolled off her tongue naturally, without having to think about it.

Elvis' voice rang out high above the buzz of the crew and all the words she had ever known fell out of her head. She felt her sphincter clench up tightly instinctively as if on cue at the sound of his chuckle, and a frown formed on her lips. The air was suddenly ripe with the smell of sweaty bodies and stale coffee and cigarette smoke.

Looking over her shoulder, just the sight of him surrounded by his flunkies made Ina’s stomach sour. A spark of defiance bloomed in her belly at his smug face and she longed now to walk up to Elvis and slap him sharply across the face before telling him off for being such a rotten two-faced charming bastard. But instead she popped another black beauty to fight off the hunger she had sensed growing in her belly and steeled herself to give the performance of a lifetime.

Elvis passed by her chair as she stood, a crooked grin pushing the apples of his cheeks up above his beard.

“Well, might as well get it over with.”

His despondency made Ina bristle. She was completely incapable of stopping the prickly voice that sprang out from her throat.

“We don’t have to shoot these love scenes.”

Elvis paused in his stride toward the set and looked back at Ina, his brow furrowed for a moment before he grinned again, bigger and wider.

“Huh? Course I want to shoot ‘em, love scenes are my specialty.”

Ina narrowed her eyes at his stupid, smirking expression as he glanced around at his friends as they whistled and chimed in with a chorus of stupid affirmations.

“Uh huh.”

“That’s right.“

“On and off the set”

“Well, you seem anxious to, what was it, get this over with?” She said cooly, leveling him with a glare. “So then it must be me. Maybe we could just cut them from the film altogether. CHUUCK?”

Elvis’ face began to scrunch up in a frown as Ina’s voice rang out like a knife, cutting through the chaos of a live shoot. The sound stage had been buzzing with activity as the crew readied the set, but now everyone had stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the two leads.

Elvis’ eyes zoned in on Ina and his face clouded with concern as his hands tightened against his body in clenched fists.

“Now see here - “ then he paused and took a deep breath, smiling big.

That broad, smooth, movie star beam.

“Aw, now I think we got are wires crossed someplace.That’s jus my ole stage fright talkin’, honey. Gets me ev’ry time like a sonabitch. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Iny Tiny, come get over here. I feel very honored to work with you. I been sayin’ all week, haven’t I, Chuck? That I couldn’t wait for Ina to get here, class up this joint’?”

Ina looked at where Chuck stood, hands at his hips as he nodded, a terrified grin plastered on his face.

“That’s right, that’s right. Why, that's what we’ve all been saying, Ina, we couldn’t wait for our Tracy to get here.”

Chuck dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it over his big, balding head as he spoke slowly, as if talking to a spooked horse. Ina

“I think I know what’s going on, my dear.”

Chuck looked over at Elvis and then put his arm around Ina, guiding her toward her mark.

“You’re nervous. We’ve just spent two hours during the bath scene. And this sort of - um - delicate, shall we say, yes, delicate feminine performance is new to you, isn't it?”

“Well, yes, I suppose, but I - “

Chuck put his finger to Ina’s mouth

“Say no more, my dear. It’s natural to feel vulnerable in this situation. But let me assure you, everything is being shot in the most artistic technique possible. And you, well, just look at you, huh?” He spun her around in the center of the set.

“Ina, you are a dream. My living, breathing Renoir painting. And I want you to know, that was my inspiration for your room here. The colors, the outfits, a Parisian chorus line meets the Old West. The colors, the costumes, they are meant to evoke the Belle Epoch, you know? You are wearing the same outfits Degas’ dancers wore, did you know that?”

“Uh huh, you mean if they wore anything?” Ina added in a clipped tone.

“See, and that’s exactly it! The original work of art is, of course, the beauty of the female form.”

“Cain’t argue with that.” Elvis smirked, but Ina shot him a withering look which threw him off again and once more he was frowning and searching her face.

Chuck noticed none of this and kept talking.

“And you are an exemplary example of the female form, a perfect specimen of a woman.”

“Well, I assure you I am no drag queen.”

Elvis coughed nervously, his hands clenched in fists at his side. The quick, sharp look he shot Joe did not escape Ina’s notice and she knew then that he had said the things Jerry and Charlie had been laughing about. She narrowed her glare at him, telegraphing her contempt as he stuttered and tried to regain control of the conversation.

“No - ah-uh -er - siree, honey, you’re the real deal, got more class than the rest of this outfit combined. Why, I reckon I’m more nervous ‘bout this scene than you are.”

Chuck nodded vigorously.

“Yes, we are all nervous shooting something that is, as I said, delicate like this. And your character is unsure in this scene, she loves Jess, but is torn, because she’s worried he is still the bandit she sent away. Channel your feelings into the scene and let’s make beautiful artwork here today.”

Ina rolled her eyes. “Ok, ok, I’m ok. Like he said, let’s just get it over with already.”

Elvis grinned as he walked around the set door to his mark.

“That’s the spirit, Iny Beany.”

Chuck yelled action, directing them through the scene as the cameras rolled.

“You see him rooting through your stuff, and you think of how long it's been, how he left you without a word. You hate him because you love him, but you wish you didn’t and you are trying to keep it all bottled up. Beautiful. Indifferent. That’s it Ina, that cool, icy glare, it’s perfect.”

It was not hard for Ina to muster a cool, icy glare for Elvis as he looked down at her. Every time they started, one of the PAs would come over and spray her body and chest with water for continuity with the bath scene that was just supposed to have occurred in the storyline.

In the third run through, she couldn’t help herself when Elvis’ foot knocked into hers. She thought of that guilty grimace she saw move across his face at the words “drag queen” and she stepped on his foot. Hard.

“Perfect! Perfect Ina, you’re nailing it!” Chuck called out from where he was watching the monitor.

“Nailing me is more like it,” Elvis said, jumping back, a hurt pout on his face. Then he reached out and stroked the side of her shoulder.

“Say, you sure you ok? You’re not sore at me for something, are you? It’d be better if we just clear the air. If I said something this morning, or did something in passing, honey, I’m sorry. But you gotta tell me.”

Ina looked in his big blue eyes, searching hers, seeking a connection. She glanced off behind him, at the brocade pink wall paper. The air smelled of bath water, sweat and cheap aftershave. Chuck was right, she thought, this could be a cheap Parisian brothel.

“I assure you, I am fine.” Ina forced her mouth into a tight smile. “Just watch where you’re going and we’ll be fine.”

He squinted his eyes at her, but seemed to decide against whatever it was he originally wanted to say, and stepped back with his arms up in surrender. “Okay. Alright. Whatever you say, Iny, my mistake. Let’s try again, I bet we’ll get it right somehow.”

They went through the whole scene three times, up until the part where Jess lifts Tracy up and carries her to the bed. Elvis’ eyes narrowed as he stepped toward her, uttering his lines in a stern, serious voice. But when he picked her up and hoisted her in the air, she heard Charlie’s obnoxious laughter in the background and their words from earlier began to play through her head again on a loop.

The shrill sound of his laugh sent a sharp bolt of pain down the center of her head and suddenly she felt as if ginger ale was bubbling up on to the top of her brain. She wasn’t sure if she could hold it together anymore.

There was the taste of bile again at the back of her throat. She swallowed, running through all of the tools she had learned in the Actor’s Studio such as telling herself she was Tracy and trying to channel her anger into the tension between Tracy and Jess. She was, after all, supposed to be fighting Jess’ advances at first and pushing him off before giving in. But she could barely look at Elvis and instinctively jerked back when he placed her on the bed and began to move his fingers over her sternum.

Her head throbbed and she could feel more tears welling up. She had to get out of there and take a little break, so she cried out, “CUT!”

Elvis jumped back, a panicked look on his face.

“Did I hurt you, Iny Beany? Wanna do it again, just to practice, from the mark by the bed?”

“No.,” she hissed under her breath, pushing him away. Maybe she didn’t need a break, maybe they could just skip this scene altogether.

“No, no no. I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. Chuck, do we really need a full love scene? We’re not making Belle du Jour here.”

Elvis had his hands on his hips, a stricken look on his face while Ina stood, straightening what was left of her dignity and snapping her fingers for the PAs to bring her thicker robe.

“Ina, darling, we just went through this.” Chuck’s transatlantic accent was getting thicker and higher-pitched the more he spoke. “And I hate to bring this up, you know I do, my dear, but it's in your contract.”

“Contract or not, I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“My dear, what can I do to make you comfortable?” Chuck pleaded.

“Nothing. I would rather make love to a rattlesnake than to that man.”

Elvis stood taller, his fingers balled up into fists as his leveled, polished voice began to transform into a Southern snarl.

“Yeah, uh huh, well I had about enough of this bull shit. Rattlesnake, huh? That can be arranged, honey, why, I’ll get it myself.”

“Well, I bet it will be small and limp, just like you.”

He staggered back when she hurled those words at him, flustered and mumbling as he looked around the set to see who had been in earshot and heard her yell out the words ‘small and limp’ at him. The answer, of course, was everybody. Because everybody in the crew was watching.

They had, of course, originally gathered around because Charro! was making film history with today’s shoot.

All the popular European films being released had sex scenes, James Bond was having sex. Several recent westerns had initially included nude scenes, but studios had cut them at the last minute.

But 1968 marked the dawning of a new era. The MPAA had a new rating system. Bonnie & Clyde had proven last year that audiences not only had a stomach for violence, but wanted sex. And like Bonnie, they wanted it much more than they got it. And so this picture, and about a dozen others in production, were all racing to give it to them.

Even if the plan was to pan to a hat and then just Ina’s face, Charro! was going to make history.

Or rather, it would have made history. Instead, the entire crew watched in horror as Ina threw up her hands and stomped off in protest while Elvis coughed loudly, took a deep breath, and then announced to the crowd

“Don’t worry, folks, we’re gonna get Arthur Rankin in here and he’s gonna recreate these scenes with claymation. Make a little Elvis the Rednosed Cowboy.” His voice rang out with forced cheerfulness, followed by a ripple of nervous laughter that spread through the soundstage.

“Boy, I tell ya what, now that would be a historical milestone, huh Chuck? Bet audiences would pay double ta see a stop motion love scene.”

The director nodded as Elvis patted him on the shoulder with a forced, playful candor and then strode out of the studio followed by his entourage.

Elvis’ motel room was dark, save for the television, an ever present companion, and the table lamp that cast shadows against the wall outlining Alma’s silhouette. The light captured every curve of her body as it lay sideways across the bed next to him. His fingers tapped absentmindedly over her bronze thigh, but his mind was otherwise occupied and failed to register the coquettish look she was giving him as she pouted and ran her hand over his arm.

He was thinking of his first film and the time had asked his co-star, Richard Egan, the secret to good acting.

“You. You already got it kid, in spades. Why do you think they renamed this picture after your song? Just be you, unaffected, unadulterated. You’re a natural.”

But what good had natural ability been without opportunity? He’d had such high hopes back then, hopes to be in real movies about real people, stories with an edge that packed a punch. And for a time, it seemed like he was. Dramas in which the singing was a plausible part of the premise.

But somewhere along the way the edge had been sanded off and his plans had all gone wrong. He’d gotten himself typecast as the type of character he hated, a romantic lead who broke into song during an appointment with the IRS. Those roles were fine for Rock Hudson, but not for him. He knew he could do better. Better than dumb musicals, better than all this.

He had those same high hopes for this picture when he first read the script.

“Guess I should be happy this western’s actually being filmed in the goddamn desert and not in some California shrub valley,” he mumbled, balling his hands into fists as he spoke.

“What was that, baby?”

Elvis looked up at the woman lying next to him, he had forgotten she was even there. Her warm body next to him had become just another amenity of the room, like the mini fridge or the Gideons Bible. The puzzled look on her young, naive face reminded him how truly alone he was.

Oblivious to Elvis' existential crisis, Alma decided maybe he needed some prompting after their kisses had dissolved into still silence. She moved her hand to Elvis’ thigh, stopping when he flinched and jumped up almost as if he were trying to escape her touch. She frowned, then flipped her hair as she adjusted and lay prone over the polyester orange bedspread, fashioning a come hither look on her face. She could tell he was rattled by the onset fight and was trying everything in her bag of tricks to laugh it off and redirect him to something better. Her.

“Ha, small and limp. That bitch has no idea what she’s missing. It took all my self control not to cry out in front of everyone that you have an anaconda in your pants, Elvis.”

A grimace passed over his face, and Elvis started to button up his shirt and mumble to the floor.

“Don’t, baby - just-” He softened his voice at the rejection he saw in her eyes. “Honey, I can’t stand it when women do that.”

“What, what am I doing wrong?” Alma sat, her face falling as she scooted back against the pillows.

Elvis pulled on the red bandana around his neck and paced the other way, looking back at her as he tucked his shirt back into his clean, brown corduroy pants. His shoulders stiffened.

“Insincerity. I can’t, I jus hate it when women go overboard trying to puff up my ego. I’ve had my share of lovers, no one ever complained. That’s not the point.”

“It isn’t?”

“Nah, honey. What that bitch is really saying is she don’t take me serious, I’m not man enough for this fucking role, for her New York high society standards. Fat lot of good any a that did her, thinks I don’t know she’s been in what, five pictures? Jerry Lewis? Try twenty five, sister. Give me a goddamn break. She’s wound so tight, she could start a fight in an empty house, I tell ya what, boy, and that’s the god honest truth.”

He began to pace the room, wringing his hands over as he walked.

“This un’ is gonna be different, Chuck said, more raw, Chuck said, more real.” His voice trilled between a high falsetto and a deep growl. “Then first they cut the violence, and now this bullshit. What’s next? Bet they gonna try and have me sing to my fuckin horse!”

He punched the wall. “Fucking cowboys don’t fucking sing!” He screamed to the ceiling, then began to pace again, his hands now balled up in fists.

He turned and looked at Alma. “You ever see John Wayne sing? Gary Cooper? ‘Fore they walked over to the OK corral to shoot the bad guy?”

He punched the wall again and then turned and tried to compose himself when he saw Alma flinch.

“Ok ok ok ok.” He took a deep breath. “I - uh - this picture’s got me all keyed up.”

“Want some grass? Flor has some killer grass, make you forget today even happened.”

“Nah, honey - now, good lil girls like you should know better than to mess with that stuff.”

Alma pulled her hand through her hair and struck what she thought was a glamorous, come hither pose.

“Want me to give you a blow job? Help you relax?”

Elvis frowned. “Man, like a goddamn cat in heat and twice as willing. Don’t you think of nothing else?”

Alma sat up and started to put her clothes on, her voice as low as her hopes for the evening.

“You’re the one who invited me up here and had me undress while you watched. I’m just trying to do what I thought you wanted.”

“Well stop tryin’ to think, you’ll wear yourself out.”

Alma grabbed her shoes and opened the door, finding Joe on the other side with one hand about to knock and another holding up a tray of food in his hands.

“Oh, hey -”

“Hey yourself.” Alma said with a huff and a very aggressive hair flip, her long brown tresses smacking Joe’s cheek.

Elvis shrugged as Joe looked after Alma, whistling to himself.

“Man o man, EP, you got the prettiest girl here. What’s up her butt?”

“I don’t know - Something up with the chicks on this picture, man, stuck up and crazier than a sack full a possums.”

Elvis looked at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall across from the bed as Joe mumbled about how many crazy women they had met on their journeys, half-listening as he stroked his beard and reassured himself that he looked just as fit as Clint Eastwood. And more handsome. He winked at himself and straightened his belt buckle, then looked over at Joe.

“Now hold on a second, son, jus’ what in high heaven is that?”

Elvis lifted his hands from his left hip and pointed at the cheeseburgers and fries Joe had laid out on the table, fixing him with a dark glare.

“You said dinner, EP, brought you dinner.”

“Tryin’ to get me back in the 200 club like you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you been auditioning for the part of lardass of the group.”

“But last night - I thought you -

“I thought, I thought - you ain’t thought shit, and that’s the problem. I’m supposed to be shirtless on film tomorrow and you fixin’ to get me fat as a boarding house cat.”

Joe frowned, furrowing his brow for the split second it took him to plaster a smile back on and nod. Now he understood what was up Alma’s ass, and what was about to be up his too if he didn’t turn this around.

“Right, boss, my mistake, tell me what you want and I’ll go get it.”

“What I want, what I want. Ain’t nobody cares what I want, and that’s the goddamn problem. Save a whole lotta time and money if you just thought to ask first.”

Elvis put his hands on his waist and cried out an inaudible growl to the ceiling.

“Jus… just bring me a caesar salad. A big one.”

Joe hurried out and Elvis went over to cover up the burgers, but the smell was too tempting, so instead he sat down and began to devour them one after another, mumbling to himself in between bites.

“Goddamit, if I look fat tomorrow it’ll be Joe’s goddamn fuckin’ fault.”

There was a knock at the door, and he yelled for whoever it was to come in as he went to wash up.

“Joe told me to come get rid of the - uh - food tray.”

Charlie’s voice trailed off as Elvis emerged from the bathroom and followed Charlie’s eyes to the table and the plates that were empty, save for a handful of cold fries.

“Well, have at it - wait.”

Elvis stepped back and looked around, grabbing one of the guns from the night stand and put it in his belt. He had all this nervous energy running up and down his body, he needed to just get out of this room, out of this motel, get as far as possible to just breathe some fresh air and think. He snapped his fingers at Charlie.

“Grab Gee Gee, we’re going for a drive.”

Charlie’s face softened into a big goofy, excited grin. “Okee dokee artichokee, where we heading?”

“Anywhere that ain’t this goddamn motel, numb nuts.” Elvis started to head down the exterior stairs, running his hand over the warm, wrought iron bannister. He looked back over his shoulder and clapped.

“Bring the cigars, too, then meet me at the car. Chop chop.”

A renewed sense of purpose guided his steps as Elvis walked down the corridor of motel rooms that lined the pool,and he ran his hands up and down the front of his shirt. He mulled over what he wanted to do that didn’t involve eating more hamburgers. Or eating anything.

When he looked up, he realized he had stopped outside Ina’s room. There, through the curtain, he could see the back of her through the curtain where she sat on her bed, talking to someone on the phone.

“No no no, Mickey, of course I understand. Yes, well, I don’t know, I think you have to have been on top to get back on top, but your meaning is not lost on me. I get it. Yes. Opportunity of a lifetime. I know. Elvis Elvis. Don’t worry. I’m gonna go make it right, right now.”

She looked up at the ceiling and wiped the sides of her eyes, summoning a mask of quiet cheer Elvis recognized well as she clutched the phone tight.

“Yes, no - I’ll be a good girl, Mickey. I promise. I know, I know, no bread.”

He was transfixed, enjoying the power he felt watching her unaware, and pressed closer to the glass, careful not to draw attention to himself. A small front section of her long, flowing hair fell out from behind her ears and she absentmindedly began to twist it nervously. She looked like a fragile little girl, like a beautiful flower someone had stepped on. The sight of her anxiously talking away pulled on his heart strings.

He shook his head. What the fuck had happened? Why was she so angry at him? He'd played the part of the funny, affable host from the minute they met, introducing her to the crew and having Gee Gee get her screwdrivers as they all yukked it up in the bar. He'd about busted his gut when she lobbed a handful of ice at Charlie and knocked him over the back of the couch.

He stood there watching as her big brown eyes lit up while she told her agent how nice the desert was. He almost believed her. Goddamit, why couldn’t she just be a good girl and get along? She’d been sweet and flirty in make-up and then what, an hour or two later, her claws were out and she’d aimed them at him.

He whistled and thought about the fickleness of women as he turned to walk the long way around the pool.

Thirty seconds later he heard the thud of a door opening followed by Ina’s voice calling out for him.

Elvis stopped, his hands moved out as if to balance himself as he swiveled around, slowly, to face her. A sense of dread settling in his stomach. Up above him, he saw Charlie and Gee Gee making their way down the staircase, while to his left a group of crew members were heading for the pool. The smell of chlorine wafted through the open air hallway.

He cautiously trudged back toward the doorway to where Ina stood, each footfall a slow thump of his cowboy boot against the hard concrete sidewalk.

“Oh good, I’m glad I caught you, Elvis.” She swallowed, there it was again, that cheerful mask settling over her face as she exhaled a nervous laugh. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

Elvis straightened up, looking around again before pulling on the red bandana at his throat. He definitely didn’t want to be alone with Ina. She was unpredictable and he couldn’t stand the awkward energy that flickered between them. However, he also didn’t want another public scene and he could already hear their names being whispered by some of the crew at the pool.

So he did what he always did with an audience, he mustered a wide, beaming smile and spoke in a nonchalant, cool voice:

“Hey honey, you ain’t gotta worry bout me, I’m all good. You get your beauty sleep and I’ll see you tamarra onset an - “

Ina’s lip trembled, she looked like she might fall apart at any moment.

Shit he thought, unable to stop himself from walking over to her and stroking her shoulder.

“There there, been a rough day. This desert heat, I tell ya what, baby, does things to ya head. Now go ahead and listen to ol’ Elvis -”

Ina put her hand over his where it squeezed her shoulder.

“Could we just talk - just for a moment?” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Alone. I - I won’t take much time, I just - I’d like to apologize and clear the air if you’ll let me. Otherwise, otherwise I won’t be able to sleep and then you’ll be making love to a haggard old zombie first thing in the morning.”

Elvis' eyes softened and he looked around once more before nodding. “Ok.”

As soon as the door closed he was an obedient puppy letting her lead him by the hand to sit on the bed, where he took off his cowboy hat and toyed with it in his lap.

Ina stepped away, backing toward the dresser where she lifted herself to sit next to the TV, but then changed her mind. She felt like a ship adrift, unmoored and out of her comfort zone. Sitting and swinging her legs about was too casual, she decided, so she stood back up and swept the hair that had fallen out of her high ponytail behind her ears.

Just make it short, sweet, earnest, she reminded herself, you’re no stranger to eating humble pie. Indeed, Ina reflected on the number of times she had apologized unnecessarily just to smooth things over with her mother or sister, a producer, an ad executive. This was one of the first times she felt she actually had behaved badly and now she was lost for words. If only there was a script for life.

“I - um - thanks for seeing me - I - I - I.”

All the words left her head when she found Elvis’ dark blue eyes studying her beneath his long lashes. He was rotating his cowboy hat in his lap. The smell of the heavy floral cleaning products the maids had used lingered in the air, stronger now that the air conditioner cycled on with a heaving, mechanic whomp. She swallowed again, and counted to ten, trying to ignore the way the back of her neck seemed to prickle as a chill went down her spine. She steadied herself, forcing her eyes to connect with his.

“Elvis, I am so very sorry. I mean it. I - I - I - ’ve never lost it before onset, it is so unprofessional I can barely stand to look at myself.”

She felt a release of tension as she watched his hands relax. He took a deep breath and stroked his beard.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Ina, I been making two to three pictures a year since 1933. I can roll with the punches, ain’t nothing I can’t handle. ThoughI gotta admit you threw me off back there.”

The register of his voice changed from rougher to softer as he looked down at the floor and then back up at Ina’s face.

“Be honest, did I do anything to offend you or make you mad at me?”

His softer side was almost harder to withstand and his eyes seemed to penetrate her very being, seeking out the secrets she kept hidden in her heart. She shook it off with another nervous chuckle,

“No, no, this was 100% me. I’ve been so nervous about these love making shoots. Chuck’s is telling everyone back in Hollywood this is the first the first film with a sex scene - “

“Isn’t it?”

“Well, I mean, since the production code, maybe, but they’ve shot plenty of them. It’s just that the studio always pulls out at that last minute -”

Ina covered her mouth and gasped when she watched Elvis’ lip curl up at her words but said nothing. He didn’t need to. The glint in his eye said it all and when he waggled his eyebrows up and down Ina laughed out. She was grateful for the levity, it seemed to crack through Elvis’ cool bravada and made this conversation easier.

“Stop, you know what I mean.”

She blushed, and looked out her window, watching as the silhouettes of two people walked by. It was getting dark, she needed to wrap it up.

“But yes, today I was nervous, I haven’t been eating or sleeping much, but I promise you - “

Her voice wavered as she turned back to find his steady gaze.

“ - um - no more fights, no more difficult behavior. I am so grateful for this opportunity to work with you and I just hope you can forgive me for my lapse of judgment.”

Elvis stood up, his fingers were once more busy fiddling with his cowboy hat and he spoke in a low whisper.

“Ok. I forgive you. So long as you really ain’t mad at me.”

The breath hitched in Ina’s throat when Elvis looked up at her, biting his lip in a way that made the top jut out a bit as he searched her face once more, as if she were a puzzle he needed to solve.

She gulped. “I - uh - I - no, I just need some sleep - I “

“Honey I can’t help feeling like you’re holding something back here, and if we’re gonna get along, I need you to be completely honest with me.”

Ina looked away. Damn him, he was like one of those fortune tellers back on Coney Island who she had believed as a kid. As a teenager she had learned the truth: they had no supernatural talents, they were just extremely gifted at reading their marks. Like Elvis was reading her right now.

“Oh, I may have been upset about something but it doesn’t matter, it was silly and stupid, like me. I - I was wrong, and I apologize. I’ll happily apologize to you in front of the whole crew tomorrow if you want. Really. If that is what it will take to make amends with you Mr. Presley.”

Elvis clenched his fists.

“I don’t give a damn about a public apology or the crew or any of that. But I can’t bear it when a woman is sore at me and won’t say why. Ticks me off to no end.”

Tension hung in the air, and Ina sighed. Recounting the whole ordeal made it seem so juvenile now, though it still stung.

“I - I am, I heard some of your friends talking. They -”

“Which friends?”

“Jerry, Jerry and Charlie. I told you, it’s like high school and I can’t believe I let them upset me.”

“Well now you started, better lay it all out for me. Go on.”

“I - I well, I heard them laughing about how you had said I looked like - like drag queen that needed a shave. And they were calling me Groucho and saying I had big feet.”

Ina let her shoulders drop and forced a smile, but she couldn’t stop her hand from pulling on the necklace at her chest.

“Ha, actually now that I say it is kind of funny, you see I - um - I usually have a great sense of humor. Any of my friends would tell you. Some of them are drag queens, actually. They’d probably feel more slighted being compared to me. Your boys just, they - they just caught me right before I was filming my first nude scene and well - “

Ina’s voice trailed off as she watched Elvis get up and pace towards the bathroom growling.

“Those fucking nitwits, pulling a stunt like that and gummin up tha works -” he turned and his face fell at the pained look on Ina’s face. “You know I never said nothin’ like that.”

Ina quickly shook her head, summoning the calm veneer that usually came so easy to her. She immediately regretted telling Elvis, now she felt as raw as she did after she had a full waxing appointment at the salon.

In her heart she knew he was lying, she knew from the way he had grimaced, albeit it briefly, on set when she’d said she wasn’t a drag queen.

Yet there was something earnest and pleading in his eyes that made her question her own grip on reality. This got worse when he bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling, all vulnerable and apologetic, as if searching for the right thing to say. It made her stomach flip up into her throat. Then looked at her, his eyes wide with a newfound warmth as he sought a connection from across the room, as if he were seeing her for the first time. Ina knew right then that she needed to get him out before anything changed.

“Oh, yeah, sure, I know. And, well it doesn’t matter anyway, right? I mean it’s none of my business what you think of me - like I said, I knew some knockout drag queens, so it’s a compliment really. Ha so - “

Elvis stode over as she spoke and grabbed her hands, his thumb delicately soothing the top of her knuckles. The spicy smell of his aftershave entered her nostrils as he spoke in a low, soft voice.

“Here’s the thing now, Iny Beany, I just need you to know though that I didn’t say none a that. Ya right, them boys still in high school, and they been playing pranks like we’re still in high school. I guar-an-TEE you they knew the assistant had just called for you, and they set that whole thing up to ruin my first sex scene shoot. Have half a mind to fire 'em. They need to learn some goddamn respect."

Ina found herself transfixed, unable to step away or pull her hands from his. She looked him over. He somehow looked like a cowboy who had let a bunch of drag queens dress him.

He wore a fresh pair of dark green slacks, a thick leather belt and a long sleeve white linen shirt. Over his hands sat several jewel-encrusted rings matched by the two necklaces that lay underneath his red bandana, tied much like a silk ascot through a cravat. His foundation make-up was impeccable, and his hair was styled in a high quiff perfectly slicked back above his forehead. It made him look cavalier and polished at the same time.

Then there was the way his smokey eye makeup was now smudged around his waterline made him look even more ruggedly attractive. Sweat glistened underneath his beard, almost like glitter. There, in the dim light of her motel room he looked like the prettiest cowboy she had ever seen.

“Know what I mean?”

Ina shook her head, realizing she’d gotten caught up staring at his scruffy chin and lost track of what he was saying.

“Um, I’m sorry, what did you say?”

A sly grin tweaked up the corners of his lips.

“I said, you cain’t listen to a word outta those boys' moufs, ‘specially Charlie. His elevator don’t go all the way up, if you take my meaning.”

Elvis stepped in closer to her, cautiously, waiting to see if she stepped away or flinched. But it was all Ina could do to just keep breathing, each stroke of Elvis' thumb over her hand now sent a bolt of electricity down her chest.

“How I could I say something like that about you, Iny? Ya so beautiful, I could barely look at you too long before turning into mush.”

Ina rolled her eyes, but she could feel her own resolve waver as his hand moved to her hips and a blush crept over her face.

“Stop, you don’t have to lie to me.”

He shook his head, his nose tickling over hers.

“How can you say that Iny Meany? You have no idea, no idea what you do to me.”

Ina’s heart skipped a beat when she felt his thumb at the indent of her girdle. The air between their bodies seemed to crackle now with heat, and he pulled her closer, nuzzling his nose over hers. A tear rolled down her face and he lifted his finger to catch it.

“Ssshhhh, s’ok baby, s’ok. I got you. And I promise ain’t no one gonna talk like that about you again.”

He pressed his cheek against hers and she pushed back,willfully embracing the harsh scruff of his beard. She could feel herself teetering on the precipice of something dangerous. If she crossed this line with Elvis it would change the dynamic of their work together, it would change her reputation. She had vowed to herself she wouldn’t be susceptible to his charms, him, of all people. He was so obvious, so cliche. And yet here she was, nuzzling her nose back along his.

Emboldened, Elvis gently pressed his lips to her skin, peppering her jaw with light kisses. Ina eagerly moved to give him access to her neck and he instantly took the hint and suckled at her nape, pausing to grin as she moaned out a high, breathy unladylike moan.

Her chest heaved as their lips met and the faint aroma of mustard filled Ina’s nostrils.

“Oh my god, you taste like hamburger.”

Elvis chuckled, unsure of himself for a moment. Ina enjoyed watching him become self conscious.

"I’m sorry baby, you want me to go brush my teeth?”

She shook her head, pulling him closer and speaking between kisses.

“No - mmmm - it’s amazing — mmm - haven’t had a mmamburger in months.”

Elvis let out a nervous laugh.

“Ok, ya kook, I’ll be sure and eat hamburger every day.”

"Ha! I'm gonna hold you to that, Presley."

His fingers brushed over her thighs as he lifted her onto the dresser and Ina trembled.

“You ok? Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

She shook her head, stopping was the last thing on her mind. Though she suddenly thought of crew members at the pool who’d seen her call Elvis into her room to apologize.

“I wonder what everyone outside thinks we’re doing in here.”

“Hmmm, whatever they’re thinking, I guarantee it's not nearly as good as what I’m thinking.”

“Elvis - I - I don’t want to have sex.”

He arched his eyebrow.

“Whoo now, who said anything about sex?”

“I mean, of course I want to have sex with you.”

He stoked her thighs, a faint smile on his face.

"Relax Iny, we’re just having some fun. Don’t overthink it. We ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t wanna do.”

Ina released a nervous giggle. “OK, you see, I um, well, actually the thing is that I sometimes break out when I - I do it.”

“Really? You know that Max Factor stuff will cover anything.”

“Ha! I know - I just think tonight, no matter what I say later, we should just keep it simple.”

“I gotcha Iny girl. Sweet. Simple.”

Ina’s pulse quickened at the way he leaned into her chest, his hands worked up from her thighs. She felt like a giddy teenager as she smiled gleefully into his face, her right hand fiddling with his ear.

“You have a great earlobe, you know that? I can see why you’re a movie star.”

“Huh. That right? Cuz of my earlobe?”

He leaned in and kissed the top of her nose.

“Oh yeah, it's very photogenic. I see why this is the only part of you in frame during the sex scene. I mean the rest could as ugly as Boris Karloff -” Ina waved her other hand in front of Elvis face. “But this lobe, right here, it’s a million dollar lobe.”

Elvis chuckled. “That right?”

“Uh huh. I hope you have it insured - oh god.”

Elvis' right hand moved over her breast, flicking her nipple.

“Hmm, well, maybe I should stop whateva this is and go call the colonel, get him right on that, uh huh.”

He moved as if to leave, smirking at how quickly Ina pulled him back into her arms.

“Don’t go.”

She squeaked out, voice cracking.

“You sure? You don want me to fetch a rattlesnake to kiss instead? See if you like making love to his earlobe?”

“Stop.”

Ina swatted him, straightening the line of his bandana.

“Please don’t repeat what I said earlier, I was tired and nervous and upset and I hate myself for that whole scene. I really am sorry, Presley.”

“I know, baby, I know. I'm just teasing.”

He pressed his lip son hers once more and Ina rocked forward into him, following the slow, tender rhythm of Elvis’ body. She felt like a buoy, still unmoored and adrift in the ocean, but now she didn’t want to come into shore. She wanted to stay like this, swaying back and forth to the ebb of Elvis’ tide, delighting in the wet smack of Elvis’ lips every time they smashed into hers. Again and again.

Her whole body buzzed when his fingers trailed down to her hem and absentmindedly began to work their way under her dress. He had notched himself between her legs, fitting snugly against her knee caps. She made a small squeak of surrender as she opened her hips to bring him in closer. The taste of onions and pepsi and meat filled her mouth as he took her with the tip of his tongue, slowly owning and consuming her completely.

Elvis moaned into her and deepened their kiss.

Ina lost herself in the sweet supple cushion of his lips. His hands moved over her bosom, fanning the spark in her belly into a flame. Then his fingers moved under her skirt and feathered over the warmth of her panties. Ina felt the bulge begin to swell at her thigh and then Elvis jerked back.

Every cell in her body cried out to pull him back into her embrace and then until he was inside her and they were melting into each other. Vows and boundaries be damned. Thank god he had some sense of self control.

“Whooa, whoa whoa.” He muttered slowly, almost painfully.

Ina nodded, licking her lips as she met his eyes.

“You ok?’

“Yeah, you?”

Elvis took a deep breath. “Course, honey, I - I - I just think we better put the breaks on for tonight.”

“Yeah, sure, no. Totally. This was exactly what I wanted.”

He wiped his mouth, shooting her an impish smile, like he knew exactly what she wanted.

“Guess I should clear out, huh?”

“You don’t have to leave, I mean, I enjoy your company. Is what I mean. But if you are looking to get lucky, then yes, I suppose you should find one of those extras you've been playing patty cake with.”

“Huh, okay, well I'll be on my way then. Catch ya later.”

But he didn't move, just stayed there hovering above her. His forehead leaning into her as he pushed in even closer, pressing the air out of her lungs.

“You do have a reputation to keep up. I understand.”

"Mhmmmm."

Elvis shook his head and went to sit on her bed, up against the head board.

“Look, I'm willing to put my reputation aside, jus for one night. I promise, no funny business. Clothes stay on.”

He smirked.

“Unless you’d feel more comfortable without your dress on.”

Ina hesitantly moved to perch next to him. She could still taste the mix of Elvis’ salty sweat on her tongue as she wiped her raw lips.

“That’s awfully accommodating of you, Presley.”

“What can I say, Iny Beany, I’m an open minded guy. Always say, if a girl wants to take her own dress off, who am I to say she can’t?’

“Well, if it’s all the same to you I think I’ll keep mine on. For now. There’s still time for you to make an exit.”

“Aw, now shut up with that exit junk already and get in here.”

Elvis pulled Ina down into the curve of his arm, and she sighed, embracing the cozy warmth of his body and rubbing her hand over the trim stretch of his stomach as he spoke to her in a soft, friendly voice.

"Alright now, I want you to tell me everything there is to know about you. How did the hell you end up in a god forsaken Elvis Presley picture, huh?”

“Hmmm, poor life choices? But Elvis, I thought you liked this film? I thought you were the one who made it happen.”

“Aw, well, sure, the first script was pret-tee fantastic. It was gritty and had guts, ya know, but then these damn producers been wittlin' it away to nothing, man. Chuck cornered me this afternoon once you'd left and started in on nagging me to sing the title song.”

“You don’t want to sing? Just the title? it would be so good.”

“So you like the way I sing, Iny?”

Elvis’ eyes danced but then he remembered what they were talking about and was solemn once more.

“Yeah, naw man, that would set it up as another Presley musical, the next they’ll be trying to get me to sing to my horse. No self respecting cowboy sings, you ever heard of a singing cowboy? Never seen John Wayne sing.”

“OK, sure, but what about Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Hank Williams was the Driftless Cowboy, right?” Elvis leveled her with his blue eyes and pinched her side.

“Hmmm - guess you got me there. But it’s 1968, I’d like to see Gene Autry sell a movie in today’s economy. My boy my boy. Today it ain't no joke. Can you see him in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly?”

Ina tilted her head in agreement back onto Elvis' shoulder, she felt the same way she did sinking into a pair of comfy, worn-in slippers, and founding his chest as relaxed and welcoming,

“Trust me, I get it, I’m just grateful I don’t have to do a rape scene in this film.”

He squeezed Ina tighter, kissing her cheek.

“Yeah, me too, honey, real grateful. Boy. Don’t know why anyone want ta see that.”

“The old west ain’t what it used to be.”

“You can say that again.”

Elvis' arms closed around Ina tighter as they murmured the hours away, comparing diet pills, LA taco huts and favorite movies while their limbs easily intertwined into one another. The closest he got to undressing her was the moment around midnight when he stealthily undid her pony tail and played with her hair while she pretended to be miffed. Then he kissed her forehead and told her he had done her a favor, because it looked better this way, and she should just be a good girl and do as he said. Which got him a light slap and a big “HA!”

They spent the next hour enjoying a playful, cozy respite together in the dim orange glow of Ina’s hotel room. It was well past one in the morning when he gave her a parting kiss that turned into a series of parting kisses before he snuck back up to his suite.

Shooting began the next day at 7 a.m., and you could have knocked the director, Chuck, over with a long, pink gaudy boa feather as he found Elvis and Ina in good spirits ready to work. They exchanged playful barbs and their onscreen chemistry sizzled when they went through each sequence, pausing between takes for Ina’s chest to be spritzed while another batch of assistants dabbed Elvis’ forehead with dry unused coffee filters. The industry’s secret weapon against perspiration.

Elvis found Ina in her dressing room during a break and their lips met with stifled giggles as they kissed now with away from the ever present surveillance of the crew, laughing and talked into each other’s mouths.

“Oh my god, now you taste like bacon. I swear Elvis, you’re gonna have me off my diet and then I’ll swell up like a balloon and then Charro! will be a very different film about a cowboy and his pregnant saloon madam.”

“Baby, you gotta let yourself have one hamburger now and then, trust me now, I been doing this longer than you. It will help the cravings.”

Ina kept her mouth shut as she calculated that she had been in this business just as long as he had, since she began modelling at 15 in 1955.

“Ok. I give in. I have no willpower around you. I will have one hamburger this week.”

“Tonight, honey. Imma have you for dinner.” He winked. “Over for dinner, I mean. I’ll have one a my guys come get you and bring you up to my room later. ”

“Ok. Dinner. Tonight. Your room.” She grinned as she chased the taste of bacon on his tongue and the salty scent of his body as it enveloped her until a knock on the door brought them back into their roles on set as Jess and Tracy.

That night Elvis went through his usual routine after a shoot, which began with a shower to wash off the desert and the dust and the sweat of the set off his body. He took extra care in how he dressed, selecting a light blue dress shirt and a white suit, capping off his outfit with a small black porkpie hat. He doused himself in aftershave and the smell of Old Spice smacked Joe in the face when he came in to set up Elvis’ calls to Memphis and LA.

Once Elvis hung up his phone he leaned over and banged on the wall for Joe to come back in.

“You want me to get that sweet little Mexican gal boss? Alma?”

“Did I tell you to do that? That gal ain’t nothing but a big phony, naw man. Wait for me to tell you what to do, son."

Elvis stood up and went to slather more after shave on, exchanging one ring for another at his toiletry bag.

"Go down stairs and invite Ina up to join me for dinner.”

Joe let out a loud cackle. “What, Groucho?”

Elvis paused, taking in the look of disbelief on Joe’s face. His heart sank and he rubbed his hands over one another as he remembered how they all were howling at his jokes about her a few nights ago.

He hadn’t even really meant it. He’d just said those things after watching Alma and Flor look at Ina with envy during rehearsals. All he had wanted was to put them at ease, make them understand he was attracted to them. Saying what he thought they wanted to hear. But then the boys had chimed in and now they all thought she was a dog.

Elvis forced a low chuckle and ran his hand through his hair.

“Nah, man, not Ina - I meant Flor. Goddamn it, this picture messin’ with my head.”

He swallowed hard, thinking of the way Ina's beautiful big brown eyes looking up at him. They their legs had seemed to fit together, the way conversation had seemed to flow effortlessly. He smiled to himself thinking of the way she had blushed when he snuck into her dressing room. How her breasts had felt beneath as they ran their love scenes. He pushed away the pang of guilt for now and tamped down his desire to hold her once more. Maybe he'd sneak down to her room later if he could get away. But for now he had an image uphold. These guys looked up to him, and his control over them as their boss rested on the how cool they thought he was.

He snapped his finger at Joe.

“But I don’t wanna hear y’all calling her that no more. Tell the others. Like I said this morning, y’all shitwads talking like that is what got me in trouble in the first place.”

And with that, Elvis spent another night surrounded by people and utterly alone.

I don't really think I did Ina justice here, look at how great they looked together. We were robbed of their sex scenes.....

taglist:

@i-r-i-n-a-a @ab4eva @eliseinmemphis @richardslady121 @artlover8992 @ashtag6887 @karolshungary @j-v-9-2 @waiting4brucewayne2adoptme @notstefaniepresley @dollette02 @dkayfixates @everythingelvispresley @velvetelvis @moonchild-daniella @lialocklear @obsessionisthecure @louisejoy86 @arrolyn1114 @literally-just-elvis-fics

i don't really have a taglist for one-shots and I apologize if you don't want to be tagged, just let me know and I'll take you off.

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis #new hollywood elvis #charro!#banditqueenwrites

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chaotic-starlight24 · 3 months

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Dallas Winston General Headcanons

This is the last part of the Dallas headcanons :) Please check out Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 of his backstory!

Sorry if anything is ooc! Warnings: Mentions of trauma, death, description of grief

He brags about his many scars from dangerous games. For example, he prides himself in the game where you try to get the knife between all of your fingers.

He genuinely likes a lot of movies. He just doesn’t show it. Also, most of the new movies don’t have anything interesting to them so he just looks at girls or talks to Johnny/Pony. But he will shut up and be glued to the screen when the theater or drive-in is replaying James Dean movies. He will literally shush Ponyboy, he just really likes James Dean. (He probably had a Rebel Without a Cause jacket made for him by Mrs. Curtis)

His aforementioned Norwegian mother (part 1) taught him the Hardanger Fiddle (When he was like 7) It was one of the very few bonding activities he had with her. He still has his original fiddle and while traveling around, a mother in Memphis fixed it for him after he ran an errand for her. He doesn’t play it much but he does sometimes sit alone at Buck’s and play melodies he remembers. He doesn’t like playing it around many people because playing takes a lot of energetic movements. The gang has heard him before but only like once.

His father and him had one or two bonding activities like once a week or so, mainly knife throwing. So Dally has great aim with just about any object. He would also occasionally try to play poker with him. But this did not happen very often since both parents were alcoholics and everything and his father was an especially angry one.

He needs a lot of time to wrap his mind around a lot of concepts, but once he has it down he's amazing at it! (Hardanger fiddle, stealing, knife throwing)

At the Curtis parent funeral he held himself together pretty well. He pretended to not be quite as bothered and used the excuse that he had seen worse things and that he was mainly concerned for the brothers. But when he got to Buck's he sobbed quietly for hours and didn't come out for a while. That was when he really did become a very cold person. He never opened his heart to anyone new after that. He started to believe that he couldn’t care about anyone because he was the curse that caused them to die. If it wasn’t for the gang he probably would have left Tulsa.

His mom was one of nine siblings so Dally has a lot of cousins. He saw several of them frequently and was especially friends with one named Joel. They mainly conversed through letters as his cousin lived in Windrixville. They always had a plan to meet up together and maybe fix up the abandoned church and make it into a hangout. His mother wasn’t particularly focused on teaching him much about their culture so he learned some things from his cousins. He still remembers bits and pieces of the language and pronounces names with a Norwegian accent every so often.

He always keeps his jacket on in the summer unless going swimming. He says it’s to look tuff but it’s actually because he gets eaten alive by mosquitos or sunburned to the fact he’s neon red.

His oldest sister, Elizabeth in English spelling, would sing him Scandinavian lullabies to help him fall asleep at night and he still finds himself humming the tunes when doing busywork. (Examples if you want to listen: Vargsången, Trollsmor Vaggvisa, Klatremus’ Voggevisa)

He lost his New York accent but sometimes he pronounces words with a really thick one. He doesn’t really have a southern accent either but overall it’s kind of a mix between them. “C’mon upstays, Johnny.” “Huh?” “I mean upstairs.”

He really likes bread. Noone really knows why either. But his problem is he doesn’t really like the store bought bread. In his words, “It’s just unnatural how long it stays good, man.” So he swipes a lot from bakeries. Mrs. Curtis also taught him how to make it but he doesn’t often because he thinks it’s weird he knows how. Also no one should trust him with an oven. But sometimes Soda will come home to Dally just munching on a loaf fresh from their oven.

But bouncing off that, he will eat just about any other food no matter how old it is. Maybe it’s because he’s always hungry. Maybe his immune system is that strong. No one really knows. Darry once found him munching on a block of cheese that had some mold and just threw it out the window. Dally was very upset because “He was really hungry!”. He also says that he doesn’t like things going to waste.

It’s a surprise if he doesn’t end a sentence with man or kid. It’s just what everyone gets called. Except Mrs. Curtis. He called her man once and was promptly given the “glare of disapproval”. Safe to say he never did it again. (Everyone laughed afterward, don’t worry.)

The main reason he dated Sylvia so many times was because he wanted a relationship where he actually loved the person. He had so many meaningless ones that lasted a week at most. Both of them were not particularly healthy to each other since Dally was never in a proper relationship and Sylvia took advantage of him. But both of them had their flaws ofc.

I mentioned in Part 2 that Dallas went through a really big tornado while in Indiana, and you know he ended up in OKLAHOMA. Which is known for its large amounts of tornadoes. Because of this fear that he ended up having, he became really sensitive to thunderstorms. The rest of the gang is always relaxed when listening to the rain and thunder, but Dally will grip Johnny’s arm so hard he almost loses circulation. The gang caught on rather quickly and tried their best to calm him down. Mrs. Curtis and Two-Bit were the best at this and would just talk to him as if nothing was happening outside. Dally always tries to act super tough during storms and manages to keep his calm but there’s been several times where a crack of thunder will shake the house and he will legit scream. Whenever there is a tornado warning or anything he will sit in the closet and use the excuse that he’s just tired and it’s loud outside.

His rings and necklace are his prized possessions. His necklace and 2 of his rings are from Snake Eyes (Part 1 goes more into detail) and the rest are ones he has collected throughout his travels.

Thank you guys for reading through my super large amount of headcanons :) Ponyboy and Darry are next but might not have as large of an amount of stuff!

#the outsiders #dallas winston #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #darry curtis #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders 1983 #the outsiders dally #dally winston #sylvia the outsiders #dallas winston headcanons #original content #starlight's writing

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suraemoon · 11 months

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A Sunset in 1956

“Hot summer days, rock and roll. The way you'd play for me at your show. And all the ways I got to know your pretty face and electric soul.”

Elvis Presley x Reader

Warnings: An unclear/inaccurate timeline? Memphis in the Summer of 1956 is all we know. The Colonel has a few namedrops (sorry). I think that's it...just a lot of fluff and longing.

WC: 4.7k

A/N: This is my first time ever writing a fanfiction, I usually give up after the first paragraph, so just keep that in mind lol. Kind of a long introduction. A lot of thoughts. A love letter to 1956 Elvis and all those who fell in love with him. <3

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1956 - The year when most of the nation first became aware of the name, Elvis Presley.

His name could be well-heard uttered like a beautiful not-so-secret secret in hushed, giggling whispers of teenage girls passersby after the local high school let out its last bell. Adolescent girls across the nation were caught mesmerized, crowded around their family television sets, as if under a trance by the Southern young man shaking his hips to the vibrations and melodies of that sweet, exhilarating Rock n’ Roll music.

The girls felt something awaken in them after watching Elvis Presley on their screens late in the evening. A feeling that refused to sleep in the quiet hours of bedtime, a light that refused to dim under the moonlight, a wind of extreme feeling that rustled through the pages of their minds as they lay in bed.

Excitement…for something they wanted, but did not quite have. A feeling of sexual desire that was not supposed to be openly felt and that was so forbidden, yet beautiful that it became a high of elation.

The feelings wake up with them the next day, and love not only for the music taking the nation by storm but also as the man, seen to many, as the face of it all, leads them to the record stores for every new release. It led them to the shows where he put his all into bringing them to their feet and bringing all those emotions over the edge. How they wish they had the opportunity to be with him.

To be in your spot? Not exactly…they want more.

You hear his name loudly hollered and complained about by older folk, eager to express their extreme dissatisfaction and disgust with what was presented on the late-night television programs as “dancing”. How dare Milton Berle air something so vulgar?

There is an excitement in the air that they can’t feel, can’t understand. The snowflake melts as soon as it comes into contact with them. They do not care to look at its unique pattern anyway. As the water from the faucet bends effortlessly around their tired, life-worn hands, they fail to notice the rainbow made as the water catches the light of the sun. A rainbow in which you have had the privilege of getting to know every hue throughout your years of close friendship.

This is unknown to most, especially an old man at your job asking if you listen to 'all that vulgar roll-and-rock stuff…or was it rock-and-roll? It's not worth it. You try your hardest to put on your customer service voice and politely laugh at the ignorance, knowing that your shift has just started and it's too early for the hassle of explaining Rock-n-Roll to someone not at all interested in learning.

His name, one you first heard when the teacher called out attendance in class all those years ago, was moving like a wave, and any unknowing individual would think he was running for office.

You can’t help but laugh softly at your own thoughts as you stare at the all-familiar Memphis surroundings through the glass of the car window. Suddenly, you are pulled back to reality by a firm squeeze of a hand that you had just noticed began to rest on your thigh. Then, you heard the signature Southern voice that had the whole nation going haywire.

“You alright, honey? You’re as quiet as a dormouse over there.”

Elvis looks over at you and slightly bites his lip as the car you two are sitting in, a new one he bought more recently, sits at a red light.

You smile at him, a slight hue of pink brushing your face, partly from embarrassment at being caught and taken out of your head like a fish out of the water and partly from your best friend’s hand still being on your thigh. You try to divert your focus from the shock of sudden attention and instead try to make a joke.

“Oh, I’m alright…Just in shock is all. I mean I’m in a car with Elvis Presley. I might faint.”

You playfully fan yourself with your hand as you enunciate his name as if it is displayed in big letters on a marquee shining bright on the busy streets of Broadway. A sight that you can easily imagine coming to fruition. You can’t help but laugh, breaking your already unconvincing, but in a way real, act.

“Mhm, sure." He hums, all too used to your teasing, “You sure it’s not just the heat? You can roll the window down a little more.”

He has that signature smile on his pretty face as he focuses his sky-blue eyes on the road before him. When the light turns green, he puts his foot on the gas. His right hand hesitates for a second, debating on whether it is still appropriate to continue to lay on your thigh. He ultimately decides to lift his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’m just kidding ya.” He already knew that. And you know that he knows that you just had to make sure.

When he speaks again, he has the same excitement that he had when you two first got into the car as if it never left, because truly it never did disappear. As you stare at his beautiful eyelashes, enhanced by the mascara that you’ve helped him apply a few times before, you notice a look in his eyes. It’s like the Memphis road ahead of him reminds him of another long road, one that he does not quite know the destination of yet. Your eyes trace his side profile as he talks with a boyish smile on his face.

“Once we get to our spot, Imma tell you all about everything, Satnin. I will. Life’s gonna be even more crazy, if you can believe that. I mean the Colonel said the tours are gonna be…a-and the audiences will be even bigger. It's all up from here, honey, and I’ll explain it all to ya…I really will. I ain't gonna say it all complicated cause it might be a lot for your pretty head… I m- I mean it's hard for me to even…believe. Ya know?”

He says this all fast-paced, hurriedly as if he’s being timed to speak, but you have no problem keeping up with his words from years of conservations both long and short.

“I know, Elvis. I’m really excited for ya. I always am and you know that.”

“For us, honey. Me, you, and my parents.”

You look at him adoringly, admiring his apple-like cheek, his outfit the shirt of which had to be from Beale Street, and the beautiful way the sun reflected off of his face. The beautiful orange before sunset that put a comforting and pleasing softness on everything it touched wouldn’t be until a little bit, but when you were around Elvis, every minute felt golden.

There are a few minutes of silence perfectly comfortable due to so many years of knowing each other before Elvis pulls into the driveway of your home; the same cornflower blue house that your family has been living in and loving for as long as you can remember. His eyebrows furrow and a few creases appear between them, the same ones that you love to smoothen with your thumb whenever you get a chance, as he ponders for a moment,

“Your folks ain’t home?”

You responded nonchalantly, a little surprised that this had not already come up in conversation. But, considering the fact that so much has been going on in his life lately, it is not shocking that your parents not being home for a weekend didn’t wander into your discussions today.

“Nah. They left this morning for a wedding of some old friends of theirs. They were telling me over dinner yesterday….”

You and Elvis get out of the car, doors closing in synchronization as you continue,

“The couple getting married have been friends their whole lives…I think the guy was already divorced…or was it that the lady already has a kid?”

As you go on trying to carefully recall what your parents had told you about their weekend trip while you were scarfing down Mama’s delicious home-cooked dish at dinner yesterday, you fail to notice Elvis taking something out of the car’s leather back seat and slipping it into the back pocket of his pants.

“I don't know, Maybe both…But they realized recently that they’re made for each other. Getting married in Nashville so my parents are spending the weekend.”

Elvis focuses his attention on you and nods, letting you know that he is listening to your story, “I’m guessing your brother is still out on his work trip too, which is crazy, 'cause that means…”

Elvis looks at you with a playful gleam in his eyes, one that lets you know that you’re about to be teased, “They trusted you with the house.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You giggle, feigning offense with your voice.

“I’m plenty responsible for taking care of ole' Blueberry.” You put your hands on your hips in confidence as you look up at your house and the spot on the second-floor siding that needs to be repainted. Whatever happened to it anyway? Your “Rosie the Riveter”-worthy confidence takes a back seat and your hands leave your hips to rest at your sides as you ponder that question.

“Well…” Elvis elongates his word as he leans his arm on your shoulder, tilting his head slightly.

You turn your head up towards him, already knowing the situation that he is referring to. “You really won’t let me get away with the ‘almost burning the house down thing’ huh? I was trying to do a good deed! What can I say, I’m a good girl at heart.”

“Yeah, you were trying alright, and then the surprise ‘Happy Anniversary’ cookies for your folks caught fire.”

“Stop teasing me.” You whine with a small laugh as you take his hand in yours and lead him to your backyard. “Let's go out back before the sun sets on us.”

You can’t help but let your mind wander back to the cookie incident as you walk hand in hand to your signature spot in the backyard, looking down at your feet in the green grass,

“Can you believe that after I burnt my cookies, David brought out his ‘Happy Anniversary’ cupcakes? Totally upstaged me.”

“He’s the golden child. Unlike your cookies…which weren’t golden at all. They were actually tar black.”

You can not help but laugh at his cheesy joke as you two sit on the lush grass under the big tree in your backyard. Its leaves are still green from the energizing air of summer, their bright beauty contrasting with the broken wood swing hanging from the tree’s strongest branch with now only one rope, the other one laying on the ground as if having given up a long time ago. The swing has been broken for so long that it's almost like decor at this point. For years, this tree has been the spot where you and Elvis chose to spend long, but never dragging, hours talking to each other and listening to listening to records. Whenever the weather allowed for it that is.

This was the spot where all those years ago, Elvis told you all about his favorite superhero, Captain Marvel Jr., the very first time he came for a playdate at your house. You had convinced Elvis to let you play alongside him as a superhero after fulfilling your role as the damsel in distress for a few rounds of the game. Well, being alongside him as Captain Marvel Jr’s sidekick; it would have to do, you thought contently. The two of you had run around with towels as capes for hours, stopping crime in the confines of your gated backyard which your young minds had imagined was actually all of Memphis.

Elvis went back to his house right before sunset that evening with grass and dirt stains on his clothes that matched your own. This was something that you two kids had also shared with your Mama’s new towels left scattered in the yard, which she wasn’t too thrilled about. A smile stayed lingering on your face as you were tasked with doing the laundry that night.

Those old times thrive not only in your memories but also in the roots of the old tree. Does it smile when you and Elvis still choose to sit under it time and time again? The age of the tree is unknown due to the fact that it was already full grown when your family moved in all those years ago. Maybe love has kept it up and standing despite any storm that might come blowing its way.

A few minutes of conversation under the tree remained similar in structure and topic to a lot of your discussions with Elvis recently. 1956 has been a huge year for Elvis and you have never minded him being the center of attention because of how much you truly and wholeheartedly adore him.

“Isn’t this all amazing, Elvis? We used to dream about this stuff for you. I mean I’ve always known that you’re great but….I mean, remember when we were just kids listening to records? Now people go out and buy records that say Elvis Presley.”

Elvis looks up at the white, pillowy clouds passing by. New clouds float through the sky but their all familiar patterns and shapes never lose their comfort. Someone looking up could easily be convinced that the clouds they see are the same ones that just passed by the last time that person had gotten the inclination to look. That would mean they weren’t paying close enough attention.

“I remember being in grade school and my audiences only had my lil Satnin sitting crisscrossed apple sauce with those big wide eyes.” He looks at you and you get a glance of the smile lines gifted from Heaven.

You run a hand through his dyed, jet-black hair and you smile to yourself as you think back to the sandy-haired boy who had just moved to Memphis from Tupelo. The one who on the first day of school was placed in the seat next to you by the teacher. You remember how his leg bounced up and down in anxiety under his desk on the first day; his pencil tapping in what seemed to be the rhythm of a song.

You remember the cheeky grin of the sandy-haired boy who had just moved from Tupelo to Memphis. The boy who talked really fast except for when he was singing…something that he loved to do. It was hard to miss that Elvis was a lover of music because he made it known.

“I was early to the party, wasn’t I?”

“V.I.P.” He says nonchalantly as if your exceptionality is obvious.

“Now you got thousands, millions who wanna listen to ya. A bunch of wide eyes on Elvis Presley.”

“Mhm...but your eyes are still my favorite. Always will be.”

Your eyes saw the butterfly come out of the cocoon. Your eyes saw the fidgets, the smiles, the tears, and all the little habits that made Elvis, Elvis. But did you feel the feeling? A shakiness in your legs as you watched him dance and shake his? A jump in your heart at the first riff of his guitar? A slightly parted mouth as you watched him sing from those beautifully plump lips? Of course. Oh, how you feel it all.

Girls nationwide are experiencing what you have been feeling for years now. It’s just that they have the ability to do things that you aren't quite in the position to do...express your attraction for the world to hear, scream for dear life at his performances, rant and rave to your best friend about the handsomeness and charm of Elvis Presley. All these things you could not do due to the fact that your best friend is the man himself.

He mumbles a little, expressing random thoughts out loud, “We need to keep doing those guitar lessons with you too. I know it’s been a while but I’d hate to lose our progress. You’ve really got something.”

You hum in response, “I think I was just starting to get the hang of it. Whenever ya find the time I’d love for ya to teach me more.”

“Need to get you a guitar. Something real nice so you can practice when I’m not around.”

“I don’t need anything 'real nice'. Maybe once you get a new one, I can borrow your old one. I don’t need anything new.”

You’d hate for Elvis to spend his money on getting you your own guitar. Would it be spectacular to have your own? You’d love it and play it any chance you got. But to have him go out and get one for you would be unnecessary. You’re sure you can save up the money for one with some paychecks.

As you think about possibly getting your own guitar, Elvis has already moved on from that topic and starts talking about something else that has popped up in his thoughts. He was truly lightning in a bottle, a constant, sometimes unpredictable spark of electricity.

He gets that special smile again and you know that he’s thinking about the future.

“I’m gonna take you international. Maybe one day I’ll perform under the Eiffel Tower and I’ll get ya all of the French clothes that gals like cause for some reason the French ones are better than the Memphis ones…Or maybe I’ll perform in one of those fancy palaces in England for the Queen.

Imagine that. You think she’d like me?”

You smile as you imagine the Queen of England at an Elvis Presley performance. I mean if she’s like most young women…

”I don’t think she’d be opposed.”

“Might go against some protocol by having me there. It's gotta be real strict for the royals in London. You know how the knives and the forks are supposed to go on certain sides of the plate? All that rich folk stuff?"

He sighs as if words aren’t enough to describe all of his dreams just right, “I wanna do it all. Go everywhere. I don’t want to be confined to one place…no reason to be.”

As his fingers reach to play with a strand of your hair, a promise that Elvis made to you a few years ago pops back into your consciousness, like the younger-version of you blew a bubble and sent it to the front of your brain,

‘You’ve still yet to take me to New York.”

He chuckles, “I’ll take ya to the top of the Empire State Building, honey. Once you grace the streets of New York maybe they’d even resculpt the Statue of Liberty to look like ya. It would be a great sight to see…Imagine all of those tourists lining up to see your pretty face like you’re Miss America. Would leave a good impression, that’s for sure.” He lays the strand of hair back perfectly where he found it.

You giggle and a blush of pink spreads across your cheeks, “Elvis stop.”

He shrugs at you, “Just telling the truth.”

As if the heavens heard him utter the words “a great sight” and God himself wanted to show the world one of the most beautiful sights he ever created, like an artist shows off his masterpiece, you notice how hues of orange, pink, and purple start to fill up the sky above you. The clouds blend into the mural; even though they have been moving contently through shades of calming blue all day, it is as if they halt to be gladly used in the greater canvas. They are happy to be used to enhance the beauty of the sun, for they know that the light makes them shine.

A golden light falls over Elvis’ features as it does yours. A gift for both of you to admire on each other.

Elvis breaks the beautiful silence gently, stuttering a little over his words,

“Speaking of New York, I-I got you something real special. I was there and they had this store, it was all fancy…and I saw this. Reminded me of you.”

He holds out a small, thin box for you to take and you notice how his long, slender fingers seem to shake a little bit as if this moment had been anticipated all day.

“You got me a gift, Elvis? What’s the occasion? It ain’t my birthday yet.”

A confused look graces your features like the sun paints the sky. Unaware of the way he takes the time to admire you and the beautiful, golden light of dusk as it kisses your features, you think carefully as to why Elvis has given you a gift. Your mind flips through a calendar.

"Stop worrying your pretty little head, doll. Does there need to be an occasion?"

You hum in response and hesitantly decide to take the black box into your hand before beginning to open it gently.

"It ain't gonna jump out at ya, Honey." Elvis whispers quietly, playfulness replacing nervousness in his voice.

"Be quiet." You whisper back.

After opening up the lid of the box you gasp, "Elvis!"

Your lips slightly part in shock and you smile as you lay your eyes on a beautiful gold bracelet with small diamonds adorning it. After a few seconds of admiring the beauty of the piece, you realize for a second time now that it's yours to keep. You quickly look at him with a face of slight worry.

A smile remains on his face from watching your eyes light up at the sight of his gift.

"Ain’t no way this is for me, Elvis. You can’t. It must’ve been so expensive an-and I really don’t need it. I don’t want you spending your money on me, especially not on fancy stuff like this…I ain’t one of those Hollywood girls.” You ramble on, closing the box and trying to push it back into his hands. You place his pretty hands around the box as if it is too expensive for you to even hold.

Elvis breathes out from his nose and licks his lips as if slightly entertained by your reaction. His voice stays soft.

“Nuh uh, Satnin…You always try to do this when I give ya something nice. You could win a Nobel Prize and you would still have trouble accepting a congratulations card from me. It’s for you, honey. I got it just for ya. You don’t gotta be one of those Hollywood girls to have some nice jewelry.” He pushes the box back into your smaller hands.

“Elvis…”

“Let me pamper ya. Let me spoil ya. I need to. I’ve known you for so long.” He says almost as a beg, a soft plead.

You nod small and then suddenly give him a huge hug, the force pushing him back a little. His eyes widen for a split second, not having expected this big of a gesture so quick, but he relaxes as you fall onto him.

When you lift your head from the crook of his neck, you blush at how close your faces have happened to end up. A matching blush falls over his features and you can hear his soft breaths as they come out. His blue eyes are perfect…absolutely gorgeous. They are the only stable blue in the sky’s changing hour. You always take any opportunity you can to admire Elvis’ beauty, but now, being practically on top of him…you can see everything closer and more intimately than usual. His hand gently rests on the small of your back as you sit in his lap.

Now, both of you are at a standstill when it comes to what happens next. Think of a pen picking up from the page and pondering what else to write while in the middle of an important sentence, one that might change the story. You want so badly to kiss him, to show him how much you adore him in a way you never have before. The only time you have gotten to feel his soft lips on yours so far has been at night when you dream. Two soft pillows, one under your head as you sleep peacefully under the moonlight and one being his lips kissing you, your imagination providing you with what you so desperately need.

His eyes have the same apprehension as yours as if the two of you are thinking similar things, going through similar battles of emotion in your all too similar but at the same time very different brains.

You know you can’t kiss him. It will complicate an already bustling life. Elvis can’t have a girlfriend. That is what he told you the Colonel said when you asked him why he ended things with Dixie. You remember how Elvis paced around the room that day. Colonel Parker got rid of Dixie…what if he got rid of you too? You can’t lose your Elvis, you won’t lose your Elvis. You know deep down that you can’t let your feelings hold him back from the greatness he is destined for, even if it means a state of eternal longing. The haunting question “What if?” forever stuck in your head. Oh, how some days your mind asks you to be selfish.

The look in his eyes makes your lips go for his cheek instead, missing the beautiful, pillowy target that your heart’s arrow was aiming for. He relaxes into your comforting kiss, long black lashes on true display as his eyes shut.

When you pull back and giggle at the mark of pink lipstick making itself comfortable on his face, he opens his eyes to catch a glimpse of your smile.

“Thank you. Do yo-you wanna…want me to help you put the bracelet on?”

You nod, leaving the comfy spot on his lap to instead sit back on the grass next to him. The same grass long abandoned after you had the opportunity to be even closer to the one you love so much. It wasn’t empty though, the black box still sat from where you placed it to hug Elvis, opened and waiting patiently to be remembered. Its velvet interior stood out greatly against the grass.

You grab the box and take the bracelet out from where it lay, handing it to Elvis. Elvis takes the bracelet and looks at it quietly for a moment. He hums as if still satisfied with the choice he made while in the jewelry store in New York. What looks beautiful while sitting under the artificial light of the jewelry container looks even more gorgeous in the all-familiar setting of Memphis under the sun’s calming light. He knows for a fact that what looks beautiful sitting next to many other expensive jewelry pieces, will look even more gorgeous on the wrist of his Satnin.

Elvis softly wraps his hand around your wrist to be able to guide it to lay on his leg. He takes a moment to unclasp the bracelet and then gently wraps it around your wrist. When he reclasps the bracelet, you hold your hand up and smile admiringly.

You look back at him gratefully, eyes full of love, “Thank you, Elvis. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

He smiles at you adoringly, “No worries, honey, I’m really happy that you like it. You deserve all the good things, you really do….And you wanna know what else?”

“Hm?”

“No matter what happens with all these changes…there is one thing that isn’t gonna change and that's this. That’s us.”

Change. How scary it can be.

You want the relationship between you and Elvis to change, blossom, and thrive like how the hydrangeas you planted last spring can change colors with pH but still remain so beautiful. Oh, how sometimes you wish that there was just a slight change: a minute more of hand-holding, passionate kisses reoccurring throughout long days, and nights spent loving in a way that you never have before. But, you aren’t one to gamble, and change can also mean sadness, heartbreak, and loneliness. You stay content and grateful for the one-of-a-kind beauty of a friendship well-loved.

“We’ll always have each other, Elvis. Always have and always will.”

You smile wide and lay your head on his shoulder as you two continue to look at the sun moving lower and lower into the horizon before disappearing.

--------------------------------------------------------

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #hope u enjoy #thanks for reading #<3 #50s elvis #1950s

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aliypop · 3 months

Text

You Never Can Tell

Word count: 540

Prompt: 1959 Cecelia is in Bad Nauheim Germany to visit her fiance, but in the most tender moments the unexpected happens

Warning: Smut

Note: I hope you enjoy this one shot!

Taglist:

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@presleyenterprise

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@rjmartin11

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@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

@elvispresley1956

@poeandmoonknightgirl

1959 Bad Naulheim Germany

"Elvis!" Cecelia moaned her thigh around his waist, giving him another angle to thrust with, "God, I missed you..." his breath coming out in soft pants. "Righ there~" She nearly sang out, her legs shaking in the German moonlight, her eyes were half-lidded as she arched her back. If only he could keep this image of her forever in his mind on his remaining lonely nights on base. "You like that sweetheart?" His hips started to sputter as he heard the sweet melody of moans leave her lips,

"See, you've learned a few things..." Her brown eyes looking deep into his soul,

"Might've..." He joked, leaving tender kisses on her nipples,

"Elvis!"

"Just think soon you'll be screamin my name like that on our Wedding night..." His hips went faster as his brow accumulated sweat, "If only it could come Fa-Ster!" She bit her lip, her eyes soaked in lust, his in pure admiration.

"Maybe it can..." Elvis smiled,

"What do you mean?"

"Let's get married tonight." He held her close,

"El..."

"Cil, I mean it, you, me, no press?" He added as she gave him her full attention,

"What about family?"

"Ah, we'll have a big public Wedding when I return for good." He smiled, pulling out of Cecelia as she grinned, "So..."

"Well, go! It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!" She pushed him out the door.

"Cece!"

"What cold feet?"

"Try a cold ass..."

"Oh, Right!" Throwing his boxers at him. When Cecelia walked towards the car. Elvis looked at her in shock. Her hair was curled in a perfect wedding style, but he had wondered what was in that bag of hers,

"You look amazing in your formals..."

"Thanks, honey, but..."

"Shssh just drive."

Elvis waited for Cecelia at the alter as she disappeared to the bathroom, Charlie, who Elvis had called, walked Cecelia down and Elvis' jaw nearly dropped on the floor, to Cecelia her dress was nothing spectacular but to Elvis, he was impressed that she had a white dress ready. As the ceremony went on the two couldn't help but be happy at what they had done, it was sudden and impulsive but it was a them kind of thing.

"Congrats once again Mr. and Mrs. Presley."Charlie winked watching Elvis sneakingly carry her over the threshold. Their giggles stiffened,

"How's it feel?"

"How's what feel?"

"To be my wife." He whispered hoping not to wake anyone,

"It feels... Great."

A week passed and Cecelia was on her way soon back to Memphis, taking her wedding band and placing it by his other ring around her neck, Cecelia gave him a kiss and a salute.

"At ease soldier."

"I'll miss you..."

"See you 1960..."

March 1960 Memphis Tennesee

"Would he like red...No...no pink?" She looked at her lipstick, "Mmmm, mix 'em." She said to herself one foot in her pantyhose the other bare, she was bouncing around getting dressed for his return party, her hair halfway done, taking out her pin-curls. "Wiggle Dress..." She mumbled falling over as she heard laughter,

"Well, don't you look... Sexy."

"Elvis! You're back! Don't look at me!"She blushed as he walked closer, "Me not look at my wife not gonna happen..."

#oc #fanfiction #new stuff #new #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #romance #elvis x oc #50s elvis #army elvis #cecelia valmos #Spotify

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sergeantelvis · 9 months

Text

"Uptown Girl"

Summary: Love was hard, but loving someone from completely different worlds was even more difficult.

Warnings: None

Fic Type: Maybe a series, angst and fluff

A/N: My god I haven't posted in here in ages I would love to hear feed back about this story it was just something fun id come up with I mean it may just be a stand alone, remember English is not my first language please be kind!! <3

Memphis, Mississippi carried the weight of dreams on its shoulders, and in the dim glow of the neon lights, Elvis Presley found himself at the crossroads of ambition and reality. The sun had set, casting shadows over the town, as Elvis sat on the porch of his family's modest home, strumming his guitar with a weary heart.

The evening held a melody of its own—a symphony of distant hopes and the echoes of unfulfilled promises. Elvis, a young man with dreams as vast as the Mississippi itself, sat with his guitar cradled in his arms. His fingers danced over the strings, extracting a soulful tune that resonated with the melancholy of his weary heart.

In the dimming light, Elvis's features were a canvas painted with the struggles of a life not yet fully lived. His eyes, deep and reflective, held the weight of dreams that yearned to soar beyond the limitations of his circumstances. The chiseled contours of his face told a story of resilience, each line etched by the hardships he faced and the battles he fought.

As he strummed, the rhythmic cadence of his guitar became a companion to the rhythm of his thoughts. The glow of a cigarette tip illuminated his face in sporadic flashes, casting a fleeting spotlight on the complexity that lay within. Elvis Presley was not just a name; he was a confluence of passions and pains, a bridge between the simplicity of Tupelo and the grandeur of fame.

The porch, weathered and familiar, became a stage for Elvis's introspection. His voice, when he sang, was a raw, emotive force that seemed to unravel the layers of his soul. Each note carried the weight of the stories he'd lived and those still waiting to be written.

"You know you shouldn't be smokin', it's bad for ya" He heard in the background, a voice that he had heard a million times before. Sure enough, there she stood.

Elvis turned, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the dimness, to find Rory leaning against the porch railing. Her voice, a familiar melody that carried both affection and concern, had a way of grounding him even in the midst of his inner turmoil.

Rory, a vision of beauty with her tousled brunette hair and striking blue eyes, exuded a timeless elegance that seemed to transcend the boundaries of Memphis itself. Her presence brought a gentle calm to the turbulence in Elvis's soul, like a steady anchor in the storm of uncertainties.

Tall, but not towering, Rory possessed a grace in her stature that complemented the poise in her every movement. Her eyes, the colour of a tranquil summer sky, held a depth that mirrored the vastness of the Mississippi, and Elvis often found himself losing track of time within their depths.

She wore a simple, yet alluring, ensemble—a vintage floral dress that swayed with the evening breeze. The soft fabric clung to her frame, accentuating the curves that made her presence in Elvis's world a captivating masterpiece.

As she approached, the porch's feeble light painted a chiaroscuro on her features, accentuating the subtle lines of her face. A gentle smile played on her lips, a mixture of love and concern that spoke volumes. Rory's beauty was not just skin deep; it was in the way she cared, the way she understood the complexities of Elvis's journey.

"Elvis, you're letting the weight of the world get to ya," Rory said, her voice a soothing melody. She reached for his hand, gently prying the cigarette from his fingers and extinguishing it on the porch railing.

He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing as he met her gaze. "Rory, sometimes it feels like the world's closing in on me."

She nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the struggles they faced together. "You're not alone, Elvis. We'll face whatever comes our way, just like always."

As Elvis took Rory's hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, they stepped through the weathered front door of the Presley home. The familiar scent of home, a comforting blend of Gladys's home-cooked meals and the subtle hint of tobacco, enveloped them. Elvis's mother, Gladys, was in the kitchen, her silhouette framed by the warm light filtering through the curtains.

"Mama, we're home," Elvis called out, the affection in his voice resonating through the walls.

Gladys turned, her eyes lighting up as she caught sight of Rory standing beside Elvis. Her warm smile transformed the room, radiating maternal love. "Well, if it ain't our favorite girl. Rory, dear, come give your Mama Gladys a hug."

Rory embraced Gladys with genuine affection, feeling the warmth of a motherly love that had embraced her since she moved to Memphis at the tender age of ten. Elvis's father, Vernon, appeared from the living room, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he welcomed them.

"Elvis, son, how's my boy?" Vernon greeted, clapping Elvis on the back.

Elvis chuckled, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Surviving, Daddy. Surviving."

Gladys, with her nurturing spirit, ushered them into the cozy living room where the scent of a freshly brewed pot of coffee lingered. The room, adorned with family photographs and Elvis's burgeoning accolades, echoed with the shared history of joy and sorrow.

As they settled on the worn-out couch, Gladys, perceptive as ever, studied her son's weary expression. "Elvis, what's weighin' on your mind, honey?"

Elvis exchanged a glance with Rory, a silent understanding passing between them. Rory spoke up, "We just wanted to share some time with y'all, maybe lighten the load a bit."

Gladys's eyes softened with gratitude. "Oh, Rory, you're always a breath of fresh air. We're lucky to have you in our lives."

Vernon, a man of few words but immense warmth, nodded in agreement. The room, filled with the embrace of familial love, became a sanctuary from the world outside.

As the evenings unfolded in the Presley household, Gladys and Vernon couldn't help but exchange knowing glances when it came to Elvis and Rory. The unspoken connection between the two was evident, a palpable tension that hovered beneath the surface of their shared laughter and easy camaraderie. Gladys, with her motherly intuition, often found herself stealing glimpses at the young couple, her heart yearning for a love she believed was destined.

Vernon, equally astute, sensed the uncharted territories of their feelings. Over dinner conversations and shared moments in the living room, the couple often found themselves exchanging subtle smiles, their eyes speaking volumes that words dared not articulate. It was as if the universe itself was orchestrating a symphony of emotions, waiting for the right moment to unfold.

However, as fate often played its cards, both Elvis and Rory remained prisoners of their own unspoken desires. Fear of jeopardizing their friendship, the uncertainty of the future, and the weight of expectations shackled them from confessing the feelings that stirred within. Each stolen glance and every lingering touch carried the unspoken question of "what if," yet neither dared to breach the fragile wall that separated them.

The air became charged with anticipation as Gladys playfully suggested, "You know, Elvis, Rory's been such a dear to us. Maybe it's time you two consider something more."

Elvis, caught off guard by the directness of his mother's matchmaking, felt a blush creeping up his neck. He exchanged a quick, embarrassed glance with Rory, who, in turn, was equally taken aback. The pressure of the unspoken tension amplified as Gladys continued, "Y'all make such a lovely couple. Maybe it's time to admit what's been staring you in the face."

Vernon, chiming in with a twinkle in his eye, added, "Ain't nothing wrong with followin' your heart, son."

The atmosphere became charged with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. Elvis, feeling the weight of the situation, finally snapped, "Enough! Can't we have a family dinner without turnin' it into a matchmaking session?!"

Gladys and Vernon, momentarily stunned by Elvis's outburst, exchanged a glance of realization. The laughter that once echoed through the room now lingered in awkward silence. Elvis, realizing the impact of his words, sighed and softened his tone, "I love you both, but can we just enjoy our time together without pushin' for something more?"

The tension that lingered in the air after Elvis's outburst settled into an uneasy quietude. The clinking of utensils against plates echoed in the dining room, punctuating the strained atmosphere. Elvis, acutely aware of the shift, stole glances at Rory, whose eyes reflected a mixture of empathy and curiosity.

Gladys, with her intuitive nature, decided to break the palpable silence. "Elvis, dear, we just want you to be happy. Dixie's a nice girl, but we can't help but think that maybe there's something more you're not saying."

Vernon, cautiously choosing his words, added, "Rory's been a part of our lives for so long. We can see the way you both look at each other. It's like there's a story waiting to unfold and plus you aren't even goin' steady with that Dixie Girl."

Elvis, his gaze dropping to his plate, hesitated before responding, "Dixie's a good person, Mama. I care about her a lot."

Rory, feeling the weight of the conversation, spoke up with a supportive smile, "Elvis, we're just concerned about you. We want to see you happy, whether it's with Dixie or someone else."

The conversation swirled in a sea of unspoken emotions, each word carrying the weight of unexplored possibilities. Elvis's mind, however, wrestled with the unspoken truth—that Dixie was a comfort, a safety net, but Rory held the key to a love he yearned for but feared losing.

As the evening progressed, the subtle tension lingered, overshadowing the shared laughter and warmth that once defined the Presley family dinners. The unsaid words and the undercurrents of unspoken love painted the room in hues of complexity, leaving Elvis at the intersection of his emotions.

After the dinner's echoes had faded, and the Presley household settled into a quiet evening, Elvis and Rory found themselves on the porch, bathed in the gentle glow of a single porch light. The air between them crackled with an unspoken tension, the residue of the family dinner still lingering in the atmosphere.

They sat side by side, a cautious space between them that mirrored the uncharted territory of their conversation. The soft hum of cicadas and the distant rustle of leaves added a gentle soundtrack to the evening as they hesitated, unsure of where to begin.

Finally, Rory broke the silence, her voice a delicate whisper in the quiet night, "Elvis, about what happened at dinner..."

Elvis, his gaze fixed on the flickering porch light, sighed. "I'm sorry, Rory. I didn't mean to snap like that. It's just... complicated."

She nodded, her eyes searching his face for answers. "Your parents care about you, Elvis. They just want you to be happy. And I want that for you too, you know?"

The porch held a hesitancy, an unspoken tension that lingered in the wake of their earlier conversation. Elvis, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, broke the silence with an awkward cough. "Rory, about dinner… I didn't mean to snap like that. It's just, with my parents always trying to set me up with you, it gets overwhelming."

Rory nodded, her gaze fixated on the distant glow of city lights. "I get it, Elvis. It must be tough, especially when you care about someone."

He sighed, the weight of the unspoken truth pressing on his shoulders. "Yeah, Dixie's a nice girl. She really likes me, you know? Maybe it's a good thing, having someone who cares."

Rory's eyes flickered with a mixture of understanding and curiosity. "Elvis, do you like her?"

He hesitated, his gaze searching for the right words. "I mean, she's great, Rory. Really great. And it's nice having someone who's into me, you know? But sometimes, I wonder…"

Rory sensed the doubt in his voice, the undercurrent of something unspoken. "Wonder what?"

Elvis, unknowingly slipping into the truth he hadn't intended to reveal, rambled on, "I wonder if I'm just settling. She's nice and all, but there's someone else who's always been there. Someone I can't seem to get out of my mind, I mean when I started liking you I thought I was out of my mind that's why talked to dixie I know it was harsh but hey it was guaranteed"

The words hung in the air, a raw vulnerability laid bare. Elvis's eyes, clouded with self-doubt, missed the shift in Rory's expression. She leaned in, capturing his gaze with a depth that conveyed both tenderness and longing. "Elvis, you're wrong."

Before he could comprehend her words, Rory bridged the gap between them, pressing her lips against his in a kiss that spoke volumes. Time seemed to stand still as the world around them faded into insignificance. The porch, the city lights, and the weight of unspoken words dissipated in the tender connection they had long yearned for.

Elvis, initially stunned, felt the warmth of Rory's lips against his, a revelation that eclipsed any doubt that had clouded his mind. As the kiss deepened, the universe seemed to align in a symphony of emotions. The subtle taste of vulnerability and the familiarity of shared history melded into a moment that transcended the porch, the city, and the complexities of their friendship.

Rory, breaking the kiss but maintaining the closeness, whispered, "Elvis, I've always cared about you too."

The realization dawned on him, the clarity cutting through the fog of uncertainty. "Rory, I… I never thought…"

She smiled, a gentle reassurance that held the promise of unexplored possibilities. "Maybe it's time we stop overthinking and see where this takes us."

As they sat on the porch, their hands finding each other in the quiet aftermath of the kiss, the world around them became a canvas painted with the hues of a newfound connection. The city lights shimmered in approval, and the night seemed to whisper the beginning of a love story that had patiently awaited its revelation.

"Oh fuck, I just kissed my best friend"

#austin butler elvis #elvis ai #elvis presley x reader #big daddy elvis #elvis presley #elvis the pelvis #wattpad #elvis imagine #young elvis #50s elvis #for you #life #love

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lala1267 · 1 year

Text

The Other Woman

Summary: The reader is the other woman in Elvis' life.

Notes: Someone requested this, and I thought that I would be able to save my writing to my drafts when I answered a request. I tried, but it just posted my unfinished writing. So i deleted it, and then I couldn't get the request back - that was a lot. And btw this is very short

I was just a normal girl who would dream of having a successful life. I always wanted to get married and become a mother and hopefully have children. But I needed to find the man of my delusional dreams in order to make it happen.

Flashback- a couple years earlier

My heavenly hair seeped over my shoulders, and my short dress fanned out like a white rose. The smile on my face radiated around the room as my hips swayed. The blinding lights and deafening noise distracted me from the fact that a handsome Greek God was staring right at me. His piercing blue eyes shot me down as his liqour drenched lips were being bitten by his turkey white teeth. A cigar was situated in between his long fingers as his other hand stirred his cocktail. He placed his cocktail on the glazed wooden counter before standing up straight. He was so tall and handsome. He walked over to me before making small talk with me.

"Hiya lil mama."

I looked up at him before my eyes widened in disbelief. My heart pounded against my ribcage, which was closing in on me and suffocating my words. It was Elvis Presley. His velvet black hair hung in front of his forehead, and his famous signature glasses were left on the counter. An alluring grin formed on his lips as he looked down at my starstruck self.

"Oh, uh, hi."

I said awkwardly.

"You're looking a bit lonely. What is a pretty girl like you doing out here alone?"

He said. He smelt of alchohol and musky cologne. He smelt of pure heaven.

"I don't know."

I said awkwardly, again. He chuckled slightly before wrapping an arm around my waist. His grip was bruising my fragile skin. I looked down at his large hand. A large sparkly ring was wrapped around his ring finger. It gleamed in the neon lights.

"Well, I'll keep ya company."

He said cheerfully before leading me away from the crowd of intoxicated people and Into a room.

And that was how it all started

Ever since then, he would request The Memphis Mafia to pick me up and take me to him. Just so he could have a little toy around with my body. Every time he was done with me, he would say,

"This is our little secret."

His southern drawl would echoe around the room like a melody. I had always felt sorry for his wife, but what was she expecting? She was dating a famous singer.

I used to be his fuck buddy, but eventually I became more than that. I was his pretty little mistress, and he was my prince in shining armour. He would take me on dates, out of the public eye. He would tell me stories from his childhood. He would play with me like a child and tease me. I can just remember how he would cradle me and whisper sweet nothings into my ear when i was sad. He would help me to sneak through the window late at night to avoid his wife. He was so fun, and I could never get enough of him. He would cuddle me like a baby and love me like I was the one he married. But I wasn't.

I watched him and his wife of television, cuddling up to eachover as if he wasn't destroying me the other night. My heart imploded as I saw his wife wave her hand I front of the camera to show her wedding ring off. I felt personally attacked. It was almost as if she was bragging about being his wife. I stared at the television, my eyes peeled, and my hands clawed onto my thighs. I couldn't stand her. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours. I was still sitting there, trying to find myself. I finally sucked up the courage from the dephs of my soul to pick up the pink telephone that hung on the wall. I grasped it with my hand before dialling Elvis' number. My breath quickened as I heard his musky voice answer.

"What do ya want?"

He asked sternly. My brows furrowed as I pulled a face.

"What happened to 'hello' or 'hi'?"

I asked in a sassy tone. He sighed deeply before speaking

"Ok sorry. So, what did you call me for?"

He asked. He was still in a quite stern tone. But I didn't want to waste my time arguing with the man who I was having and affair with.

"Well, I wanted to know if you wanted to do something tomorrow."

I asked in a cheerfull tone. He took a long pause. The silence was too loud.

"Elvis?"

I asked.

"Look, I don't know how to put this but..."

"But what?"

My heart sank as my hands began to tremble.

"We can't do this anymore."

My face dropped as my heart continued to sink into the dephs of my now black soul.

"Can't do what!?"

"This affair goddammit!"

I looked down at the floor as my tears escaped my eyes. I felt a spicy sting in the back of my throat as I attempted to force my words out.

"B-but you love me."

I said quietly. There was a sentimental silence before I heard his southern drawl once more.

"I love you too, baby, but I have a baby on the way. If Priscilla finds out that I'm cheating on her when we have a baby, that won't go down well. You have to see it from Prsicilla's point of view doll."

He said.

"How come you care for Priscilla all of a sudden? Cause you sure didn't care for her when you were with me!"

I said through my clenched teeth and salty tears.

"Well, I-I. She's my wife at the end of the day, I'm with her all the time, I'm obviously gonna care for her."

"Please don't do this, please."

I pleaded like a puppy.

"I'm so sorry, baby, we just can't do this. I will always love you, I'll love you forever but not in this life, I'm sorry."

"Elvis please!"

"Let me go, baby. I love you."

A long ringing beep was followed. I just stood there in my pool of tears as I whimpered like a hurt puppy. But all good things must come to an end.

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sgcstories · 3 months

Text

Chapter 1: Whispers in the Magnolia Breeze

_________

Tinsley sat in her dimly lit bedroom, surrounded by vinyl records and old concert posters. The soft crackle of an Elvis Presley song played on her vintage turntable, filling the room with nostalgia. She traced her fingers over the faded cover of ‘All Shook Up”, imagining the King’s voice wrapping around her heart.

It had been years since she’d seen her grandmother’s eyes light up as she recounted stories of attending an Elvis concert. Well, only three years when Elvis was freshly new to the fame, that is. Tinsley’s fascination with the legendary singer had grown into something more—a connection that transcended time and space. She’d written countless fan-fiction stories, weaving romance and magic around Elvis’s iconic persona.

But lately, life had lost its sparkle. Her job at the local library felt mundane, and the Louisiana heat weighed heavily on her shoulders. Tinsley needed a change, a spark to reignite her passion.

She slide to the edge of her bed, the radio crackling with static as she tuned in to the late-night broadcast. The voice of the DJ filled the room, promising a world beyond the cotton fields of Louisiana—a world where music danced like fireflies on a summer night.

“And now,” the DJ drawled, “we’ve got a special treat for y’all. The King himself—Elvis Presley—live from Memphis!”

Tinsley’s heart skipped a beat. She remembered tales of Elvis—the boy who’d risen from poverty to stardom, whose hips swayed like forbidden fruit. Her grandmother had whispered stories of his concerts, the way he’d croon into the microphone, making women swoon and men tap their feet.

“Graceland,” the DJ continued, “where Elvis lives like a king. The gates are open, folks. If you’re ever in Memphis, pay a visit. Maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of the legend.”

Memphis. Graceland. The name hung in the air like a secret promise. Tinsley traced her fingers over the faded map on her bedroom wall. The distance seemed insurmountable, but the pull was undeniable. She’d saved every penny from her job at the library, dreaming of a chance encounter with the King.

“Why not?” she whispered to the moon outside her window. “Why not chase the echoes of a faded melody all the way to Graceland?”

And so, with a worn suitcase and a heart full of longing, Tinsley boarded the Greyhound bus. The engine roared to life, carrying her across state lines, past rolling hills and sleepy towns. She imagined Elvis’s voice in the wind, urging her forward.

The road stretched ahead, promising adventure, romance, and maybe—just maybe—a glimpse of the man who’d stolen her heart through vinyl grooves and late-night broadcasts.

The Greyhound bus rattled to a stop, and Tinsley stepped onto the moon-soaked pavement of Memphis. The air smelled of barbecue and possibility.

She hailed a taxi, her heart racing. “To Graceland, please.”

The driver glanced at her through the rear-view mirror. “Elvis fan?”

Tinsley nodded, gripping her suitcase. The taxi driver’s gruff voice filled the cab as they wound through the streets of Memphis. His eyes met Tinsley’s in the rear-view mirror again, and he smirked.

“Graceland, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “Another one of those Elvis fanatics, I suppose.”

Tinsley clenched her fists. She’d expected excitement, camaraderie—even a shared love for the King. Instead, she got this.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice steady. “Big fan.”

The driver scoffed. “Elvis, the heartthrob. The man who makes all the girls swoon. You know, he ain’t nothin’ special. Just a hillbilly with a guitar.”

Tinsley’s knuckled turned white. She glanced out the window, catching glimpses of neon signs and bustling crowds. The heart of Memphis beckoned, but the taxi driver’s words hung heavy.

“Seen it all,” he continued, eyes fixed on the road. “Women cryin’, faintin’, throwin’ their panties at him. Ridiculous, if you ask me.”

Tinsley’s mind raced. She’d dreamed of this pilgrimage—the chance to stand where Elvis has stood, to feel the music in her bones. But now, doubt crept in. Was she just another starry-eyed girl?

As they pulled up to a hotel, the driver smirked again. “Enjoy your stay, sweetheart. Maybe Elvis himself will serenade you in your dreams.”

Tinsley stepped out of the cab, her resolve firm. She wouldn’t let this driver’s bitterness tarnish her journey. Graceland awaited, and she’d find her own magic amid the echoes of a faded melody.

“Maybe,” she thought, “just maybe.”

As she stepped into the bustling lobby of the hotel, the air crackled with excitement. The walls seemed to pulse with Elvis’s rhythm, and she was no longer alone in her devotion. Fan girls—some in poodle skirts, others with victory rolls in their hair—gathered around a vintage jukebox, their eyes shining like sequins.

They whispered in hushed tones, sharing stories of Elvis sightings and secret rendezvous. One girl clutched a vinyl record, her trembling fingers tracing the grooves as if seeking a connection to the King himself. Another wore heart-shaped sunglasses, swaying to an imaginary beat.

Tinsley’s heart swelled. She’d found her tribe—the dreamers, the romantics, the ones who believed that music could bridge time and space. They exchanged knowing glances, as if they’d all traveled from different corners of the world to be here, united by their love for the man who’d changed the course of rock ‘n’ roll.

The hotel manager, a stout woman with a beehive hairdo, greeted Tinsley. “Welcome, sugar. Room 217, just up the stairs and down the hall. And don’t miss the Elvis-themed karaoke tonight. You might just catch a glimpse of the King himself.”

Tinsley nodded, her eyes scanning the lobby one last time. She imagined Elvis striding through the door, guitar slung over his shoulder, that crooked smiled lighting up the room. Maybe he’d serenade her under the neon glow, and their love story would begin—a melody woven into the fabric of Graceland.

With a flutter of anticipation, Tinsley headed toward her room, leaving behind the fan girls and their shared dreams. The echoes of Elvis followed her up the stairs and down the hallway, promising magic and romance in every note.

Tinsley closed the door to her room, the faded wallpaper whispering secrets of countless guests who’d passed through. The bed sagged under her weight, and she sank onto it, her emotions swirling like a tempest.

The mirror reflected her tired eyes, framed by loose blonde curls that had rebelled against her hairpins during the bus ride. She traced the lines on her face—the laugh lines from summers spent with her grandmother, the worry lines etched by life’s disappointments.

“Why would a man like Elvis fall for a girl like me?” she wondered aloud, her voice swallowed by the room’s silence. “There’s so many beautiful women out there—women who’d make his heart skip a beat, just like his songs do to me.”

Outside, the neon sign blinked, mocking her vulnerability. Tinsley imagined the other guests—the fan girls with their doe eyes and painted lips. They’d swoon, giggle, and maybe even catch a glimpse of the King. But her? She was just a speck in a grand tapestry of Elvis’s legend.

She pulled out her notebook—the love notes she’d written over the years. Each page held a piece of her heart, inked with longing and dreams. But now, doubt crept in. What did she have to offer? A few scribbled words and a heart that beat out of sync with the world.

“Maybe,” she thought aloud, “I should’ve stayed in Louisiana. Kept my fantasies safe within those four walls.”

But then she remembered the radio, the crackling voice of the DJ, and the promise of Graceland. She’d come this far, chasing whispers and melodies. Maybe, just maybe, she could find her own love story—one that defied logic and reason.

As the neon glow seeped through the curtains, Tinsley made a silent vow. She’d step out of her room, face the fan girls, and embrace the magic of Memphis. Because sometimes, even a girl like her deserves a chance at a heartbreakingly beautiful melody. So she wiped away a tear, adjusted her hairpin, and stepped back into the hallway.

The neon glow spilled onto Beale Street, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the cobblestone pavement. Tinsley stepped out of the hotel, her heart racing. The fan girls had dispersed, leaving behind an electric energy—the kind that only Memphis could conjure.

She wandered past blues clubs, their melodies seeping through the open doorways. Musicians strummed guitars, their raspy voices weaving tales of heartache and redemption. Tinsley paused, leaning against a lamp post, her eyes closed. The music wrapped around her like a lover’s embrace.

“Elvis sang here,” she thought. “Maybe he stood on this very spot, his hips swaying, igniting souls.”

As she walked, she encountered characters straight out of a jukebox ballad. A street vendor sold fried catfish, promising it was the secret to eternal love. An old man with silver hair played chess with a ghost—his laughter echoing into the night.

Tinsley’s heart raced even more as she stepped into a dimly lit club on Beale Street. The air smelled of cigarette smoke and bourbon, and the blues band wailed on stage. The crowd swayed, lost in the rhythm.

And then she saw him.

A man at the bar, bathed in neon. His hair—dark and slicked back—caught the light. The collar of his shirt was open, revealing a hint of his chest. He turned, and their eyes locked—a moment that stretched into eternity.

Elvis? Impossible. But the resemblance—the way he moved, the half-smile—sent shivers down Tinsley’s spine. She pushed through the throng, heart pounding. The man had vanished into the shadows, leaving behind an echo of mystery.

“Was it him?” she wondered. “Or just someone who looked like him?”

Tinsley’s heart weighed heavy as she stepped out of the dimly lit bar. The neon glow seemed harsh now, mocking her hopes. The blues music faded into the night, leaving behind an ache that settled deep within her chest.

“Why did I think it was him?” she wondered, her steps sluggish. “Elvis, the King—what chance did I have?”

The streets of Memphis stretched before her, a maze of memories and missed opportunities. She leaned against a lamp post, staring at the moon—a distant witness to her heartache. The river flowed nearby, its current carrying secrets and lost dreams.

“Maybe I’m just another fan girl chasing echoes,” she thought.

But then she remembered the notebook—the love notes she’d penned, the whispers of her soul. Maybe Elvis wasn’t the answer. Maybe the magic lay in her own words, in the melodies she’d woven.

With renewed determination, Tinsley wiped away a tear. She’d keep walking, keep searching. Because sometimes, even when the King remained elusive, the journey itself held its own kind of beauty.

Tinsley retraced her steps back to the hotel. Her heart still carried the weight of missed chances—the glimpse of the man who might have been Elvis, or perhaps just a figment of her longing.

The hotel’s entrance welcomes her—a familiar refuge. The lobby was dimly lit, the blues music now a distant memory. The manager smiled as Tinsley passed by, as if understanding the ache that clung to her.

In her room, she closed the door behind her. The bed seemed softer, the walls more forgiving. She sank onto the edge, staring out the window at Graceland’s distant lights. The notebook lay on the nightstand, its pages filled with love notes and unanswered questions.

“Maybe the magic isn’t in finding Elvis. Maybe it’s in the journey—the echoes, the melodies, and the hope,” she thought aloud.

Tinsley settled into her room. She’d rest, dream, and wake up to a new day—a day where the King might remain elusive, but her heart would keep singing its bittersweet tune.

The room was hushed, the moon peeking through the curtains. Tinsley lay on the bed, her eyes heavy from the evening’s adventures. As she closed her eyes, the blues melody still echoed in her ears. But now, they transformed—shifting into something softer, more intimate. The rhythm of the river became a lullaby.

#elvis presley #fanfiction #romance fiction #romance #elvis fans

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sissylittlefeather · 4 months

Text

When no one talks to me I write poetry.

Y'all should probably talk to me more.

Untitled 2

I wanna write you silly love songs

Happily ever afters you deserved

But sometimes I get stuck on the beauty of you.

I choke on adjectives

Stumble over similes

And can't find ways to fully express you in literary devices.

You transcend what my meager pen can whittle.

Pencil on marble barely makes a dent.

And your light is so blinding

Electrical currents in striking bolts that hit the same place not twice but over and over again

Shocking my heart back to pumping

Just when I thought it was too late.

You make a rhythm

And a melody

And a whole damn song inside me.

Look at the beautiful edges of you

Holding majesty in place like a frame on the Mona Lisa.

Your very being is art

In technicolor brilliance

And daunting greyscale

You shine either way

Refracting light like rainbows on the wall.

You make everything better

And the cold rain falls down down down

But you keep singing

And you're the only thing that keeps me going

When the darkness creeps in.

Did you even know how brightly you sparkled?

Saving me with shards of sunlight

Warm like the summer sun

In Memphis, Tennessee.

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis poem #Elvis poetry #elvis presley poem #Elvis Presley poetry #elvis fandom #elvis presley fandom

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lil-melody-moon · 5 months

Note

OKAY IT’S HAPPENING, EVERYBODY STAY CALM!! I’ve finally finished my opinion on “The who by numbers” This took me so long but it’s finally here so I hope you enjoy:

Before I start, I feel the need to say (once again) that I really love the design of the cover and the fact that John Entwistle actually drew the cover himself makes it even better. I love a talented King ❤️

Okay, now the opinion you’ve been waiting for:

1. Slip Kid: The cowbell at the beginning of the song?? I LOVED IT. Great intro. I think it captures the vibes of the album really well. Btw Is that Roger on backing vocals?? I love the song. I have no idea what it is about but I love it 🤣

2. However much I booze: Ummm excuse me??? This song is a fucking vibe. Now I understand why this song is your favourite😍 I don’t know what they put in this song but fuuuuck it’s so damn groovy and the melody it’s soooo catchy. Keith’s drumming and John’s bass in this one are superb

3. AAAAA SQUEEZE BOX MY BELOVED, MY BABY. I literally forced all of my friends to listen to this one. They looked at me weird when I played the song for them in the car but idc. Anyway, This one is my favourite and you already know the context behind why I love this one 😏🤣

4. Dreaming from the waist: All I can say about this song is that I absolutely love the dedication John Entwistle and Keith Moon put in this song. All I can hear is bass and drums 👀❤️

5. Imagine A Man: Okay confession. The first time I listened to this song I did not like very much but now that I’ve listened to it a few more times I think It’s starting to grow on me. Also, the line “Imagine a past where you wish you had lived” literally wrecked me, I felt it in my soul 💔

6. Sucess Story: I have the feeling that I’ve heard this song before…. It sounds like a mix between “All the way from Memphis” by Mott the Hoople and “It’s only Rock N Roll (But I like it) by the Rolling Stones. I might be wrong tho but all these songs have the same vibes 🤣

7. They Are All in love: This is probably my least favourite (don’t kill me) the song is good and I like how Keith and John sound together but idk. Maybe I need to listen to it more

8. Blue Red and Grey: IS THIS PETE ON VOCALS TOO?? Holy sweet mother of jesus his voice feels like a warm hug. Is that an ukelele?? YEP IT IS. I’ve read that Pete wanted to commit suicide and that’s why he wrote this song. If that’s true I feel so sorry for Pete :(

9. How many friends: HELLO?? THE DRUMS? THE GUITAR??? Holy fuck I like everything about this song. “How many friends have I really got? Well you can count ‘em on the one hand” THAT’S LITERALLY ME. I only have a few friends but feel so lucky to have them.

10. In a hand or a face: This song reminds me of Baba O’Riley for some reason🤣 Are we absolutely sure that this isn’t a leftover song from “Who’s Next?”

Oh, by the way, I still can’t tell the difference between Pete and Roger’s voices but I feel like Pete sings in almost every song of the album so I don’t really know what to say about Roger’s input in the album except for the backing vocals (he sings beautifully)

Overalls, this album is really fun to listen to, it’s very complete and catchy. From what I’ve read, this album took ages to be completed cause Pete had a writer’s block and depression but I’m so glad he recovered and finished the album. So far, this is probably my favourite The Who album. I still need to listen to Quadrophenia in its entirety tho.

Okay so first of all, to clear your doubts, Pete's voice is the warm one, "However Much I Booze" and "Blue Red and Grey" are sung by him, the rest is Roger. Roger has a distinct voice, if you know "Squeeze Box" by heart, you know Roger's voice <3

Normally Roger sings, occasionally Pete does, Pete and John are always the backing vocals, Keith only shines from time to time, not a single song of his on this one, BUT I'm so glad to hear that the rhythm section is catching your attention this much - you would have to see me grin when you said you can't hear nothing but bass and drums XD

About the stories you mentioned there, I didn't read much, so I believe in what you're saying. I somehow can't bring myself to really dig in the history of the band, I'm probably afraid of a thing or two, but like, I'm so glad Pete recovered from depression as well - he's a lovely guy really, deserving the best <3

I'm very happy that you love the album this much and I certainly can't fucking wait for you to dive into "Quadrophenia". You'll hear my screaming when you send me your opinion, plus... I'm still waiting for your opinion about "Tommy" and the revenge. Take care, my dear and have fun on the path to become a The Who fan <3

#ack I'm so glad she loves it!#ask corner

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teruwasright · 3 months

Text

Ok lmao ima drop my Teru Playlist and list the songs in it for you all!!!! Some of these songs are related to him in lyric and some just remind me of him for no reason so keep that in mind ^^

1. Make believe by Memphis may fire

2. Like a villain by bad omens

3. Juliet by cavetown

4. In fact (the carousel remix) by Gregory and the hawk

5. Kate's not here by girl in red

6. Hell and back (remix) by Jerome the prince

7. Long live the king by I prevail

8. Numb little bug by our last night

9. Daddy issues (remix) by the neighborhood & syd

10. Oh no! By marina and the Diamonds

11. Darkest days by becko

12. Rät by Penelope scott

13. Mememe by 100 gecs

14. Do it for her (feat. Zach Collison and grace rolek) by Steven universe

15. Spider web by Melanie Martinez

16. Look who's inside again by bo burnham

17. My way by NEFFEX

18. Graveyard by our last night

19. Purgatorium by awake at least

20. Straight to hell by dead things

21. Fight fire with gasoline by self decapitation

22. Hollywood baby by 100 gecs

23. Wired for worthless by citizen soldier

24. Heartless by yameii online

25. Oats we sow by Gregory and the hawk

26. Scars that I'm hiding by from ashes to new

27. Mouthful of razors by memory of a melody

28. Lost in between by yeaow

29. Mother knows best (from tangled) by Donna Murphy

HONORABLE MENTIONS!!!!!!!!!

1. the death of peace of mind by bad omens

2. Trying by cavetown

3. Pretty face by PUBLIC

4. trust me not (hero and villain duet) by backseat vagabond

These ones are more switching povs with Kou (except pretty face-) but I still love these songs ^^

Hope yall enjoy! ^^

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dreamingofep · 1 year

Text

Strangers in the Crowd pt. 10

(Elvis/Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: No, just another one of my delusional fantasies.

Prompt: You and your best friend are on your annual girls trip and go to see Elvis at the International. Little did you know this would be a show you'll never forget. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Some fluff? Just a little, cussing, SMUTTT, oral sex, daddy kink, teasing/ tension, the usual really dirty stuff.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: Hello everyone! I had to get out this next part out quick for you guys to find out about readers true feelings. 🤭 This fic is coming to its end very soon but I’m so glad you’ve been liking this journey! This has been so much fun to write and hear your reactions! Enjoy! Sorry for any spelling mistakes or overall goofs.

Feel free to message me or comment what you think!💗

You search in his eyes, looking for the slightest waiver of truth. But there is not an ounce of dishonesty within his heart. Your fingers intertwine in his hair and you gently caress him, feeling time and space stand still for you.

“I love you too. I love you so much,” you say sweetly. “I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

He lets out a relieved sigh and goes in to kiss you. You feel his lips turn into a smile each time he kisses you until he finally breaks away with giddy laughter.

“Oh god, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he admits.

You smile sweetly at him, feeling your heart soar because of the look he’s giving you.

He moves up on the bed and beckons you to come and cuddle with him under the blankets. You lay your head down on his chest, your ear right over his heart, hearing the melodious rhythm of it singing for you and only you. You now know this to be true with those beautiful three words that slipped out of his mouth.

You glide your hand over his chest, letting the soft little hairs prickle your fingertips and hearing him hum in contentment. Before you know it, your eyes start to become heavy, and feel the blanket of sleep start to come over you.

Your eyes start to flutter open but the warmth of Elvis’ body makes you paralyzed to his side. You drink in the closeness of his body and how good it feels to have his arms wrapped around your torso. You don’t want to leave from this bed and just selfishly keep him in this room forever.

Elvis starts to stir and you feel him stretch his long legs out before bringing them back into your body and fitting into you like a puzzle piece.

His hands rub your stomach softly and nuzzles your ear with his nose.

“What’s my baby doing up,” he slurs sleepily.

You reopen your eyes, surprised he could sense you were up. You intertwine your fingers with his that lay on your stomach and make him squeeze you tighter.

“I’m not up. I’m not leaving this room,” you grumble.

He lets out a snicker and places a kiss on your earlobe.

“That sounds great to me honey,” he assures giving you a tighter squeeze.

You both lay there syncopating your breathing with one another and enjoy the closeness. You can’t help but wonder where you going to go next.

Are you going to stay here and look for new jobs? Visit each other every weekend? Find a job in Memphis?

You know his love for you was unwavering now and things will work out for the best. No matter what, your path was with Elvis and you couldn’t imagine anyone else next to you. Your dream scared the living hell out of you and tried to push it far out of your mind.

Both of you touch each other, feeling every inch of skin and how it responds to your touch. He kisses down your neck to your shoulders, leaving wet marks on you.

“I know you said you wanted to stay in bed all day but did want to take a shower with me? Then we can get back into bed. I want to pamper my baby all day,” He says softly. You can’t help but smile and turn to look at his tussled hair and gorgeous blue eyes staring at you with love.

You nod your head, “that sounds wonderful,” you hum.

“Okay stay here while I get the water going,” he says, kissing you before leaving the bed.

You look over at the clock and it’s already 2 p.m. Time didn’t feel real with Elvis, he controlled the way time moved and for all you knew, it could have been 8 p.m., and wouldn’t have cared. It was just you two floating through time and space.

Elvis comes from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, making him look more irresistible somehow, and smiles at you.

“I’m ready when you are,” he says sweetly.

You get out of bed, and cover your breasts with your hand and forearm. He chuckles at you trying to be modest and lightly spanks your ass when you walk by him. You yelp and flash him a sly smirk.

You step into the shower and feel the hot water tickle your skin. It’s the perfect temperature, just how you like it. You step closer to the shower head to get the water on your face when you feel Elvis behind you and he shuts the glass shower door. You cup your hands together to wash your face and pull back the hair falling on your forehead. You feel his hands in your hair, massaging your scalp, letting the water run down you.

You turn around to face him, his eyes were soft and gentle, as he has his hands in your hair. He grabs a bottle of shampoo on the side of you and squeezes a bit into the palm of his hand. He moves you around to where the water splashes his back and blocks you from it. He turns you around again and starts to rub in the shampoo, using his thumbs to keep a nice pressure on the back of your head. You let out a pleased sigh, loving the feeling of his hands in your hair.

He has you switch sides with him again to rinse your hair and puts the conditioner in next and repeats the process.

His hands roam over your body slowly and sensually. He takes his time and you don’t mind the agonizing touches he gives you. How his fingertips graze your nipples as he washes your body, lathering the soap all over making you smell sweet. How he bends down to wash your legs, spreading them apart, and pressing his soft lips to your velvety folds.

He stands back up and goes behind you, pressing you against him, his cock resting heavy against your ass as he wipes the soap off your body. You’re not in a rush for him to do anything to you, you’re just enjoying the soft intimate moment he has created here in the shower with you.

“My turn to pamper you,” you say cutely, turning to face him and brush his wet hair off of his forehead. He nods his head and watches your every move. He crouches down for you to wash his hair and he has a pleased grin on his face the entire time you have your hands in his thick gorgeous hair.

You reach for the washcloth and rub enough soap on it to lather his body. You take your time, making sure to get every inch of his lean body.

He places his hands on your hips while you wash his chest and his lightly sculpted arms. Your hands reach lower and gently fondle him in the cloth. He doesn’t make a sound and continues to watch you. You sink to your knees and see his cock starting to get hard. You rub his legs and look up at him longingly.

“Turn around,” you say.

He listens and rinses off the soap on the front of his body. You stand up, lathering his back down to his perfect ass, placing soft kisses on his shoulder blades. You place the washcloth back on the bar and turn him around to you once more.

You kneel down and see his cock fully hard in front of you. Just the sight of him has you throbbing. You wrap your hand around the middle of the shaft and pull back his foreskin. Your tongue eagerly licks the sensitive head and he groans. You flatten your tongue against him, licking more of him like he taught you. He places his hand on the tile wall above his head, groaning with pleasure. You open your mouth wider, taking more of his length until it hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck Mama,” he moans, “who taught you to do that?” He says smugly.

You hum softly with him in your mouth and continue to suck and lick as much of him as you can fit into your mouth.

His hips move slightly with each movement you make, trying to be controlled. You look up at him and see him biting his lip watching you suck him off. He reaches behind him and shuts the water off. He gently pulls out of your mouth and picks you up off your knees.

He slides the shower door open and grabs the towel hanging on the rack, wrapping it around your shoulders to keep you warm. He grabs the other towel and wipes his face and torso dry before wrapping it around his waist. You step out of the shower and onto the plush mat on the floor in front of the shower and the sinks.

You watch Elvis come behind you in the mirror and brush his wet hair away from his face. He wraps his arms around your waist, placing kisses on your head.

“I love you,” He whispers, looking at your eyes in the mirror.

You grin, “I love you too.”

He moves his hands to the top of your towel at your chest and slowly tugs it away. He stares at your naked body’s reflection and rubs his hands along the curve of your hips up to your full breasts, caressing them in his hands.

He leans down and nuzzles his nose behind your ear, “I love you. I love all of you,” he murmurs. You lean back into him more, reaching around to pull the towel off of his slender hips. His hard length feels warm, resting on your ass and you feel your wetness begin to pool.

“I love all of you too baby,” you coo softly.

His hands carefully squeeze your breasts, applying the right amount of pressure to cause pleasure to radiate through you. He slides one of his hands down your body to reach your sensitive bundle of nerves. He rubs it in tender circles, watching you through the mirror as pleasure flows through your body.

“You’re so perfect,” he says in awe.

You lock eyes with him and he keeps you there, whatever power of magnetism he possesses makes you unable to look away from his gaze.

“Baby?…” he says unsure.

“Y-yes,” you whimper out.

“Can I teach you something…” he quips, his fingers continuing to rub your clit at a slow pace. You feel the coil in your belly get tighter by the second and you try to control your breathing.

“Yes of course,” you say quietly, “what did you want to teach me?”

“Well, I like to watch myself fuck you in the mirror,” he alludes.

You let out a little chuckle hearing him admit this.

“Oh, I know honey. I’ve known that,” you tease.

He grins at you devilishly.

“Well, I’d like to try something. I want you to call me daddy when I fuck you,” he says low.

The throbbing in your core increases with the sound of his words.

It’s so dirty, so naughty, it shouldn’t be spoken from your lips. But there’s something so delicious about the way it sounds being said to him.

Your breathing starts to pick up as you feel him push his cock on your ass. He nips at the sensitive flesh on your neck, leaving behind a red mark.

“You think you can do that? Can you let your daddy fuck you right?” He says low.

Your breathing starts to hitch and your core involuntarily clenches at the way he says the word. Like that word was made for him. You moan softly in agreement and he pushes your body over the countertop. The cold marble makes you shiver and you rest your forearms there.

He pushes your hips back and you feel his tip rest up on your folds. He runs his hands along your hips, squeezing them. You meet his gaze in the mirror, his eyes soft but still aflame. There’s a different sensuality to him, like he doesn’t feel the need to rush or prove anything. For the first time, it feels like he’s trying to enjoy the moment.

He pushes his cock through your folds, coating him in your wetness. You let out a soft sigh as he does this, helping you get some needed relief from your throbbing.

“I need you honey,” he whispers, lining his tip to your entrance.

You nod your head at him, “take what you want baby.”

Elvis carefully sinks his length inside your tight entrance, bottoming out and holding his hips still, watching your face grow into shock and pleasure. You look at him in the mirror, watching his face become delighted with the sensations running through him as he's inside of you.

He moves in agonizingly slow, and long thrusts, making you want to fall apart already. You’re completely at your mercy with his hands tight on your hips. He starts to moan, moving faster, feeling your slick become increasingly abundant.

“How does this feel baby girl,” he coos in your ear, his hips continuing to roll softly and controlled, hitting all the right spots.

You moan softly, “mmm it’s feeling so good,” Your breathing becomes raspy and shallow the more he moves.

He slides down one of his hands to your clit, working you up to orgasm. Your eyes roll back in your head and you squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a suppressed moan. You start to drive your hips back, wanting to fall apart and have him fuck you harder.

He lets out a soft chuckle, as he sees you become more desperate.

“What does my baby need?” He coos, pulling his length out of you waiting for your response.

You whine with your head down, so close to your release your walls need him back inside you. You try to drive your hips back again, needing the contact with him on you. He stops touching your clit and places his hand back on your hips, stilling you.

“You need to use your words baby. What do you need,” he growls, his voice full of temptation. You don’t answer him, you’re in too much agony to form coherent words. Your eyes pop back open once you feel his hand gather your hair in a tight grip, wrapped around his palm.

You let out a yelp and look at his blazing eyes in the mirror, commanding you to answer him.

“I-I need to cum,” you say breathlessly. A switch flips on in your brain and you know what he wants to hear and will get him to listen.

“I need you to fuck me harder, daddy,” you cry.

He pulls at your hair again and lets out a gutteral groan hearing that word come from your lips.

“Yes honey, daddy is gonna make you cum so much,” he teases.

He pushes his cock back inside you making you cry out with pleasure, bucking his hips harder into you, hitting the spot that sends you to another stratosphere.

The echo of both of your groans fill the bathroom and it doesn’t take too long for you to get to the edge and feel your walls start to flutter around him. You keep your eyes locked on him, watching him become drunk on you. Watching how his cock gets buried inside your tight pussy and pulling it out, coming out wetter than before. The veins in his arm protrude out that’s holding your hair firmly and his mouth open, panting as he fucks you harder with each trust. He looks too good like this, you get why he wants to watch himself.

“Ahh… oh fuck daddy,” you moan out. He groans louder at your words, feeling you’re about to come undone any second now.

“Fuck, baby girl you’re doing so good. Time to cum all over daddy’s cock now,” he says as he snaps his hips into you, making you scream his name and see stars flash before your eyes. Your walls squeeze him and he groans heavily, not being able to keep this pace much longer.

Your orgasm runs through your body, hitting every inch of you that makes it feel incredible. Your watch as his eyebrows furrow and he grunts more, cussing under his breath.

He grunts loudly and you feel him cumming deep inside you, covering your walls in him. He pumps his thick seed into you and the feeling is overwhelming. It feels like there’s so much inside of you, filling you up and making you his.

“Oh god, daddy that feels so good,” you gasp, your eyes pleading for him in the mirror.

He smirks at you and his thrusts become slower, more controlled again. He loosens the grip on your hair and runs his hand along the curve of your back. You feel exhausted and your legs begin to waiver. Elvis senses this and carefully pulls out of you. He turns you around and picks you up onto the countertop and rests you there. His thumb glides through your swollen folds, rubbing your arousals together.

“Fuck that was… I’ll never get tired of hearing you call me daddy,” he admits.

Your cheeks redden and bite the inside of your cheeks.

“Yeah I think you unlocked something new in my brain. I liked it way too much,” you tease and he leans in to kiss your lips.

Love pours out of him with these kisses, something that you know you’ll never get enough of.

He grabs a fresh wash cloth and wets it with warm water, cleaning the slick off of your inner thighs and folds.

“We can take another shower together later,” he teases and looks at you cutely.

You step down off the counter and he quickly pulls you into his arms. He holds you tight to his chest, hearing his heartbeat melodiously.

You hear him hum contently and catch a glimpse of you two embracing in the mirror, pressed into each other. Completing one another.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you too,” he says, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

You both go back into the bedroom and get under the blankets and sink into the cozy bed.

The silence between you two doesn’t make you anxious anymore, you like it. You welcome the quiet and can feel the love running through you both.

Elvis suddenly starts to hum an unknown tune softly and runs his fingers through your hair. He keeps humming it and you finally look up in bewilderment.

“What are you singing dear?” You ask.

“Just something new the band and I are working on. I go back to Vegas in August and need some new songs.”

“That’s great honey. Can I ask what song you’re working on?” You say inquisitively.

“When they first presented this song to me in the beginning of the year, I wasn’t really a fan. Couldn’t connect with it. And that’s the thing with me. If I don’t connect with the song, it’s not going to sound right, it’ll lack soul. So I pushed it off and didn’t perform it at those shows in February. But now I see it differently,” he says lovingly.

“It’s called ‘I Just Can’t Help Believing’.”

“I’d love to hear it sometime, when you’re ready,” you say sweetly.

“Mhmm, absolutely honey. I think you’ll love it.” He gets quiet for a moment in thought.

“There’s been something else on my mind,” he alludes.

“What is it Elvis?”

“I’m not sure what you’re doing the rest of the summer but, I had a question for you,” he pauses to sit up and look at you.

“Did you want to stay at Graceland for the summer? I’d love to spend this time with you and be with you as you start this new chapter of your life,” he says gently.

You get taken by surprise, you weren't expecting him to ask you to move in with him so soon, but this is Elvis, you never can anticipate anything from this man. Everything in your heart is screaming to say yes. You take a second to think about it rationally and it doesn’t sound like a bad idea to take a few months off before finding a good job for yourself. You had worked yourself to the bone and taking some time off to regroup might be the healthiest thing to do for yourself.

You sit up with him and take his hand in yours,

“Do I get to have my own horse and everything?” You tease gleefully.

“Anything you want. Anything for my bestest girl.”

•

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