#yandere austin!elvis x reader

[crash-and-cure]

Devil In Your Eyes (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: It’s a party and you’re invited to the mysterious and eclectic Mr. Preley’s estate, to properly meet your father’s employer.

A/N: This is based on this request here made by @itlover8000​. And I know I promised to have the next part of If I Were You up, but I'll post later as to why it may take a little longer than originally planned.  This one was a lot of fun to write, and I hope to god that I did the mafia aspect justice, while still keeping reader relatively in the dark. Let’s hope we don’t have a repeat of last time and it gets in the tags the first time. Also just to give a timeline as to the fic, in this story Elvis was pretty much drafted right before he met the colonel which halted his entire music career and he started his criminal one right after returning stateside. If you would like to be added to my taglist let me know!

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis but also introducing... Mafia Boss!Elvis, though he’s not called that in the story. There are themes of delusional, manipulative, and gaslighting behvaior depicted. Smut, including oral (f. recieving) and first time are depicted. Sexual tension galore. Implied violence toward reader’s father. Gratuitous but non-sexual use of the word Daddy, but more in the general southern sense of affectionately referring to one’s father. Reader is young but over 18 when she meets Elvis for the first time. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 

Word Count: 13.9k

My Masterlist

When you were young you asked your daddy what he did.

"I’m an accountant, little bug" he said with a kiss on your forehead.

When you were a little older, you asked him what does an accountant do?

"I handle money for other people Sweetheart,'" he would say as he looked at rows and rows of numbers that may as well have been hieroglyphics to you.

The boldest question you ever asked him was how much he made as an accountant. You asked because another girl had invited you over to her house and yours was nicer by far, which was weird because she had told you that her dad was an accountant as well.

He stiffened at that question, and it almost looked as though he were trembling. He took a swig of his drink and he would tell you "don't worry about where the money comes from Gem. Worry about where it's goin'."

Before you could argue further he reminded you of that upcoming school dance and how you deserve a real nice dress to go. That's how he would handle any follow up questions afterward.

You're daddy was an accountant, but you didn't live like an accountant's daughter. Your mama passed when you were real little and ever since then your daddy did his best to spoil you with the nicest jewelry, the finest clothes, and the fanciest schools in all of Memphis.You hardly even remember your mama, but that’s not something you say out loud anymore because of how sad he would get at that thought. 

You’re given everything you could want, but these days it feels as though you’re rarely ever given what you actually want. 

Gem he called you as a pet name, because even with all the money and wealth he had gotten over the years, he wanted you to know that you were his most precious. He had worked hard to raise you without a mama, and as an accountant he did his best to earn a living for you to thrive. 

But not a lot of things about his job made sense. He never went to an office, some men would bring boxes and boxes of papers to your house, and would take others away. He rarely ever let you have friends over because he worried about them looking into said boxes. But the oddest thing about his job would be how the whole world seemed to stop the moment the phone rang.

The phone calls weren't that frequent all things considered, but he would drop any and everything to answer it. That was one of the few rules your house had, to always pick up the phone and to always hand it over if a Mr. Presley called. You’ve answered the phone a few times and heard from the mysterious Mr. Presley, but it was never more than a few words asking for daddy, who was always quick to drop whatever he was doing to answer the call. The conversation between the two of them would always be over before you even left the kitchen, and within minutes daddy would be out the door and be gone for a few hours.

When you were little you had a slight resentment toward Mr. Presley for how busy he kept your daddy, even going so far as to slip him a letter in one of those boxes when you were 8 or so, asking him to give your daddy less work so he can play with you more. That was one of the only times that your daddy had ever yelled at you, and it was apparently your polite tone and Mr. Presley’s good sense of humor that prevented your daddy from losing his job. Now his eccentric ways of doing business are the only thing keeping you from going stir-crazy and giving you some much needed breathing room from your daddy. 

You were going to graduate this weekend, but you could hardly say you were looking forward to not being able to go to school anymore. Daddy seems to hover around you more and more these days, you guess, because he’s trying to keep you in the nest as long as possible at this point. These days it’s rare for you to even leave the house period, and forget about leaving the house without him. 

Of course you tried to make the best of it, afterall you had spent years wishing he would be more present in your life, and not just in your house. But it’s hard not to feel embarrassed when your daddy is a constant looming presence at every dance and social event your senior year. He doesn’t even trust you anymore to be alone with your girlfriends, so forget about being with a boy. 

It felt like you were hardly out of his sight anymore, and you were suffocating. Ironically enough the most freedom you had anymore was in school, where you didn’t have to worry about him listening in on your girl talk or chasing away every boy that even glanced your way. You had tried talking to him about it only to be met with some half-hearted apologies and promises to let up once you were out of high school. Though with how from how much he’s dissuaded you from making any plans over the summer due to a mysterious trip to he’s planning, you aren’t holding your breath.

Even the night before your graduation, you could hardly expect much. While your friends were out and about on the town, you were relegated to packing for said trip. The flight was on Sunday, and you were hoping to use your daddy’s promise of letting up to go properly celebrate with them after the ceremony.

You truly believed it was going to be a night like any other, until you hear a knock at the door only to find a decently sized gift box, with a large bow on top sitting at your front door. To Y/N written on the tag in beautiful calligraphy. With graduation being tomorrow it's not too surprising to receive a gift, but when you open it up you find a pair of masks (one a simple black domino mask, the other a beautifully embellished, soft blue venetian mask) and you’re confused by the gift until you find a thick piece of cardstock at the bottom of the box. 

Huh, so Mr, Presley’s throwing a party, you think idly as you look at the invitation for you and your daddy. It’s odd and a bit rude that you received an invite the day of the party, but that doesn’t seem very out of character, when you consider the bizarre ways he does business. You know what Masquerade Balls were, you were gunning for it to be the theme when you were on the Prom committee, but ended up losing to Tina Fike’s Midnight in Paris theme. 

Picking up the blue mask you can’t help but think as to how perfectly it matches your prom dress in color. You hadn’t been able to wear it due to the shop messing up the dates and not having it finished in time, so your only option was to wear one of their loaner dresses that didn’t quite fit right. They ended up finishing the dress by the next Saturday, and it’s sat in your closet, unworn, taunting you ever since. 

It seems like the stars have finally aligned, and considering that this is from Mr. Presley, there is absolutely no way your daddy would refuse an invitation from him. He’s been called in for business in the middle of the night, you doubt this will even register as being unusual to him.

“Daddy! Daddy, look what just came!” you exclaim, bursting into his office. You don’t even question why the invitation was addressed specifically to you, and not him. Nor why you see the blood drain from his face as he reads the letter. You’re busy picturing what will undoubtedly be the ball of your dreams.

“Gem, uhhh….” he swallows hard at this one. “Your graduation tomor-”

“Oh I know,” you cut him off. “But since it’s at noon, I figure it won’t be too bad if we stay up a little later.” You say as you turn around to start rifling through his suits, to find something appropriately black tie for him to wear. 

“Baby, I…” he swallows hard. “I got the dates wrong for the tickets. Our flights leave at 6 tomorrow morning,” he said with a sad pitying look on his face. 

“...but my graduation is at noon tomorrow.” 

“I know,” he says solemnly.

“...”

“...”

“Oh.” 

“Sweetheart, I know you’re upset,” he says, reaching for you, but you jerk yourself away. 

“I’m not,” you reply, your voice cracking as you try to hold back your tears as best as you can. 

“I know, Baby girl,” he said, bringing you closer to his shoulder. “But you gotta trust me when I say that this is for the best. I’ll explain everything when we get there, but for now,”  he says, giving you a sad kiss to your forehead, “Just go finish packing.”

“...ok daddy.”

You had been packed and ready for weeks by this point, so as you lay in bed, you try to justify it in your head, try to imagine where this mysterious place he was taking you could be that would warrant skipping your graduation ceremony and missing what could be the last time you would see many of your friends. But short of the moon, you can’t. Anywhere in the world you could be, but the one place you want to be tomorrow is with all of them.

So a grand party, your graduation, and possibly the last time you would be seeing many of your friends are all the things you wanted but would miss, in favor of something you didn’t even want in the first place. 

You hold up the blue mask in front of your face and you imagine the kind of party it would be. Your mind conjures up the most lavish of gowns and the best music. The riveting conversations to be had and the interesting people to meet. The more you thought about it the more tantalizing it became. But you quickly scrub those useless ideas in your head. 

It’s a party for daddy’s boss, you think to yourself. What could be more boring than that?

Not to mention, even if you did go, you recall how boring of a time you had at your prom as you could practically feel your daddy breathing down your neck the whole time. 

But daddy was still here, you didn’t hear any of the usual sounds for when he was about to leave and you would be forced to stay with Old Mrs. Sack next door. So he’s staying home, is what you think. This would mark the first time you’ve ever seen your daddy reject an invitation from Mr. Presley.

Well he wasn’t technically invited, you were… your eyes snapped open at that thought. So really it would be on the invited person as to whether or not you would go, so technically you could go on your own. You aren’t his plus one, he’s yours. 

It’s a party for his boss, you argue with yourself, so it’s not as though you would be able to go without him. At that moment, do you realize that it'll be the first time in almost a year since you’ve done anything without him practically trying to hold your hand. You think you know why your freedom has been severely stifled as of late and it all stems from a single act of rebellion almost a year ago to the day. 

You remember last summer when your daddy had pulled you out of school early claiming it was going to be an early summer vacation. But what proceeded was perhaps the worst week of your life. During the days when he wasn’t driving for hours on end, he was glancing over his shoulder wherever you were stopped at. And those nights he would hardly sleep a wink in the rundown motels you would be stopped at, and you could hardly blame him because you were very much in the same boat. Worst of all was how little you knew about the whole situation, and you hated how even within the confined space of the car he was somehow still able to dodge the questions you had. 

Where are we going?

Why now?

When will we be going home?

By the end of the week you were at the end of your rope and wanted to go home, you missed your bed, you missed your friends, and you were bored out of your mind within the motel. There was only so much TV you could handle before your brain would start dripping out of your ears, and you had already read the few books you had managed to grab before daddy forced you out of the house, a couple times each at this point. 

Your daddy was never one to deny you anything you asked for, and so knowing the power of your requests, you never tried to push it. Even when he showered you with gifts, you were careful to accept it but not ask for much else. So it was jarring that of the few requests you have made on this trip, all of them were rejected, in spite of the fact that they were all relatively simple. A request to stop at some corny roadside attraction. No, it’s a waste of time. A new book from that store across from the service station. No, we’re trying to save money. A quick dip into the motel pool. No, you’ll get pink eye.

This one was especially infuriating due to the disgustingly hot summer night you found yourself in, one that makes your sweat sticky and your clothes cling to your body. To add further insult to injury the room your daddy rented was seemingly the only room without a working AC. He was somehow able to fall asleep with the TV still on and you took the opportunity to stare longingly at the pool of the El Rey motel in the middle of who knows Texas, doing your best to ignore the uncomfortable tacky feeling of your shirt. 

You hadn’t been allowed to do anything this whole trip, and you’re sick of it. His latest excuse being your breaking point, treating you like some little kid that didn’t know any better. You had just turned eighteen and yet he still insists on treating you like a little girl. This is your last summer before your senior year of high school, and you’re spending it without your friends far from home.

But… did you really need his permission? 

Fine, you thought as you gazed at the temptingly blue pool right outside your window. If he ain’t gonna listen to me, then I don’t gotta listen to him. People can call you spoiled all they want, but you thought you were at the very least entitled to water in the desert.  

You grabbed a hold of one of the towels in the bathroom and tip-toed past your daddy’s bed as he sleeps like a corpse, and closed the door to your room as you left as quietly as you could. There weren’t that many cars in sight and not a soul to be seen, and with it being well past midnight you figured the coast was clear for your little act of rebellion as you padded your way barefoot across the parking lot pavement. 

You didn’t pack a swimsuit with you, didn’t have the time to, but you figure your regular underwear covers about as much as it would. You still double and triple check that you’re alone and no lights are on and no windows are open in the surrounding rooms. The humid night air makes the pool all the more inviting and you quickly shimmy out of your skirt and peel your blouse off your body and before you can lose your nerve you jump into the pool. 

It’s a nice shock to your system with the water being cool but not frigid, and as you opened your eyes beneath the water you felt like you were transported to a different world entirely. The light coming from the pool didn’t help clear your blurry vision, but as you look up and see the night sky meet the surface of the water, it looks as though there is no distance separating the two. As though your hand could break the top of the water and you would suddenly find yourself out amongst the stars.

It should be terrifying, but it’s not. In fact it's exhilarating. There’s no one here but you and the unjudging night. You feel like you’re the only person alive and as you breach the surface of the water to take a deep satisfying breath you feel reborn. You feel freer than you ever have been, you're not the perfect unquestioning daughter any longer, you’re a woman who can demand answers and leave if she so chooses.

You were always a good girl, and always listened to your daddy, because you wanted to feel like you deserved what he gave you. But all that pales in comparison to the intoxicating feeling this act of rebellion fills you with, and wanting to make this feeling last, you forgo your original plan of a quick dip and choose to make the most of your time there. You do your best to try to swim like a mermaid. You swim to the bottom to get a feel of the pool tiles that make up the palm tree design. You repeatedly try to break your own record for holding your breath, and you let yourself float to the surface and enjoy the view of the night sky above and the liberating feeling of being weightless.

But it’s the slight burning aroma in the air that drags you back down to Earth. It smells like tobacco and leather and various other spices you can’t quite place. You raise your head out of the water and look around to find the source of the fragrance. The chlorine has made your vision a bit hazy, but you can see clearly enough to see the handsome man dressed all in black, save for a blood red tie, sitting near the pool and chewing on a cigar. 

Your first instinct, stupidly enough, is to duck back into the pool and hope he goes away, but that hope dies as quickly as you begin to feel the burning in your lungs for oxygen. You tentatively surface figuring you’ve been caught already, no use in denying it. 

“I didn’t realize there were pool hours,” you say through your teeth.

The handsome stranger gives an amused huff at that. “Now that’s a lie if I ever heard one,” he states, a small smirk creeping up on his face. “Don’t worry Darlin’. I won’t tell if you don’t.” he says, using his cigar to point behind you where you find a no smoking sign. You let out a small giggle, some of the tension sapping out of you as at this little conspiracy you hold with this stranger.

“Sorry, I ain’t used to doin’ that,” you say, casting your eyes downward where you finally realize how your cotton bra became slightly see-through, and you pray that he’s too far away to notice. He raises an eyebrow at your answer.

“That I believe,” he chuckles. “So you’re a good girl afterall,” he remarks, and something lights up within you as he says that. The closest you’ve ever felt to this was when you had been kissing Mickey, your next door neighbor, at your friend Jasmine’s birthday party. It had been a simple game of spin the bottle and the kiss had started innocently enough in that hallway closet, as you were too shy to do so in front of everyone. Though it quickly turned into something more when he had put his hand on your lower back to bring you closer to him and something akin to lightning crackled underneath his touch and up your spine. The feeling had been so intense that you audibly gasped and pulled away from him, and now that same sensation runs through your body again. 

What was scariest most of all was that this man was able to cause this with his voice alone, a good five feet away from you. 

“Not always,” you answer, your voice only slightly cracking in nervousness. You swim closer to where he’s sitting, in part to hide yourself from his view, though mostly to hear him better, as you’re inexplicably drawn to him. 

He chuckles at your answer, “Now that’s the biggest lie I ever heard,” he tells you, sure in his assessment of you despite the fact he hasn’t even known you for more than a minute. You're caught between being flustered and offended, at how accurate it is. 

“What gave me away?” You ask not to be snippy, but genuinely curious, how he was able to have you pegged so quickly. 

“Between your big ole’ doe eyes and your school girl get-up right here,” he said gesturing to the clothes you had haphazardly left on the deck chair. “Figured you’re too honest for your own good.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” 

He looks a bit taken aback by your response, before he gives an amused sigh, “No. Fact it’s a little refreshin’ to know people like you still exist. I’m Elvis by the way.” 

“Well Elvis, you still haven’t answered my question.”

His lips curl up, amused at your boldness. “It can be, if you meet the wrong sorts.” 

“And are you the wrong sorts?”

“Y’know you ask a lotta questions for someone whose name I don’t even know,” he remarks, though his smile keeps the tone light. “But to answer your question, it depends on who ya’ ask.”

“Well, I’m Y/N and if you ask me you look like a decent man.”

“And who taught ya’ what decent men look like?” he says as he leans closer to you, resting his elbows on his knees,

“My daddy, “ you say earnestly. “He’s a good, honest man, so I know what to look out for.” 

He narrows his eyes at that as he takes a puff of his cigar. You’ve never been a good liar, never quite figuring out what your apparently obvious tell was, but everyone you've ever met is apparently able to. But whatever it is he was looking for he apparently found, as he proceeds to ask, “So what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ all the way down in bumfuck Texas?”

“Oh umm…” you say, momentarily shocked by his free use of such language. “I’m with my daddy on vacation.”

“No kiddin’, where y’all headed to?”

“I honestly don’t know,” you sigh, putting your head down on your arms resting on the pool's edge. “He says he wants to keep it a surprise.”

“You havin’ any fun?”

“...yes?”

“Now that’s three times you tried lyin’ to me sweetheart,” he chuckles. “One more time, and I may not be so kind.” You don’t really understand why that made your breath quicken.

“You don’t even know my name,” you argue, sinking slightly so that he wouldn’t so easily see his effect on you. “How do you figure you know me so well?”

“I work just about everywhere, and part of my job is knowin’ a good liar from a bad one,” he explains. “And you sweetheart are one a the worst I ever seen.”

“What do you even know about lying?” you ask, a bit defensive of the truth.

“I know how to do it right,” he states genially, before raising an eyebrow to blow some smoke out of his nose. “I can teach you if you want?” You’re at a bit of a loss, though you quickly shake your head yes as you figure what’s the harm in hearing him speak. 

Now that you’re getting a better look and the chlorine is seeping out of your eyes, you can truly see how attractive he is. He’s the scary type of good-looking, the type that makes it hard to look at him for too long, lest all your breath be taken from your chest. You have to consciously rip your eyes away from his face several times so that you don’t get too caught up in it. Truly he’s not like any man you’ve ever met before, but that’s not saying much considering how little you ever really interact with men. Sure there are boys your own age, and a few teachers here and there but, none of them talk with you so candidly, ironically enough given that this is a conversation about lies. 

“Now the key to lyin’ is to always sprinkle it in with the truth,” he would say. You liked the way he spoke to you, not just because of how he sounds, but because of the way he treated you as you spoke. When he spoke to you, he made it feel as though he were passing on the secrets of the universe to you, and you just about hung onto every single word he uttered. You even bring most of your body out of the water simply to hear him better. 

“Why don’t we play a game now lil’ one?” you face heating up slightly with that nickname he gave you. “Two lies and a truth.”

“Isn’t it two truths and a lie?”

“Usually, but you need to get better at the lyin’ bit, so we’re gon’ do it the other way.” he says with a small chuckle.

“Ok,” you say as you exit the pool. “But you go first, and show me how it’s done.”

His lip curls up into a full blown smile, but it quickly drops and he fixes his gaze on the sky. You’re confused at his reaction until you glance down and remember you’re not wearing a proper swimsuit. You scramble forward and do your best to quickly dry off and put your clothes back on all the while as Elvis keeps his eyes closed like a gentleman.

“Thank you,” you said quickly as you sat down and draped the soaked towel over your shoulders to hide the way your shirt clings to your wet brassiere. “Why do I even need to learn how to lie?” 

“Sweetheart, take it from someone who knows what the world’s like,” he says. “Being good and honest won’t get you shit in life, especially not what you want.”

“Well…” you swallow unsure of your next words. “Now I think that’s a lie,” you say boldly. 

He quirks a brow at this, and a bit of satisfied smile can also be just barely perceived as he is evidently impressed with your ability to stand up to him. “Y’know people are gonna be stirrin’ real soon, why don’t we head up to my room and finish up this game properly,” he offers casually, as though he was offering you a stick of gum. 

You’re absolutely struck dumb by that question. Of course you’re not so naive as to what’s on his mind, you got the same wait till marriage speech every other girl in Sunday school got. And as adamant as you were that you would, it’s a very different situation to face now that the hypothetical has become a reality. 

To say the least, that man had ignited something within you that you’re not sure how to say no to. 

Scratch that. 

You’re not sure you want to say no to. 

“Y/N?” 

You whip around so fast when you hear that familiar voice behind you. Your daddy is standing at the doorway, eyes darting between you and Elvis and he looks like he’s close to passing out. “Hi, Daddy, I-I uh…” your mind blanking, everything Elvis had just taught you about how to lie. “This-this isn’t what it l-looks like?” you say, but your tone makes it sound more like a question. A quick glance at Elvis sees him pursing his lips in a futile attempt to hide his smile, at your miserable excuse for a lie.

You look back at your daddy to find that his stare is focused solely on Elvis, who as of right now has perhaps the most easy-going expression in the world. 

“Get inside and dry yourself off, gem. I don’t want you gettin’ sick.” he would tell you forlornly. 

“Yes, daddy,” you answer obediently. Though it was as you were about to enter the room did you look back to Elvis still having not moved from his seat, whose focus is still solely on you, not even acknowledging your daddy. You want to say goodbye to him, but you're stopped by a familiar hand on your shoulder.

“Head inside, Y/N,” he says, his voice detached and his eyes distant. “I’m gonna have a few words with that man.”

You expected him to be angry at you, and if you’re being honest, a part of you you wanted him to be. And it was for a selfish reason of just wanting something to justify you breaking the rules in some way. But this is worse, he’s not mad, he’s not even disappointed. He looks heartbroken, seeing you with Elvis out there, knowing you didn’t listen to him. 

You’re under the cool spray of the showerhead for a good half hour trying your best to scrub the chlorine smell off of your skin and waiting for that heat in your belly that Elvis caused to die down. You find your daddy sitting facing the window, and you can just barely make out his reflection in the window. There is a solemn expression on his face as he fixes his gaze out toward the pool area.  

“Gem, I-I know you ain’t been havin’ any fun on this here trip,” he would say, not turning around to face you. “Believe me when I say we were going for a good reason,” you try not to perk up at his use of past tense, but you can’t help it. “Bu-but things changed sweetheart, and it’s up to you.”

“Up to me to what?” you ask.

There is a bit of a pause at that, and if it weren’t for that look of pain that you see in his reflection as you said that, you may have even thought he hadn’t heard you. “...To choose if we go home or not.”

“Oh…” you say, unsure of this offer. Choice is not exactly something you’re used to with daddy, aside from the occasional “pick your favorite color.” So you’re shocked at the question to say the least having fully expected to simply suffer through the rest of this trip and hope the destination was worth it. But you’ve never been a good liar in your life. “Yes, I do daddy.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep long breath before you see him nod his head, still not turning around to face you. “Well… that’s that then…” he says, as though he’s resolved himself to something, though you don’t know what. “I-I’m gonna go… settle up with the office right now. You get some rest cuz we’ll be heading home come mornin’.” Not wanting to jinx it, you follow his orders and lay down back on the scratchy sheets.

The guilt still eats at you, and as he opens the door, you quickly apologize to him for your disobedience, but his nod of acknowledgement does little to ease that uneasy feeling in your belly.

The trip back was in some ways better this time around, but you could hardly say that it was any more bearable. Daddy warnings came true and you woke up with a pretty bad bout of pink eye, but he wasn’t so stingy about either his time or money so stops were frequent. You were well beyond the age that you should enjoy the cheesy tourist traps, but they are welcome reliefs to the hours long car rides wrought with silence that would follow you and daddy from state to state. Not to mention you’re actually aware of your intended destination this time around, but you do your best to stamp down the burning questions within as to why such a heel turn, especially since the change in plans came immediately after your little stunt.

If he was mad at you, you wish he would just say so, but you can’t even sum it up to that anymore considering the way he looks at you sometimes. There was always a bit of a quiet sadness in his eyes when he looked at you that never quite left even once you got home. He got better and better at hiding it after you brought it up to him but you would still on occasion find that expression on his face from time to time when he thought you weren’t looking. Your best guess is that you’re starting to look more like your mama. 

There were some nights where you would wonder if any of this new treatment from your daddy would have happened had you simply not gone into that pool, or even simply gotten out when you had promised yourself you would. You’d like to believe if you had known that that dive would have been your last taste of freedom, you would have done a better job at savoring it. That being said, when you caught a pair of icy blue eyes watching you and your daddy leave the El Rey motel, you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret anything about that night.

Daddy was being even more tight-lipped as to what this trip is about this time around. What’s worse, is that he’s not describing the trip as fun or even necessarily relaxing, just “necessary.” with no further explanation. 

Elvis’ words about what happens to good and honest people ring in your mind. And as you lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, you ponder whether or not there was any truth to that statement. 

You want to go to this party, if for the simple reason that you would like to dress up and have some fun. You want to go to your graduation ceremony, because you worked hard to finish school, and want to see the fruits of your labor. You want to celebrate with your friends for what may very well be the last time, because… because… well because you want to and it doesn’t seem like too much to ask for.

In another life they all aligned perfectly so that you would be able to do all three of these things, but you live in this life and a stupid flight for a trip you didn’t even want in the first place took priority over all of it. 

Of course… that is if you get on that flight.

No that’s crazy, you think to yourself. You have to be on that flight tomorrow morning, which is why you need to be ready to leave and so you have to go to bed early. It would be a real shame if you were out so long and slept through the flight. 

Maybe… maybe if I did stay out long enough and we miss the flight… There wouldn’t be any reason why I couldn’t go to the Graduation ceremony. You feel awful for these thoughts, and you recognize how sneaky and manipulative the plan forming in your head is. You do your best to ignore them by trying to remember how much your daddy wanted to go. But you want to be with your friends tomorrow, you want to graduate, and see them off properly, because your daddy hasn’t given you a clue as to when you would be coming back. 

People have always remarked how lucky you were of all the things you have in your life, but you’ve always known that there was a difference between taking what you’re given and getting what you want. Every fancy or expensive thing you own comes with a story. They’re really all the same, daddy missed a school thing, a recital, a birthday, etc., because of work and in return he would give you something expensive in lieu of his absence. 

You were of course grateful for these things but all you ever really wanted was your daddy there. So you always tried to strive towards earning your keep with good grades, good attitude, good social standing, truly all the markings of a perfect daughter. All of this done in an effort to earn his presence.

And what has the perfect daughter earned? You think bitterly to yourself as you pack your outfit into a garment bag. You quickly fix your hair up all fancy like and fix your makeup, all the while planning your escape route. 

It’s truly a miracle that you were able to make your way out of your bedroom window without a scratch, but you’re not about to count your blessings yet, as your plan hinges on being able to get there, and you have no idea how to drive. But you know someone who does, which is how you find yourself pounding on Mickey’s front door. 

He was the typical boy next door type who was your first kiss as well as the kid who put bugs in your hair when you were little. He was home from college for the summer with his shiny Lincoln Continental, his daddy gave you and according to his little sister, very sweet on you. He was therefore the best/only candidate as your date to this thing. You were lucky enough that he almost immediately agreed, and bolted upstairs to grab a suit to wear. You’re on a bit of a time crunch, so you quickly change in his little sister's room, and before you know it the both of you are on the road.

“S-so Y/N, who-whose party is this anyway?” he stutters out once, while stiffly but trying to appear casually resting his arm behind your seat.

“Oh my daddy’s boss,” you say casually. “I don’t know his full name, I just know him as Mr. Presley.”

He goes a bit, bug-eyed at your statement. “Re-really?”

You confirm, a bit confused at his reaction. “Do you know him?”

He restlessly taps at the steering wheel, before swallowing and saying that he knows of him. “Di-did he invite you personally?”

“Yeah,” you say, and you show him the invitation that was addressed to you personally. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh,” he responds, the worry still evident in his voice. “Does your dad know you’re goin’ there.”

You swallow, nervous at this new line of questioning. “...yes,” you answer looking out the window to avoid being seen by him. 

“Does he know I’m with you right now?”

Your tongue is weighed down by the lies, and you’re unable to speak, so you merely hum in the affirmative.

“Hmm…” is all he responds, and the conversation peters out after that, with the only sounds to be heard being the hum of the engine and his anxious rapping of his fingers, as the two of you make your way to the big white house in Whitehaven. 

Finally you come upon the bronze gates of the eye-catching estate. You show the Valet your invitation and they let you through easily, and you’re too busy marveling at the grand residence before you, that you failed to notice the way Mickey seemed to be sweating through his suit right next to you. No, you're occupied by trying to get the mask to sit just right to notice, and when you hand over the domino mask, he declines stating he’ll put it on after he parks the car. He tells you to go on ahead without him, and so lost to your excitement, you do just that, trusting that you would meet up with him soon. 

As you made your way to the back of the house, your mind was already conjuring up this ideal image of your grand entrance to the party, where everyone would stop what they were doing to marvel at your beauty. Where you would be the mysterious unknown woman who had just arrived and took everyone’s breath away. 

You realize your folly when you actually do come into view of the gathering at large and many people do notice your arrival. It’s not as flattering as you would have thought, and regret starts to seep into your belly. 

The men wore pretty standard tuxedos, while the women were all wearing bold reds, striking golds, or even sophisticated black dresses, making you and your soft blue and white prom dress stick out like a sore thumb. It was almost like you had “outsider” written on your forehead. The men don’t really see you or actively look away from you and the many women look like they want to rip your hair out or pinch your cheeks. Despite how perfectly the dress fits you feel like that little girl who tried walking around the house in her sick mama's shoes, trying desperately to get her to smile, only to end up twisting her ankle, and making mama worry more.

You overhear some people say how celebrities like BB King, Johnny Cash, and even Frank Sinatra were present, and this just further tightens the knot in your stomach, and you wonder what you are even doing here. 

Not even a full half hour and you’re ready to leave, as you’ve never been put into a situation where you don’t know a single person and you’re far from comfortable simply inserting yourself into conversations. You search to find Mickey, but in spite of the fact that he had worn a pretty distinct suit, you can find neither hide nor hair of him.

This was all too much to handle on your own and you’re silently cursing your earlier, bolder self. The entire floor seems to fall silent for a moment and everyone else’s attention is drawn to one direction for a moment. All except for you, as you take this opportunity to make your way outside of the party to gather yourself. Why did you think this would be a good idea? To go to a party where the few you could only vaguely recognize some, and know not even a single name? You remove your mask, ashamed you ever thought you would be able to pass yourself off as a woman and not the child you were.

All of these doubts are only further compounded as you feel a tap on your bare shoulder. “Pretty sure the point of these things is to wear a mask,” a voice like honey whispers near your ear. You’re so scared that you’ve unknowingly broken a cardinal rule and that you were about to be kicked out, though this eases somewhat as you see a light quirk on this stranger's lips.

Unlike the other men you’d seen at the party, he didn’t wear a simple black mask, no his was far more ornate, and with the burnt burgundy color to match his tie, in stark contrast to his all black suit, overall giving him a very devilish look. Whether it’s the perfectly coiffed hair or the plush lips, something about him feels deeply familiar. 

You’re not able to pinpoint what exactly until you're finally caught by his icy blue gaze that was almost entirely muted by the red of his mask. “Elvis?” And when he gives you that devastating grin of his you launch yourself into him to wrap him in a hug. “What are you doing here?” you question, though you’re glad nonetheless to find at least one somewhat familiar face in a sea of masks.

“Like I said I do business everywhere, ‘specially in Memphis,” he said, pulling away to answer you yet his hands remain on your hips. 

“Oh so you know Mr. Presley?” 

He looks taken aback at your question for the briefest of seconds, before a soft smirk crosses his face. “You can say somethin’ like that,” thoroughly charmed by you. “So whatcha you doin’ in a place like this all by your lonesome?” 

You let out a tired sigh before giving a sad smile and saying, “I don’t even know, anymore.” 

You feel him put a finger under your chin, and you're brought to look him in the face. He looked genuinely concerned for you as he asked you “hey, now what’s wrong lil’ one?”

“Nothing,” you say, trying to dismiss his concerns.

He gives an amused chuckle, and he sounds mighty satisfied with himself as he says, “Still ain’t gotten any better at lyin’, huh Y/N?”

That does get a laugh out of you, albeit a sorry imitation of one. “Can’t believe that’s what you remember about me,” you say.

“I remember alotta things darlin’” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Despite the fact that you’ve only met him twice in total, you know that there is no use in lying to him. So that’s how you find yourself regaling this man with your teenage woes as well as your devious plan to circumvent your fathers wishes. Elvis luckily enough is sympathetic to your plight, and seems thoroughly unimpressed with your fathers reasoning as to why you’re going to miss a major milestone in your life. “This was a bad idea.”

“Nah, it wasn’t a bad idea,” he reassures. “So-so execution, but not a bad plan.”  

“I really should just go home,” you say, shaking your head. You try to turn away from him, only to be lead by the waist back to the party.

“Tell you what, Satnin,” he says. “I’ll take ya’ home by the end of the night. But first you gotta do somethin’ for me.” A devilish smirk crosses his face when he sees your breath quicken. “I want you to be my date.”

“What?” 

“Well the flaw in your plan was, you don’t know anybody else,” he says. “But you know me, and I can make the proper introductions to everyone back there and you don’t gotta be Johnny’s daughter, you can be my new girl.” 

He reaches to take the mask in your hand and steps behind you to put it in place. The more you think about his offer the more it makes sense. You’re alone here, and you could use a friend right about now, and it makes sense for said friend to be someone who is intimately familiar with this sort of lifestyle.

“What'dya say, darlin’,” he says as he quickly fastens the ribbon of your mask in place. “When you wear this mask here you can pretend to be anyone you want to be. So why not pretend to be my date?” He offers his hand to you and you hardly even hesitate a moment to take his hand.

Elvis is able to talk you through how to walk, talk, and overall, how to act like you belong here in the slightest. He doesn’t mind you practically clinging to his arm for most of the night, and he is able to make introductions to almost everybody attending. Elvis even introduces you to the mysterious Mr. Presley, a soft-spoken salt and pepper haired gentleman, who insists on being called Vernon. You hope your face doesn’t show it, but this is far from the man you always imagined in your head, the man whose name alone could make your daddy quake in his boots. 

Though whatever thoughts you have about your host is quickly wiped away as Elvis quickly moves you to the next, more interesting guest. People have a tendency to gravitate towards Elvis, offering their congratulations to him, and remarks on how you’re one lucky lady. You bask in this, as for what for the first time in your life, people look at you and don’t see a child they see a woman. 

It is around midnight when your good mood comes to a screeching halt, as you hear a loud commotion coming from the front of the party. “Y/N!? Y/N!? Where are you!” you hear your daddy yell amongst the crowd, accosting several women with even a passing resemblance to you. You quickly try to shield your face with your hand for all the good it would do, your face burning in humiliation. 

Elvis seeing your distress quickly takes you by the elbow and leads you out of the bright lights of the dance floor, and into the shadows of the outside, and before you know it he’s leading you through the backdoors of the grand house.

“I don’t think we’re allowed in here.” you whisper to him as you still continue to follow his lead.

“Trust me, baby,” he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders, where you notice an open bottle of champagne. “Boss man won’t mind too much.” 

“What’s this party for anyway?” you ask as you relieve yourself of the shoes you had been wearing, and take a seat next to him on the ground beside the couch.

“Mr. Presley’s gettin’ hitched tomorrow.” he says flippantly, all the while removing his mask.

“Oh…” you say, glancing down at your blue and white dress. “Oh dear lord, and I showed up in white,” you say, burying your face in your hands, embarrassed beyond belief at your faux pas. 

“Don’t think nothin’ of it baby,” he says, taking your chin in his hand, to bring you to look at him. “Most a the folks out there don’t even know. ‘Sides you dressed all in blue brings back some nice memories a Texas.”

“I wasn’t exactly wearing blue, back then.”

“You weren’t exactly wearin’ much a anythin’,” he says with a coy grin, and you swat at his shoulder in retaliation. “Y’know, I been thinkin’ a lot ‘boutchu this past year and what you said ‘bout bein’ honest.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, bringing your hand up to his lips. “I realized I needed more honest people in my life.”

“Oh,” you answer simply, unsure as to how to really respond to that. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“But enough ‘bout that. You remember that game we tried playin’ back in Texas?”

“The lying one?”

“That’s the one. Let’s play that again, ‘cept this time we’ll make it a little more interesting.” With a soft smile he holds up the half-filled bottle of champagne, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he says, “you guess wrong or the other person gets it right, you gotta take a hit of this.” You think only for a moment, before ultimately agreeing, not wanting the night to end just yet. 

You didn’t expect to win, but you didn’t expect to lose so miserably. He’s able to suss out any and all lies you state. He even changes the game midway to have it be two truths and a lie, hoping you’ll fare better with only needing to tell one lie rather than two. The few swigs he takes are from when you take your chances and randomly guess as to the true or false statement he’s making. And even then you get the impression it’s more to humor you.

Though as the bottle dwindles, you find yourself becoming bolder with both your lies and your truths, but it was all in an effort to keep up with how fantastical his statements were getting, not just the lies, but the truths as well. It really puts into perspective the kind of life he’s lived compared to you where any of the stories he tells you would be the craziest thing to have happened to anyone, yet they all somehow happened to him.

“I got played on the radio. I’m the most feared man here. I dodged the draft.” He said in one round, nothing about his body language giving him away, but with the amount of champagne you had you doubt you’d have picked up on them anyway. You also can’t quite remember at this point if it was two truths and a lie or two lies and a truth. With his fiendish attitude and rebellious nature you figure it was the last one and you tell him as much. 

“Nah, darlin’, I did my due diligence for the country. Wish I didn’t sometimes, but that’s a whole other story.”

“Wait… you got played on the radio?” The idea of which was mind-blowing to you, but what was more shocking was his sudden shy demeanor. 

“Yes ma’am,” he said, fiddling with one of his rings. “It was a small thing, song didn’t even make it outta the south.”

“Could you play something for me,” you ask, doing your best impression of a doe. You already like the way he speaks, so you can only imagine how it would sound for him to sing. 

His eyes grow soft, at your request, and you're reminded of the pool at the El Rey Motel. How inviting those waters were, and how it felt almost like a cool balm on your restless soul. 

“Maybe next time sweetheart,” he says. “‘Sides it’s your turn, and you ain’t even taken your shot yet,” handing the bottle, where you realize, there is perhaps only a mouthful or two left of the bubbly concoction, and it’s your turn. 

“Ok, hmm…” you muse, after you had taken your drink, swirling the remnants in the bottle. Point wise, you have already most definitely lost the game, but that doesn’t mean you’re about to call it. 

What was it he said about what makes a good lie? You internally ask yourself, trying to remember that little tidbit he gave you almost a year ago. That there’s always a bit of truth sprinkled within. And it’s as you remember this, that an idea suddenly strikes you.

“2 truths and a lie,” you announce to him. “I can’t ride a bike. My favorite candy is Lemonheads. And…” you hesitate, but power through before you lose your nerve completely. “And… I want to kiss you right now,” you’re finally able to stutter out

His eyes widen a little at your audacity, but he’s quick to collect himself, clearing his throat slightly and giving you a rakish smile as he answers. “That second one’s too specific to be fake.” he says, bringing his hands to cup your chin. “And ain’t no way that last ones a lie.” all the while coming closer to you. “So Imma go with the first one bein’ a lie.”

When his lips are maybe an inch away from yours do you put the bottle between the two of you. 

“Drink,” you command, backing away from the bottle slightly. “I cannot ride a bike to save my life, it was the last one that was a lie,” you state, willing your voice not to waiver. “I don’t want to kiss you.” To really drive it home how good you’ve gotten at this lying business.

“O-oh,” he says, looking down ashamed. 

“The truth is… I really, really want to kiss you,” you say, giggling ecstatically that he fell for your little ploy. 

You get the pleasure of seeing a look of shock and confusion pass through his face, before it’s quickly replaced with a look of pride directed solely towards you. You worry slightly until you feel an arm slip around your waist and you're brought closer to him. So close that you find yourself straddling him. You’re not sure if the burning in your face is from embarrassment… or… something else entirely.

“That’s a dirty little trick there darlin’,” he says, his hands firmly on your hips keeping you in place, as though you would even want to leave at this point. “Who taught ya’ to lie like that, huh?”

“You did,” you declare, moving closer to him so that you’re practically nose to nose with him. For as bold as you’re being right now you wait for him to close the distance between the two of you. And luckily for you, you don’t have to wait long. 

Of the few kisses you’ve had, none have ever been even remotely close to this. This isn’t the demure cheek kisses on your porch that just barely grazed the corner of your mouth, nor was it the shy pawings in a hallway closet after a game of spin the bottle. Those were experiences with boys, while Elvis… Elvis is a man. 

It started out similar enough with a soft brushing of your lips with his as he slowly but surely the two of you became bolder and bolder. His lips capture yours to nibble lightly on your bottom lip, which you meet by throwing your arms around his neck. He throws you a bit off balance by planting his hands underneath your thighs, so you steady yourself by planting a hand on his slightly exposed chest. 

It isn’t until you felt his tongue lightly brush against yours, did you pull back gasping for air. You can only imagine the kind of image you made right now with your chest heaving and your no doubt blown out eyes, but from the fiery look in his eyes he seems to enjoy it very much.

He leans forward into you as he starts to leave open mouthed kisses along your neck, which does nothing to help even out your breathing. Especially not when you can feel one of his hands begin to undo the pearl buttons along your back, while the other slowly inched its way under your dress.

“Follow me upstairs baby,” he whispers in your ear. “And I can teach ya’ so much more.”

Thoughts like the fact that this house doesn’t belong to either of you or that your daddy is out there looking for you are far from your mind as you breathlessly say yes to him. As you move to stand up, he stops you, “Take off the dress sweetheart,” he orders softly, his gaze searing into you, while he loosens his tie. “I wanna see all of you.”

You shakily move to stand and you undo the final few buttons on your lower back all the while hyper aware of his stare. You’re still untrained in the arts of seduction so rather than draw it out, you simply let the material drop down and pool at your feet and onto his lap. A part of you feels embarrassed at your undoubtedly boring white cotton bra and panty set you were wearing, and you silently look up and away from him to await his approval.

“That’s my girl,” he hums in approval, and you’re able to release that shuddering breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. Though you quickly draw air back in when you feel him place his hands on your hips and give a quick kiss to your cotton covered kitty. 

Your heart is fluttering in your chest like a hummingbird as he leads you by the hand up the stairs and the warmth in your belly and the fuzziness in your head makes all of it feel like a dream. Not helped by the intensity of his oasis blue eyes, and you’re once again bathed in that same feeling when you were in that motel pool: that of being the only person alive. 

You often thought about that night at the motel, and wondered what would have happened if you were a little quicker on the draw to his invitation back to his room. Through Mrs. Sacks talks and your friends' whisperings you understood the basic mechanics of it, and that if the man was good, it was supposed to be very pleasurable, but not much else. Elvis in many ways was a safe choice to fantasize about, as you never would have guessed you would see him again. 

But as he lays you down in the largest bed you’ve ever seen in your life, do you really begin to question how well your fantasies have prepared you. He removes his shirt with practiced efficiency, all the while keeping his eyes squarely on you, the dim lighting doing little to shield you from his piercing stare. You’re left to pathetically writhe on the bed as he stands back up to unbutton his shirt, not being helped one bit by his bitten off smirk at your state.

You’re practically heaving as he crawls over you, and he captures your lips once more. In the privacy of this bedroom, the kisses turn from tender to filthy. His tongue probing your mouth with wild abandon as one hand deftly unhooks your bra. It is as you’re about to 

“Lord, I’ve dreamed about these,” he says as he drags the soft cotton material off of your chest. You fight the urge to cover yourself, still wanting to obey his earlier command to see all of you. He leaves a trail of open mouth kisses down the slope of your breast until he finally meets a budding peak and takes it into his mouth. The act catches you so off guard that you can’t stop your lewd reaction to it.

“Ain’t a single day passes that I don’t think about you in that pool baby,” he whispers into your skin. The soft mewls from the warmth of his tongue as he laves at your nipples, are swiftly replaced with sharp yelps when you feel his cool breath blow lightly on the moistened area. Part of you doubts you’re even going to survive this night, given the difference in experience between the two of you. “Seein’ your sweet tits just beggin’ to be touched.” and he emphasizes his point with a slight scrape of his teeth on your nipple.

You’re hoping to make up for your lack of experience by sheer enthusiasm, so when you find him making his way off the bed, his eyes fixated on that final piece of clothing that hides your woman hood from his view, you spread your legs, eager to show him how much you wanted him. But when you’re rewarded for your eagerness with a kiss to your inner thigh, that immediately wants you to close them once more, but his strong hands make that impossible. 

“Though I think these are just as wet as they were back then,” he purrs before licking a stipe up the seam of your kitty. You’re lost to the sensation of it, wanting to recoil but simultaneously embrace what he’s stirring up inside of you, much like back then.

You hear a ripping sound coming from him and you suddenly feel the cool night air fully hitting your burning core and you shiver at the delicious sensation of it. Even those few times you were brave enough to do anything remotely close to this it was always over the fabric and now you were left completely defenseless to this man's eyes. And if that’s not enough vulnerability for him, he proceeds to ask how you touch yourself.

You’re at a loss for words at his invasive question, but not so offended that you don’t answer him. And you shamefully tell him how you’ve only ever occasionally rubbed yourself against your pillows to chase that euphoric feeling. 

“I’d like to see that sometime, doll,” he purrs, making you shiver. “But for right now we gotta getcha good and ready for me.”

Before you can question what he means about that, you feel something probe at your entrance, and you feel his fingers soft circle that secret little button you’ve always been too afraid to mess with. You’re a panting mess and you’re giving into whatever feels good at the moment, and you can’t help the way your hips move in tandem with his fingers, as it was simultaneously too much yet not enough. Though you quickly learn what is too much when you feel not one but two of his fingers within you and start going at a steady rhythm, all the while the palm of his hand continually rubs at that button.

You’ve long since given into the depravity of this act, but you’re still grateful that Elvis has the judgment to try to muffle your wanton shrieks with his sweet kisses. So sweet that it stands in sharp contrast to the lewd things his hands are doing between your thighs. All too soon, just as you’re getting used to that stretched feeling does he pull his hands free and you let out a needy sob as you’re left feeling achingly empty.

He chuckles at your neediness, as he brings his hand up and you see for the first time the evidence of the long-dormant immodest side of yourself glistening on his fingers. Before you can even begin to feel the burn of shame, he sticks those fingers into his mouth and lets out a long-satisfied hum, and you find yourself burning in a different way.

“You’re so sweet darlin’,” he whispers against your lips and you’re helpless to do nothing but open your mouth to have a taste.

You think you know what to expect next, until he makes a show moving down your body until he’s crouched down between your legs and gathers all the excess wetness between your thighs with his tongue. Your confusion is apparently evident as he takes a moment to pause and look you in the eye as with that trademark devilish smirk on his lips as he dives straight to the source of your heat. 

None of your friends had ever described anything close to this, or if they did they failed to mention how wonderful it would feel. Your back arches almost entirely off the bed, as your thighs reflexively box in his head, and you’re moaning freely at the sensation of it. His tongue quickly replaces his thumb at the sensitive bundle of nerves, and with the fingers that were already going at a steady rhythm inside of you, you’re a goner. 

After you come down from that euphoric peak, you’ll apologize to him for all the embarrassing noises you made. He’ll quiet you with a kiss, and you shudder at the more potent taste of yourself. “Y/N, you’re one a the few people in those whole fucked up world who can’t hide how they feel. It’s why you’re gon’ be mine,” his dark rasp only adds to the bliss you’re feeling, as he gives you a soft kiss.

He pulls away from you once your breath has steadied somewhat. In spite of how tired you were, you still wanted to know more, now that you’ve come this far. 

You go a bit wide-eyed when you see him unbuckle his pants and you see in person for the first time what makes girls and boys so different. You have done a bit of exploring on your own, and you understood from what Old Mrs’ Sack’s birds and the bees talk, that boys have something like that, but you didn’t ever realize that it could be so big. Your mouth is dry as you speak, “How… how is that going to fit?” 

Even in the low lighting of the bedroom, you can still make out his dazzling smile before he gives you a soft kiss to your nose. “You don’t gotta worry ‘bout that sweetheart,” he says as he cups your chin. “This is the most natural thing in the world. You were made to take me like this darlin’.” You don’t fully understand why that gets a particularly wanton moan out of you, but you don’t fight it. “Just lay back and relax baby girl, and I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he promises, taking a nibble of your earlobe.

You follow his orders and lay amongst the pillows as his strong hands align your hips with his. There is a burning sensation below as you feel the head, and he gives you a moment to adjust, and you bite harder into your lip, until he takes his thumb and gently removes it from between your teeth to give you a sweet kiss.

“I wanna hear ya’ baby,” he says, his lips brushing against yours, as he starts to slowly push forward.

And forward.

And forward.

And forward.

Until you finally feel all of him, long and oddly heavy, fully sheathed within you. You fight back your tears, but his gentle kisses along your face and praises in your ear as to how good you’re being all make the experience far more bearable. He shifts ever so slightly within you, causing a particularly filthy moan from you. 

Elvis takes this as his signal to almost entirely remove himself, and your tiny whimpers are only quieted as he slams himself back into place. The suddenness of the act robbing you of a voice, and it would have scared you to death, were it not for his whispers asking if you trust him on this. 

“I do,” is all you’re able to manage, and that seems to set him off like a switch. The hunger for you is apparent in his eyes and as he picks up the pace and you’re freely keening and whining, he plants his mouth on yours as though he wants to consume you entirely.

How can he move his hips like this, is perhaps your last coherent thought of the night as he continually rocks back into you. You, in vain, try to keep up with his thrusts, but your amateurish movements are quickly outmatched with his as he moves his hands on to your waist to move you in tandem with his and you love every single second of it, especially when he’s able to hit a particular spot within you that you never knew existed. That coil in your belly straining further and further, until it finally snaps and you let out an unrestrained cry to the heavens themselves.

He’s not too far behind you as his thrusts begin to sputter, until he finally stills and you wrap your legs around his hips, enjoying the pleasantly warm feeling of his seed within you. 

You’re nothing more than a boneless heap after all was said and done, barely having enough strength to  open your eyes. Elvis is able to maneuver you under the silky sheets with him and the wonderfully cool fabric is able to dissipate the last remnants of burning heat within you, allowing you to settle in his arms. You shiver as you feel yourself leaking on to a complete stranger's sheets, but you’re so tired right now you figure that that can be a problem for tomorrow.

You’re brought back to the land of the living when you feel the warm rays of the sun on your back, your eyes aching and your nether regions pleasantly sore. You don’t immediately do anything about your current state, wanting to bask in this feeling for a little while, though eventually the soft ticking sound of the clock radio reminds you of why you embarked on this adventure in the first place.

You shoot out of bed to see that you have most definitely missed your graduation ceremony by this point. You hang your head, and will yourself not to cry at the almost karmic punishment, you’ve been dealt. But you can hardly call it one because this is a direct result of your own actions.

And it is as you’re internally berating yourself for your willfulness, do you realize that Elvis is nowhere to be found. And that is truly the cherry on top to this awful sundae, knowing you spent  a night with a charlatan in favor of getting what you want. 

You feel used and humiliated, and it is as if you're trying to prevent the tears from flowing, do you see the attached bathroom, and realize that you’re in the master bedroom. 

Oh dear lord, this is Mr. Presley’s room, you think while burying your face in your hands. You’re absolutely humiliated that you put yourself in this position and you worry as to how you’re going to get home. The solution before you is simple but it is far from an easy choice. It’s hardly a choice at all, considering that the alternative is sneaking off of the property and taking your chances walking home alone in nothing but a white silk robe you found.

And that’s how you find yourself aimlessly walking around a strangers home, and silently praying that they are charitable enough to take you home. Good humor or no, you doubt there is a world where Mr. Presley doesn’t look at daddy differently after this. 

Once you’re downstairs do you finally come across a closed door with some sign of life behind it. You’re so desperate you don’t even hesitate in opening it only to be met with at least a dozen pairs of eyes on you, all of which were surrounding your missing lover, sitting with his feet propped up on a desk. “Ahh Y/N yer here just in time, why dontcha come on in?” he half sings to you, patting his lap. You’re beyond confused by this point that you don’t even think twice about doing so, instead focusing on making sure that your robe stays closed. “Sonny, go get ‘em.” you hear from him, as he puts his feet down on to the floor and brings his hands outward to you, and with all of the eyes on you, you comply. 

He sits you on his lap, and you can hardly begin to comprehend what’s happening, before you hear a big commotion somewhere in the house, that only seems to be getting closer. You see the men begin to set down a tarp on the floor and you see a row of weapons all sitting casually before you on the desk before you. Panic begins to set in as you see Elvis for the first time in the light of day, and his deranged focus is solely on you. 

“Elvis what is going on here?” you question, tears in your eyes, his firm grip making escape impossible. 

“I’m gettin’ what I’m owed sweetheart,” he whispers, as the door  bursts open and you see two men throw a third to the tarped floor face first. You almost don’t recognize him at first, as you can’t comprehend why he would be here, but eventually there is no denying it. 

“Daddy?” you say forcibly pulling yourself off of him to try to get to him. Some of the men hold you back as you see Elvis saunter his way over to him before you can. 

Elvis says as he crouches down to where your daddy was forced to his knees, and forcefully pulls your daddy’s head back by his hair to face you directly. “You wanna tell her Johnny boy, or should I?” 

Your daddy sputters, eyes darting between you and ELvis once again, before he looks down and tries to say. “Gem, I-I… I don’t kno-”

“You lyin’ sack a shit!” Elvis explosively cuts him off producing a gun from his waist. “Tell the fuckin’ truth to your daughter,” he says pressing a gun to your daddy’s temple. Your daddy looks devastated at his words, his mouth opening and closing, apparently choking on his own words as he looks between you and Elvis. 

You’re frozen in place at that moment, too scared of the man you thought you knew, and too scared for the man you thought you knew. 

“Y/N, I-I…” he looks close to tears, something you’ve never seen on his face before. “I-I been workin’ for Elvis-”

An ominous click, cuts him off, and the man in question sneers “try again.”

Your daddy audibly gulped at this point. “I’ve been handlin’ the money for Mr. Presley here for almost ten years,” he says in a low whisper. 

That sort of answers some questions, but you can hardly figure out what this has to do with you. But hearing who exactly Mr. Presley, is and that you spent the night with him is incomprehensible.

“After,” he pauses to take a steadying breath. “After your Mama passed, I-I needed all the help I could get, and… and… I took more than my fair cut.” he says his eyes closed, avoiding looking at your face, as he takes a steadying breath. “Last year, when he found out what I was doin’, I tried ru-running with you.” 

“A liar, a thief, and a fuckin’ coward, is what you got for a daddy Y/N,” Elvis japes. “It’s a literal fuckin’ miracle you came out so perfect doll,” he says as he gently brushes your cheek with his knuckles. You would have recoiled, had it not been for the very present fear you had for this man and the gun still pointed at your daddy’s head.

“Whe-when found us he gave me one last chance to settle. He made me a deal there, that he would forgive me if I… if I…Promised him…” his lip is trembling by this point and he can’t even look at you.

“Daddy… What did you promise him?” You say in a small voice, having a sneaking suspicion and praying to god that you’re not proven right.

“Baby, I-I’ve done some bad things in my life, but I did it all for you,” he says looking down, the tears streaking down his face. “I-I promised him… you.”

You step as far away back as the desk allows you to, and your knees almost give in beneath you at what you just heard. Because there is absolutely no way that he had just said what he did. You can’t believe it, but the more you think about it the more things begin to make sense. WHy your freedom has been limited in the past year. Why your daddy made you focus especially on learning Spanish this past year. WHy you weren’t allowed with any boys. 

“One year, Johnny,” Elvis says, interrupting your spiral. He is holding up a single finger in front of your daddy’s face as he continues, “That’s how long I gave you to get her used to the idea. And you fucked it up, for not just yourself but for her. And I gotta find out last minute, that you been wasting it planning another fucking trip?” 

“I couldn’t go through with it,” daddy pleads. “Please I-I’ll get the money, I’ll do whatever I gotta, just please let her go!” 

“Now how the hell am I supposed to trust that? You already backed out of a deal once, how the hell am I supposed to trust this one?” Elvis asks him as he walks away from him and towards you, while daddy has the decency to look ashamed. “Now lucky for you, your daughter ain’t nothin’ like you, Johnny,” his tone is almost reverent as he speaks of you. “And I don’t believe she’s in the business of makin’ promises she won’t keep, right sweetheart?” 

“Elvis… I don’t understand,” you say with tears in your eyes. 

“It’s real simple baby,” Elvis says. “I’m given’ you a choice. Walk away and your daddy pays back what he stole the hard way. Or,” he says cupping your cheek far too tenderly for what he’s about to offer. “Be my wife and your daddy can go free.”

It’s hardly a decision for you at that point. Because for as mad as you are at him, that’s your daddy and you could never wish him harm. But there is a burning question, in the back of your mind, and you know whatever the answer is, it’s going to hurt. And yet the newly discovered masochist within you demands an answer.

“How much?”

“What?”

“I need a number,” you declare, “How much was my life worth daddy?”

He looks heartbroken as to how you view the situation, but really how else can you look at it? Your daddy took money from a dangerous man, and now, said man is looking for what he paid for. Nevertheless he lowers his head and he mumbles out a number. 

The number he gives is large, but it’s still not nearly enough for what you thought your life was worth in your mind. Your father hangs his head in shame, evidently knowing you well enough to know how much he’s hurt you.

You can hardly call what you had a proper wedding, Elvis is cruel enough to make you go through the motions of it in the still somewhat setup backyard. You’re put into a beautiful white dress that fits like a glove, and handed a gorgeous bouquet, and you’re only a little disturbed by the fact that the dress is perfectly tailored or that these are your favorite flowers. Though these quickly leave your mind as you see your father at the bottom of the steps. 

A part of you wanted to refuse your father and walk yourself down the aisle. That petty part, wanting to further twist the knife of his future exile by denying him this near sacred final right of a father to be able to do so. But the better part of you prevails as for as much as you want to be seen as a fully grown woman, you still very much feel like a little girl who needs to hold her daddy’s hand in a scary situation. And this is undoubtedly the scariest thing you’ve ever done.

Which only further burns as you’re reminded that you’re in this situation because of him. 

Your father walks you down the makeshift aisle of the backyard with a busted lip and a vacant look in his eyes to match your own. For as mad as you are at him, you don’t want him to be hurt or worse for what he did. That doesn’t mean you want to have to look at him anymore. 

Your daddy was an accountant, but as you signed your name on that marriage license, you realize you aren’t an accountant's daughter any more. And just like that you’re a proper married woman. 

After the ceremony, there is only a small reception to follow, with those closest to your new husband having been invited. Evidently your father didn’t make the cut, which may be for the best as you doubt you will even be able to look at him right now as Elvis sits you on his lap while all of his men dole out congratulations to the two of you. 

Later on when you’re alone with him you will beg Elvis for a reason that isn’t just some power trip over your father or that he truly believes that you were something worth the amount that your father took from him. You’re willing to believe anything at this point.

“Oh baby, you don’t gotta worry one bit,” he reassures you while kissing away your tears. “If this was about money, I woulda taken what he offered way back when. But no I’ve loved ya’ since Texas.”

“But why?” you cry. 

“Because of that satnin,” he says. “You’re a rare breed these days: honest. I knew it since the moment I saw ya’ that you were what I needed in my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you can’t lie for shit. Especially not to me.” he says, planting kisses along your newly exposed skin. “I know I chose the perfect wife for me.”

Would you have chosen him if given the choice? You don’t know. You may never know, but if growing up a not-accountant’s daughter has taught you anything is how to take what you’re given and be grateful for it. 

Ending note: I was 9k in when I realized I pulled a “I sold you to one direction,” Welp that’s the way it goes sometimes. 

Taglist

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz  @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2  @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates  @immi547 @thatbanditqueen   @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000​ @isthlsfate​ @mgparker​ @thatbanditqueen​

[flwersgarden]

i don’t know if this is gonna make a whole lotta sense but i’ve been obsessed with your writing for like ever and i was hoping maybe you could do a combination between little!reader and daddy!elvis but make elvis like a yandere sorta with it? like he takes advantage of readers little space and uses it to make sure that he’s the only one who can really like take care of her when she’s in that space you know? i have no idea if that makes sense or not, if it doesn’t or you don’t wanna write it don’t worry about it! :)

note: it makes sense, my love, don't worry! i will write this one with austin!elvis in mind since i'm not very comfortable in making real life elvis a yandere soooo, either way, please enjoy!

“ how are you, baby? ”

you looked up from your drawing book, smiling brightly at the sight of elvis with his leather suit entering the room you were in.

“ daddy! ” you squeaked out, running up to him, leaving your crayons on the floor.

elvis smiled, crouching so he could hug you; giving you some twirls before kissing your face making you giggle a bit at how funny it felt.

“ hey, baby. ” he whispered before leaving you on the ground, patting your butt a bit before walking to the sofa. “ how was it? ”

you immediately knew he was talking about the small trip you went to with one of his bodyguards; you insisted on someone taking you to the park since you felt yourself dying from boredom locked in the room, elvis being the amazing daddy he is allowed you to (of course, not without security).

“ it was great, daddy! ” you jumped, taking advantage of elvis' tired attitude to pick everything up so he wouldn't rebuke you about it.

elvis nodded, sitting on the couch, patting his lap as he looked at how cute you were. “ 'm glad. ”

you sat on his lap after putting everything on its place, kissing his cheek before patting your own pink dress. “ how was the performance, dada? ” you put your face in the croon of his neck, enjoying the small touches he gave to your hair and back.

“ it was good. i think. ” he murmured the last part, kissing your forehead before a knock interrupted the both of you. “ who is it? ”

“ the colonel, my boy. ”

elvis rolled his eyes while sighing, patting your butt again but this time for you to move.

you pouted, not only did you missed him but you wanted some cuddles. so when elvis opened the door, you subtly showed your tongue to the colonel, who just frowned at you before turning to look at elvis.

“ we need to talk. ”

elvis hummed and for a few seconds it was quiet before he looked at you, who was still sitting on the couch. “ doll. ”

“ yes? ” you asked.

he grabbed his wallet from one of the closest tables around him, giving it to you as you walked to him. “ go and buy us some snacks, will ya? ”

you nodded, grabbing his wallet before leaving.

but just as you were exiting the room, you stomped in colonel's foot making him howl in anger.

“ THAT GODDAMN-. ”

you couldn't hear the rest of it as you ran away.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️

as you walked through the set, you couldn't help but stare at everything. when elvis and you walked in here you didn't paid much attention as you were too focused in playing with the new toy elvis gave you.

almost everyone in there knew you were little, that's why no one gave you strange looks. also because they were terrified of elvis and how he may react if you go and tell him if someone treated you badly.

you skip to the table full of food, beverages and drinks, smiling as you catch some cotton candy. you go to grab it but as you do it, some hand grabs it and offers it to you.

“ here. ”

you look up at the strange man, not bad looking but... strange.

“t-thank you. ” you stiffly say, grabbing the stick of the candy before turning to leave.

“ wait. ” he steps in front of you.

you are caught off guard with how this man is acting so you just bring the cotton candy to your chest, quiet.

he smiles. “ okay. look. ” he takes off a small notebook from his jacket, a pen too; clicking it as he searches though his notebook's pages. “ i wanted to interview you for so long and. ” he chuckles but it seems tired. “ that man of yours just doesn't fumbles the bag, huh? ”

you frown, confused at what he is implying.

“ so. y/n presley, would you mind telling me. ” he puts the pen ends in the notebook. “ is this, ” he points at your outfit. “ some kind of sickloving trap elvis has you in? ”

“ excuse me? ” you quickly answer.

the man just shrugs. “ yeah. is this some kind of syndrome he put in you after he married you? ”

you step back, feeling your heart crushing with his words. “ i don't know what you mean, mister, i-. ”

he laughs, interrupting you. “ come on. i mean, the press knew you were weird but-. ”

suddenly, a hand pushes the man's figure away from you as some arms surround you.

“ man, what did i said?! no fucking reporters! ” jerry exclaims from behind you, walking to the strange man with his fists clenched but abruptly turns and points at someone behind you. “ take her to ep! ”

that person grabs you, carefully, taking you to elvis while you drop the cotton candy on them ground. elvis' wallet is still being gripped by your hand as if it's the only thing telling you this is real.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️

“ i fucking told every single one of you! ”

you sit in the white couch of Graceland, the home your daddy bought, drawing some flowers while he and his staff, alongside the memphis mafia, are sitting on the diner room. bit far from you. enough for you to not hear anything that was being discussed in that room.

“ ep, we told y-. ”

elvis raises an arm, turning with his hands in his waist. he looks at you.

silence overpowers the moment, everyone except you and elvis uncomfortable. elvis slightly smiled as you frowned in concentration with your gaze stuck on the drawing.

“ did y'all ever fell in love, folks? ” he suddenly asks. some men clear their throat as everyone denies it. elvis nods. “ some of y'all may think that yes. you have. ”

he turns to look at them. “ but you haven't. at least not like me. ” he points at you. “ that girl keeps me from going insane. ”

he walks to the fridge. everyone keeps silent.

the fridge gets harshly closed, making some people jump in their seats, a beer being opened is heard.

elvis takes a gulp out of the beer.

“ i thought i was very clear. ” elvis mutters.

“ you were, ep. ” jerry stands up.

elvis looks at him.

“ it's our fault. ” he looks at everyone in the room as they nod and gives affirmative responses. jerry looks at elvis again. “ i promise you, that man has being taken care of. nothing like that will happen again. ”

elvis nods, walking up to jerry patting him on the back and just as he is about to give him his thanks for admitting his fault, someone stands up. the chair screeching. everyone looks at that man.

“ no. ” he says, clearly afraid.

everyone, expect him and elvis, open their eyes in shock and horror.

“ man, sit down. ” someone mutters with a harsh tone, trying to make him sit but he pulls his arm away.

“ no, man, this is fucked up. ” he shakes his head, looking at everyone before sticking his gaze to elvis' piercing blue eyes.

“ ep, ignore-. ” jerry tries to take elvis away.

“ no. ” elvis raises a palm, making jerry quiet. “ i'm interested. ” he keeps his arms on a chair top, looking at the man. “ why do you say that? ”

elvis' calm demeanor makes everyone tremble. the calm before the storm.

the man sobs before pointing at you. “ that woman doesn't know what the fuck is going on half of the time. ” he whispers, his arm falls to his side again. “ when you just introduced us to her, she was... ”

everyone looks down.

of course, they know what he is talking about.

when you and elvis started dating, you weren't much into your little space. you felt safe enough in your relationship for you to run to that comfort zone.

but after something personal happened to you, you cried to elvis, telling him how the little space was something you weren't usually comfortable in talking with partners since some of them shamed you for it but that you needed to run into it for comfort.

elvis just smiled at your ranting, kissing your head and caressing your hair while nodding his head.

“ it's okay. i understand. ” he said to you.

you raised your head, teary eyed, looking like an angel. “ w-what-... do you mean? ” a sob interrupted you mid sentence.

“ i mean that it's okay. you don't have to feel ashamed about it with me. my love. ” he grabbed your cheeks, making you look at him. “ i accept you and love everything about you. it's not something to be shamed about. ” he kissed your nose, making you pout.

he smiled. “ you'll just have to guide me through it. ”

and that you did. you explained him everything trying to be as clear as possible.

elvis loved little you. for multiple reasons. but the one that stood out the most was because little you always looked for him.

she always wanted him.

he loved to come back home from a long day of filming to find little you drawing, to see your shiny eyes looking up at him as if he hung the moon and stars.

he loved that you were so dependent on him. he loved to take care of you.

but when he noticed that you weren't into your space as much as he'd like... he started to change both of your lives.

making your room bright pink with the excuse that the color suits you.

buying you fluffy dresses with the excuse of how comfortable they looked to wear and how they would match his own outfits.

gifting you candies and toys with the excuse of them being from a different state so he had to bring you a souvenir.

and with small steps, he turned you into his little babygirl.

you started slipping into your little space more often since everything reminded you of how wonderful it is to be in it.

and everyone knew. because elvis told them to don't say shit about it.

‘ don't you dare make her slip out. ’

‘ don't let anyone question her about it. ’

‘ she won't do any interviews, not even with me, she will stick to the room. ’

that's how it was. of course, only if they wanted to keep their job and their future secure.

but it seemed like someone didn't want that.

elvis fully stood up, the beer long forgotten in the table. “ so. ” he slowly walked to the man, his hands on his back. “ you are saying... ” he raised an eyebrow.

the man scoffed, feeling confident all of a sudden. “ what i'm saying is that what you're doing is fucked up and i will no longer take part on it. ” he looked at everyone else. “ and every single one of you are as guilty as him, you are all going to hell, you fucking assho-. ”

a gunshot sounded through the room. everyone covering themselves.

jerry just jumped back, staring at the scene in shock.

elvis had his gun pointed at where this man's head would've been seconds ago, his posture stiff, showing his side profile to everyone. his jaw clenched with his free hand besides him forming a fist.

but he relaxed, sighing.

everyone looked at him again, slowly lowering their arms.

“ no bad words in this house. ” elvis simply said.

jerry simply sits in the chair he was sitting in the beginning, still paralyzed.

“ daddy?! ” a girly voice calls out.

elvis throws the gun in the table before walking out of the room. “ yeah, babydoll?! ” he calls back, exiting the room.

jerry grabs the gun. he looks at everyone before moving to the gun to a side, revealing its bullets.

he feels like throwing up as he sees all of them empty.

he only had one bullet.

[ophelia-writes-stuff]

♥ talk like an angel . oneshot ♥

. pairing : yandere!doctor!elvis x patient!fem!reader

. summary / request : after barely managing to escape with your life after a car crash, you're rushed to the hospital by medical professionals. elvis is assigned as your primary doctor, and you find yourself enjoying his company. he's sweet, caring, and also incredibly funny. though slightly off-put by some seemingly random gifts and love letters you get from an anonymous person, you manage to enjoy your time there. and yet, as time goes on, you grow increasingly unnerved as the letters and gifts get more personal, and to your horror, later come to the discovery that maybe elvis isn't quite as sweet as he portrays himself to be. (request from @itlover8000)

. notes / warning : depictions of a car crash, portrayals and mentions of death, survivor's guilt, dark/yandere themes that include stalking, manipulation, threatening, forced affection, allusions to kidnapping, swearing, physical abuse, intimidation, drugging, more may be added.

. word count : 6.7k

(♥) . . . request something . masterlist . taglist . navigation

It was a late summer afternoon, and the sun had only just set. You and your friends had been saved from the sweltering heat of Memphis, though it was still quite warm inside your car. Luckily, the cool wind blowing through the window saved all of you from the stickiness of the heat.

You and your friend Laura let out peals of laughter at Cindy's joke. You couldn't quite remember what it was about-- but nights like these typically went in that fashion. No one quite remembered what had happened a mere five minutes ago, much too focused on the present.

Cindy, too, joined in the laughter, eyes scrunching up in delight as soft giggles left her cherry-red lips. She was much too focused on her own laughter to notice a deer attempting to cross the road.

Eyes slowly returning to the street, Cindy let out an audible gasp as she rapidly slammed down on the brakes, all while mindlessly turning the car away from the poor animal.

You all but shrieked as the car promptly lost balance and swerved off of the street. It all went so quickly-- one moment you were on the road, giggling like idiots along with your friends, and in seconds, your world was turned upside down-- literally.

For many moments, you just hung in some uncomfortable position, wavering between consciousness and unconsciousness. Eventually, though, you did move, slowly-- perhaps too slowly-- unbuckling your seatbelt. You let out a displeased groan as your head promptly made harsh contact with the car's ceiling.

You stayed in that position for a while, too, the heat blazing from some unknown source slowly drawing you into a deep sleep. You didn't want to move-- felt as if it would take much too much energy and effort

And then, after regaining your barrings and realizing the situation at hand-- because, after all, your life was at stake-- you frantically unbuckled Laura's seatbelt, and then Cindy's. Their heads, too, hit the car ceiling, hard.

"Laura? Cindy? We need to get out of here..." Your voice hardly exceeded a whisper, much too weak to make any more sound. A series of coughs followed your statement, and you closed your now burning eyes-- as if it would help the situation.

You roughly shook their bodies in a futile attempt to wake them up, but found that they didn't move in the slightest.

"Laura!? Cindy!? Please! Please, I can't--" Realizing the weight of the situation, your eyes started to water. You wouldn't be able to drag them out of the car with you, and it was already on fire. If they didn't drag themselves out, they'd surely die.

Frantically, you clawed at Laura's ashy skin. Sobs racked your body. They needed to wake up.

Your breathing was ragged as you attempted to then wake up Cindy, but the heat of the blazing fire was hurting your skin, causing you to give up on the idea.

"C'mon guys-- I can't bring you guys out-- we-- we need to go..." Another series of coughs followed your pleas, and, eyes widening, you realized why they weren't responding.

It felt as though your body moved on its own as you dragged yourself out of the car, despite your desperate wanting to get back in as soon as possible to let your friends out-- despite knowing that, if you did, you'd be just as dead as them.

In moments after barely exiting the car and dragging yourself just off the road, you all-so-suddenly collapsed, your body no longer able to support your own weight. It made sense, too; you were sure that almost every bone in your body was broken. And you were just so, so tired.

Because all you felt was the heat radiating off the car, and your now burnt skin, and your aching bones.

The heat radiating off the car, your burnt skin, your aching bones...

The heat radiating off the car, your burnt skin, your aching bones...

You soon fell unconscious.

You woke up in an unfamiliar place.

A hospital, you'd soon come to realize, buzzing with doctors and employees from just outside your room.

"She's awake!" You heard a voice yell, followed by the presumable entering of another person.

"Leave me to her. I'll call you if I need any assistance," a male voice spoke. You couldn't yet see him, your eyes having not fully opened to accommodate any new light.

"Ms. L/n, I'm going to have to ask you to open your eyes, if you would be so kind," the deep voice then gently coaxed. Nodding slowly, you allowed your eyelids to open, and you blinked harshly at the bright lights shining above you.

"I can turn down the lights if you'd like?"

Nodding slowly, your lips curved into the faintest of smiles as the man did as he said he would.

Once your eyes had successfully adjusted to the softer lighting, you took notice of the man standing before you-- most likely a doctor, by the way he was dressed. Coifed, sleek black hair hung atop his angular head, and a small smile was planted on his lips. He looked no older than his mid-twenties.

"It's glad to see you in the land of the living, Ms. L/n. We weren't quite sure you'd make it," the man lightly joked, a twinkle in his eyes. "I'm your medical professional, Dr. Presley, but I'd prefer you call me Elvis. You were involved in a car crash 'bout a week ago, if you recall-- we got a call from someone who found your body near the site of the crash."

His voice then grew solemn, sympathy lacing his next few words. "Unfortunately, you were the only survivor. The other two didn't make it. 'm very sorry."

Although your recollection of the incident had been only but a hazy memory when you woke up, it all came crashing back at you at the mention of your friends. Your eyes quickly watered up with tears as you stared at the sheets of your bed shamefully.

"Laura and Cindy..." you mumbled, the memory slowly but surely coming back to you. Your hands then gripped the sheets tightly, as though they were an anchor.

Once your mind had fully registered the memory, your eyes widened. Your hands gripped the sheets tighter. Your voice barely exceeded a whisper as you spoke, "I did it, didn't I?" Desperation and guilt laced your voice as you said those words ever so quietly. "I killed 'em. I left them there to die--"

Elvis was quick to notice your almost incoherent mumbling, and all the more so to put an end to it. "You didn't kill them, Ms. L/n."

Your eyes wandered to his own. You shook your head in disbelief. He couldn't be right. You saw them-- they were in there. They couldn't move. If only you'd just been less selfish and saved just one of them! "No, you're wrong. I was there-- I saw them. I could've saved them-- I could have--"

Elvis knelt down and clasped your hand in his own. "Ya' couldn't have done anything. We ran procedures on their bodies. Even if you'd managed to drag 'em out of that car, they would've already been dead. They suffered too much trauma to have been saved by any doctor. You yourself only narrowly escaped with your life. You're incredibly lucky you're still alive. Be proud of that, that's what I say."

It was odd, to think that someone you'd just met could cool your nerves in so few sentences-- and even though you still felt guilty, Elvis certainly made you feel much better about yourself. Though you supposed it must have been part of the job-- he was a doctor, after all. Still, it was sweet-- he seemed to care about someone he barely knew.

"Thank you," is all you said in response, allowing your appreciative smile to speak for you. You were still quite exhausted. Elvis returned your smile warmly, before standing back up and walking further from your bed.

"Your family's been waitin' outside of here for a while. Ya' fine if I let 'em in?" To this, you slowly nodded, and Elvis swiftly exited the room. A silence permeated through the air for lingering moments, before the door swung open.

In came your worried mother and father. Your mother quickly rushed over to your bed, though she hugged you gently. You let out a small chuckle-- the best you could do without hurting your ribcage-- before she pulled away and smiled brightly in your direction.

Your father, stoic as ever, merely smiled at you, though you could tell from the new creases near his eyebrows and forehead that he may have been even more worried than your mother.

And then in came your boyfriend, who maintained a polite distance from you, though you could tell that, if your parents weren't there, he'd be much closer.

"Oh, Y/n! Me and your Pa have been so worried!" Your mother exclaimed, grabbing onto your father's shoulder for support. "We've been here night and day, I tell ya', darlin'-- every procedure, we've been there! We've just been so worried. We're so glad you're safe..."

The confession didn't help with the ever-growing guilt in your heart, and yet, in spite of your own feelings, you smiled warmly at your parents.

"Oh, and of course, this young fella's been here whenever he could be." Your mother pointed to your boyfriend, and you felt your heart swell in your chest at the comment.

"But we're just so glad you're safe... we were so worried..."

The rest of the interaction with your parents went on something like that until they eventually let you have some alone time with your boyfriend.

"Hey, honey. How's a' going?" Caring as ever, he sat at the foot of your bed and placed one hand on your leg carefully, rubbing comforting circles with his thumb through the sheets.

"Well-- everything just kind of... hurts." You let out a faint chuckle as your boyfriend stared at you sympathetically.

"Okay, I guess, I just," your voice dropped to a whisper as you continued, "I guess I just feel guilty. For, you know." You didn't want to utter their names-- felt as though doing so would make everything more real. The grief was still heavy on your shoulders.

Laura and Cindy were your two closest friends, and now they were gone, and you were left to fight the grief on your own. You felt angry at them, in a strange way, but you could never really be angry with them. You felt like you lost a part of yourself upon hearing of their deaths, and it hurt you. Even if you couldn't have saved them, you still felt such a pang of intense guilt that ate away at your flesh.

Because all you could wonder was, what if I had saved them? What if I had convinced them not to go to that restaurant?

What if...?

What if...?

What if?

You hadn't even noticed you were crying until you felt strong yet gentle hands engulf your fragile figure in a soft hug, and you let out a soft sob into your boyfriend's shoulder as you leaned into it. "It's okay, honey. It's not your fault. I just wish I had been there too..."

Your family and your boyfriend, after much convincing on your part (as they needed to get back to their own lives and take care of themselves), did eventually leave, though not without promising to visit almost every day. Knowing you wouldn't be able to convince them otherwise, you nodded in defeat and offered each one of them a supportive smile as they left. You were sure your parents needed the sleep, anyway.

Life in the hospital was odd, but it was nice-- nicer than one would expect. Your doctor-- Elvis-- was kind and thoughtful, more-so than he needed to be, you liked to think. He'd often sit in your room during his lunch break and eat and chat with you, which you always appreciated greatly.

The both of you bonded over practically everything, and you found yourself growing quite fond of the man. Had circumstances not drawn the two of you together so late in your life, you would have openly admitted that, had you met him before, you would have most certainly been the closest of friends with him.

"I actually wanted to be a musician when I was younger."

After some gentle prodding into Elvis's passions, he finally told you about them.

"Oh yeah?" You titled your head, invested in his next response. "Why'd you become a doctor, then?"

To this, Elvis shrugged and sank into the seat beside you. "I tried my hand in the music industry, but I jus' don't think it was for me. My music wasn't half bad, but people didn't like the way I moved."

"The way you moved?"

"The way I danced-- I liked to wiggle my hips a little. The audience wasn't much of a fan. Figured I oughta get a safer job with better pay." He shrugged. "Here I am."

"So, what-- you just gave up on your dream?"

All but surprised by your comment, Elvis stared at you, eyes swimming with confusion. "Well, I gave it my best shot, it just didn't work out."

A mischievous expression twinkled in your eyes. "One try and then it's over? That sounds like giving up to me. How about this-- you sing me a song, and I'll tell ya' if I think it's good or not.

An awkward silence settled as Elvis made his decision. And then, slowly, he nodded, and closed his eyes, as if to think of something. You stared at him in wonder as he sang.

"And yes, I know how lonely life can be," his voice weak on the first few words, but quickly grew in strength.

"When shadows follow me, the night won't set me free," his voice sounded like honey, sweet and smooth as he sang every word.

"But I don't let the evening get me down, now that you're around me."

Upon his eyes reopening, you clapped, impressed thoroughly by his musical ability. "That was wonderful!" You praised earnestly. It surprised you that Elvis gave up on a dream like that-- with such a talented voice, it seemed like a waste.

Elvis merely stared back at you, a dazed expression on his face, before slowly smiling and accepting the praise. His voice was quiet as he muttered a quick thanks, before exiting and saying something about getting back to work.

It was early in the morning when you woke up and found a gift at the side of your bed, accompanied by a card with a stamp shaped like a heart. Curiously, you first read the card and found written into it:

I remembered you mentioning that you loved stuffed animals and the color blue, so I thought I'd get you this. Although it cannot express well enough just how much you have filled my heart as of late, I hope it can somehow relay the message.

With love, Yours Truly.

You then opened the gift to find a blue stuffed bear inside. Your heart warmed at the thought of your boyfriend leaving you such things-- let alone remembering such small details about you! Abashedly, you had to admit, you yourself weren't quite as good at retaining that kind of info, so it made you feel all the more special.

Later, when your boyfriend visited you that day, you thanked him for the gift, to which he confusedly explained to you that he did not, in fact, buy you a gift. You delicately changed the subject after that and managed to convince yourself that he must have simply forgotten.

And yet, you couldn't help but wonder how could he have simply forgotten something like that?

Regardless, you were thankful for the present and found your gaze lingering on it quite often.

It wasn't even a week that had passed by the time you got a second one.

You opened the envelope of the card to find-- not a card, but a letter, and in it, inscribed a heartfelt and meaningful poem. You couldn't help the smile that grew as you read it, and found yourself blushing at many of the comments written in it.

You then opened the present to find an opulent necklace, littered with the finest of diamonds. Now, this drew your attention. Of course, you knew your boyfriend's job had quite decent pay, but this must have been worth at least a few months of wages. And so, you had to wonder: how could he have gotten all that money?

You thanked him and asked him about it, and once again, he was as confused as ever, leaving you to predict that perhaps it was not he who had given you the presents. But then you had to wonder: if not him, then who?

Deciding to ask Elvis since he must have had some insight into the subject (after all, you doubted anyone was sneaking in and leaving you a present), during your shared lunch together, you inquired about the gifts. At the mention of them and your expressed lack of knowledge on exactly who was giving them to you and your initial belief of it being your boyfriend, Elvis grew quiet for a long, hard moment, before replying, "I really don't know."

Slowly nodding, confusion evident on your face, you allowed the topic to fizzle out into a different conversation with Elvis.

As weeks passed in the hospital you didn't receive any more gifts, though you had started getting into therapy for walking and using your limbs after so long, which you picked up relatively easily. Still, the nurses who specialized in the field ensured you were careful, not wanting to provoke your injuries whatsoever, which you supposed made sense.

After about a month or so passed, the nurses finally decided that you were ready to return to your home so that you could resume your daily life, to which you were more than glad. Other than bi-weekly checkups, you'd finally be free of the hospital that you'd been stuck in for ever so long.

"I'm gonna miss ya'," Elvis said, offering you a gentle hug. You rolled your eyes fondly as you accepted it, knowing full well he was being overdramatic.

"I'm still going to see you every week, Elvis. Twice."

Still, the goodbye left you feeling somewhat bitter, knowing you wouldn't be able to see Elvis daily from now on.

Life at home felt normal, in a sense. Of course, you weren't out and about quite as much as you'd been before the crash (and although you hated to think about it, it would make sense since your friends were gone), but it was nice to be able to live your life without the confines of a hospital.

Letting out a content sigh, you opened the door to your porch, keen on spending some time outside and getting some well-needed fresh air. That was, until you found a gift in front of the door.

Your brows laced together as you stared at the gift, and the letter on top of it, which so clearly resembled the ones you'd gotten at the hospital. You'd be a fool not to conclude that they were both from the same person.

Cautiously, you looked around you to see if anyone was watching-- because as paranoid as you may be, you were still getting love letters from an anonymous source who now apparently knew the location of your house-- before taking the present and card and slipping into your home, locking the door behind you.

Firstly opening the letter, you found another quite beautifully written love letter (this much, you had to admit), though what concerned you was what was written on the bottom.

To my dearest Y/n,

I know you love candies, I've seen you at that small bakery just down the street from your house, so I truly hope you enjoy this gift. I got it just for you.

You know, I find it quite odd how you wander around those stores and buy so little baked goods, but I suppose that's my purpose, and I in no way oppose that duty. I simply hope that someday we'll be able to go together, just so that I can make sure I buy your favorites.

With love, Yours Truly.

At the mention of the bakery you frequented, your stomach twisted with unease; you'd only gone there less than a day ago.

Once you opened the present, your heart only sank deeper into your stomach. Inside was a box of heart-shaped chocolates from said bakery-- a warm gesture, had you known who it was from at the very least.

But that was just it. You didn't. Whoever was sending you these knew both where you lived and where you went, which only unnerved you all the more.

A loud knock at your door quickly startled you out of your thoughts, and you quickly hid the chocolates and wrappers upon hearing your parents beckon for you. You'd forgotten that they said they were coming over.

The rest of the evening went by relatively calmly, your mind buzzing with worried thoughts and your parents cooling your nerves. Dinner was all but one of the best ones that you had, though you couldn't deny the sinking feeling in your stomach that grew upon saying goodbye to your parents.

Of course, you knew they'd drop everything and anything in the blink of an eye to stay with you had you asked, but you couldn't find it in your heart to ask them to do so-- they'd already given up so much for you.

And so, once they left, you quickly closed your door and locked it, and ensured all the windows to your home were locked, too. You didn't need any other things to keep you awake at night.

And yet, in spite of your trust in the blinds that covered your widows and the locks that sealed your doors, you simply felt exposed. And, sure, it was dramatic, but you simply couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched as your head hit the pillow and as you were slowly lulled into a deep sleep.

Despite your recent unease, life carried on as it always did. You had checkups with Elvis twice every week, your boyfriend would be over at your house constantly, making you dinner and such, and your parents would insist on visiting you nearly every day.

And yet, the ongoing buzz of the passing days was not enough to quell your buzzing mind and your thoughts of more pressing and recent matters.

The death of your friends was still something you felt the burden of, and regardless of the irrationality of the whole ordeal, you felt as though it was somehow your fault that they weren't still alive, living and breathing.

You also couldn't take your mind off the gifts you'd been getting, and the letters that were growing increasingly personal. They'd mention places that you'd been to mere days before and mentioned things about your past that not many were heavily informed on.

There were some nights when you'd go out and would find things like dresses and purses which you had all but glanced at the stores, and after about ten seconds of deciding whether or not you desired them to be your own, deemed them too expensive, but then later found them at your doorstep. Those types of gifts unnerved you incredibly, especially since they'd sometimes appear on your doorstep before you even came home.

There were also times that, after hanging out with your boyfriend or someone you'd met recently, the letters would lightly suggest that you stopped spending time with them, and would often go into detail as to why. And, although you didn't often listen to them, you certainly considered it.

You'd also considered calling the police about the issue several times, but what would you say? Hey, someone's been leaving me an excessive amount of presents in the past weeks. I don't know who they're from, so could you please track them down and tell them to stop? The question simply seemed preposterous.

And so, with a heavy heart, you kept it all to yourself-- only went so far as to suggest that your boyfriend stay the night with you so that you'd feel safer. Of course, you'd never tell him the real reason, only spun harmless white lies that you didn't quite need, anyway, as he was always willing to drop anything for you.

It was about an hour before noon when you went to get your presumably last checkup, and you were overjoyed. you'd finally be able to completely return to your normal life-- almost. Of course, you couldn't forget what you lost in that crash, but you were glad at the prospect of no longer having to visit the hospital, a place that constantly reminded you of your losses.

Walking into your designated room, Elvis turned around and smiled in your direction, and gestured for you to come closer. You obliged, and Elvis walked towards you and began running the normal procedures.

"You sure seem happy today," he remarked, to which you smiled wider.

"Yeah, I'd say so."

"It isn't because you're glad of gettin' rid of me, is it?"

As the question, a small giggle erupted from your lips as you shook your head.

More witty banter ensued as Elvis did your checkup, and you appreciated it-- his seemingly natural ability to make you forget your circumstances and to simply focus on the moment. 

Once you were just about finished with your checkup, Elvis shot you a grin and a thumbs up that seemed to indicate for your departure, but none was such the case. Just as you waved goodbye and spun on your heel in an effort to leave, Elvis spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“Hey, Y/n, I was actually been meaning to ask you something before ya’ left.” 

Turning around at the statement you were all but taken aback at Elvis’s seemingly nervous demeanor. He’d never been anything short of confident since you’d met him, so you were curious as to what he was going to say.

“Shoot.”

Elvis cleared his throat before he spoke. “What do you think about… getting dinner sometime? With me?” He paused, cleared his throat. “A date.” 

The question rendered you speechless for quite some time. Ever since you’d met Elvis, you’d assumed that he was married– if not already settled down with some children. After all, why wouldn’t he be? He was charming, kind, and you had to admit that he was easy on the eyes.

“Oh, um, Elvis, that’d be wonderful, but…” You shifted awkwardly in your place. You never liked delivering bad news. “I’m– I’m sorry, but I have a boyfriend.”

At the rejection, Elvis’s eyes flashed with an emotion that you couldn’t recognize and he opened his mouth as if to speak before it quickly snapped closed. Solemnly, he nodded and gestured to the exit.

You didn’t like saying goodbye to someone with such bitterness, but you knew no amount of solace or apologies would mend the situation. Truth be told, you had never expected Elvis to develop romantic feelings for you, and you felt utterly despicable for rejecting him after everything he'd done for you, but you knew it had to be done. You had a boyfriend, whom you adored, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

Unfortunately, you later found that that wasn’t your decision to make. 

A single letter was left on your doorstep the following morning.

There was no gift in sight, which both calmed your nerves while simultaneously sending them into an erratic frenzy.

You'd grown used to seeing the letters attached to some paper-wrapped box, but never had you seen one, alone on your doorstep.

You'd never noticed how dark the red of the heart-shaped stamp was, not until today. Or maybe it just wasn't that color until today. You didn't know, but you did have to admit that it did resemble the color of blood.

You shook your head at the thought of the ominous detail, successfully scattering your thoughts. You were merely overreacting.

And yet, your heart pounded fiercer than ever as you brought the letter over to your table. You were much too preoccupied with examining it to remember to lock your front door.

Slowly, fearfully, you opened the letter, sliding it out and taking a deep breath before reading it. Your breath caught in your throat as you did so.

Y/n,

I am truly very disappointed that you denied my proposal! I love you, as I am sure you must know by now, and it breaks my heart to see you choose him over me.

I realize now that I must take control of the situation. I had initially expected for things to go smoothly, but I suppose nothing goes quite as planned.

I'll see you soon.

With Love, Yours Truly.

You felt sick to your stomach. The letter slipped out of your hand, and you let it. Slowly walking backward, you recounted your interactions with Elvis.

But how could it have been him? He seemed so nice, and he seemed so respectful, too. And yet, looking back on it, it all made sense. From how he got your address to the fact that the gifts temporarily stopped when you brought the subject up to him--

You bumped into something warm.

You froze for a moment before you tried to quickly move away from it. Your attempt was futile, however, as the figure, much faster than you, wrapped one arm around your torso and the other rested firmly on top of your mouth, successfully pulling you impossibly closer to him.

You tried to let out some kind of scream-- a sound-- anything to alert someone that you were in danger-- but your voice was muffled by the figure's hand.

"Now, darlin', do you really think anyone's gonn' hear you?" Elvis's voice was deep as he whispered those words into your ear, the warmth from his breath sending a shiver down your spine. It sounded almost as though he was scolding you.

Your attempts to scream came to a halt and you felt a satisfied hum rumble from Elvis's chest. "Good girl."

To say that you were shaking would have been an understatement. You were trembling, your breathing ragged as your hands quivered. You were unable to do so much as to lean away from the man who held you ever so firmly in his grasp.

There was silence, for a long moment-- a silence that you did not dare to break.

"Y'know, Y/n, things could have gone by so much easier if you'd just gone out with me," Elvis then said, one of his hands idly toying with your clothing and brushing over your skin. You didn't even bother trying to pull away-- you knew you wouldn't be strong enough. "But now-- look what ya've done! You messed this entire thing up. This entire thing."

His hand traveled lower along your body, slowly, almost imperceptibly.

"I liked this dynamic-- doctor and patient? Would've liked to have kept that up."

Both of Elvis's arms then detached from your body, and he walked in front of your figure. He cupped your cheek and rubbed what would have been soothing circles along your skin, had the current circumstance been different.

"Oh baby, why'd you have to go choosin' that son of a bitch of a boyfriend of yours over me? Don't you know how much I've invested in ya'?" Elvis let out a scoff. "Probably more than he's made in a lifetime."

You didn't respond-- felt as if he didn't specifically want you to. Elvis paused, his anger slowly fizzling into an almost pleased sort of emotion.

"But it's fine. I took care of him, so you won't have to worry about him getting in our way. You hear that? He won't bother you no more."

At his statement, your eyes grew wide, having an idea of his implications. At your reaction, Elvis seemed to grin even wider-- as if your fear offered him even more pleasure.

"You look so pretty like that..." He then muttered mindlessly, his eyes slowly wandering to your lips. He brought his hand over to them and brushed his thumb over them. He smiled slyly, his eyes resembling that of a serpent.

And then, slowly, tenderly, he kissed you, and you let him-- kissed him back, even. It wasn't like you had much of a choice, so you gave in-- drank his invigoratingly sweet poison. You allowed Elvis's hands and tongue to roam your body as he did so before he deepened the kiss-- turned it into something hungry and desperate.

At that point, you tried to push him away, tried to stop this from becoming all too much all too soon, tried to gain some distance from him-- but his grip on your body suddenly grew firm to the point where you were sure you were going to get bruises by the way his fingers dug into your skin, and he bit down on your lip, hard, as if to scold you.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled away, but lingered inches away from your face. Unease crept up your spine as he stared at you, passionately, intensely, before saying, "Grab your things."

You didn't know what to say before Elvis pointed to your bedroom. You then simply nodded and ran upstairs. To both your surprise and delight, Elvis didn't follow. And so, heart palpitating in your chest, you walked up to your bedroom and closed the door as silently as you could before locking it.

You had to get out.

You quickly searched your bedroom for a phone of some kind-- anything to contact the police or the outside world and to alert them that you needed help-- but found that it was nowhere to be seen.

Your stomach sank. I need to get out of here.

Loud, heavy footsteps hit your ears as you searched for some different way out. They were slow, but calculated, and took their time between each step.

It was then that you realized: he was baiting you.

Still, you wouldn't let your moment go to waste. Your eyes flitted to your bedroom window.

Bingo.

You rushed over to it and unlocked it, before trying to pry it open. And yet, despite your efforts, it wouldn't budge. You pushed and pushed and yet it remained firm in place, strong as ever.

Oh god, you couldn't breathe. Why on Earth wouldn't it move-- the one time you needed it to open? You weren't oblivious to the footsteps coming closer as you tried to do anything to make the goddamn window open. You didn't care if you needed to break some bones on the way out-- you just needed to get the fuck out of here.

"Y/n?" Elvis's voice beckoned for you as he approached, like a predator teasing its prey. "You almost done in there?"

You didn't speak-- you couldn't speak. You were so close-- so close-- to being able to leave, to calling the cops, anything. And yet, it seemed as if the universe found it entertaining to taunt you with the impossible.

The footsteps were suddenly put to a halt, and Elvis knocked on the door. "You still in there?" His voice was calm, peaceful, in a way. It lacked any sense of urgency or worry.

It was then that you realized: you weren't getting out. You didn't know how, but you did know that, somehow, Elvis planned this-- after all, why would he be so calm in this situation?

Elvis tried to open the door, but the lock stopped him from doing so (one thing that actually worked in your household). You could hear him let out a small, quiet chuckle before he spoke, amusement prominent in his voice.

"Y/n, the window's locked."

At that simple statement, you froze. Your hands shook as you ceased all movements and just stood there in shock. How did he know? How could he see you?

Elvis knocked on the door once more which-- you had to admit, you almost found funny, because why would he offer you the courtesy of opening the door to your own bedroom and not the door to your own goddamn house?-- before saying, "Baby, would ya' mind lettin' me in?"

Maybe, if you could move, for fear you would have, but you couldn't. You only stared at the door in terror, unease settling uncomfortably in your stomach. You wanted oh-so desperately to move, to speak, anything, but you were paralyzed, trapped inside your own body and your own mind.

"Oh Y/n, c'mon now. I know you can open this door, and there's no way outta' that room." Your body finally released you from its firm grip of paralysis at that statement, and you were able to move once more.

And then, finally, you opened your mouth to speak. "Elvis...? Why are you here?"

Your voice was shaky, but the words managed to get through eventually. The fear was evident in your voice as you spoke. You stared at the door, afraid of what his answer might be.

"Baby, all I want is to take care of ya'. Isn't that all you've wanted? Someone to take care of you and to make you feel safe?" His tone was sincere, and you found yourself almost falling for his deception. And yet, you were no fool-- you were now aware of the duplicitous man he was.

Elvis let out a small, light-hearted laugh before continuing. "Now, why don't you open the door and let me in? There's nowhere else you can go." The ending sounded more like a threat than a reassurance. Still, you didn't open the door-- only hoped that by some miracle the moment would end.

This, as it turns out, was a large mistake.

Elvis's tone turned from soft to infuriated in a matter of seconds as he banged loudly on the door. "Y/n, you better open this goddamn door right now." You let out a small, panicked sound at the harshness of his voice as you curled up in a ball and closed your eyes, as if that could somehow make you feel safer or make him leave.

You didn't listen to what he said next, only heard the loudness of his words that banged against your skull. And then, the loud slamming of a door opening. You let out a pained cry as you felt rough hands pull your hair in their direction.

"You just can't make this goddamn easy, can you?!" A loud voice screamed into your ear. "I've given you do goddamn many chances, but you just think you're so high and above them! Is that it?!"

Elvis tugged harshly on your hair at your lack of response. "Answer me, goddamnit!" But you couldn't-- could only let out a muffled whimper as he did so. He then paused, chest heaving for breath, and let go of you, slowly.

Elvis sat down beside you and placed one hand on your cheek, lovingly, sweetly, as if the moments just minutes prior hadn't occurred. "You look so pretty when you cry..." He muttered, guiding your face to look in his direction. "But you have to do what I say when I tell you. You got that, baby? Whatever I say, every time-- or I'm gonna have to go out and hurt some people, and neither of us wants that, do we?"

Head slowly shaking side to side, you agreed. Elvis smiled. "Good girl. Now, I didn't want to have to do this, but seeing as you've misbehaved so much, I'm afraid have to." Staring at Elvis fearfully, he offered you a sympathetic glance. "Don't worry, it won't hurt for long."

It was then that you felt a stinging pain in your neck. Unsure as you what exactly was happening, you attempted to pull away, but Elvis's grip grew tighter as he held you in place. Despite knowing that your efforts would be in vain, you thrashed against him, but he only held you closer, fingers digging deeper into your skin as you did so.

And then, slowly, you felt a certain exhaustion run through you as you eventually leaned right into Elvis's arms and were lulled into a deep sleep.

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[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Love another

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x reader x Oliva!Priscalla.

Warning: STEP-SISTER INCEST! Love triangle? Little reader, Sex tape, Creampie, Little space, Fluff, Fingering, mention of sex, Dirty talk, Pillow talk, Augst, Daddy and Mommy kink, Elvis kissing women, jealousy, Soft Dark Austin!Elvis, Soft Dark Oliva!Priscilla.

Summary: You were 11 when your mom married Priscilla Beaulieu's dad and Priscilla was 13 so when Priscilla meets Elvis at the age of 14 and you were 12 you sorta get a crush on him but you saw how your step sister was happy with him and saw how happy he was with her so you hid it away but over the years you hide a secret not knowing they already knew and multiple stuff happen starting with Elvis performing at one of his concerts at the international hotel ( @galaxygirl453 )

You strolled down the hall to Elvis's room where you and your sister were hanging out, A big grin stretched on your chubby cheeks, and holding drinks for all three of you, every step you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You still couldn't believe it, you got to hang out with your celebrity crush! You turned to walk through the open bedroom door but pause watching with a broken heart as the man you loved made out with your sister, tears threatening to spill, you run downstairs and pushed the drinks into a soldier's arms.

You cried the whole night and Priscilla being the wonderful sister tried everything to get you to tell her why but you refused to, determined to keep to yourself so after a while, she just give up. What you didn't know was that was only the first of many heartbreaks and tears along the way.

You cried on their first date, at their wedding, and when you realized you were in love with them both, you had cried so much that you would go into another headspace, one that longed to be held and loved, babied. You had some partners here and there but Priscilla nor Elvis ever approves of them.

Either one would scare your boyfriends away, or worse like when you were 16 and you lose your virginity to your boyfriend at the time Once Elvis and Priscilla caught you in the act Elvis almost beat the poor boy to death, and Cilla wouldn't help you until you promise not to bring a boy home, fearing for him and Elvis you agreed. It took a lot of pulling, Cilla threatening not to kiss him and you threatening to never talk to him ever again to get him off not without him shouting at the boy saying if he ever saw him around you again he'd finished the job.

Even now through their married, they were still protective of you. You shook your head and focused on Elvis as he sang 'love me tender' on the hotel's stage you could help but smile, his voice was like an angel but your smile turned into a frown as he suddenly jumped off the stage and kissed the women in the crowd. Your glaze switches to Priscilla, whose eyes were filled with sadness and hurt 'Oh hell Nah' you slid out of the circular Booth and stormed your way to Elvis "What the fuck Elvis?!" you yelled but before you could yell at him more his lips and tongue mets yours, his big warm hands hold your face, kissing you deeper.

It took everything in you not to kiss back and push him away "How..How dare you?" you glared at him "(Y/N)," He started however you didn't let him finish "Fuck you, Elvis Presley." you hissed in a low voice, eyes wet with tears and speed walked out the hotel ignoring both Cilla and Elvis, calling your name. You got into your car and drove to your apartment, you can't stop replaying the kiss for as long as you could remember you wanted nothing more than to be kissed by Elvis, and be loved by him, you had loved him since you were 12 but it was wrong, so wrong. You needed to time to think.

A week or so when things went downhill, you got fired for nothing and lost your apartment the next day. Without another place to go you called up Priscilla, with a bruised ego, asking if you could stay at Graceland with her and..Elvis although you didn't want to talk to him until you could get back on your feet. A team of movers arrived 10 minutes after the call and Jerry came to pick up you to drive you to Graceland where the couple waited by the door "(N/n)!" Priscilla smiled pulling you into a tight breathtaking hug, you return the hug with a fake smile plastered on your face.

"Darlin' look about what happened," "Hey Cilla I want to go see my room. Show me yeah?" you took your sister's hand and walked into her house leaving Elvis standing there, regretful and in pain watching the ground, he had to make it up to you. All day you and your sister caught up, she luckily didn't bring up what happened. You brushed your hair in front of your vanity and remove what little makeup you had on and dressed into your favorite baby doll. You happily sigh into the comfortable mattress and in no time you fell asleep.

Elvis sighed outside your closed door since he met you and Priscilla, he could see you like him at first he wasn't attracted to you in that way then you grow into a beautiful young woman he didn't realize he had fallen for you until he caught you giving your innocence to that cowardly son of bitch. He wanted to kill him hell he almost did and he wouldn't regret you were his, even if you didn't know it.

He felt so guilty for loving you Priscilla's little sister, of course, he still loved his wife but it became so overbearing, so much he breakdown to Cilla, imagine his surprise when she confessed she was in love with you as well. "we can do it, it's now or ever baby." his wife soft voice helped to relax him, Elvis hummed and nodded, with a deep inhale he opened the door and walked to your peacefully-sleeping form, "Darlin' wake up, let mommy and daddy show you how much we love you." Elvis cooed, moving your hair behind your shoulder "Dadda?" you moan, slowly opening your tired eyes," that's right it's dadda." Elvis smiled "Want dadda plewes." you begged, making grabby hands, He quickly took his robe off and flipped the blanket off of you "What do you want princess? Mm?" He kissed your neck as he towered above you his hard cock laid against your covered cunt, you whined and rolled your hips upwards "fuck me dadda." you pout, your eyes shined with frustrated tears, Elvis cursed under his breath, and yanked your underwear, freeing your rapidly wet pussy to the cruel-cold air, Elvis put two of his fingers into his mouth wetting them before sliding them in your tight-hot core, he set to work loosening you up to take his dick, his fingers curled as his thumb rubbed at your clit in a harsh speed, his fingers soon thrusted at the same speed.

Priscilla smiled as she watched behind the video camera at her love and sweetheart, Cilla could already feel herself getting wet but this wasn't about her it was bout you, and she didn't mind, she pressed recorded, Elvis and she is gonna enjoy replay this.

You whimpered cumming around Elvis's large fingers "that's it sugar, dirty daddy's fingers." he cooed with hood lust-filled eyes, his thrusts quicked almost slamming against your special spot as you finished, he was slow to pull out and sucked your juices off his digits, his dark orbs glazed into yours, smirking, his another hand stroked his leaking cock. "please, please! Fuck me!" you cried, pulling him closer, Elvis hissed as he slammed himself inside, his tip hitting your poor cervix. His strong hips rocked your shoulders against the bed as he stood up on the mattress and pulled your lower body up, his pounding moved into a new punishing angle.

His eyes rolled back, his arms around your thighs pulled at you to match his fierce hammering, moans, and fucks, goddamns leave Elvis, you weren't any better yelps and moans left you "Fu-So fucking right, gonna be my slutty princess huh? Let daddy use you whenever I want" his dull nails dig into your legs as he spreads them, his balls tightened at the pretty tight below him, your breasts bounce with each hard thrust, hair in beautiful waves, eyes hooded and look at him, lips fell in an o shape "your s-slutty princess dadda, Mark me please!" you jerked your hips, the invisible knot started to break "Goddamn, princess!" Elvis growled as he thrusted faster, his hot cum spraying into your walls and womb, pushing you over the edge with a blessed out scream.

You moaned, rolling to the edge and off the bed with a thud "Fuck! Ow" you barked getting off the hardwood floor and pausing when you felt something drip and pour down your sore legs "So h-he, that was real?" you stutter when the dots connected, you felt your face heat up, you had to find Elvis. You showered and changed into a white short dress, and started your journey to find Priscilla and Elvis. The endless doors made you feel like you were turning insane, you opened the last door upstairs, and the room was way different from the rest, a Circular pink bed sat in the middle, and toys, crayons, colored books, and plushies littered neatly around the white-wallpaper room. A big closet stocked with rows of pretty clothes that had colors of the pastel rainbow. You felt yourself slip "Ya like it princess? We had it made for Ya." Elvis whispered laying his ring-covered hands on your hips with Cilla on your right "Momma? Dadda?" "That's right! let's go color something honey?" Priscilla smiled taking your hand, and gently pulling you to the coloring table.

'Finally.' Elvis smiled putting his hands on his small waist watcing his lovers play together.

Taglist; @littlewierdalien @starwarsf1lms @galaxygirl453 @plasticfantasticl0ver @godlypresley

(@galaxygirl453 )

[wanderingelvis]

Hi, So can you do one with innocent reader where like she meets the mafia for the first time and they ask her sexual questions but she like wtf.

I love this!! I love interactions with the Mafia! Thank you for the request, enjoy! 🧚🏻

🧚🏻 Masterlist 🧚🏻

word count: 1,448

pairing: elvis x female!reader

warnings: mention of religion and sex

You were spending time in Elvis' lavish hotel suite with Elvis and the Mafia as you all took a break from the constant and relentless routine of shows. You'd just joined them all on the road as a backing singer and Elvis had taken an instant liking to you. You were docile and compliant, happy to do whatever he, or anyone else, wanted. He loved that he could mold you into whatever he wanted without taking away from your bubbly little personality.

You liked Elvis too, he never really pushed your limits like your singing coach would or some of the executives on the tour would. He was a safe haven. However, the same couldn't really be said for his entourage, the Memphis Mafia. It's not that you didn't like them, you just figured they didn't like you. You were quiet, reserved and shy and they were all the entire opposite of that. 

They hadn't really bothered to interact with you much either, they would barely even glance your way usually. Little did you know that they knew better than to speak to you. You were Elvis' little girl only.

Right now, you were busy telling Elvis all about how excited you were at the prospect of performing at a local carnival show, that it might be your biggest audience yet and that you were nervous but eager to do it.

"Pretty girl like you is gonna have all the boys and men flocking to you after that little show you give 'em. But I bet you're already used to that." Elvis mused, brushing away a curl of hair that had fallen in front of you face.

"Well, no actually." You said, oblivious the eyes staring down at her from one of the most famous men in the world, as well as his entourage.

"No?"

"No boy back home would even wanna come near me, they were all scared of my Momma," You softly giggled, remembering all the times your mother would practically bark at a boy that even looked in you direction. It had always been embarrassing and you were still terrified of crossing your mother.

"Wait, hang on a minute," A voice interrupted, you followed the sound and you were met with Sonny West, who was sitting on the couch opposite you, drinking whisky and smoking his cigar, listening in on the tales you were telling Elvis.

"So you've never...?" Sonny interrupted, taking a sip of his drink. You shook your head, sitting upright on the plush couch as Elvis walked over to the drinks table to pour himself and you a drink. "You're telling me, you've never even taken a mans fingers?" He said, clearly overstepping, but you were just a little confused.

You looked over to Elvis who was just watching the interaction play out, and gave you a reassuring nod. He knew that Sonny was prone to a drink or two and could get out of hand.

"Um... no, um, I don't think so." You said quietly.

"Fuck, tell me you've at least had your first kiss." Sonny said, cracking up at the idea of your lack of sexual history. You politely and sweetly stayed quiet, just shaking your head a little. Sonny's eyes widened when he realised you were being serious, laughing even more. When you looked over at Elvis, his eyes were dark and intense, trained just on you.

"Sonny." Elvis said sharply, but it went over Sonny's head. Elvis could see you were uncomfortable and he knew Sonny was being an ass.

"EP, c'mon!" Sonny said, before turning back to you. "You must be pretty glad you're in the Hollywood scene now then, eh kid? You'll get a guy and everything that comes with it with a bat of an eyelash." Sonny chuckled.

"M'not a prude, I just wanna save it all for when I'm married, I want it to be real special. My best friend, Patty, she's done it all and that's okay, I ain't gonna judge none," You insisted, you knew how liberal and carefree Hollywood was, you knew that you were surrounded by different lifestyles, you just didn't want anyone to think that you thought less of them for it, because you didn't. Sonny let out a booming laugh, causing everyone's heads to turn to him and your cheeks to flush, worried you'd said the wrong thing.

"Waiting until marriage? Honey, that's the most ridiculous thing I've heard in a long time, you're not eighty years old sweetheart." He patronised, chuckling to himself. You chewed on her lip a little, feeling a little stupid. "It's just what, um, m-my pastor says God wants." You said softly, crossing your arms to cover your chest a little, feeling insecure. You didn't really like all of the 'Mafia', you knew Jerry was nice and you could see why he was Elvis' favourite, but Sonny and Red weren't as friendly.

Sonny slapped his thigh as he burst into more laughter. "I thought this generation were supposed to be all loving, what happened huh? God?! It's like my mother's here." He chuckled. "Woah now, if Y/N wants to wait for marriage, she ain't gotta justify it to you Sonny. Really, it ain't got a goddamn thing to do with you does it, Son?" Elvis said, almost menacingly, to his friend. "Why don't you go find somebody else to berate rather than picking on the little girl huh? Goes for all of you, get outta here." Elvis said, nodding at the door before sending you a wink, making a smile creep onto your face before you felt your cheeks get hot. Sonny's cheeks also flushed, embarrassed at being scolded by the Boss, but none of the Mafia wasted any time in getting out of the dressing room, leaving you and Elvis alone. "Sorry about Sonny, he likes to think his goddamn opinion is more important than it actually is." Elvis said gently, sitting back down next to his sweet girl, who was still sitting firmly upright, not relaxed in the slightest. You looked up at Elvis with confusion on your face and a furrowed brow, which Elvis thought was the cutest thing he ever did see. "D'ya think I'm silly?" You asked softly, worrying that maybe your admission might make Elvis think differently about you.

"I think you'd be silly if you rushed yourself and made yourself unhappy." Elvis comforted, making your shoulders stop tensing. You shot him a quick nervous smile.

"Just want it t'feel right." You mumbled, picking at your fingers.

"I know, I won't let them upset you again little one." Elvis promised, pulling you onto his lap effortlessly to give you a cuddle, the type of cuddle you loved having with Elvis.

You felt so comforted and looked after by Elvis, he could be surrounded by anyone and yet he'd ask one of the Mafia to find you because that's who he wanted. You weren't sure yet as to why, but you never complained, you loved being in his company.

As your mind wandered, thinking about all the ways that Elvis made you feel good, your eyes widened with an idea.

"Elvis?" You asked as he hummed in response. "Would you give me my first kiss now?" You asked shyly, nerves flooding your little body as you peered up at him to gauge his reaction.

Elvis studied your face before shaking his head. "Baby, you're not ready, you know that, don't ya?" Elvis cooed.

"I just-"

"I know sweetheart. But you're not ready for all of that, you're just lettin' Sonny's words get to ya." Elvis assured softly.

"I know." You said, feeling a little embarrassed and defeated, even if you knew that Elvis was right, he always knew what was best for you, better than you did at this point.

Elvis watched you and all he wanted to do was kiss you, rip your babydoll dress off you and fuck you senseless. He'd imagined it more times than he'd like to admit and he couldn't wait for the day that he'd finally be kissing your soft skin all over. He knew that that day would come, but he knew it would only live up to his expectations if you were ready, and he knew you weren't.

"How's about I make you a deal then, baby?" Elvis suggested, gently tilting your chin up so that you would be looking at him. "How's about, when you're absolutely sure you're ready, you come find me, and I'll give ya a kiss?" Elvis proposed.

You giggled a little at the idea, but you liked it. You didn't feel pressured, only looked after.

"'Kay." You said gently, another giggle leaving your lips.

The pair of you smiled at each other, each letting out little laughs and enjoying each others company as Elvis decided to count the days until he got his kiss.

[venus-haze]

If I Were You (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Elvis takes up Priscilla’s offer to go to rehab for Lisa, and decides to take the steps to break from the Colonel personally and professionally. Elvis is referred to you, a Memphis-based therapist who specializes in helping patients work through codependent or otherwise unhealthy relationships. While he ultimately hopes his turning his life around will give him a better chance of reconciliation with Priscilla, the level of emotional intimacy you allow him in the context of your sessions makes him redirect his attention to you.

Note: This is based on an anonymous request. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. I appreciated having an excuse to rewatch some of my favorite Sopranos episodes because I got a lot of inspiration from seasons 1 and 5. It’s more dialogue heavy than my other fics because of the therapy sessions. I’m not a psychiatrist and nothing in this fic should be treated as legitimate advice regarding mental health, please refer to licensed professionals for that. Look at the warnings before deciding whether or not you want to read this fic because it’s extremely dark. Do not interact with my blog or my posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinpso content.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail, obsessive and manipulative behavior, and abuse of power, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. The therapy session scenes involve discussions of codependency in relation to parenting and relationships as well as self-blame, death, and drug and alcohol abuse. Explicit sexual content which involves force and coercion and brief daddy kink. Elvis’ mommy issues. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (all other parts by @crash-and-cure)

When you received a phone call from Dr. Wilson, one of your colleagues who worked at a rehabilitation facility in San Diego, asking if you were taking new patients, you hadn’t thought much of it when you answered that you were. He elaborated that while the patient was doing well in rehab, he thought he could benefit from continued therapy sessions, particularly because of your specialization and proximity to the patient’s home in Memphis. He informed you that he’d reveal more information about the patient and provide you with the clinical notes he’d taken throughout rehab once he received the patient’s agreement and approval to begin seeing you.

A few days later, you got the follow up call. The patient was interested in being treated by you and had given Dr. Wilson permission to send you copies of the clinical notes. He finally revealed who your Memphis-based patient would be—Elvis Presley. You nearly dropped the phone when he told you. Him going to rehab made sense, his drug and alcohol-fueled antics on stage frequently made entertainment headlines, but you certainly hadn’t expected that he’d need the specialized therapy that you offered. 

Elvis still had two weeks left in the rehabilitation program, and you’d receive the clinical notes before then to get an idea of what Dr. Wilson had already addressed with him. When you received the packet at your office’s mailbox, marked with a large ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamp on it, you almost hesitated. While aware of his career, you weren’t a huge fan of Elvis’, so that wouldn’t pose a conflict of interest, but you wondered if you could truly be impartial and fair toward a man whose existence permeated almost every aspect of American popular culture. 

From what Dr. Wilson had said, Elvis needed help, not as a rockstar but as a man. You were one of less than forty therapists in the country who specialized in helping patients break down codependent relationships. Your office wasn’t far from Graceland at all, ensuring Elvis wouldn’t have to go out of his way for regular therapy sessions. 

Finally opening the packet, you were faced with a manila file folder with Elvis’ full name and birthdate printed on the tab. You grabbed your notebook, preparing to write what was relevant for the sessions, but the more you read, it seemed like everything was relevant. A deceased overbearing mother whom Elvis revered as a saint, a manager who exploited his career for decades, and an ex-wife who was burdened with being the man’s stand-in mother and therapist from an alarmingly young age. 

You sat back in your chair, exhaling deeply to ground yourself. Taking on Elvis Presley as a client would not be easy, that much was obvious. Most of your clients didn’t have webs as intricately woven as he did, as much to unpack and consider as Elvis. Yet, from the notes, he wanted help. He wanted to change. He didn’t want his daughter Lisa to grow up without a father, but he also wanted a career and a life that he could finally be in control of, where he could be sure of who to trust. 

On a Friday afternoon, when you were in between appointments, your phone rang. You answered, resisting the urge to gasp when you heard who was on the other line, despite expecting his call.

“Hello, is Dr. Y/L/N there?” Elvis asked.

“Speaking,” you answered.

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “Dr. Wilson didn’t mention you were a woman.”

“Is that a problem, Mr. Presley? Because I can refer you to another specialist—“

“No, that’s fine. I just thought you were a secretary or somethin’—no offense.”

“None taken,” you said. 

The two of you discussed what his goals for therapy were, and that he wanted to attend twice a week, which was how often he was seeing Dr. Wilson while he was in rehab. Many people were hesitant about therapy since it had an unwarranted stigma attached to it, but you supposed the group therapy and personal sessions in San Diego had proved its effectiveness to him. You agreed to schedule appointments for Monday and Thursday afternoons at 4:30pm and leave the service door to the building unlocked for him, so he could come in at the end of the work day and not have to worry about passersby and other patients seeing him there and causing unwanted attention. 

The conversation was short yet pleasant, but if you were being honest, you hadn’t been so nervous about taking on a patient since you first opened your own practice. You had tried to reason with yourself, that he was just a man seeking help like all of your other patients. None of your other patients, however, were Elvis Presley. You managed to calm yourself down the day of his first session, focusing on the other patients you had scheduled. 

He arrived fifteen minutes early the day of his first appointment, a non-issue as you had made sure the session before his was wrapped up by four, giving him a window of time to arrive while the office was empty. You took a deep breath before opening the door to the waiting room from your office, and found him staring at a painting on the wall. He turned to you, giving you one of the most dazzling smiles you’d ever seen in your life.

You greeted him with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Presley, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Same here, Dr. Y/L/N,” he said, shaking your hand.

“Follow me, and take a seat anywhere you like,” you said, leading him into your office and closing the door behind you.

“Is this some kinda test? You can tell something ‘bout me by which one I pick?” he asked half-jokingly.

You laughed. “No, no, it’s just that we’re going to be sitting for an hour, so I want you to be comfortable.”

He sat in the armchair in front of the bookcase, rather than the one in front of your desk. You grabbed your notebook and sat down across from him. The two chairs were nearly identical anyway, so it didn’t make that big of a difference where either of you sat. Taking a moment to study him, you couldn’t help but acknowledge to yourself how good he looked. You always thought Elvis was a handsome man, but post-rehab, he seemed to be glowing in a way that seemed almost youthful. After allowing yourself to ogle your new patient, you cleared your throat.

“Now, before we begin our first session, I want to establish doctor-patient confidentiality and inform you of your rights as a patient. Is that okay?” you asked. 

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

“Wonderful. I take doctor-patient confidentiality seriously. Anything you say in this room will stay in this room. However, if at any point during our sessions you indicate that you intend to seriously harm yourself or others, I would have to go to the police.”

“Seriously harm?”

“Any intentional action that would result in the hospitalization or death of yourself or another individual,” you elaborated, and he gave you a silent nod to continue. “I may encourage you to dig deeper into your psychological and emotional state, you don’t have to answer any questions that you don’t want to, but keep in mind that I’m trying to guide the conversation in a direction that will help you achieve the breakthroughs you want.”

“You know, my mama used to call you psychologists ‘headshrinkers’. Hell, I even do sometimes,” he said with a laugh.

You smiled at the comment, it certainly wasn’t uncommon for people to be skeptical of mental healthcare, but since he’d already brought up his mother, you didn’t want to lose that momentum.

“I completely understand. When I told my parents I was getting my doctorate in psychology, I might as well have told them that I was going to clown school,” you said. “Some people turn to religion for their psychological guidance. My parents are like that. Were yours?”

“Oh yeah, mama was always quotin’ scripture.”

“And your father?”

“He went to church with us sometimes, but it was usually me and mama. I stopped goin’ to church once my career started takin’ off. Didn’t have the time to, but I still love those old gospel hymns.”

You nodded, taking quick notes as he spoke.

“You writin’ that I’m some religious nut in there?”

“No, just general observations, things you’ve mentioned that have appeared while treating other patients. The more I treat people who’ve struggled with codependency, the more I can help others by recognizing patterns of behavior,” you explained. “I read from your file, which thank you for letting me look at by the way, that you experienced this codependent abuse from your former manager, Tom Parker.”

He exhaled, and you made note of his utilizing the coping method to calm himself down. 

“The Colonel thought he was entitled to half of everything I made, even though I was the one workin’ myself sick. He had that hack doctor put all kinds of junk in me to keep me movin’ like some walkin’ dead man. That cost me my family and half of everything I ever earned. I’m suin’ the son of a bitch, but I can’t let this happen again.”

“Elvis, I’m sorry that happened to you. You were taken advantage of by someone you trusted. You have every right to be upset and angry. I encourage you to express those emotions while we're here,” you said. “I want to challenge you to stop referring to your former manager as ‘The Colonel’. I think that language is detrimental to your progress as it sets him in a place of authority over you, when in reality, he isn’t and never was.”

He scoffed. “What should I call him then? ‘That piece of shit’?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “If you’d like, yes.”

For the rest of the hour, he spoke about his former manager, and while you had an idea of what went on from the notes your colleague had given you, the extent was just as bad as you’d expected. As a doctor, you were particularly horrified by the so-called ‘Dr. Nick’ who exacerbated Elvis’ addiction to prescription medications in the name of the almighty dollar. Elvis peppered in mentions of his mother throughout the session as well, and you made a note to dig into that in the future. You weren’t the biggest proponent of Freud, but you knew many people went through life subconsciously mirroring the behavior of their parents unless they made a conscious decision not to. 

At the end of the session, you let Elvis know that you admired the progress he’d made so far, both in rehab and his first session with you. He smiled at that, and confessed that even though he wasn’t sure about seeing a woman therapist, as soon as he saw you, he knew there was something different about you, and he already felt comfortable around you. You stayed in your office late to work on the notes for his file while they were still fresh in your mind, and left around a quarter to seven. 

The Monday and Thursday sessions continued consistently for the next few weeks, and you were thrilled with how much progress Elvis had made, both in therapy and in his personal life. He was more involved in Lisa Marie’s life and had her over at Graceland regularly, making sure his days were completely clear whenever she was over so he could focus on spending time with her. His sleep pattern had become more regular, with some bouts of understandable insomnia. You and Dr. Wilson had already agreed that with Elvis’ history of addiction, holistic approaches to any psychological conditions would be best, and prescriptions would only be given as an absolute last resort. When he told you that he felt better than he had in years, physically and emotionally, you considered it a huge success, and encouraged him to acknowledge and celebrate that. 

Understandably, most of your sessions with Elvis were spent discussing his former manager and the influence and control that he had on Elvis’ career and personal life, particularly the strain it caused on his mother. That was a sensitive issue for him, and he tended to deflect when you tried to bring her up or discuss his relationship with her further. About four months into your treating him, however, he mentioned feeling some resentment toward his father for mismanaging Elvis’ finances, making an off-handed comment about how it wouldn’t have happened if his mother were still alive. You saw this as the opportunity to get him to finally elaborate.

“Your mother was the dominating figure in the family unit, then?” you pressed.

“Mama was a good woman, the best woman. She put food on the table when daddy was in jail. She believed in me before anyone else did.”

“I never said your mother wasn’t a good woman,” you observed. “Why did you jump to that conclusion, that I was attacking her?”

The room was silent for a few moments as he considered your question. “Everyone else did. You know, she was right about not trustin’ the Col–Parker. It’s like when I signed that contract with him I was signin’ her death sentence.”

“Do you blame yourself for her death?”

“I know it was the alcohol. I learned that much in rehab, but in her heart, it was me. She died while I was in basic training, doctor.”

“I’m glad you’re talking through this. It’s going to help with our future sessions, but I want to establish that you’re not responsible for your mother's death anymore than you’re responsible for her other actions throughout her life.”

He shook his head. “Me leavin’, that killed her.”

“Why would your leaving kill her? As I understand, you were drafted. You didn’t have a choice.”

“Because I was supposed to take care of her. My daddy wouldn't, so I did.”

“Do you think it’s right for a child to take care of their parents?” you asked.

“It’s not about what was right,” he argued. “I had to do it.”

“How old were you, when you first stepped into this pseudo-parental role?”

“What?”

“How old were you when you began taking up the household responsibilities that belonged to your father?”

“I was real young, when he went to jail and we had to move. I had a good childhood, though. We didn’t have much, but I had friends and I went to church, did alright in school.”

The hour was almost up, but you knew you were close to reaching a pivotal point in his treatment. As soon as you got him to consider that his codependency issues started with his mother, you could work through his relationships with Tom Parker and even Priscilla, but it’d be easier said than done to drag his mother off of the pedestal he put her on. She’d been dead for over a decade, and yet she still had a spectral stranglehold on her son.

Your intention wasn’t for him to walk out of your office hating his mother, but to recognize the unhealthy behaviors he emulated and to work through the grief he clearly never fully dealt with. 

You figured you had time to ask him one more question, and chanced it with, “What do you miss most about your mother?”

“I could tell her anything, and she’d always have something to say. Maybe not what I wanted to hear, but she always meant what she said. I trusted her like no one else. I don’t know if I ever will.”

“It’s hard for you to trust people, with the position that you’re in and how people have taken advantage of you in the past. That can be lonely, and some people engage in self-destructive behavior in an attempt to get the care and attention they yearn for. I believe that you will be able to trust again. Just something to think about as the session ends today,” you said. “You’ve made a lot of progress, and I want to acknowledge that.”

He smiled. “Thank you. You really know your stuff, but I guess that’s what you went to school for.”

“I appreciate that,” you acknowledged. “I hope you have a great rest of your day, Elvis, and I’ll see you at our appointment next week.”

After Elvis left, you worked on your notes from the session to add to his file. You weren’t just paying him lip service before, he had made a good amount of progress, and even despite some of his hesitations, worked through some aspects of the treatment that you expected to be more challenging for him. 

The next few sessions, you pressed him more about his mother, and while he pushed back against your insinuating that some of his codependent tendencies originated with her, he did acknowledge that the pressure of not upsetting her did cost him his participation in his high school’s football team, which he loved for the brief amount of time he spent playing. She had been worried about him getting hurt, a pattern you noticed as Elvis spoke to you about his childhood.

You weren’t expecting to find that the root of her anxiety over Elvis’ well-being came from losing his twin, Jesse at birth. Elvis was born into the world having to be two men instead of one, and when his father fell through as the family’s provider, he had to pick up the slack for three. It was a lot for someone to handle even without the challenges of fame. The more you worked with Elvis, the more convinced you became that he could have benefitted from therapy a decade sooner.

In all honesty, you were glad Elvis’ appointments were at the end of the day, because they began to become almost as draining for you as you figured they were for him. Still, he never missed an appointment and always arrived early. The work you did was always difficult, and you couldn’t help but empathize with your patients, but Elvis seemed to take everything out of you.

One weekend, you had plans to get dinner with Mark, a man around your age who you’d met in grad school and had an on-and-off again relationship for a while, before deciding to stay friends. Out of habit you both referred to whenever you’d get together as ‘dates’, and the one you planned was at a higher end restaurant in Memphis. The two of you had been so busy with work that when he called you to catch up, you hadn’t realized it’d been months since you’d seen him. The restaurant was the type of place where you had to make reservations in advance, and so with this in mind, he made one a few weeks prior.

When you and Mark arrived at the restaurant, there was a crowd of loud and restless people overflowing into the street. The two of you pushed your way through to get inside and waited to speak to the host, who informed you that due to unforeseen circumstances, there’d be a thirty minute wait for your table despite your reservation. 

The two of you considered leaving and going to a different restaurant, but decided against it, since you had the reservation anyway. To your relief, the wait only ended up being less than five minutes, even though you could tell by the reservation list on the host’s podium that several couples were still ahead of you and Mark. 

A waiter led you to your table, and after taking your dinner orders, Mark excused himself to go to the restroom. While waiting for him to return, you could hear people gasp and murmur behind you, until a familiar shadow fell over your table.

“Dr. Y/L/N, funny meeting you here,” Elvis said.

You raised your eyebrows, not expecting to see your high-profile patient of all people in the restaurant. “Mr. Presley, how are you?”

“I’m doin’ just fine.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad.”

“Are you here alone?”

“No, my date is just in the restroom.”

His expression shifted, but he nodded agreeably. “Well, have a good night.”

“You too,” you whispered as he walked away. 

Fuck. He was upset you were there with someone. It wasn’t uncommon for your patients to temporarily redirect their codependent tendencies onto you, considering the level of emotional intimacy that was involved with the therapy. It’d only once escalated to a level where you felt obligated to refer the patient to another therapist, but you hoped that wouldn’t be the case with Elvis. He’d been making great progress with each session.

When Mark had returned to the table, you gave him a strained smile but continued on with the date as usual. About halfway into your meal, the waiter approached with a bottle of wine neither of you had ordered. 

Before you could question anything, the waiter said, “Compliments of Mr. Presley.”

“As in Elvis Presley?” Mark asked.

The waiter nodded and set the bottle on the table. You weakly told him to thank Elvis, and he left to do so. As soon as he was out of earshot, Mark leaned in, “Is Elvis Presley your patient?”

“I won’t answer that, Mark.”

“Holy shit,” he said, opening the bottle of wine. 

You didn’t recognize the label from the wine rack at the supermarket and figured it was some expensive brand that was either old or imported, or both. As Mark poured himself a glass, you contemplated whether or not to drink it. Refusing so would confirm that Elvis was your patient, but drinking it would mean you accepted a gift from a patient, both situations required you violating your own code of ethics. Sighing, you let Mark fill your own glass with the wine.

The rest of the night with Mark was fun as you caught up on your personal lives, and Elvis didn’t make a reappearance at all. When Mark walked you back to your car, the two of you promised not to go as long without seeing each other again, and parted with a quick kiss.

You spent Sunday lazily reading in the comfort of your apartment, adjusting the radio in your living room to different stations every so often. All of them seemed to play at least one of Elvis’ songs at some point, and you wondered if you were only noticing the frequency he was on the radio now that he was your patient. Some artists were just radio mainstays, and he was one of them.

On Monday, you knew you’d have to address the situation with the wine to Elvis, but to your surprise, he beat you to it.

“So, how was the wine?” Elvis asked.

“It was kind of you to go out of your way to have something so nice brought to my table, but I can’t accept gifts from patients,” you said. “I hope you understand.”

He narrowed his eyes, leaning over so his elbows were resting on his knees as he asked, “That guy you were out with, he your husband?”

“No, just a friend.”

“You married?”

“No, but–”

“You ever been married?”

“No,” you repeated, “but while we’re on the subject, let’s discuss your marriage and Priscilla.” 

You noticed him hesitate to answer. “Is that okay?”

“Sure,” he said.

“How did you meet Priscilla?”

“Her daddy and me were both stationed in Germany at the same time. I met her when she came to a party at my house one night.”

“What attracted you to her?”

“She wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever met in my life. She was beautiful and sweet. I just knew there was somethin’ different about her,” he said, quickly adding. “I was respectful, ya know. She put up with a lot from me, but she was there when I needed someone.”

“You mentioned in a previous session that your mother died while you were in basic training, and after the funeral you were sent to Germany, where you met Priscilla. Do you think you incorporated her into your grieving process?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

You kept pressing him for more details, knowing it wasn’t a coincidence that he happened to meet the woman he’d go on to marry after such a devastating loss. The more he elaborated on his relationship, the more you came to understand the codependent nature of it as well. Priscilla became a stand-in for his mother despite her youth, and he began to depend on her the same way. You found it particularly interesting that he encouraged her to dye her hair and gave her the same nickname he had given his mother. 

“I understand you and your ex-wife are still close, and she’s part of the reason you’re here. Can I ask you, when you and Priscilla divorced, what you were feeling?” you asked.

“I–I’m sorry, can we talk about something else?”

You nodded, making a note to revisit that later. For the rest of that session and Thursday’s session, the two of you spoke mundanely about how his day to day life was going, the strides he was making to live a more sustainable lifestyle. He informed you that he wanted to make music and perform again, but wouldn’t tour while his lawsuit with Tom Parker was ongoing. Even then, he planned to take it slow, scheduling dates more spaced out to give himself time to rest. He did mention trying to work something out with his team to do one-off performances in the Memphis area in the meantime, to figure out how this new era of his career would go. 

The following afternoon, when you usually had an hour or so break between sessions to have lunch, you were interrupted by repeated knocking at your office door. You opened it to find a gift basket on the ground, looking back and forth in the hallway to see if the person who left it was still there, you picked it up and brought it over to your desk. The basket was filled with an assortment of goods that you knew must have been expensive from the brand names that you actually did recognize, and all of the gifts were perfectly suited to your taste. For a moment, you thought it was Mark’s doing, but when you read the attached card, you sighed. 

Early on in your career, you had made it a rule to not accept gifts or favors from patients. It helped establish to your patients that you were their doctor, not their friend, as much as you did care for them. You took your ethical responsibility as a therapist seriously, and so you contacted the company where the gift basket had come from, informing them that you’d like them to pick it up and inform the sender that you couldn’t accept it. You’d been expecting the phone call you received about an hour later.

“I tried to get what I thought you’d like,” Elvis said. “Guess I don’t know you as well as I thought.”

“Mr. Presley, I told you in our last session that I don’t accept gifts from patients. I appreciate the gesture, it was extremely thoughtful, but it violates my personal ethics.”

“You drank the wine I sent over to your table,” he argued.

You pursed your lips. You knew letting Mark accept it was a mistake. “That was a completely different scenario. If I had publicly refused, it would have confirmed to my date that you were my patient. I made the decision to respect your privacy.”

From the way he huffed over the phone, he was frustrated. He always did so in sessions when you pressed him to dig deeper into the aspects of the major relationships in his life that he didn’t want to confront. “I understand, doctor. I just wanted to show my appreciation for you, is all. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Have a good night, Mr. Presley. See you on Monday,” you said.

The next few months went on without incident, and you were pleased with the progress you were making with Elvis. He was willing to open up to you much more, and you found yourself revealing some information about yourself to him as well. Sometimes, it unnerved you how he seemed to remember things you had mentioned in passing weeks or even months before, as if he were taking his own notes on you. 

Once in a while, you’d run into him while you were running errands and minding your business in Memphis, having quick and cordial conversations before going your separate ways. Part of you suspected it was deliberate, as a man as famous as him knew he couldn’t step foot anywhere outside of his home without making the news.

On a Friday evening, as you led your last client of the day out of your office, a man you didn’t recognize was standing in the waiting room, looking around at the decor in your office. When you walked out, he looked at you as if he’d seen a ghost. 

Before you could speak, he said, “You look really familiar.”

“I don’t know how that could be. I don’t believe we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N.”

He hesitated before answering. “I must be seeing things, then. I’m Jerry.”

“Nice to meet you, Jerry. May I ask what brings you to my office?”

“Elvis sent me. He’s doing his first show in over a year next weekend, and he wanted me to bring you this VIP pass. Soundcheck, front row seat, backstage access, the works,” he said, holding out the small plastic card to you. “It’s in town, so he’ll send a car for you.”

You shook your head, feeling like a broken record when you declined. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t accept gifts from patients. Please send my regards and tell him thank you anyway.”

Jerry nodded. “Alright, nice to meet you, Doc.”

As soon as he left, you collapsed onto the couch. You were making great progress with Elvis, serious progress, but it was clear that he was shifting his codependent tendencies onto you. As much as you didn’t want to, you had to consider referring him to another therapist. It’d be a hassle for him, as the closest therapist with the same specialization as you was located in Nashville. It wasn’t uncommon for your patients to exhibit similar behavior toward you, especially early on in their treatment, but you’d been working with Elvis for nearing a year. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, as his case was far more complex than any of your other clients, past or present. 

While you were in the supermarket checkout later that evening, you glanced at the tabloid magazines that were displayed next to you, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the cover of most of them–various photos of Elvis, out and about in Memphis with different women who all looked almost exactly like you. Suddenly, you felt as though everyone in the store was staring at you, and you abandoned your cart, rushing out of the store and to your car where you had your first panic attack in years. 

As you cried into the steering wheel, attempting to catch your breath, your mind raced at the implications of what you just saw. The women were stand-ins for you, but they weren’t enough for him, they never would be. You knew that if you continued to spurn his advances, they’d only become more elaborate and unavoidable, and by giving him some of the attention he desired, you’d only be encouraging his unhealthy behavior. Your next session with Elvis was that upcoming Monday, and you’d make sure to let him know about your colleague in Nashville and cut all ties with the rockstar. 

By the time Monday morning rolled around, you wanted to cancel all of your other appointments for the day, but your other patients didn’t deserve to have their treatment interrupted because of one patient. The day flew by, to your dismay, and 4:30 arrived far sooner than you were ready when he walked through the door and into your office. He sat down in his usual seat, and you resisted the urge to glare at him. You didn’t appreciate being manipulated for personal gain, and you figured he of all people would have understood that. 

“Mr. Presley,” you began sternly. “I have repeatedly tried to enforce the professional nature of our relationship as doctor and patient, and yet you insist on sabotaging the massive strides you’ve made in your treatment by repeatedly making attempts to violate that. I think that continuing to see me as a therapist would be detrimental to your recovery, so I’m referring you to a colleague of mine with a similar specialization. After this session, I will no longer be your therapist.”

He stared at you incredulously before becoming stone-faced. “Well, since you won’t be my therapist anymore, I guess you can accept all those gifts now.”

Your mouth nearly fell open at his boldness. “Mr. Presley, you’re missing the point entirely.”

“No, I think I get the point loud and clear, Y/N.”

Your chest contracted as his use of your first name. “Mr. Presley, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now.” 

He stood up from his chair, and instead of walking out the door, crossed the few feet of space between you and caged you into your chair. He stared down at you intensely, silently, for what felt like hours. Too frightened to move, you held his gaze until he cupped your chin in his hand, gently rubbing his thumb against your skin. 

“You’re doin’ this for us, mama,” he whispered, “so we can be together.”

“I’m doing this for my own safety.”

“I knew you felt the same way about me, how much you wanted me too.”

“Elvis, please, let’s just sit back and discuss this. I won’t refer you to another therapist,” you lied, trying to appeal to whatever sense of rationality he may have had.

His other hand drifted to your thigh, inching its way up your skirt. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, you pushed him off of you and hoped that it would disorient him enough for you to run out the door. Instead, he beat you to it, pressing you against the wooden door that stood between your freedom and captivity.

“C’mon, mama, we’ve had this date since the beginning,” he purred in your ear. 

Perhaps you had been too preoccupied with having Elvis Presley as a professional success story than acknowledging the delusional and obsessive tendencies he displayed. Where did you go wrong? You tried to think back through a year’s worth of therapy sessions to figure out when exactly you’d given Elvis the impression that you were interested in him romantically or sexually, but were torn from your thoughts when he kissed you aggressively. He must have mistaken your attempts at protests for moans, because he only deepened the kiss, biting your bottom lip so you’d gasp in pain, giving his tongue access to your mouth.

You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself and tried once again to push away, but he was too strong–and determined as he backed you into your desk, the impact from both of your bodies bumping against it sending some of the items to the floor. 

“Elvis, you don’t have to do this,” you pleaded. Why were you still coddling him? 

“You want this, mama,” he groaned, grinding his clothed erection against your exposed leg like a dog in heat. “I know you do.”

He didn’t give you an opportunity to argue, bringing his lips to yours again and hastily unbuttoning your blouse. He rid you of your bra just as quickly, and took one of your breasts in his mouth. Guiding one of your hands to his crotch, he rubbed your hand against it, and you let out an involuntary whimper as his moans vibrated against your sensitive nipple. 

Thrusting against your hand, he pulled away from your breast, muttering something about cumming in his pants if he didn’t do anything about it soon. He shed his shirt, throwing it aside. The reality of the situation hit you as he lifted you back on top of the desk and pulled down your panties. He dragged his ring finger up your slit, and you shivered at the sensation of the cold metal of his rings against it. Apparently satisfied with how wet you were, he wasted no time unzipping his pants and ridding himself of them to reveal he hadn’t been wearing any underwear. You stared wide-eyed at his cock, as he stroked it before positioning it at your weeping cunt.

“Just take it, mama. Be real good for me and take it like I know you can,” he cooed in an attempt to placate you as he slid himself into you. 

You choked on air at the sensation, not expecting how big he’d be, and tears began to run down your face. He kissed them away as he thrust into you, whispering about how good you were being, how perfect you were. Two of his fingers played with your clit, and your felt your vision go hazy at the pleasure that was building up in your core. You’d never felt that good in your life. Maybe you did want it after all.

“Fuck, daddy,” you moaned, nearly throwing your hands over your mouth at the realization of what you had said. 

That seemed to stir something in him, because his thrusts became harsher and more erratic while you berated yourself for actually enjoying it. The moans that came from your throat sounded almost foreign to you. 

“You got no idea how often I thought about this, mama,” he managed to groan. “Come for daddy.”

With a grotesque cry, you came, feeling yourself clench around him as he kept up his ruthless pace. His own orgasm followed soon after yours, and as you felt him cum inside you, you weren’t sure whether you hated him or yourself more. What felt like hours passed before he finally pulled out from you, leaving your inner thighs wet with cum and lightly bruised.

You looked at him through your tears, knowing your mascara was surely tracked down your face. He reached for you, and you flinched back, nearly falling off of your desk until he steadied you, and you broke down into humiliating sobs into his shoulder, your nails purposely digging into his skin. You wanted to hurt him, somehow, make him feel how you felt. Instead, he seemed unfazed, releasing you from his grip when your crying had settled down to hold your face in his hands. 

He looked into your eyes with all of the delusional affection you’d feared and whispered, “You’re my girl, my bestest girl.”

[elvsz]

ARE YOU NEAR, MR PRESLEY? “

summary : Elvis chose someone else and you did too, it was one late night in his Vegas penthouse when he told you the truth — the love he felt for you was becoming too much, even for him. His constant need of having to be near you, to see you and to make sure you were safe was making him feel insane. You both being busy with shows was also becoming too much, you hardly saw each other. The breakup was hard but you both ended it on amicable terms yet every night he finds his heart asking the same question, are you near? when he sings on stage; Do you watch him the way he watches you?

warnings : ex!yandere!elvis. female!reader. Kidnapping. reader is the lead singer of a 70’s pop group (abba was in mind). possessiveness, protectiveness and threats of violence. reader is calm and collected but also arrogant (lolz). mdni. cheating! kissing. age gap, elvis is 41, reader is 25. priscilla is his ex wife, reader is his ex gf. lisa marie doesn’t exist in this. can be read as austin elvis. BDE!elvis. 70’s elvis. petnames. substance abuse, alcoholism (from main characters). reader is named ‘delilah’ as her stage name / y/n is used.

based on : love me, suspicious minds & too much.

by elvsz / yandere / mdni

It was 1972 when you were told the news by one of elvis’ men.

Elvis and Priscilla were to be married - again.

In many ways, you wasn’t surprised. Elvis hadn’t been a fully faithful man when you were together, back in 1968 when you were merely 21. Though you must admit that when Son called you - his own voice full of sympathy that she could only shake off - to tell you the news, your world stopped for a moment or so.

Elvis was getting older, as were you, but the drugs he took seemed to make him believed he felt young. You weren’t a completely pure woman, your own intake of alcohol when your stage name name - Delilah kicked in on stage wasn’t healthy either. But you knew when to stop.

You only said okay to Son, trying to come across like it didn’t bother you - which it shouldn’t of done. You were with somebody knew, Max Charlton was his name, the 27 year old who fell in love with Delilah but ended up loving you only a few weeks after you and Elvis had the cruel break up.

You don’t respond to Max when he asks you who called, merely shaking your head and getting back into bed next to him. Your heart is heavy and her mind is full of guilt when you wonders to yourself; Elvis, are you near?

You turn onto your side to turn the lamp off on your bedside, letting the darkness indulge her into something better, calmer. Letting Max sit there and wonder what had happened. You still feel Elvis’ hands on your skin, when Max puts his on you..

Elvis didn’t ask who was performing in the International Hotel that day, he already knew who it was. Roses, the band you were in had started rehearsing for the late show that night. Yet he couldn’t hear your voice at all, it was the one thing he always wanted to find no matter where he was.

The voice he had known for what felt like all his life was too far for him to hear, you were too far for him to feel. And it made his heart hurt, almost burn with something cruel and sinister.

Then he hears you, your soft voice calling out to him as you sing Season of The Witch, the song you and your band had decided to create over night. He can feel the passion in your voice root itself in his soul, making his head fuzzy.

Elvis shakes himself out of a haze when Jerry — one, if not his greatest friend — tells him to come over and see them. You and your band who spray out before him, two members by the speakers. Some laying on the floor. Jerry being a big fan, which was funny to many as he was a member of the greatest’s inner circle, he’d always get up and dance to the music you made.

There you were sat there with your hair up like a doll, pretty headband on, ear piece long forgotten about as you sang and danced with your backup singers.

“C’mon! Give me somethin’!” Elvis heard, you were talking to the guitarist, who with the your very sweet, but arrogant pressure ended up making a very good riff for the song.

You knew Elvis was there, the way your other band mates seemed to quiet down into whispers told you it all. But you ignored him and Elvis was sure his heart was cracking.

“Ms. Y/N?” Tom Parker had always been a man you hated, so when your name left his mouth you wanted nothing more than to swing for him. Your turned her head over her shoulder, eyes bitter as they landed on the man.

“What?” You spat out, annoyed at being distracted, she took her music very seriously. The paper’s said even more than Elvis did which truly was something, you can only shake your head as the man tries to tell you something.

You turn to finally look at Elvis like you used to, back when fans would push themself against you and you’d look like a fawn, eager for him to do something. Your own heart threatening to break, but Elvis saves it again — patting Parker on the shoulder, telling him to come and see his plans for his new album.

You can only send him a nod as a thank you when he gets the man far from you. You turn back to your guitarist, but your soul begs for the man who just walked away. Your heart begs for Elvis, like every night before.

Elvis can only lie to his manager’s face, he had no album planned but he didn’t enjoy the way you tensed up under the cruel man’s harsh gaze and his weird words. Elvis nods for Jerry to go and take his manager away, he doesn’t say anything when he leaves.

He can only sit before the mirror, his head in his hand as he feels his heart beating more than usual, the pills on the desk before him are calling his name.

But then he hears your voice, your very, very angry voice.

“Like hell I will!” You spit out at your manager, who follows you to your own dressing room — Elvis requesting for yours to be next to his, he can only sit there and listen as you practically scream at the poor soul — and then he hears you cry.

“You said I could go goddamn home after tonight!” Your voice is breaking and Elvis knows you’re sobbing at this point. He can hear things breaking, you probably stand there throwing things at the man. Elvis’ door is opened, he watches your manager shake his head as he walks out.

Elvis stands up, calmly walking to your dressing room, your own door open. There you sit on the floor, things broken on the floor, smashed into pieces as you hold your head in your hands.

“Baby..” You don’t reply to him, merely sobbing into his hands, he shudders as he sees the broken mirror, he looks at your hands and there they are, bloody.

“Someone get a damn medic!” He calls out to the people hanging in the hallway, he hears footsteps running around. He crouches down to you and he can nearly sob himself when you flinch from him.

You look up at him and he wants to break your manager’s face. Your mascara is down your face, headband broken by the door, blood smeared near your mouth where you put your hands. Hands which are cut by the glass shards.

“He..” you mutter, choking out. You put your hand on Elvis’ arm, your grip week. He comforts you by whispering sweet words.

“He said I could go home an’.. I’m gonna die here Elvis.” His worlds stops, he looks at you confused, angry and dazed.

“What?” His southern drawl comes into play when he’s angry, his gaze darkens.

“I gotta stay here for ‘nother five years.” Your own gaze is hazy and angry. But the tears that won’t stop running down your face is what really anger him.

“Sweetheart, what’re you talking ‘bout?” You wish to answer him, you really do, but then your eyes fall to his engagement ring and you can only get up on shaky legs and a heavy heart.

You walk passed him, the man who sat down next to you who now is quick to follow you. Asking you questions. You don’t say anything when you walk into the bathroom in the hallway, you only lock the door; refusing to look at him.

You stay in there for what feels like forever, and when you finally open the door you don’t see Elvis to be anywhere.

Elvis is so close to your manager - Chris - that he’s sure the younger man can almost feel his red, hot, rage. Elvis is asking him questions because he needs answers and for the fact that he loathes seeing you so upset.

“Listen.. I had a talk with the hotel owner, he wants her to sing for him!” Chris tries to come across friendly, he knows he tries, but Elvis can see his anger building and the gun that rests in his holster is becoming heavier.

“For what!” Elvis shouts, “Another five goddamn years!” His fist finds the wall next to Chris’ head and the man watches Elvis become a monster.

A man turned cruel because of sin, is nothing less than a monster once adored as a king. He can feel the rage that made him leave you - he was tired of watching people beg for a kiss from your pretty lips every night on that godforsaken stage - begin to blossom in his gut again.

His world spins, the drugs and the alcohol kick in, Chris barges past the man who now sways. He runs for the door and he finds it, not before Elvis tells him to get rid of that contract.

Or he’ll blow his brains out.

You sit in a chair in a new dressing room, letting the make up artists put eyeshadow on you. The lipstick on your lips feels thick, your hair now all done up feels wrong and your eyes still gloss over.

It had been a long day. Too long of a day, by now you would’ve cancelled the show and gone home to your cats, but alas you sit there and let them prod at you like you’re no more than a doll.

“Five minutes!” Your manager shouts down the hallway, your open door letting you hear it clearly. You can only hum one of the songs he’s making you play tonight.

The dress you wear is white, and it’s so tight you can feel every stitch as if you did it yourself. One of the makeup artists wipe the tear off your cheek, her smile is sympathetic.

The walk up the hallway is cruel, heeled covered feet aching for something kinder, you read over the set list for the night that sits in your hand.

How can you mend a broken heart, Take me in your arms, Somethin’ stupid— you don’t finish looking at it. Only crumbling it up in your hand as you find the door to the stage.

The red curtain is down, you wish to see Elvis. You wish to feel him but the guilt eats at you alive.

He’s getting married again to somebody who isn’t you, stupid girl. That’s what rings through your head; you nod your head to the band members, the back up singers. They all compliment you.

Your eyes gloss over, you can feel your manager tapping your shoulder as you stand before the mic. He passes you a cup of what you can only imagine is alcohol.

“Welcome back, Delilah.”

The first song you play isn’t any on the list you read before, you start with Son of A Preacher Man, swaying as you let the music take you.

Your breathing is heavy and your words are yet to be slurred, Elvis watches from his own table with Jerry and a few other friends. Priscilla is yet to be seen by any of them.

Your voice is like silk when you bend down to the crowd, letting a twenty something year old man kiss you softly, you smirk as the crowd screams.

“Was a son of a preacher man..” you smile, teeth white and pretty, eyes full of something.

You can only watch Elvis and his reactions, the way you grip the end of your dress; giving the crowd something to blush and whistle for.

They knew you as this, the woman who made people feel dizzy with sin, dizzy with desire as you suddenly shake your hips.

Trouble suddenly comes on, your hips are moving as are your legs. You can feel the aura of the audience change, people stand up, pushing against the stage to touch you.

Hands close to your heels, as you rock your way around. Elvis hated this, hated watching people and their nasty desires try to get to you.

But he loved that glint in your eyes when you got what you wanted, which when Elvis was involved, was all the time.

This went on for two hours, you smiling at the crowd, shaking with them as you wiped the sweat off your forehead. You took your final bow, this was it — the last show at the international. No matter what your manager said, this was it.

The last person you look at is Elvis. Who happens to be the one to find you first when the curtain goes down, he’s by the end of the stage waiting for you like always.

You practically run to him, suddenly your world is hazy, breath heavy. Your world goes dark and the last thing you remember is him and his strong arms wrapped around your body.

“Elvis?” You mutter, the bedsheets you lay on aren’t your own, they’re too soft and a different colour. The covers are draped over your body, you feel like a small child who’s been tucked into bed.

The room is almost pitch black, if it isn’t for the lamp on the desk in the corner. You know he’s there, and the whine you let out is almost pathetic.

He remembered how much you hated the dark - childhood trauma you explained to him - and how much you feared to be alone if left in it.

He walks towards you slowly, a robe is all he wears, your eyes are full of tears and you ache for him. Your soul aches for him.

You crawl to the edge of the bed, you notice the nightshirt you now wear, soft and in your favourite colour, you look up at him.

His hands are soft on your face, cradling it softly as he kisses you ever so gently. You pull away, “you- you said the love you felt for me was too much.”

You repeated the words he said to you that night in ‘68, your heart heavier than anything. You watch as he shakes his head, his voice is deep and husky.

“I lied. I.. I didn’t want to hold you back anymore.” He hints at the age gap between you both, his mouth moves to your cheek, your jawline and your neck as he pushes you back down onto his bed.

You cry out, feeling overwhelmed as you push yourself away from him. “You went back to her, Elvis.” You move off the bed, standing away from him as he watches you in the dim light.

“Baby.” His voice holds so much adoration, he finally has you back where he wants you. Finally has you back to himself, the sob you let out when you see your hands now wrapped with gauze is sad.

He cared for you. He always had. He always will.

You let him pull you into a hug, his arms tight around your waist as you sob into him. You hit your fists against his chest and he lets you, all he wanted was for you to come back to him.

And now you were back together, his engagement ring long forgotten, purposely thrown out, and there was nothing Elvis wouldn’t do to get you back to him.

Such as making your manager sign you into a five year deal at the place he performed.

Like making your manager and his sign a deal that stated if either yours or Elvis’ career ended, the other would have to.

You were his, sweet girl. No woman, man, or person would ever change that. He’d make sure of that.

[candy-ishu]

apple pie (pt 3)

pairings: yandere!austin!elvis presley x female reader

summary: it’s been a year since elvis took you from everything you’ve ever known. he keeps you trapped in graceland as his perfect little housewife, knocked up and docile, just the way he likes. as your baby’s arrival date comes closer you become determined to get your child away from your monster. whatever the cost may be.

warnings: rated M for yandere themes, dark themes, obsessive behavior, abuse of power, age gap, elvis is in his early-mid 30s, reader is in early 20s, elvis is mysognist in this, mild smut, oral male receiving, spanking, daddy kink, reader calls elvis daddy when he’s angry, belting, pregnancy, escape attempts, murder, violence, unhealthy relationship, branding, toxicity, abusive relationship, graphic content.

note: hi! omg i’m so so sorry this took so long to release i have been incredibly busy with school and testing but i finally have the opportunity to release this so thank you all for your patience and support. this chapter is very graphic and i want to clarify that i do not condone any type of this behavior in real life and this is all fiction. hope you enjoy! <3

word count: 2,968

part one  part two  part three

“baby you must think i’m a damn fool.”

it feels as though someone just poured ice water over your head. you feel your whole world crumble to your feet with those seven words. you want to crawl out the window and run until you can’t see the god-awful town anymore, but you’re frozen, petrified before your husband.

“e-elvis…i can explain-”

“tell me what there is to explain.” the man snarls. his voice is steady and quiet with an intensity that makes you want to burst into tears. “what is there to explain y/n? you wanna explain why you tried to take the baby from me? or maybe you wanna explain why you disobeyed my rules in my own house?” he takes a long puff from his cigar before grinding it into the ashtray on the kitchen counter. he walks over to you slowly and grabs your face, forcing you to look him in the eye. you don’t dare to move. 

“i don’t want your explanations. i know exactly what you did. you really were doin’ well, i’ll give you that. it’s a shame that little tommy doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

the wave of realization hits you like a tsunami. you clench your jaw in anger. how could you be so stupid? you placed your trust in a damn seven-year-old. the thought of the desperation that led you to that decision hurt, but the fact that your idiotic decision was why you were back at the mercy of elvis presley hurt even more. 

“but elvis…” you pleaded, voice now small and shaky.

“give me what’s in your hand.” he demands, voice steady and quiet.

“daddy please-” you attempted, using his favorite nickname to try and lessen his anger.

“GIVE ME WHAT’S IN YOUR HAND.” he roars. you shakily hand him your ticket through teary eyes and look down in shame as he snatches it from your weak grasp.

he laughs quietly as he reads the small slip of paper. “mississippi? what the hell were you plannin’ on doing there? a new mother with no money, no work experience and no husband, you and that baby would be dead within the first week. awfully selfish of you, doll.” he tears the ticket up right in front of your face, and with every rip of paper you feel your heart shatter some more.

each torn piece of paper falls to the floor and seemingly just to rub it in some more, the man orders you to sweep up the paper and throw the pieces into the fireplace before meeting him in the living room for your punishment. 

you try so hard not to cry, but in the end you can’t stop the tears that flow from your eyes and splatter onto the torn-up paper you collect in your hand. this was all your fault. your baby would grow up in a household with no love, with a father that saw it and it’s mother only as property, as little moving pieces in his messed up game. your baby would have to grow up like this and it was your fault. 

as you watch the paper flicker orange in the fireplace you rub your stomach gently. an apology to your unborn child. the soft glow of the fire illuminates your stomach enough that you can see the small circular blotches left on your dress from your tears. “mama tried so so hard…” you whisper, hoping that somehow the little one can hear you. “mamas so sorry…” 

your thoughts are interrupted by your husband yelling from the other room. “y/n! get in here before i pick you up and drag you in!” he growled. “comin’ elvis!” you replied frantically. you wipe the tears from your eyes, not wanting the man to see your shame and carefully walk into the living room.

when you walk in elvis already has his belt. you know what you have to do. it’s the same every time you’re disciplined. you bend over the arm of elvis’ recliner. a large veiny hand lifts up your skirt and pulls down your panties leaving you exposed and at the man’s mercy. your husband’s thumb runs up and down your slit. “you’ll get ten with the buckle and fifteen with the hand. you should thank the kid. this would be worse but the stress ain’t good for the baby.”

in your mind you wonder how much worse it could get.

“we know our numbers don’t we?” the man snarls demeaningly as he folds the belt and readys it in his hand. you bite your lip to keep from sobbing and give a soft nod. he adjusts the buckle and smacks your thigh before the first whip is dealt.

it burns.

“o-one!” you practically yelp out. the second hit isn’t any better than the first. elvis aims for your sit spots, you pray to god you don’t go into labor this week. it would be pain added on top of the already agonizing experience. “t-two!” you sputter out, tears beginning to fall down your cheeks.

every hit becomes more agonizing then the last. elvis lets out every last bit of rage he has on your poor abused bottom. the final blow is dealt, the belt seemingly whistles in the air as it comes down onto you. “T-TEN!” you sob. elvis puts the belt down and runs his flesh hand over your newly reddened skin feeling the warmth of the blood that’s rushing to it. 

he lets out a sigh at your pained whimpers. “hush now, baby. you know, this hurts me even more than it hurts you. still, misdeeds need to be punished. you know that doll.”

hands clutch onto the fabric of the recliner as elvis runs his ring-covered hand over your ass, getting ready to strike it.

SMACK

the first hit burns even more than all of the belting combined. you squirm on the chair, attempting to get away from the source of the pain out of reflex, but elvis pins you back to the chair with his other hand. streams of tears fall down your cheeks as you blubber out a pained “e-eleven!”

the hits continue to get harder. with each loud SMACK your ass burns just a little bit more. you’re almost certain that once this is over you’ll be unable to sit for weeks. your poor bottom bruised and blistered like a child’s because you couldn’t just obey like a good girl.

for a moment you find yourself wishing you hadn’t tried to run and that’s even more terrifying than the punishment itself.

“naughty girl. tryin’ to run away from me like that.” elvis growls in a low voice as he delivers another smack to your abused butt. “you’re mine, you understand me? no one will ever love you like i will. you’ll stay here at graceland for the rest of your damn life. i can’t let you go out there and get hurt. what kind of husband would i be if i let that happen?”

“elvis i-”

you cut yourself off with a loud yelp as the man delivers another hit. “oh darlin’, there ain’t anything more to say about it. you’ll stay in this house, cooking, cleaning and giving me children until we both die. you belong to me. frankly, you’re lucky you’re pregnant. i would have broken your leg for tryin’ to run, but i’m sure you’ll need to be on your feet for the baby.” 

you sob into the arm of the recliner as elvis delivers the last few blows to your backside. once he’s done, he pulls a box from his pocket and from it takes a cigar which he promptly lights. 

“i hope you’ve learned your lesson. you took your beating good for daddy, let’s go to bed now satnin” the man murmurs. big strong arms pick you up bridal style. you can feel the hairs of his side burns poke at your face when he gives you light kisses. he finally lays you down on the bed and before you can sleep you hear a snap. 

a shackle.

elvis shackled you to the bed.

“jus’ a precaution. i’ll let you sleep without it once i know i can trust you, but after this it won’t be for a while. you better get used to it.”

the man gives you one final kiss before he turns over and goes back to sleep.

you can’t sleep that night. all you can do is cry.  

–

two weeks after your punishment you go into labor. the process is longer than it should have been, elvis insists on you giving birth at home. his personal doctor comes to your home and after 8 hours of what feels like a never ending agony, a baby boy is placed into your hands.

you look at him in awe as he’s cradled in your arms.

from his loud powerful wails, to his tiny button nose, to his beautiful blue eyes, you love every single part of this baby. he has elvis’ eyes, but you simply can’t bring yourself to care. something deep down inside of you that you simply couldn’t describe made you adore him.

you had to protect him. you had to get him out of here.

it’s crazy to think about running away after how miserably you failed the last time, but something about this baby boy reignites that spark inside of you. it didn’t matter how far you had to go, you’d climb mountains, cross oceans, go anywhere do anything, if that’s what it took to keep your baby safe then you’d do it. 

your thoughts are sadly interrupted by the very man you were thinking about.

“well ain’t he the most precious thing…” you hear elvis softly coo. he takes the little bundle of joy out of your hands. you want so badly to take him back and never let him touch the boy again, but you’re aware that if you do that now, in the bloody state you’re in, you’ll only end up getting yourself or the baby hurt. 

elvis cradles the small boy in his arms, softly rocking him. he gives his belly a light poke and for the first time in his life, the baby laughs. 

you can’t help but smile at the man for invoking the noise. ‘the boy must be an angel.’ you think. maybe this was god’s way of telling you there was still hope for you.

elvis smiles and kisses the boy’s tiny forehead. “well then mama, what’s his name gonna be?”

you smile and almost whisper, “michael…”

a fitting name for your guardian angel.

“michael huh? sorta reminds me of a guy i once knew…but if that’s what you want darlin’, michael it is.” the man smiles and tickles his son’s belly again, invoking more of those magical giggles. 

elvis tells you to wait while he puts the baby in the cradle and then comes back to get you. he lifts you up out of the bathtub where you had given birth and wraps you in a fluffy towel. he tries to give you a sponge bath but you ask to be taken to the baby, a bath can wait for now. you’re taken to your shared bed and the baby is placed into your arms. a familiar click of the shackle around your wrist is heard, and you hear elvis say something about going to clean up the bathroom. you hardly care what he’s doing, you’re too engrossed by the sight of your baby to think about anything other than him.

you sit up straight and adjust your breast so the baby can start nursing. before the doctor had left he had told you how to get the baby to latch onto a nipple. the baby coos and gurgles a bit before finally latching on with some help. he softly suckles on your teat and you gently stroke the soft wisps of hair on his head. 

“i’m gonna protect you from him…i promise.” you whisper into his hair. you give him a soft kiss on the nose and watch as he nurses.

he was aware of what you were saying and he’d have no way to hold you to that promise when he was older, however you had to keep it. you’d make his life a better one than yours.

it had taken you three weeks to finally figure out the code to the gun safe. quick dangerous glimpses while you made breakfast of elvis’ hand movements and long hours of testing out code after code after code while he was at work had finally paid off. you had opened the combination lock and found a small 10 round pistol. 

elvis’ guns weren’t in there when you looked. the man took those to work with him. that was fine with you, you highly doubt you could use those anyway. they were so big and so powerful the recoil would probably break your arm. the pistol would serve you just fine. all you needed was to blast open the locks on the door so you could run with michael.

you go upstairs and take your baby from his cradle. he’s sleeping soundly and isn’t woken when you pick him up. you stoke the back of his head and feel guilty that the gunshots were surely wake him up, however you know that you need to get him out of here for his own good. the thought of that pushes you forward.

the kitchen cabinets are raided and food is put into a small bag. enough for a three day journey. that would get you to the next town. it would be dangerous but you didn’t have many other options. you debate taking one of elvis’ cars but you decided against it. maintaining gas and taking care of the baby would be too difficult. it would be better just to go on foot. 

finally you grab one of elvis’ large trench coats from the closet. you hated that it smelled like him however you didn’t have your own coat to wear so it was this or freeze during the cold desert night. you walk to the door and gulp. this was it. you’d never see this mansion again. 

you let out a shaky sigh and kiss michael’s head before seven consecutive bangs shoot the locks off and the door swings open. 

you drop the gun and start sprinting.

you run and run and run and run and run and you don’t dare look back.

you don’t stop running until you’ve absolutely collapsed from exhaustion. you’re out of town. you’ve made it into the next one. when you look behind you the town only looks like a miniature version of itself. 

this is the furthest you’ve ever been from it in two years…

michael is crying and you do your best to shush him through pants. you see a gas station in the distance. it looks empty and abandoned. a good place to spend the night.

you pick up your food and you tread through the concrete until you step onto the cooler pavement. it feels nice. you sit and hush michael. you let im nurse and as he does you feel your vision growing darker. by the time he has latched off of your nipple you’re almost asleep. mind fuzzy and dazed from dehydration. you want to pass out but you can’t let youself. you have to looka after the baby. you shakily stand up on your sore legs and softly pat ont he boys back. he lets out a small burp and you smile.

“atta boy…” you whisper. “mama’s here. i’ve got you.”

he babbles a bit but eventually falls asleep on your chest. you eventually sit down and allow yourself to doze off too.

–

you wake up almost five hours later to the distinct sound of slurred curses and yelling. you’re confused. it was just you and it couldn’t be michael so what was-

your vision clears up from its sleepy haziness and your eyes snap wide open. you’re surrounded by two drunk men and they don’t look happy.

one was holding an alcohol bottle with the bottom of the glass broken off, and the other held a pocket knife. you could’ve sworn you heard one of them mumble something about raping you and killing the baby afterwards. 

you clutch your son and realize that this space also belongs to them and they probably weren’t taking too well to intruders. one of them tries to grab your leg but your swiftly pull it back before he can. you shiver and clutch your baby for dear life.

was this the end? were you and him going to die here? if you did it would be all your fault. your baby would die because you had decided to run. how could you ever forgive yourself for something like that?

the men walked closer gripping their weapons and you cry and hold the baby close. the baby seems to have realized what’s going on now and has started wailing too.

michael… he would die an awful death…scared and it would be all your fault.

“i’m sorry…” you whimper through sobs. “i-i’m so so sorry.”

one of the men pounces on you and you prepare for the end. you shut your eyes tight and hold onto michael.

BANG. BANG.

you’re dazed as you open your eyes…you should be dead, but from what you could tell you and the baby were completely alive.

you look around you and both men lay dead on the floor. above them stands elvis looking murderous with his assistant jerry, behind him. 

you feel your heart beat faster and fat tears well up in your eyes as your eyes connect with his. 

“well well,” he growls. “look who i found.” 

to be continued...

[powerofelvis]

Take Me To Church

Pairing: Elvis Presley x F!Reader

Word Count: 8K

Summary: You had to get away from your parents and their overzealous religious beliefs. You set off to Las Vegas to the desert where you meet someone who has set your heart ablaze. How far are you willing to go to stay hidden?

Warning(s): Religious Trauma, Corruption Kink, Knife Play, Blood Play, ANGST, Reader is physically assaulted, MURDER, all that cult shit, SMUT, oral (f.receiving, m.receiving), Vaginal Penetration, 70′s era Elvis is a warning all by itself.

A/N: This is a request. @lovininapinkcadillac​, thank you for requesting this because it put me out of my comfort zone in writing dark stuff. Now I wanna write more of it! Happy Halloween, everyone! I hope y’all have a safe and fruitful halloween <3 I also wanna thank my bestest girls @lindszeppelin​ and @headfullofpresley​ for giving me ideas that I put in this fic alone. Thanks babies! 

masterlist.

The Las Vegas strip was beautiful during the Autumn season. You had run away from the hustle and bustle of your Californian town, not wanting to conform to your father’s overzealous religious beliefs. You were his good girl for over half of your life, but you needed a little rebellion in your life. You had met a girl named Sandra who wanted out of her daily life, so the two of you snuck away in the dead of night, leaving your fairytale life behind. You both hitchhiked as far as you could, sometimes getting lost but would find each other again at truck stops and rest stations. Your mother would be appalled if she could see the kind of things that you were doing to escape the good girl role that your parents expected you to play. Las Vegas was as far as you wanted to go, the grim reality of being too far away from your parents settling in because as much as you were fractious, their authority over you was still there. 

Sandra had told you that she knew some friends that were based out of Las Vegas, living some sort of bohemian lifestyle that instantly attracted you. You were always a free thinker, always clashing with your traditionalist mother and devout father about how you should live your life. Your mother wanted you to become a housewife like her, waiting on your husband’s every whim. Your father wanted you to be devout like him, living your life in honor of God and out of the world's ways. While you didn’t see anything amiss with their teachings, teenage rebellion soon crept upon you—drowning you in the misery of resentment for your parents. So here you are, following a girl who you barely knew hours ago in a state that you have never frequented. If your parents could see you now, they would have a conniption. However, you weren’t with your parents, and you didn’t care how they felt about your newfound plans for your life. 

Soon enough, you met her friends, who were all welcoming. Too welcoming. One of the members of the group, who was known as Mandy, started talking about a compound that was located in the middle of the desert that lived the nonconformist lifestyle, something that you were looking into living. The compound was known as Graceland, and Mandy said that the leader of the Graceland compound was known as Elvis Presley. Mandy spoke so highly about Elvis that you didn’t think twice when Sandra asked you to come along to behold the power that Graceland held. It took half the following day to reach the desert, noticing an alluring camp that sat smack dab in the middle. However, the surroundings of the compound were guarded by musical notes engraved in a metal gate. The outside plainly stood out among the breeze of the sand that blew quietly. Once everyone passed the gates, you were absorbed in the feeling of being at home. You could hear a roaring cheer come from the church that sat in the middle of the camp, pulling you away from the group.

As you walked inside the building, you could feel the overwhelming feeling that you felt standing outside of its gates; this time, it engrossed you like a godsend. The voice that was bouncing off of the walls filled you with its melody. Standing in front of you was a statuesque man, veins bulging from his neck as he spoke with a graceful tone. His cerulean hues watched his congregation intently before they landed on you. Your feet were planted firmly on the carpet, unable to move as if you were cemented in the ground. His words died on his tongue before he turned away from you—continuing with his sermon, eyes moving back and forth between you and the group in front of him. You continued standing there as the sermon came to a close and the congregation piled out of the church, tears falling out of your eyes at the tremendous feeling of being at home. “You lost, honey?” A southern accent boomed from beside you, startling you out of your trance. You turned to face the man who stood behind the podium, wiping the wetness that pooled under your eyes. “Oh, no! My friends should be around here; they brought me here. We heard about this place, so I wanted to learn firsthand about the wonders of Graceland.” 

The man’s smile sent an unusually calm feeling across your body—something that you wanted to feel over and over again. “I-I-I-…enjoyed your sermon, as you can see from the tears. Sorry.” You wiped the remaining tears from your eyes, wiping the wetness on your blouse before putting your hand out. The man took your hand into his soft ones, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “I’m Y/N.” His smile could have melted a thousand ice sculptures, yet he was melting your nervousness. “Elvis.” He looked over you once more, his eyes not leaving yours. “You and your friends are welcome to stay as long as you’d like. I’ll have one of the girls show you where you’ll stay.” Elvis bid you goodbye, and he was on his way. A woman who you learned was Tamara showed you to your room, which was also hers. For the remainder of the day, until dinner, you and Tamara spoke about your lives and what led you both to the beautiful haven that was known as Graceland. At dinner, your eyes did not leave the table where Elvis and the other men sat, seemingly in a serious conversation. His brow furrowed as he spoke, his eccentric personality standing out in the room. 

Your staring was short-lived as Tamara and Sandra brought you out of your fantasy, talking to you about how handsome the men that sat at the table with Elvis were. Sandra was interested in the blonde-haired man, who you learned was Jerry, whereas Tamara was still trying to figure out who she wanted—a man or another woman. As you learned about her, you learned that she was very free-spirited, which led you to adore her, and you wanted to be around her more than the others. Your eyes moved between the girls at your table to Elvis for the rest of dinner. Elvis’s smile never wavered from his face as if he knew that you were watching him. 

After dinner, a man pulled you to the side, catching you off guard. “The leader would like to see you outside at the remembrance garden.” Your heart jumped into your throat as you nodded, following the man to the garden. It was a beautiful sight; white roses adorned the vines which wrapped around a gazebo-type building. Along the sides, names of those who you guessed passed on were ingrained in marble stones along the path. The stars were shining brightly that night as you walked up to the taller male who stood staring at the stars in the gazebo. “You were asking for me, Elvis?” Elvis turned around slowly, his blue eyes burning into your face behind his glasses. Your eyes traced along his jawline, noticing that he had a little stubble that was growing and that his lips were shaped as if he was God’s very own sculpture. His hand reached out, silently asking you to join him in the gazebo. You placed your smaller hand into his, stepping up the stairs as your head turned upward towards the sky—eyes enchanted by the stars and by the man that stood next to you. 

“You know, I believe you are here for a reason, darlin’.” Elvis never retracted his hand from yours; instead, he rubbed his thumb across your knuckles. Your skin heated up at the contact, not once pulling away from him. The hold that he had over you was powerful, but you were so infatuated with him and his charisma that you couldn’t tell how he had already pulled you into his world completely. “I believe so too, Elvis. I don’t tell many people this, but I am not the girl that you think I am. I ran away from my religious parents, looking for a free spirit lifestyle. However, I feel right at home here at Graceland, like I was meant to be in some structured environment that’s not home.” You rambled, hoping that you made sense to him and deeply hoping that he accepted the part of you that you were trying to change. You were surprised when Elvis laughed at you, turning you to face him. He pulled his hand up to rest on his chest, shaking his head at you as if he was scolding you. “Darlin’, everyone here ran away from something. Myself included. You are more at home here than wherever you came from. I hope that you know that and are willing to stay here with me. With us.” Elvis sounded too good to be true, but something about him screamed to trust him, and that you did. 

You were at Graceland for a week, and you were already accustomed to the daily routine of the camp. You were also visiting Elvis every night at the same spot, where you both were learning about each other. There were some things that you could tell that he was keeping to himself, but you weren’t going to bother him about it. You attended your first sermon, where you had fallen more into his charms as he seemed to be an enigma when he was standing at the altar. It wasn’t long before the camp's women started to notice that Elvis was showing favoritism to you. You couldn’t walk around the camp without noticing glares and whispers about you. You tried not to let it bother you, but it would—especially when no one would talk to you besides Sandra and Tamara. You would watch as the same women who were sending glares your way were the same women who were throwing themselves at Elvis. Elvis would allow it, giving subtle touches and kisses to them. 

You felt uneasy about the entire situation, so you would spend nights avoiding Elvis when he asked for you to come to him. You would hide in the room that you shared with Tamara, crying into your pillow at the embarrassment of thinking that Elvis would feel something for you. All you thought about was Elvis; you would think about how you wanted his hands to hold yours, how you wanted his lips to kiss your skin. You would wake up thinking about him, and you would go to sleep thinking about only him. Another sermon was scheduled for the following morning. Tamara made sure that you were awake and ready to go. She told you many times that it was mandatory to attend Elvis’s sermons because God spoke through him. You wish you understood what she meant when she spoke those words, but you were only thinking about what Elvis would think when he saw you. You, Tamara, and Sandra sat in the first row of the church as everyone waited for Elvis to arrive. 

Elvis came out of the side door, followed by the same men that were sitting at the table with him. He was dressed in a beautiful black and white jumpsuit, his chest visible to the naked eye. The women in the congregation swooned as he turned to face the audience. You rolled your eyes at their behavior, but your heart was giving your annoyance away. He looked breathtaking, more than you expected him to look. His eyes locked on you, his jaw tensing as he stared you down with a look of contempt. Was he upset because you were avoiding him? Elvis took a breath before beginning his sermon, his eyes never leaving yours. “I want to make one thing clear to everyone.” He began, his cerulean eyes still locked to you, his jaw still clenched as if he was debating on being angry with you or not. “When I call for any of you, you do not refuse me. I am the messenger of God. You do NOT refuse me.” His eyes glared at you, sending shivers down your spine. You knew that he was talking about you and that he was angry. 

After the sermon was over, you shot up out of your seat. You had to find Elvis and apologize for your behavior. Elvis was talking with a group of women, most of them hanging off of him—listening to every word that he was saying. As soon as he saw you, he pulled away from them, grabbing your hand. He pulled you into his office, slamming the door forcefully. “I want to apologize, Elvis. I didn’t meet with you because I felt embarrassed that you liked me, but you allowed those women to touch you and kiss you and-….,” You couldn’t get the words out fast enough before Elvis’s bright smile spread across his face. “Darlin’, I know. I know you were straying because of your feelings. You have to know, darlin’, those women don’t mean anything to me. Only you. I wouldn’t call for you every night if I wanted the others.” His hand caressed your cheek, pulling you close to him. “God told me that you were meant to be my other half, Y/N. I wouldn’t lie if I didn’t think so as well.” He spoke with certainty. 

You left his office that day with a smile on your face. Nothing could take the feeling of being on top of the world from you, not even the women who were still glaring your way when you walked around Graceland. You would continue meeting with Elvis at night, sometimes leaving with a smile bigger than when you came to him. Kisses were starting to be shared and touches as well. However, Elvis never went too far, telling you that he wanted you to be comfortable the first time that he made love to you. You sometimes found yourself becoming the first to show up to his weekly sermons, sitting in the first row as you craved the word of God coming through him. You were never the type who wanted to attend church when you were home with your parents, always trying to find ways to miss the sermons by pretending to be sick or saying that you would attend on your own. However, at Graceland, you wanted to attend every single event that was held—to catch a glimpse of Elvis in his element. 

This sermon was different and unusual from the usual ones that he usually gave. “God brought us together for a reason. God will never lead us astray; we must prepare for the Moon Festival.” He spoke with such fervor you could have sworn that you could get off alone in his voice. What was the Moon Festival? Why should you all prepare? You leaned over to Tamara, whispering the questions that plagued your mind. She explained that the Moon Festival was a festival that transformed two into one. Almost like a wedding but more intimate. The Moon Festival would happen in a couple of weeks, so you felt as if you needed to ask Elvis what you should do to prepare. You found yourself in his office again, pushed against his desk as his lips molded with yours. His lips felt as soft as clouds, sweet as candy. Your fingers molded in his black hair, tugging at his locks gently as you chased the high that his lips would give you. 

You would break away from him, needing real oxygen. Elvis smiled down at you, allowing you to melt into his arms as your head lay on his chest. “What do I need to do to prepare for the festival, Elvis?” If you were aware of the situation at hand, you wouldn’t ask him. He shook his head, looking down at you, smiling as sweet as honey. “You don’t have to worry your head about anything, baby. You just need to make sure that you are there.” You nodded your head, nuzzling your head back into his chest as he held onto you as long as he could. Once your daily session in his office was over, you would walk out of the church with the same smile as usual. Walking down the pathway that led away from the church, you noticed Irene and a few other women who were known to shoot glares at you, lingering around the dining hall. “Look who it is, ladies. The harlot who was sent here to tempt and steal our leader away from us.” Irene spat, walking up to you before grabbing you by your hair. 

Your neck was pulled back before the other woman near you punched you in the stomach, sending you to your knees. You gasped, trying to get away from them. You weren’t trying to steal anyone away, especially not Elvis. God told him that you were meant for him, so how could they go against the word of God? The woman who you heard Irene call Abigail reached over to you again, slapping you across the face. Her nails dug into your skin, creating scratches. You pushed Abigail away, getting back into your feet. “Stay away! Stay away!” You backed away towards the water fountain that sat in the middle of the courtyard. Irene laughed evilly, pushing you into the fountain before she climbed in with you. Her hand pushed your face into the water, holding you under as you thrashed against her. She was really trying to kill you, wasn’t she? She lifted your head out of the water, allowing you to cough and spit water out of your mouth before she pushed your head back under. At that moment, your mind went to Elvis. He was begging for you not to leave him, to stay and reign over Graceland with him. 

You felt her hands release your hair and a pair of hands pulling you out of the water fountain. You coughed; water escaped your lungs as your eyes opened, seeing Elvis. The women were being held by the men who were in his circle, with looks of hatred across their faces as they held the flailing women in their arms. Elvis caressed your hair, whispering apologies for the harm that was done to you before declaring that their time of judgment shall be the Lord’s. Sobs passed your lips as you held on to Elvis’s arms, feeling safe as soon as those women were carted away. That night, Elvis allowed Sandra and Tamara to stay with you. You could overhear Sandra and Tamara whispering to each other about how Irene would be in so much trouble. Elvis didn’t take kindly to others aggravating his woman. His woman. 

The next morning, Sandra and Tamara walked with you to the dining hall, where Elvis called everyone for an emergency meeting. Sandra and Tamara held your hands as the three of you walked inside the dining hall, your eyes finding Elvis standing at the head of his table. His eyes locked to yours, signaling for Sandra and Tamara to bring you up to the first table that was near him. “What’s going on, guys?” You asked them, your eyes never leaving Elvis as you neared the table. They smiled at you, not answering you as they helped you sit down before taking their seats beside you. It wasn’t long before the entire congregation was all together, waiting for the words from the messenger of God. Jerry raised his hand, signaling that Elvis needed everyone’s undivided attention. The chatter going around the room eventually quieted as Elvis stood up from his seat. “There has been a lot of talk about favoritism within the group because of one person.” His eyes fell on you as he took a deep breath. 

“God brought Y/N to Graceland for a reason. She is MY other half. God brought her to ME to help lead you all. There have been some people who have an issue with what God has spoken, so therefore they will be punished according to the laws of God. At the Moon Festival, their sins shall be forgiven by God and by us! If you continue to pester Y/N, you will be held accountable. You will have to leave us and find your way back to civilization through the desert.” Elvis stepped down from his table, taking you by the hand before turning towards his congregation. “Y/N honey, I’m sorry. No one, and I mean no one, will bother you again.” Elvis’s blue eyes trained the crowd, his control was still over his congregation, and you felt it. You nodded your head, eyes still locked on only him. You truly felt like you belonged at Graceland with Sandra and Tamara. You felt like you belonged with Elvis. 

That night after the meeting at the dining hall, you met with Elvis once again at the remembrance garden. You had never gotten around to looking around the place, but you were finally able to get to the gardens before Elvis. You walked along the pathway, looking at the names that were ingrained in the stones that littered the path. You were so enamored with the surroundings that you didn’t realize that Elvis stood behind you, watching you with a smile. Elvis loved how naive you were to the fact that you would soon be stuck with him—forever. You jumped when you collided with a hard surface, arms wrapping around your waist. You gasped but soon relaxed as you smelled the familiar scent of vanilla and musk, which you knew better than anyone. “Elvis.” You breathed out, turning around in his arms. He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, pulling you closer to him. 

“You finally made it here before me. What do you think of the place?” He took you by the hand as he led you up to the gazebo where you had met him for the first time all those weeks ago. You've been here for a month now, completely enamored by him. There was nothing that Elvis could do wrong in your eyes, even now. You haven’t seen Irene, Abigail, or any of the women who attacked you a while ago. You asked around Graceland, but no one would give you a straight answer. Sandra and Tamara would also avoid the questions, sometimes changing the subject to something happier. However, you didn’t miss how they looked whenever you brought up their names. “I love it; it’s beautiful. It’s like our own little hideaway spot.” You looked up at the stars, caught in the beauty as you were in your favorite place to be—Elvis’s arms. 

It was finally getting closer to the Moon Festival. You couldn’t see Elvis as time winded down as he made it clear that he had to spend time with only God. You were okay with that as you spent time with Sandra and Tamara for those times. However, you wanted nothing more than to be with Elvis. The week of the Moon Festival, there was no sermon that week. Everyone was also being strange towards you because when you walked around Graceland, everyone would move out of your way with a bow of their head. You also haven’t seen Sandra and Tamara in days. You shook off the thought of them abandoning you to the Moon Festival. Everyone is just preparing, that’s all. Finally, the Moon Festival arrived, and you finally saw your friends. They came into the room with a look of happiness on their face as they told you that they had specific instructions to help you get ready for the festival. 

Tamara brought in a white gown, almost gothic. The sleeves fit around your arms but were almost loose in a way. The belt around the waist was tied with laces, allowing the dress to fit comfortably around your waist. After they put the dress on your body, they start working on your hair—pinning it up while allowing a few strands to lay on your forehead. They placed a flower crown on your head, backing away from you as they looked at their masterpiece. You felt beautiful, more beautiful than you have ever felt in your life. You were excited to see what Elvis would have thought about the outfit that they put on you. “Are we all wearing the same thing?” You asked Sandra and Tamara, confused when they shook their heads with a smile. “No, my lady. Only you.” Sandra took you by the hands, holding them tightly. My lady? You brushed off the sentiment, turning to the mirror before turning back to them. Tamara spoke about leading you to the festival, where the ceremony would begin when the moon was in the sky. There were red flags about a religious sect having a ceremony when the moon was in full view, but you were more excited about seeing Elvis again. 

You followed Sandra and Tamara to the church, where you noticed the congregation piling into the building. Suddenly, the same uneasy feeling that you had felt that day at the water fountain when you encountered Irene and her unhinged posse of women had returned. You hoped that you would not encounter them again, but seeing that the entire camp was walking into the church, you knew that anything was possible. You also noticed that you were dressed differently than the women as they wore darker colors compared to your pure, white dress that clung to your body flawlessly. This is indeed strange–all of this is strange. The voice in the back of your mind screamed to stop before it was too late. However, it was too late for you. You had been corrupted, wanting and needing more of Elvis as his presence clouded your purity. Elvis was everything that embodied corruption, but you didn’t understand just how much he had entered your mind. How much he moved throughout your bloodstream until you were here in this moment. As you walked closer to the church’s doors, Sandra moved from your side to where Jerry was standing. Tamara continued holding your hand as the doors opened for you, almost like a bride. You were suddenly scared, looking over at your friends as they seemed to be in a gaze that wasn’t like them. 

The gaze that was over their face was as if they were not in their bodies. In front of you, there stood Elvis in his black button-up shirt, which had the first two buttons unbuttoned like usual. Covering his shoulders was a white fur coat, which made him stand out in the sea of darkness in his congregation. Everyone watched you as you walked down the aisle toward your lover; the calm that fell around the room was almost unnerving. Elvis was standing behind the altar, which was decorated much differently than usual, but you couldn’t tell what was missing. Elvis’s hand reached out for you, seemingly waiting for you to join his side. You placed your hand into his, his soft hands allowing you to relax under his touch. You were no longer scared, but the voice in the back of your head was still screaming for you to run, for you to never look back. You ignored it until it disappeared completely, eyes looking up at your lover with such adoration that couldn’t be hidden. Tamara and Sandra stood in the first row of the church, pulling the hoods over their heads until their face was hidden from you. This was awfully strange to you, but you kept your mouth closed until the door opened again. The men that often hung around Elvis were bringing a group of women inside the church. These women were the same women who attacked you days prior in the courtyard. Your heart sped up in your chest as you sunk into Elvis’s side.

Elvis leaned into your touch, whispering in your ear, “Everything is alright, ma petite. Their sin shall be paid tonight.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before moving closer to the altar. The words that were once loud in your head were nowhere to be found now, the beating of your heart pounding in your ears as you noticed Irene, who looked scared to death. Her eyes begged and pleaded for you to help her, but you were powerless against the pull that Elvis had over the entire camp. You then realized that this was not a church but a cult. This was not a festival but a sacrificial ceremony and Irene would soon be a sacrifice to God. Elvis could feel that you were uneasy, so he turned you to face him. “You want them to pay for their sins, right, my love? God is unpleased with them at the moment.” His tone was stern, but he still spoke to you like honey which made you melt in his arms. Your mouth moved before your brain could comprehend what you were really meaning. “Yes.” Elvis’s bright smile pulled across his lips as he turned towards two of his men, nodding his head at them. “Tie her down, Sonny.” He gritted out; his tone now sounded venomous. Irene’s screams echoed around the building, asking for her friends to help her, asking for anyone to help her, for you to help her. However, her friends that were in the courtyard that day were also being tied up along the long altar, but their pleas were unheard. 

Elvis stood there proudly at the works of his men, raising his hand as they fell back in a line along with the others. “Tonight, the sins of these women who have strayed will be paid back to God. Our God is great, but he strikes his vengeance on those who stray away from his word. From my word.” His voice rang out with pure contempt as his eyes glared along the altar where Irene and her friends were struggling along the altar. He turned towards you, pulling you closer to the altar. “God has spoken to me! We will strike the hammer of vengeance upon these women, and then afterward, my darlin’ will become my wife. She will become my rib, worshiping God alongside me. Worshiping me.” The congregation cheered as they pulled out their daggers, chanting in Latin towards the altar. Elvis handed you the dagger that was in his knife holder before smiling at you once more. “Give our Lord his sacrifice in the name of our union, my wife. He shall bless us forever more.” You were in too deep now, but the brainwashing was complete for you. Hearing that you would become Elvis’s wife excited you more than you should have admitted. 

Your feet carried you towards Irene, the screams of the other women echoing around the church as the congregation all took terms stabbing their daggers into their bodies. Their screams became weaker and weaker as their blood splattered on the cloaks that the congregation wore. Irene was the only one left as you inched closer to her, raising the dagger over your head. The power that you felt all over your body was invigorating like you had control over your choices for the very first time. You didn’t live for your mother or your father. You didn’t live for their expectations of your life. You lived for yourself. You lived for Elvis. You brought the dagger down—one. two. three… into the chest of Irene. Her screams died off quickly as you continued stabbing into her heart. The blood splattered on the dagger, drips falling on you and your white dress, bleeding into the material. The congregation stood before you, cheering as you turned towards Elvis, wanting him to be proud of you. 

Elvis was indeed proud of you, pulling you by your arms, lips pressing to yours in a passionate kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, tangling with your wet muscle as he moaned into your embrace. The room grew quiet as Jerry and Sandra brought in the wine and bread. Elvis pulled away from your lips, turning to the congregation who were waiting for his words. You didn’t realize that while you both were making out, the bodies of the women were now gone—burning in the fire that was in the remembrance garden. The remembrance garden was for their sacrifices, and Elvis wanted to meet with you so that you knew that he was willing to kill for you. This shouldn’t make you feel turned on, but it invigorates you more than you’d like. Elvis took the dagger from your hand, placing it on the table where the wine and bread sat. The congregation had long gone, leaving a few of his men who were guarding the doors. “My wife, we must consummate our union. God commands it.” His lips spoke softly as his lips pressed kisses along your jawline. 

You melted into his arms, the flower crown hanging off your head from the recent activity of stabbing Irene. His hands rubbed up your sides, laying you down on the altar where Irene was laying, his hands moving up your dress. You were flying on clouds, your hips chasing his hands as they moved up your dress. He bunched up the material, pushing it up your waist as he continued kissing down your neck towards the bridge of your breasts. At this moment, your soul could have lifted out of your body as his fingers teased your core. The moans pouring out of your mouth were almost obscene as your hands pushed the fur coat that littered his shoulders off of him. Elvis reached up to the table, grabbing the dagger as he looked down at you, his smile melting you once again. The dagger in his hand was covered in Irene’s blood, dripping off of the tip on your lip. He groaned, pressing his lips to yours once again, his saliva and her blood mixing on your tongue. You sighed, opening your mouth as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. The dagger slid across your dress, cutting it open as the blood painted your body. 

Elvis pulled away slightly, undoing his shirt before throwing it beside you. The dagger had opened your dress from the front, revealing your breasts. His tongue pulled out of your mouth, licking down your neck before stopping at the valley of your breasts. His tongue swirled around your nipple, the dagger in his other hand gently pressed against your other nipple. You gasped, arching your back into his touch, wanting more of him all at once. Your hands tangled into his black locks, pulling him closer to your chest. The ringing in your ears became unbearable as your hips buckled up against his crotch. Elvis pulled away from you, pushing your dress off of your body—discarding it where he would only know. “Your body was made for me. Only for me.” He moved the dagger down to your pelvis, running it over your hardened bud. His hand gripped your chin as he made you look at him, his tongue pressed against his cheek. “You’re already ready for me, lil’ mama. I haven’t even done anything. Was killing that harlot enough to satisfy you?” He taunted, moving the dagger up to the elastic of your panties, cutting it open before pulling it off of you with the tip of the dagger. He held up your panties so that you could see before stabbing them down on the altar floor. “My prize, after all..” He smirked, moving down to where your thighs were spread. 

He pushed your thighs further apart, his tongue lapping a stripe across your pussy. Your back arched off of the altar, eyes rolling in the back of your head as if you were being touched by the Lord himself. He was worshiping you like you were gifted to him personally. Elvis groaned at your arousal filling his mouth, flickering his tongue around your pulsing bud—chasing after your sweetness. The feeling of flying was nothing compared to the feeling of Elvis’s mouth kissing your body. His tongue fucked into you, his fingers now rubbing your clit as he savored every bit of you. You needed more than his mouth. You needed him. All of him. Your hands could not reach down to his slacks, tugging at the top of his belt. Elvis smirked against your pussy, pulling away—arousal glistening on his lips. He sat on his legs, nodding his head at you. Elvis was giving you the cue to take what you needed. Your hands reached up to his belt, undoing it before unzipping his slacks. He stood up and away from you, taking his pants off of his hips along with the boots that littered his feet. He stood in front of you like a God, commanding you to worship him and that you were going to do. You tugged his briefs down, wrapping your hands around his cock–rubbing the precum dripping from his tip. Your eyes watered from happiness, tears gliding down your cheeks as you jerked his cock slightly. 

He was becoming impatient, bucking his hips towards your lips. “Don’t you tease me, baby,” He began, seemingly reading how needy you were also becoming. Your lips wrapped around his angry tip, him salty on your tongue. His fingers laced into your hair, pushing himself deeper into your mouth until the tip hit the back of your throat. You gagged, eyes watching him from behind your eyelashes as your eyes water. The salty tears streamed down your face as Elvis slowly began fucking into your throat. His moans pushed you through as spit fell from the corner of your lips, making a mess of you. Your makeup was now ruined, your face wet with tears and your own saliva as your throat became another hole for his cock. He pulled away from you, tilting your head up as he looked into your puffy wet eyes. “You are well on your way, my wife. God is pleased, and so am I.” 

You were pushed back on the altar, the stickiness of the blood now against your bare skin, but you were only focused on him. Elvis grabbed his erection, rubbing the tip between your lower lips as his lips pressed to yours in a chaste kiss. You were so needy for him and his touch that your hips were bucking against his erection wildly. He laughed, pushing inside of you slowly. You haven’t been touched in this way before, a pure virgin in your own right. The pain spread over your body, but you knew that it was only temporary. Elvis knew that you were meant to be deflowered by him and only him, pacing himself so that he wouldn’t ruin the experience for you both. As if you both lie there for what seems like hours, the pain subsides but is soon replaced with the feeling of pleasure. Elvis could feel you spread open for him, pushing himself deeper inside of you. As he filled you to the hilt, your hands gripped his biceps–nails digging into his skin, creating crescent shapes. Your eyes were shut tightly, your bottom lip between your teeth as you continued to get comfortable with this new sensation of being filled. “Eyes on me, lil’ mama. Eyes on the pleasure I will give you.” Your eyes immediately opened, locking on his now onyx hues that were burning deep into your soul. 

Elvis knew what to do to bring you pleasure, this not being the first time that he had been intimate with a woman. However, those other women were not sent to him by God. His hips swiveled in a circle as his cock rubbed against your walls. The moans that were passing through your lips were like angels singing to him; he needed to hear more of it. His hips pulled back, his cock pulling out of you fully before he pushed back into you again. As he moved his cock in and out of you, he remembered the neglected wine and communal bread that sat on the table beside the both of you. He reached up to the table, grabbing the communal bread as he fucked you into the altar that was just used for sacrifice. “Open wide, my rib. For we are one.” He spoke, watching your lips part slightly. He bit into the bland cracker, leaving the rest resting between his lips as he pressed his lips to yours, encouraging you to take the other half. As you received the communal bread, Elvis’s hips pushed into your spot, causing you to arch your back into his body–still holding on to his arms as if he was the only one who could keep you together. You chewed the cracker, your mouth becoming dry as the moans died on your tongue. His hands rubbed up your body before they disappeared once again, but this time he was grabbing the wine glass. He sat up before pulling you up to sit in his lap. Your hips moved on his lap as you began to ride him while he held you in his arms. You watched as he gulped down some of the wine, his hand resting on your throat as he pressed the glass to your lips. You opened your mouth, still swiveling your hips on his lap as the wine passed through your lips, sliding smoothly down your throat. 

The remnants of wine that couldn’t fit in your mouth dripped out down your jaw, but Elvis wouldn’t have any of it wasted. His tongue lapped up the wine that was dripping down your jaw, moaning into your skin as his hips thrust harder into you. Your moans became louder and louder, echoing off of the walls of the church as your arms moved up his body before resting on his shoulders. You were corrupted completely, needing Elvis to save you from the hell that plagued your existence. Elvis gave you so much pleasure, both physically and spiritually, that you had long forgotten that you had murdered Irene or that the congregation had participated as well. Elvis bit into your shoulder, drawing a little bit of blood as he continued his assault on you. You hissed, rubbing your hands down his chest–fingers brushing against his nipples. Elvis hissed in pleasure as he lapped up the blood that came from the bite before pressing his lips to yours again. The taste of copper mixed with the sweetness of the wine allows the taste to be both sweet and tangy. You weren’t ashamed to say that you loved it and needed more. 

His hand gripped the base of your neck between your chin and your throat as you continued bouncing on his lap. The whimpers were out of control now as your stomach started to tighten–the pleasure becoming unbearable. Elvis could feel that you were close, speeding up his thrusts into you as he whispered, ‘come on, come on baby,’ in your ear. You didn’t need much more prodding as you came undone on his lap, your hips shaking uncontrollably as your pussy clenched around his cock. Your pussy clenching around him made him growl as he sucked on your ear lobe, following behind you as you milked him for all he was worth. You held on to his shoulders as he came inside of you, his hips losing the pace that he had. “Oh, goddamn baby. Goddamn.” You giggled, silently scolding him for using the Lord’s name in vain. “That’s not holy of you, my husband.” You pressed your lips to his in a sweet kiss. Elvis’s cerulean hues looked over your face once again before he stood up with you in his arms. 

You were dripping his cum out of you as he grabbed a white laced robe from the podium before wrapping it around your body. He sat you down on the ground, grabbing the similar robe as yours before putting it on your body. He grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before leading you off to his room. Inside of his room, you were amazed at what you saw. The room was as if you were in heaven or the way you pictured heaven to be. The bed was white along with everything else that littered the room. He pushed open a door, which revealed his bathroom which was very spacious. The bath water seemed to have been sitting there not too long, rose petals littered the water. “Care to join me, my wife?” He pushed the robe off of his shoulders before climbing into the tub. You hurriedly pushed the white robe that was now bleached with the blood of Irene off of your body, climbing into the warm water. The blood that was stuck to your body had now slid off, changing the water red. Elvis seemed to not care as he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you into his body. 

Elvis grabbed the bar of soap as he scrubbed your body, seemingly being gentle in places that he bit and scratched. You hissed as the soap burned on your shoulder where he had bitten, but the pain felt good. You turned around in the tub, rubbing your fingers up his chest–fingers resting among the chest hair. “What now?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled his lips to yours in a kiss. He pulled away slightly, tilting your head up to look at him. “We lead our congregation according to God’s will.” He was so sure that he had everything that he ever needed now that he made you his woman. Once you were back to looking like his pure angel, he washed his body–not allowing you to do it for him. He told you to relax as he wasn’t done with you just yet. Once the dried blood and sex was washed off of both of your bodies, he got out of the water before drying himself off. His hand reached out to you, helping you out of the water as well before wrapping your body with a plush robe. He led you back to the bedroom, opening the wardrobe that sat near the bathroom door. 

Inside of the wardrobe was his things and newer things for you. It was all starting to hit you all at once that you were now his–permanently. You pulled on a white babydoll nightie before climbing into his bed. The sheets felt wonderful on your skin as you slid under the covers, eyes watching his every move. You were no longer lost, but you had found your forever home with Sandra, with Tamara, and now with Elvis. Elvis climbed into bed next to you, pulling you into his arms. He ran his fingers through your hair as he started to sing hymns in your ear. You never knew Elvis could sing, but there were things that you didn’t know about him until you were standing at the altar, stabbing someone in their heart. You were truly stuck like a insect in a spider’s web, but you were in no hurry to try to escape. As far as you were concerned, you were his wife and he, your husband. God had brought you two together, even if it was in a messed up situation. Lying on his chest, you were sure that your forever home was in his arms. So as you fell asleep in his arms that night, you could only think about how you would continue on with your life from this point. You had some things to learn if you wanted to help Elvis lead his congregation to God. You had to first look within yourself and become the perfect other half that Elvis needed. You had decided at that moment that you didn’t have parents at home who were probably desperately searching for you. All you had was Elvis and in your messed up mind, that was enough. 

Taglist: @headfullofpresley @aconflagrationofmyown @lovininapinkcadillac @loving-elvis @lindszeppelin @literally-just-elvis-fics @stitchattacks @venus-haze @sournatromanoff @steph-speaks @stephthestallion @ab4eva @missmaywemeetagain @star-shard @eliseinmemphis @bisexualwvtson @troubleinapinksuit @oh-my-front-door @oh-kurva @rainydayz101 @foreverdolly

[munano-theprophet]

Double Trouble Yandere!Austin!Elvis and Jesse x Reader Part 1

Imagine living in a world where Jesse, Elvis’ identical twin brother, survives his birth and the two go on to a life of superstardom and immense wealth.

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! This is my first time publishing my work in a while, so bear with me. I really hope you like this fic! This chapter is dedicated to @venus-haze, who inspired me to write again. 

Part 2

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Holy shit. 

 If you thought dealing with one Presley was bad enough, the universe rolled you a die and told you to double the trouble.

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Word Count: 2.5k

You worked at the International Hotel, and your job was to clean the showroom and dressing rooms before and after the acts would perform. You and a few other coworkers were in an empty dressing room listening to instructions by your manager on how this new act would be arriving today and how everything needs to be perfect. “They will be coming in this evening for sound check and I expect you all to be on your best behavior.” your manager reiterated sternly. He and the other higher-ups were being tight-lipped about who the new act performing was. Could it be The Beatles? Rolling Stones? Could it be--

“It’s the Presleys!” your best friend and coworker Ada whisper yelled. She’s been a huge fan of them since high school, and you would often tease her about how much merchandise she collected on them. You just smiled and nodded, “Oh, neat.” you said before going back into the showroom to clean before sound check, that was not the reaction she was expecting. Ada’s jaw dropped and she walked with you, “You’re telling me you’re not the least bit excited that they’re coming here? You have the best opportunity to see them!” she huffed crossing her arms. 

“Oh please, with their whole entourage and the inevitable influx of security, I’ll be lucky enough to even hear them cough.” you giggled. You liked the Presley Brothers’ music, while you didn’t think bad of them, you just found it a bit ridiculous as to how fans acted like complete animals, going ballistic just at the sight of one of them. Ada looked down at her watch as they made it to the showroom, “Well, I’m about to take my break, I’ll meet you back here after the sound check.”. You nodded your head, going in to hug her, “Okay, see you.”

When you went back to the showroom, you had seen that the Presleys had arrived, they were greeted with many hellos, welcomes, and applause by the staff and crew. You didn’t bother going out of your way to go and greet them. You were just trying to finish up part of your task so that you could take your much-needed lunch break. 

While wiping down the last few tables, you couldn’t help but feel eyes on you. In the corner of your eye, you swear you saw a silhouette, staying still amongst the chaos of the stage. After a few moments, you quickly looked up, briskly trying to find out who it could be. They seemed to be one step ahead of you, when you looked up, you saw no one looking in your direction.

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After more wiping, you looked at your watch and it was 5:30, you huffed and threw your towel down. You quickly walked to the stage to take your break outside in the back of the building. You were planning how the rest of your night would go, considering making some food for you and Ada since you were getting off an hour earlier than she. Then again you were considering checking out that new movie--

You had collided with something hard, you would have thought it was a wall if the warmth of it didn’t give away that it was a person. Not expecting the collision to occur, you fell on your butt. “Damn it, if I had half a mind I would-” when you looked at who you had bumped into, it seems like your words got trapped in your throat.

It was as if everything in the world stopped, while it probably ended in seconds, it felt like hours passed. Icy blue eyes seemed to pierce right through your own and touch the darkest, most intimate parts of your soul. You had to blink a few times to make sure you weren’t dreaming,

you were standing in front of one of the Presleys.

“Woah there little lady,” he laughed jovially, flashing you a smile, “you’re off in a hurry.”. Your mouth fell agape for a bit before you gained your sense of reality again, “I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, I’m about to take my break.”. He shook his head, “It’s not your fault darlin, I didn’t see you, are you okay?” he asked. “She would be if you helped pick her up.” The other twin chimed in, walking over to you and helping you up. Elvis rolled his eyes, “I was gettin’ there Jesse.” Jesse shook his head, “No you weren’t.”. They started to argue and you giggled at their banter, but then looked at your watch. “I should get going, sorry for running into you, it was nice meeting you both!”

You started making your way to the back exit, not hearing the faint ‘Wait!’ amongst the commotion backstage. 

________________________________________________________________

On your way out of the door, you heard some voices whispering. You softly closed the door and slowed your pace to hear the conversation clearly. The back of the building was sort of alleyway style, so there was about 2 feet of a wall after stepping out of the door. You looked to the side of the exit and saw a tall man with blonde, long hair. He handed another man dressed in all black with a trenchcoat on a thick envelope. The man dressed in black looked around, before taking it and quickly stuffing it into his trenchcoat.

“Meet me back here in one week with the info,” the blonde said. Trenchcoat man nodded and walked out of the alley. The blonde faced your direction to start walking back in and you jolted your head back. You opened the door and closed it, making it seem like you were walking out of the building. The blonde stepped to the side to give you room, not even glancing your way once.

During your break, you sat outside, eating your sandwich, you smiled to yourself about the interaction between Jesse, Elvis, and you. Ada was gonna flip when you tell her about what happened, that is if you don’t drop dead asleep the second you get home. Nothing in the entirety of the world can prepare someone for reality, if you told your 18-year-old self that this would be your reality, she’d laugh in your face. You and Ada moved from Chicago to Las Vegas, wanting to stretch your wings and gain your own independence. You initially wanted to go to med school at UChicago, but you always had a deep passion for film arts. Not having enough money to make it all the way to LA, you and Ada stayed with one of her cousins for some time in Las Vegas that summer, after a while, the dream of pursuing fine arts was becoming a distant fantasy.

You landed the International Hotel job, you worked like a dog day and night but no matter how much money you made, it was never enough. Women got paid less doing the same job as a man, and you could have sworn on the Bible that your manager was taking out more tax than usual on your check. You wanted to quit, but you needed this job, it was either that or you’d have to turn to…other measures. You had too much respect for yourself and too much dignity to not be subjected to man’s darkest desires. 

It was 5:55 PM, you took one last drag out of your cigarette, tossed it, and headed back inside. They were setting up for sound check and you saw Elvis and Jesse warming up. They looked so relaxed, they wore the same outfit, just different colors. One of them wore blue slacks with a white collar shirt, while the other wore white slacks with a blue collar shirt. They looked so identical, it was surprising how the Memphis Mafia could tell them apart. Then again, they’ve known the Presleys for years so it makes sense. 

You continued on with your cleaning, this time sweeping the whole area and putting programs on each table. You heard them practicing and my God, they sound amazing. Their voices melted like butter on a hot skillet, especially the way they harmonized so naturally.

By 9:00, you were ready to clock out, but you realized you couldn’t find your timesheet. You cursed to yourself, wondering where it could be. You checked the area you cleaned, backstage, and quickly checked the dressing room you were in when your manager was speaking to you. You sighed in relief as it was on one of the couches, you picked it up, and turned around to head out when you were startled by one of the Presleys again. He was leaning against the wall, playing with a toothpick in his mouth, his eyes were intense, staring down at you as if he was lost in thought. He saw your reaction and leaned off to try and comfort you, “m sorry,” he said with sincerity, “didn’t think you’d get so spooked. I forgot my jacket in here and wanted to quickly get it, thought you heard me come in.” he softly explained. 

You checked your heart to make sure you were still alive. It was still pounding out of your ribcage, not even from the fright, but from being in such proximity of even just one of the Presleys. His 6 feet tall height towered you, and with how close he was, he made you feel smaller than a button. “It’s okay, I had left my timesheet in here earlier before you and your brother came in. I don’t mean to intrude.” You say apologetically, avoiding eye contact.

I better not get fired for this, you thought to yourself. Sneaking in or even being in an active use dressing room was a big no-no for employees, If your manager even caught you, it would be over and done with. “I need to get going though, I’m not supposed to be in here,” you say, stepping to the side of him about to head out. “Wait,” he says grabbing your arm, “Never introduced myself to you after you ran away,” he said jokingly. 

You laughed, “Hell, who doesn’t know you y’all are?”, 

“Just being a gentleman. I’m sorry about my brother, he can get in his head and forget simple things like manners and whatnot.” You laughed and he took it as a good sign, holding out his hand, he introduced himself, “I’m Jesse, the better twin, by the way,”.

You laughed again, “I’m y/n,” You both shook hands and his hold on you lingered a lot longer than usual.You were the one to drop your hand first, “I always wondered, how do people tell y’all apart? You guys look the exact same even up close.” He held up his left hand, clad with jewelry, that held a ring with the letters ‘JP’ on it. No doubt those were his initials, “I’m left handed and my brother’s right handed, so we always wore rings on our dominant hands.” 

“Aw…” you say to yourself, “...makes sense.”. He absentmindedly fixed his hair back into it’s signature quiff style, with one loose hair hanging on the left side, “Even to this day the only one that can tell us apart is mama.”. 

You scrunched your nose in question, “Not even the Memphis Mafia?” you asked. He shook his head, a devious smirk came on his face. “We played a prank on Jerry, and dressed up as each other.” A silence fell in the room and his eye contact still held, avoiding an awkward situation, you perked up saying, “I do have to get going though, if my manager sees me in here I’m dea--” 

“JP!” someone called out for Jesse, “JP are you in--” the tall blonde that you saw outside during your break quickly stepped in. “JP what kept you? Colonel’s been looking for you,” he said, his eyes flickered in your direction and you decided that your shoes were the most interesting thing in the world to look at.

“Left my jacket, where’s my brother?” He said, tossing his jacket from side to side, “Already upstairs, we gotta head up there now,” he said checking his watch. Jesse nodded before he headed out towards the door, he took your hand and kissed it, “It was very nice meeting you y/n,” you smiled at him, “The pleasure is all mine.”. He headed out with the blonde and you were left in a daze of awe. The Presleys were some smooth, fine men. You could see why girls were starstruck over them, they act the way all women wanted to be treated by a man. 

You walked to the bus stop with a bit more pep in your step, his touch still lingered on you and you tried to reason with yourself, They’re showmen, that’s what they do to attract fans. It’s not like anyone would want you anyways. You weren’t ugly, yet you weren’t Audrey Hepburn beautiful, you were just…you. 

With that being said, you pushed the encounters you had with the boys and focused on not missing your stop and getting home.

[peachy-deaths]

Hey can I request a soft yandre elvis Presley pls

Were Elvis is like a big fan of her when he was not famous yet he always listen to her songs or something,

And when he became a celebrity thier manager decided to have a colab in singing together and Elvis who spoil her with gifts and flowers.....

everything about you- soft yandere Austin!Elvis

{@venus-haze already got me obsessed with the thought of fanboy Elvis through her stories radio gaga and all shook up so this was very fun to write lol disclaimer(s): this one is very tame and the yandere stuff is honestly just weird fan stuff but just in case beware of typical behaviors that come with yandere content, and hinted age gap on the reader's side of thing}

it was slightly embarrassing, the amount their face appeared in his room, it was like a teenage girl’s room with various posters and albums of all from the same artist. he couldn’t help it, no matter how many records he had of theirs or how many times he got teased for it, he just couldn’t get enough of their music or see their movies too many times, they were just so talented and seemed so genuine in all their interviews. 

so when the coronel called saying he had an opportunity for more publicity and money via doing a duet with ‘some other singer big with younger folks’ and the name (y/n) (l/n) spilled through the phone he nearly passed out, believing he was in another dream and would be woken up any moment.

but here he stood inside the entrance of a recording studio, his idol somewhere in the same building, just hiding behind one of the many doors “hello there!” a man in his upper 30s rounded the corner at the end of the hall, his dress shoes squeaking against the freshly waxed wooden floor “I’m (y/n)’s manager, the names James Edward brown but y’all can just call me Jamie” he gave them a smile, giving each man a firm handshake before turning towards the coronel “you must be the man I talked to on the phone? it’s a pleasure to meet you- well both of you, uh let’s go talk business, ah?” he was jittery, words blurring together as he began to lead them down the hall, nearly skipping with how many jumps were in his steps.

“oh! Mr. Presley, (y/n) is just right upstairs, you just take that elevator up to floor one and go into the first door on the left” he briefly stopped to point and gesture out directions before continuing to move down the hall, coronal doing his best to keep up with him leaving Elvis by himself.

his nerves started to get to him as he waited for the elevator to stop, reality set in, yet it was all still like a dream as he exited the metal box. opening the door the manager had told him to go into, the bundle of nerves only grew as he walked down a small hall and into a room that was decorated with various records and awards but what really caught his attention was the figure that was laid belly down on the floor, arm fishing around underneath the small couch that was pushed against the right wall.

 “damnit!” the voice he had only heard over tv and movie screens swear out, making his stomach jump as he played with his grip on the bouquet he bought for them- was bringing flowers too much? what if they thought he was weird? “oh! hey! sorry about that” he was brought back from his self-doubtful thoughts by the voice, blue eyes moving off the blue and orange flowers and on the figure that was now standing “I dropped my thumb pick and it bounced underneath there.. I think it’s gone forever haha” they dusted themself off, moving over to stand in front of him. 

he was nearly hyperventilating, it was surreal seeing them not only in person but just a few feet in front of him. cameras didn’t do them any sort of justice, he always thought they were good looking but no, they were drop-dead gorgeous “it’s alright, don’t worry about it sweetheart” it came out before he even fully realized what they said, like something possessed him and was making him reply, not that he’d complain since he felt as though he was gonna throw up if he opened his mouth again “oh! these are for ya” he held out the flowers.

“gettin called sweetheart and given gifts? I didn’t know any better I’d think you were taking me out for dinner Mr. presley” he panicked for a moment, believing that his doubts were right and it was too much but when they took the gifts with a big grin plastered across their face his worries melted “I’m (y/n) by the way, i know you know that already but it’s weird not to introduce myself. gotta say I really like your music! you’re really talented, I bought your records back when you were on with sun records” they set the gifts down onto the small desk in the corner and walked over to a bookshelf full of records, scanning through them before pulling one out and showing it to Elvis, who was once again on the verge of hyperventilating.

they knew his music, they’d heard and bought his record before he was famous. if this was a dream, it’d be the cruelest thing the universe has ever done to him “i- I can sign it for ya, if ya want of course” their face lit up, quickly moving over to a jar of pins on their desk “would you? I love it when musicians I meet sign my records, I hate asking though because some of them get..frustrated when I ask since they get asked to sign stuff all the time” “I really don’t mind signin stuff, I couldn’t do what I do without my fans..but I really don’t mind signing it for you, I'm actually a pretty big fan of yours” he confessed while taking the record and marker from them, scribing down words and his name before handing them back to (y/n).

“too my biggest fan, from your biggest fan Elvis Presley” the smile that grew on (y/n)’s face could’ve made anyone melt, the joy on their face being contagious and making Elvis smile too “well thank you Mr. Presley” “you can call me Elvis..Mr. Presley makes me feel old” he let out a chuckle as (y/n) nodded “of course! if you old, that’d make me like prehistoric and I am not ready to have magazines wonder how I look so young for being ancient!” they joked moving to put the record somewhere to dry without smearing the marker.

“you got anything you want me to sign, Elvis?” the shiver of hearing (y/n) say his name was quickly overtaken by disappointment “ah no, I didn’t wanna make ya feel uncomfortable” “oh that’s too bad, next time we met then?” next time this wasn’t just a one-time thing, they’d met again “alrighty!! everything seems ready and worked out, y’all ready to make some music!” Jamie and the colonel entered the room, Jamie's loud and energetic voice quickly filling the room “ready as I’ll ever be! come on Elvis, let’s make history!” 

_______________________

[crash-and-cure]

Wait for Me (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Tupelo’s favorite son is on his way home to all the expected pomp and circumstance befitting a returning King.

A/N: This is very much inspired by Hadestown and I may or may not blend all the character together so that both Elvis and reader have aspects from all of them. Technically I’m cheating I will admit by combining these two (-, -) requests into one story but I thought it would work well. Not me trying to Posit how WW2 affected the floriculture industry all for a fanfic. But this is apparently how I marry my two hyperfixations of 2022: Hadestown and Elvis. A+ to anyone that can find all the references to both Hadestown and the greek mythos in the story. 

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, and delusional behavior. Kidnapping. Kinda of a stochholme syndrome going on through the later half. Blood and a bit of child abuse depicted (arguably this child deserved it). Emotional Manipulation throughout. Isolation. Touch-starved reader. Innocent reader. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f. and m. recieving), vaginal fingering and handjobs. Outsider POV for the first bit.  Probably more that I am blanking on. Excessive use of “Honeybee” and “Rosebud” as a nickname for the reader. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 

Word Count: 21k (seriously somebody stop me)

My Masterlist

Dreams are sweet, Until they’re not

Men are kind, Until they aren’t

Flowers bloom, Until they rot, And fall apart

                 Flowers, Hadestown

Demi has never feared a single man in her life. 

Men have done her wrong. Men have humiliated her. Men have even hurt her. But she does not fear them. 

That’s how she lived for years, drifting from place to place, belonging to no one as no one belonged to her, unattached and untethered as the wind. Working odd jobs to get by until the next town, but there was a perpetual emptiness in this existence of hers that left her feeling hollow. 

And then her sweet little daughter was born and she found something that bound her to this world fully. She knew who the father was, but none of that mattered to her, because her daughter was no man’s, she was hers. He wasn’t good for much, but getting roughly ten acres of land in exchange for never having to deal with either him or his wife again was one of the sweetest deals she had ever heard. 

Living on a farm was never where she pictured herself ending up, let alone working and later inheriting a farm that only grew flowers, but Gail, the old caretaker of the land, was a literal godsend in those early days. Gail had that same look in her eyes as someone else who had been wronged by a man, and this kindred spirit would end up more or less adopting Demi as her own.

Her daughter is by far the most beautiful thing to have ever existed, born the first day of spring all balled up fists and shrill cries complete with a scrunched up face.

She was perfect.

Demi made a promise to that tiny creature that night, to never know hunger, to be surrounded by only the most beautiful things the world has to offer, to never be unloved for as long as she should live, and most importantly to never let the world hurt her the same way she was hurt. All of these rather lofty promises to make, but she was determined to keep them.

Those early days were painfully idyllic, caring for flowers, selling the cuttings, all the while her daughter was strapped to her chest. It admittedly did a number on her back, but it was all worth it to remind her what she works for. She doesn’t think there will ever be a day in which she forgets the first time her daughter's tiny hands reached out for a white rose, and just the utter serenity that overcame her in that moment. There is no doubt in her mind that this is where the both of them were meant to be.

As the years passed their little family grew as Demi collected other wayward women, some came and went, others stuck around so long her daughter started calling them her Aunties. Even a war happened a world away, and the farm had to shift focus to making food rather than beauty, but now three years later everything is close to being just as perfect as it was before. 

But if there is one saying she wholeheartedly believes, it is that woman plans and man laughs. 

Her daughter had been so upset that day and had ended up exhausting herself in Demi’s bed and she thanked whatever force up above for that when she woke in the middle of the night to the sound of rustling in her daughters room. Making sure that her daughter was still asleep she crept silently down the hall, baseball bat in hand, prepared to defend her family from whoever the hell was in her home. 

Evidently nothing could have prepared her for what she would find in there, as she walked into her daughter's room and was met with the cornflower blue gaze of a familiar waifish thirteen year old boy. 

When he had first started coming around, he was more like a stray cat whom her daughter fed once; annoyingly underfoot but manageable enough with a hose. But the more time he spent the more worried she became. 

All of which the day before when she had idly asked her daughter what she did with the boy that day only for her sweet little daughter to innocently respond, “he told me not to tell you.”

Her friends tried to tell her it was puppy love and that it would eventually pass, and just to give it some time to fade. How intervening may just make it worse. But something in her gut told her that there was something about the way he looked at her daughter, the way he spoke to and about her, the way he acted, and that something was that it was all very wrong. If she had to liken it to anything, she imagines that this is the same way a hunter looks upon his mark.

It was beyond anything she’s ever seen in a grown man's eyes, so she never thought she could see something like that in a child's eyes. 

Her daughter remained innocent to it, and slowly but surely Demi was trying to edge that boy out of their lives. Sent him home earlier and earlier, kept her from the shop and in the fields, even began to go out of her way to pick up her daughter rather than chance it with walking home by herself. 

But now looking at the boy as he eagerly ransacked her daughter's dresser, did she realize she should have better listened to her instinct. 

‘Oh hi Miss Demi,” he would say, as though he just wasn’t caught rifling through her daughters drawers. He was clutching tightly to a truly pathetic and haphazardly put together bouquet of flowers, that seemed to be dripping something from the stems. “Do you know where Y/N is? I just wanted to give these to her.” 

It was only as she turned on the lights did she see the true horror to be had. Candy apple red, as though it could ever be that innocent, blood was dripping between his fingers and onto the wooden floors below, his face giving no indication that he even noticed, his eyes continually darting behind her as though waiting for someone from behind. The flowers in the chaotic bouquet tell a story of all kinds of love, but the one errant, still-thorned rose tells the story not of love, but of something else… something dark and unspeakable. 

Demi acts immediately, grabbing him by the wrist and by the ear and getting him the hell out of her house. For all his protests and attempts to escape her grip, he was no match for the fury of a mother, and with the ruckus the boy is stirring up she silently thanks god that her daughter is such a deep sleeper. 

It hurts her having to leave her daughter home alone, but she knows that her daughter's biggest threat is in her grasp.

She’s had to drop the boy off enough times to remember where he lived and she knows his mother well enough to instinctively know she is no doubt up worrying over him. She was proven right seeing the light bleeding through the front windows of the small home. 

He is out of the truck before Demi can even fully park it, and he bolts to the door, probably hoping that she will then be forced to leave without talking to his mother about this whole thing. But he is stopped as said woman flies out of the house and catches him in a massive bear hug on the small porch. 

He has parents who care for him so much, yet he still acts like this? She wonders to herself. She sees the woman giving her son once over before coming across his wounded hand that had by now begun to congeal and stop bleeding. 

“If you know what’s good for him, you’ll make sure he stays the hell away from my property and I best never see you sniffin’ around my child again, boy,” Demi would say, voice ice cold interrupting this warm reunion, pointing a single finger in this boy's face. 

“Demi, what’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” his mother would ask, already putting him behind her back, willing to defend him with her life apparently. 

Wouldn’t you do the same, a small part of her says. 

“Y’know I expected more from you,” Demi said to her fellow mother. “I never would’ve expected you to be the type to raise a boy that would break into a little girls room and go through her drawers. The hell were you even tryin’ to find in there?”

He wouldn’t answer her, but he would look her dead in the eye, with a look that told her he was unrepentant about his actions. Though that mask would crack the slightest bit as his mother took his face in her hands. 

“Bewbie… is this true?” the woman would ask her son slowly, unwilling to believe. But his downturned eyes do all the necessary talking. 

“Mama she’s crazy,” that little shit would say, trying to deflect, and cowering behind his mothers skirts. “We can’t leave Honeybee with her.”

“I oughta knock all your fuckin’ teeth out for whatchu did. See how good a singer you are then,” she threatens, though that hardly helps her case. But she was willing to do a lot worse if it meant keeping her daughter safe.

“Don’tcha see Mama?” he says, gesturing a hand her way. “She ain’t safe with Miss Demi, and we gotta take her with us.” It’s not so much his words that are disturbing, but the complete and utter conviction that he speaks nothing but the truth that has the hair on the back of Demi’s neck stand up.

That boy’s lucky that his father decided to make his way out there and prevent Demi from making good on her threat. 

“Buntyn, go inside,” she would firmly say to her son. He looks as though he were about to protest, until she shoots a look and he backs down, and walks back into his home. His mother takes a moment to process her words, though nothing she says has a chance in hell of quelling the fury in Demi’s heart. “I-I think he’s just actin’ out because we’re gonna to be movin’ soon,” she tries to weakly justify. 

“I don’t fuckin’ care what his excuses are, Gladys. Keep a leash on that boy o’ yours if you gotta,” Demi seethes, catching said boy looking out at them from the window. She makes eye contact with him, fully knowing he would hear this next part, “Because I ain’t goin’ to be so nice next time.”

Demi turned around with that threat still hanging in the air and hoped to never see any of them again. It’s a long quiet drive from there, and her fury reaches a near boiling point finding that damned bouquet on the floor, forgotten in all the ruckus, to which she quickly chucks them into the furnace. It feels wrong to burn her own livelihood, but these flowers were now in her eyes tainted and unfit to ever be seen again. 

The fury doesn’t fully melt away until she sees the love of her life sitting up from her bed.

“Mama where’d ya go?” you would ask, your tiny fists rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you let out an almost angelic yawn. You are and always will be her baby, and nothing will ever take you away from her. 

“Just a stray dog sniffin’ round the house, Rosebud,” Demi would say, lightly scratching her nails down your back, the same way she’s done since you were a newborn. “But don’tchu worry baby, your mama scared it off. Go back to sleep.”

Demi sleeps well that night if only due to the fact that she was able to convince herself (albeit temporarily) that that had all been a bad dream. But once she saw the trail of crimson starting from your bedroom window, there is no denying what had happened the night before. She didn’t get this far by trusting other people's words, so for the next few days the two of you slept in a different room each night. Demi calls it camping and you, her sweet little girl, are all too willing to believe her. She sleeps with one eye open those nights, all too afraid that even dropping her watch for half a second will lead to disaster. 

She would find no peace until she heard around town that they had moved somewhere up north. To where? She didn't care so long as he was as far away from her precious Rosebud as could be. Still she is always worried as to the day he may come back, so she can only pray that he’s moved on to another poor girl and leaves you the hell alone.

Part of her wonders if she should warn you in case he ever returns, but this question answers itself when you come home from school wanting to show her how many ladybugs you caught in the schoolyard today. She didn’t want to burden you with this awful knowledge, wanting to keep you innocent from your mothers woes.

Demi wanted to shield you from the world, and hoped that one day, you would also get to live without fearing men. It would take her nine years to realize, by then far too late, that you only lacked fear because you didn’t know what men were capable of. 

Demi fears no man.

But she does fear Elvis Presley.

—------------------------------------

Flowers have always been the family business. Fields upon fields of every color in the rainbow going on for acres. Truly even having lived here for years and knowing little to nothing else but this, it still never fails to take your breath away. 

To say your family knows flowers, is an understatement. You had spent your days running around the property asking your aunties about the flowers they tended to, and what each of them meant. 

You learned from an early age that flowers were always meant to invoke good feelings in people, and it makes you proud that you’re a part of it. So you’re excited to say the least when your Mama surprises you with your very own gardening kit for Christmas.

It’s a rite of passage for those in your family to successfully grow and maintain their own plot of flowers for the first time. You had been given the choice of any flower you wanted to take on, most of them pointing to some of these easiest ones for your first time, the ones that you need only plant and water regularly to eventually bloom. You on the other hand wanted to do something harder. So you chose roses due to both the challenge it takes into growing and maintaining them but also the fact that your farm had them in abundance, so it wouldn’t hit the business too hard if you failed. 

But moreover, Mama had always called you her little Rosebud, so it only felt fitting to have these be the first flowers you grow all on your own. These blooms were rather picky about conditions, but you had been watching the women in your family grow them since before you could walk, and so you felt you were up to the task. You were only nine but you wanted to show the rest of them how good you could do on your own. 

So you watched the seeds germinate, watched them grow into tiny sprouts in their small pots, planted them neatly apart, gave them plenty of sun, and never forgot to water them. Mama even caught you once or twice hovering over those little pots not wanting to miss a single moment of their growth.

She warned you to temper your expectations, how sometimes you can do everything right, and they still may not grow. But you were full of hope and wanted this more than you have ever wanted anything in your few years of life. 

You had taken this seriously, hanging on to every tip you got from your Aunties, being sure to tend to them at the correct times, giving the correct amount of water and watching like a hawk for any unwanted pests. Each day you got the pleasure of watching them grow into buds and you figured they were close to blooming any day.

And that’s why you took great offense when you found a gangly tow-headed boy picking at the red roses you had worked so hard to grow. 

He looked to be older than you by a few years, stood a foot taller than you, but you knew boys like him, the type that would stomp out dandelions to make you cry and you weren’t about to let him ruin your hard work with your first batch of rose bushes. You may be 9 but you’re scrappy as all get out, which you prove when you drop your basket of fresh cuttings of the day and all but tackle the larger boy into the dirt.

He gives an undignified shriek as he hits the ground, having been caught off guard, but he does attempt to shove you off until he goes a bit limp upon getting a good look at you. The brief scuffle ends with you straddling him and your little palms pinning his arms down as best as you could as owlish, cornflower blue eyes stared up at you in equal amounts of awe and fear. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” you say your little voice indignant at what you thought were his attempts to sabotage your efforts. “Why were tryin’ to kill those roses?”

“I-I-I wa-wasn’t,” he insists, his cheeks burning from the shame of being caught doing whatever he was doing and his hands shaking something fierce as he limply tries to hide his face from you as you clench a tiny fist above you. You see that the briars got him good and little droplets of blood were beading up on some fine scratches on his hands. 

If he was trying to wreck the bushes you doubt he would try to do so in such a stupid way, but that didn’t mean you trusted him quite yet. However you weren’t about to let him continue being hurt in your presence, so you stood up and grabbed the band-aids that were in your little kit, and helped clean him up.

“I-It-ts m-my mama’s birthday to-tomorrow, an-and I wanted to get her so-somethin’ nice this year,” he said after a while, solemnly looking at his bandaged hand. 

You softened at his words, not having expected his answer, but you can hardly fault him for his reasoning. Afterall you don’t know where you or your mama would be if there weren’t thoughtful people that gave flowers to those they loved. 

But you do know how much work it takes to grow them, and maintaining your irritation at his mucking about, you indignantly say “You coulda went to our shop and bought them.”

He goes an even deeper shade of red with your statement, “I-I know it’s wrong to steal, an-and I never woulda done this i-if I had the money to buy ‘em.” 

It feels like all of the animosity you have towards him leaves your body at that moment. You and Mama have had your hard times before, and you are very much aware that each flower in your family’s field is worth something. It’s what keeps everyone fed, what keeps the lights on, and puts the clothes on your backs, but even knowing that you have one simple belief; everyone deserves nice flowers.

“Well,” you say to him as you stand up. “You picked the wrong color. You ain’t supposed to give red roses to your mama.” 

“Really?”

“If you know anything about the language of flowers, you’d know that you’re only supposed to give ‘em to your wife or girlfriend.”

“...Flowers talk to each other?” 

“No, they…” you pause trying to figure out a way to best explain yourself. “Their colors and the types are supposed to tell people how you feel about ‘em.” He draws his brows together, thoroughly confused as to what you’re saying, though that ain’t surprising. Mama often complained that when Men buy flowers, they never think too much beyond price, and boys rarely if ever appreciate them. 

You decide that it may do him better, to see it rather than trying to explain it fully. So you take his bandaged hand and you walk him through some of the crops. From the outside, the fields look to be a chaotic mess of colors, when in reality there is a lot more thought put into it as your mother organizes by type rather than color. You are able to give him a run down as to rose color meanings, until you finally arrive at your intended destination.

He goes a little wide-eyed once you take out your gardening shears, but quickly relaxes once you go behind him to the bushel of pink roses. You’ve been cutting and dethorning roses for about a year or two now, so it takes not even a minute to find one in good condition, grab it, cut it, proceed to have it stripped of all its thorns, and casually present it to the blonde boy before you. 

You thought he was red before, but as you presented him that rose, he turned redder than the rose he had attempted to pluck. His bandaged hand shakily takes the flower out of your hand, and with a reverence you’ve never seen from a boy when it comes to flowers, he holds it gently with both. 

“Pink means gratitude and admiration.”

“What?” his lip still quivering slightly and eyes glassy.

“When you give someone a pink rose,” you explain to him, with a smile. “You’re letting them know that you’re grateful for all they’ve done for you and that you admire them very much for it. It’s the perfect flower to give to your Mama,�� you say, giving him a small smile, the look he’s giving you making you feel warm inside.

“Rosebud?” you hear from behind you, and all the warm feelings seem to die in that instant.

“H-hi mama,” you say nervously, whipping around, standing on your toes, as though you’ll somehow be able to hide this trespasser's taller frame behind you. Though you realize how stupid that idea is and quickly take her hand, “Mama come look at my roses, I think they’re gonna bloom today,” you say, trying desperately to turn her around as though she’ll forget she ever saw that boy. 

“In a minute Rosebud,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet, that you know by now means she’s mad. “But first, why don’tcha introduce me to your little friend here.”

“...yes Mama, this is… my friend…,” you go wide-eyed realizing you don’t even know this boy's name. 

Luckily he picks up on your pause, “Hello, ma-ma’am, my name is uuhh… Elvis… Presley.” 

Your mama slowly leans forward until she’s eye level with him, “Well, Elvis Presley,” she drawls slowly, her words friendly, yet the way they’re delivered tells you her feelings for this boy are anything but. “You mind tellin’ me why the hell you’re on my property, botherin’ my daughter, and plucking out my livelihood?”

Elvis looks down realizing that he was still holding the pink rose for all to see, and makes a futile attempt to hide it, only for his skinny wrist to be caught in your mothers iron like grip. 

Mama had that way about her, her smile could be warm but her words icy. You’ve seen her like this with the few men that had come through here. Some trying to buy the land, some trying to find one of your Aunties, all of them leaving empty-handed because of her.

But you don’t believe that the boy before you, the one that wanted to get his mama something nice for her birthday, could ever be like those bad men. So you decided to do what needs to be done, “I invited him over Mama,” you say looking down at your muddy boots.

“Rosebud you ain’t gotta lie for him,” she admonishes, though she does seem to loosen her grip on him.  

“Bu-but it’s the truth Mama. He’s been sayin’ how he needs a gift for his mama’s birthday, so I said he could come over here to get her a flower,” you mumble, knowing that this is something she always told you never to do. 

She takes a long hard sigh before she fully releases Elvis, “You best get yourself home before it gets dark.” she says, her warning punctuated with a very cold breeze, despite it being well into April. He swallows nervously as he makes his way to the road, giving one last sorrowful glance your way before leaving. 

“Rosebud,” your mama sighs, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “Sometimes you’re too sweet for your own good, and I don’t ever want to see someone take advantage of that.” 

“Ok Mama.”

When he left that day you fully expected to never see him again, until he showed up the very next day wanting to show you his guitar. 

After that, Elvis becomes a near constant presence at your farm. Your aunties thought he was nice enough, pinching his cheeks and plying him with snacks in exchange for having him sing for them. You don’t mind too much, as you don’t really have too many friends, and next to none that want to spend their evenings on your farm. You kind of enjoyed having him around, he would sometimes bring a guitar and sing to you, or read his comics to you. Other times he would follow you around as you did your chores and ask about the flowers.

You got used to him being around and even grew to enjoy it. One special day you even decided to share your most valued treasure with him: your favorite fruit in the whole world. One so good yet so expensive and rare in these parts that it’s limited to a once a year treat for you. 

“An onion?” he asks skeptically.

“No,” you insist, slightly huffy that he’s not appreciating your most prized possession. “It’s called a Pomegranate,” you tell him, taking it out of his hands so that you could cut into it the way your Mama showed you. “I know when you first look at it, it doesn't look like much,” you say, as you cut at the crown. “But when you really look at it, you’ll find something truly amazing,” you conclude, and with a twist of your wrist you take the top off to reveal an abundance of the small jewel looking seeds, where you see him looking at it in nothing less than utter amazement. 

That look in his eyes only grows when he actually tastes the little kernels for the first time, and he ravenously devours his half of the fruit, some of the juices overflowing out the corners of his mouth, and down his face.

You on the other hand savor each and every bite of it. You truly believe if perfection can be found, it would be in that late summer afternoon. The soft sunbeams creeping through from the shade and the perfume of the freshly cut flowers in your basket. The soft breeze that runs through your hair and causes the flowers in the fields to sway slightly as though they were dancing to the music flowing from your friends' beaten up guitar. 

“What’d ya’ dream about doin’?” he would ask as he gazed up at the clouds overhead, idly strumming his guitar, his lips and fingertips stained red. 

“What do you mean Elvis?” You would ask as you pick at the very last seeds on your rind. 

“I-I mean wh-what’d ya wanna do when you grow up, Honeybee?,” he asks nervously, eyes firmly on the fields as though he were afraid of your answer. You roll your eyes slightly at his nickname for you, stemming from the time a bee landed on your hand and rather than swatting it away, you gently blew on it to get it to fly away. But you do decide to humor him anyway.

“Oh…This.” 

“Really?” he asks, truly baffled at your answer. “You really don’t wanna go nowhere or-or do somethin’ else?”

“Why would I wanna do anything else?,” you ask in turn, confused at his confusion. “It’s like magic when really think ‘bout it,” you insist, showing him the last few kernels of the pomegranate you have in your hand. “Something so small can turn into something so beautiful.”  

“You could plant ‘em anywhere, couldn’t you?” he insists.

You shrug your shoulders at that. “I guess.”

“But what if you couldn’t stay here,” he asks, his tone mournful, but you didn’t pick up on it at the time. “Wha-what if you had to go far away and y-you couldn’t come back?”

“Then I would make a new home,” you dismiss, offering him the last six seeds of your Pomegranate. He looks so surprised by the offer, his eyes a bit glassy before he furiously rubs them with the back of his hand and accepts your offer. 

“Honeybee… co-could you meet me b-by your roses tomorrow,” he stutters. “I-i got something’ important to give ya’.”

“Ok.”

“Bu-but don’t tell your mama,” he says to you.

That may be a tall order, you thought at the time. Your mama on the other hand remains coolly indifferent to him, but you always got the sense that she didn’t like him for whatever reason. Nonetheless a promise is a promise.

Mama was probably at her happiest when he stopped coming around. When you learned he moved away, you were sad that your friend would leave without saying a proper goodbye, and you believed you would never see that dreamer boy again. 

So imagine your surprise when a few years later an electric, new singer starts making waves across the south. He tried to steal flowers from your farm and now he steals hearts across the country.

Just about every girl in town, if given the chance, will brag how they had known him way back when, some of the more daring ones even claiming to have been his first kiss. As far as what you have heard Elvis may be the only man alive to have had 25 first kisses. The boys were no better, all claiming to have been his closest buddy growing up, and promising any girl that they could definitely meet back up with him if they chose. 

Everyone is in an absolute tizzy for his return to Tupelo, you are simply trying to help your family through the rush of orders that has come in with the upcoming fair. Mostly it had been a headache because the new Miss Tupelo had demanded that her float be decorated with only white roses, as she didn’t think the standard red was flattering for her. 

Which is fine until your shop is presented with a very special order from the mayor himself for an order of three dozen of your finest roses to be given to Tupelo’s favorite returning son for his homecoming concert. 

Mama had initially treated it like any other order, until she saw who it was from.

“Absolutely not,” she said in her sternest voice, you hear from around the corner. 

“Demi,” your Auntie Kate would admonish her. “Don’t be stupid ‘bout this. It’s been years and he was just a dumb kid back then.” 

You don’t know what the mayor did to your Mama, but it had to have been bad, if he got her this worked up. Of course you’re not about to ask, as they had both pointedly left the room to discuss the matter while you were supposed to be minding the store. Instead you were very intently listening in to whether or not your mother was about to refuse an order for seemingly the first time in years.

“Kate, I ain’t takin’ any chances with this,” Mama declares. “You weren’t there, but if you’re ever gonna trust me on anything, let it be this.”

“Look Demi,” Kate sighs. “He’s willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money for them, and we need to offload some of the roses and it ain’t like he’s gonna-”

She’s interrupted by the bell signaling a customer having entered the shop. By the time you finish with him though, Mama has agreed, albeit reluctantly, to accept the order, under the condition the Kate be responsible for it in its totality 

You don’t know what Kate had said to her but you’re glad nonetheless as she would claim once your mama was out of earshot that she was too busy to do this order so she asked if you would please be so kind as to take care of it for her. 

Those weeks leading up to the fair, someone had asked Elvis if he was looking forward to reconnecting with anyone special back in Tupelo. As the reporter described it, the young star would look down bashfully at his feet, one side of his mouth curving upwards with only the slightest hint of red on his ears as he proclaimed yes to this humble reporter. “My sweetheart from way back in the day. I lost touch with her when I moved up to Memphis and I am praying every night that I find her this time around.”

If him simply coming back for a day to perform sent girls into a frenzy, the prospect of him coming back to find his supposed childhood love, just about turned everybody hysterical. Reporters from all over had flooded the town and had been skulking around trying to find this mysterious girl that had a hold on one of the biggest rising stars. Even once or twice coming into the shop and asking if you’ve received any calls from Memphis asking to send flowers to a specific girl in town. 

Many girls were claiming to be the one Elvis is in fact looking for, recounting their memories of a sweet boy who only had eyes for them. They all followed the same general beats of being in the same class, he was embarrassingly smitten with them, and they rejected him. You had been in different grades and didn’t really know him outside of when he would visit your farm seemingly everyday, so you could hardly attest as to whether or not any of this was true. You do however remember him cryptically referring to one specific girl that had his heart, though in not so many words.

In the days leading up to the last time you would see him, he became very interested in the flowers for romance. He didn’t say that he was planning to do so, but you could tell he was gearing up to declare his love for that girl he never named. Your first suggestion is, of course, whatever her favorite flower is. 

He would blanche a bit at that, “She-she loves em all,” he would mumble looking away bashfully and facing the vibrantly colored fields. According to your mama this is man's speak for “I don’t know.” With few exceptions, nobody is without a favorite, and you sigh slightly disappointed in him that he’s apparently ready to declare undying affection for a girl and he didn’t even know that basic but important information about the girl. But you did promise him your help so you gave him some suggestions: Lilacs for new love, Gardenias for secret love, Carnations for deep love, Tulips for perfect love, Forget-Me-Nots for true love, and of course Red Roses for passionate love. 

On that day you would find him nervously pacing in front of your first batch of roses. They were now in full bloom and you sadly recognized that you’re going to have to cut them soon. You know that’s the beast of this business, that in order to bring new life in, the old must make way, but it’s only a cold comfort and you hope that whoever they end up with will appreciate their beauty.

He practically stared you down as you walked down the row between rose bushes, but he seems to be shaking as though his knees were liable to give out at any moment, and the closer you got to him, you saw that his chest was practically heaving. You can see as he holds something behind his back and you blatantly try to look to see what it is, only to be stopped as he places one hand on your shoulder.

“What’d you wanna talk about Elvis?” you ask him, slightly worried he may be having a heat stroke. 

He swallows thickly before he finally answers you, “M-my folks and I are gonna be goin’ up North,” his eyes downcast as though he were ashamed to admit this, one hand still hidden behind his back. 

“Oh, when are you coming back?” you say oblivious to his grief. 

He’s taken by surprise at your question, but he does answer with a simple “I don’t know.” But with that he squares his shoulders and through trembling lips he stutters, “Honeybee… I-I-I want ya’ to c-come wi-with us.” 

“Ok.” you say, completely ignorant as to the true meaning of his words. 

“Really?” his face breaking into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Yeah,” you say simply. You remember vividly that you were going to say something to the effect of needing to be back home before dinner because Auntie Erin was gonna be making her famous Golden Apple Pie, when you all of a sudden felt your lips being occupied.

You laugh at your reaction to a simple kiss on the lips now, but at the time, it had felt like the end of the world to you. After all, you were so sure that this was how babies were made. 

When you had asked where babies came from, Mama nervously answered you with this story: Your Daddy kissed your mama out in front of the red roses, and their love would cause a new bud to bloom where they would find you sleeping in a rosebud. 

Back then you didn’t know any better, all you did know was that you didn’t want to take care of a baby right now. You wanted to grow Azaleas next, and Mama warned you that that would be a big commitment to make. And Elvis was going to be moving away, so who was going to take care of the baby? 

You were confused and frustrated beyond anything you’ve experienced up to that point, and you did what any overwhelmed 9 year old would do. 

You started bawling your eyes out, pushed him down, and ran back home. 

Mama would later comfort you and reassure you no baby was on it’s way. She corrected her story and told you that in fact, the couple must be married in order for a baby to be made. (She never did go into further detail as to the process, so you assumed that was the only necessary detail)

The next day, you had felt bad and wanted to apologize to Elvis for the confusion and for pushing him down yet again. You even had a sprig of Lily of the Valley ready as a peace offering and everything, but you wouldn’t see him the next day. Nor the day after that. 

You wouldn’t hear about him until about a couple months back when you had been dethorning the roses while listening to the radio. You vividly remember the surprise that came over you the moment the DJ announced the artist behind the song. How could you not? Afterall it marks the first time in years that a rose had been able to draw blood from you, because in your surprise, hearing the name of a ghost from your past, your ungloved fingers met with a thorn perfectly. 

There was no doubt in your mind that it was him not just for the very distinct name, but for that song specifically. You remember him singing it while you were in the fields, saying he had heard it from Big Boy Crudup himself. 

For maybe half a second you entertain the thought that you may be the mystery sweetheart of his, but just as quickly you dismiss it as the way he describes it as being a long lost love tragically torn apart by fate. You on the other hand pushed him down and cried your eyes out when he kissed you once before never seeing him again, hardly the type of romance worth reading about.

And like a blink of an eye the fair day arrived. 

You had been expressly forbidden from going to the fair, your mother giving no real reason beyond “because I said so.” This in turn makes you feel less guilty about your little scheme, as she did not forbid you from choosing that day to be the day you work in the shop. 

Men are funny creatures, you realize as you work on the order the morning of. Whoever put in the order made sure to specify that the roses must be fresh yet somehow neglected to mention the preferred color. 

You opted for red ones in the end as you have those in abundance and you figure they probably wouldn’t look too closely into the meaning beyond it being the classic rose color. But you do slip in a pink rose in the mix, remembering the first flower you had ever given him. 

It’s a big order to fill, which you only realize once you're carrying a comically large bouquet into the backstage area of the fairgrounds. It was a bit of a hassle making it there in the first place as evidently you’re not the first young woman insisting you’re allowed to be backstage. Though none of them had the mayor himself vouching for the order and letting you in. 

He was already walking up on to the stage by the time you get there, and all you really see of him is the back of his head. Without knowing what you did, you would be hard-pressed to find any similarities between the man on stage and the boy who had to sing facing away from you lest he get too anxious. 

But when he was presented with the key to the city, did you finally see hints of that boy from your memories. The way he kept shifting nervously from foot to foot, how he kept stuffing his hands in his pockets only to take them out, his eyes flickering back and forth between the crowd and the mayor. All of it reminding you of the endearing, stuttering boy who nervously asked you what each flower in your field meant. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone move like that before, so jerky and sudden, but also so very fluid when he wanted to be. Oddly enough you’re reminded of snake charming, with that vicarious thrill of watching something that looks so dangerous, but you also can’t look away from. But that begs the question: is he the snake or is he the charmer?

It’s hard to say, especially when he shifted gears to slower, less rowdy songs.

And then one day

I had my love as perfect as could be

She lived, she loved, she laughed, she cried

And it was all for me

There was a bit of a tremble in his voice as he crooned those words out to the crowd, as though he were close to tears himself. It’s here you think you truly find that boy that used to bug you when you were out in the fields. 

It felt like all too soon the concert was over and he was stepping behind the stage. What feels like half a million eyes are focused on him as he steps off the stage to where he was met with just as many cameras and questions thrown his way. You almost feel bad for him, that he wasn’t even given a chance to breathe between one stage to another. 

His eyes scanned the crowd that gathered around him, but eventually his eyes would settle on the ridiculously large bouquet right next to you.  It’s hard to miss, you think, looking at it, but when you look back at him you find that his eyes are firmly set on you and you feel your heart skip a beat. 

He’s probably trying to figure out where he knows you from, you figure. It’s been years, you yourself had long ago forgotten about him, but hearing his name on the radio for the first time dredged up all of those memories.

You can hardly blame him though the both of you have changed a lot in the almost ten years since you’d last seen each other and he doesn’t have the benefit of a famous name or your face on TV to jog his memory.

Even still some part of yourself wishes he does remember and you walk towards him with more a skip in your step than ever. But you find your path thwarted by an unwelcome familiar face.

Mindy, whom you’ve known since grade school, when her and her Mama lived on the farm with you until her mama married a new man. You used to be the best of friends but when she moved out she seemed to want to distance herself from you and did so by criticizing everything you did. 

Most people would be hard-pressed to name anything she does like, but ask her about the things she hates and she can go on for hours. And of all the things she hates, you think you rank somewhere near the top, given how much she used to talk about you to anyone who would listen. Everything about you was apparently a personal offense to her, with her latest insult being that you apparently had a bunch of cats on your farm, hence your latest and most confusing nickname of “the Cathouse girl.” Though by far her most egregious thing she's ever said was that one day you were going to suffocate from your Mama’s apron strings, and it felt all the worse that you couldn’t even go to her about it lest you prove her point.

She now proudly wears her Miss Tupelo sash over seafoam green dress as she attempts to lift the bouquet out of your hands with a cloyingly sweet, “I’ll take that off your hands hon.” 

You move to protest this, but apparently your day has just gone from bad to worse, as you feel a familiar iron-like grip on your arm. “Rosebud, it’s time for us to leave.” You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“But Mama-”

“Yeah Y/N, thought all you did was listen to your Mama,” Mindy interrupts you as she finally wrenches the bouquet out of your hands. 

“It’s time to go home, Y/N,” your mother says severely, her grip on your elbow unyielding. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, having never felt so small under your mothers gaze, but you don’t argue with her and allow yourself to be pulled away, lest a bigger scene be caused.

Mindy, idly pops her spearmint gum with the most triumphant of smiles, sparing you a simple dismissive twiddle of her fingers before spinning around to present your hard work to your old friend. If there’s one thing you can be glad about in that moment, is that exactly zero other eyes were on you as you conceded to your mother like a scolded child and let her lead you out of the fairgrounds.

Little did you realize at the time, someone was watching.

You get into the truck and sit your fists clenching in anger on your knees, ashamed at what transpired just now. 

“Rosebud…” she starts, and you petulantly turn your entire body to face the window with your back to her. “Honey I know you think I go overboard with these things, but you gotta trust your mama here when I say that it’s all for your own good.”

Your nails dig into the meat of your palms, so hard you worry it may draw blood, but a part of you welcomes that. Maybe then she will understand how upset you are with her.  She still treats you like a child after all these years, protecting you from some nebulous threat that is both ever present yet somehow not important enough to give a name. 

You feel suffocated, unable to defend yourself from insults that you aren’t allowed to fully understand.

These feelings would only double when you would see the next day's newspaper, where an enlarged picture of Elvis and Mindy on the ferris wheel would take up most of the front page. Well there’s your answer as to who this mystery girl is, you think bitterly. 

Sweethearts reunited at last, the headline reads.

Though all your anger and fury would end up manifesting into nothing when the real world decided to remind you what was important in life. About a week after the fair, your home would receive a late night visit from the sheriff informing you of tragedy.

It didn’t feel real seeing what was once a colorful store teeming with life and love to now be reduced to a smoldering, skeletal pile of ash. You had been there not even a day ago and now it was gone. The police don’t suspect foul play but they weren’t ruling it out, and as you would learn, the little insurance mama did have on the shop didn’t cover fires unless it could be proven beyond a doubt that it was accidental. So suffice it to say, your family is on its own in terms of getting the store back up and running. 

Typically late fall is for drying out maybe a quarter of the left over supply of flowers, storing the rest into the cold storage below the shop, winterizing the bushels for the next season, and shifting focus to seeding and growing the more popular flowers in the greenhouses, but the fire had thrown the ultimate wrench into the plans. A good chunk of the cut flowers had been kept on display at the front of the shop or beneath it in cold storage, and so with them went much of the value in the business.

Your mama is stressed beyond anything you’ve ever seen, but what makes it worse is that she refuses to burden you with the knowledge of your financial situation. Which in turn stresses you out even more about the financial situation she didn’t want you to know about.

About a month after the fire Mama had gone to the bank in an effort to get a business loan so that she could rent a new place, while the others were in town trying to strike up partnerships with other stores on the same street and convince them to buy and sell your flowers. It wasn’t the greatest of plans but it was the only one you were left with so that you may hobble through this year into the next.

They could sell the flowers off to shops in nearby towns, but even selling the rest of the supply wholesale will hardly breakeven for this year leaving you with nothing saved come next season. And even then that’s only if everybody refuses payment for the work they did, which they did offer, but your Mama was having none of it.

Even setting up a stand on your property and selling from there wasn’t an option, as you’re located way too far out from town too hope for those driving by to stop and buy flowers off of you. 

You find yourself on one of the rare days in which you’re home alone, as you sit on the porch gazing out at the fields nearly devoid of all flora now. If your mother can’t convince the bank for a loan then all that your family has ever grown will rot, the land sold, and the strange tribe of women that had been collected under this roof would be left adrift. Beauty will give way over to necessity, as these bankers are under the false assumption that people don’t need flowers.

But how can you begrudge the necessity of food at a time like this when your kitchen is looking pathetically sparse these days. You wouldn’t mind too much if you didn’t know that it was a prelude to no food at all. 

It didn’t feel right that this would be the end of the farm, your Nana Gail took the dusty lands her deadbeat of a husband left her with and turned it into something beautiful. She passed it on to your Mama, a relative stranger she took in the both of you when your daddy was sent away to die an ocean away. 

The farm had survived two world wars and yet it would be a fire that would cause all that the women of your family had built to crumble. 

You shake your head furiously at the thought. Don’t let these bad thoughts get to you, you think to yourself. You're truly afraid of where these thoughts may lead you if you let them fester so instead you decide that the kitchen would benefit from some cheery flowers to brighten up the place. 

The house is in desperate need of that these days. 

But as you were in the dirt to pick Daffodils, you realize you weren’t as alone as you thought, as in the distance you see some dust being kicked up. Your heart jumps for joy thinking that it was your mother, bearing good news, until you get to the dirt road and the unfamiliar black car drives past you.

Making your way home you can see a tall figure step out of the shiny car, dressed all in black. As they turn to look at the house, they strike an unsettlingly familiar silhouette but it still takes you a second to recognize him, even if it was not even a month ago when you saw him last. 

Maybe it’s because, in your head, he’s still that gangly tow-headed boy, not this tall dark man in black that stands before you. 

“Elvis?”

A devastating grin spreads across his face as he spreads his arms out in a clear invitation for a hug. “Been a long time, Honeybee.”

You don’t know the etiquette as to how to greet someone you haven’t talked to in years, but also whom you’ve seen in passing a few days ago. But you graciously accept the hug and kiss on the cheek he gives you, so you in turn invite him into your home, unsure what else to do in the face of his casual familiarity. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he says, grabbing a basket from the back seat. “But I brought you a lil’ gift.” Your eyes widen and your mouth instantly starts to water at the plentiful bounty within, as no less than a dozen Pomegranates filled that ornate basket. The fact that he brought such a thing, seemingly on a whim, spoke volumes as to how well the music business was treating him more than any sparkling jewel or shiny car could. 

“Can I offer you some water or…” you trail off as you put the daffodils in a vase, hoping he accepts, and you won’t have to suffer the embarrassment of having so little to offer such a man.

“If you could be a doll actually,” he says, plucking one of the sweet fruits. “Why don’tcha pop one a these open for old times sake.” You’re silently grateful he asked as you doubt it would have been too long before your empty stomach was demanding for one. “I still remember when you gave me one for the first time.” he idly remarks as you start to cut into it.  

You smile at that shared memory between the two of you, though a sorrowful ache settles in your stomach as those days seem so far away now. You gather a few errant seeds from the cutting board and you can’t help the small moan that comes from you, as you had resigned yourself to the fact that you wouldn’t be having any this year.

With the plate in hand you turn around to find your guest frozen in his sweet, before quickly gathering himself as you approach. 

“So what brings you back to these ol’ parts,” you ask, placing the plate between you two.

He pops a few seeds off of the ridge, and into his mouth, “Well I came back here because a certain someone left my show before I could even say hello to her.” 

You look down slightly embarrassed but a little ecstatic that he realized your absence, “Sorry ‘bout that, we get super busy around this time and couldn’t stick around too long.”

“I get it,” he answers amiably. “It looked like you and your mama had somewhere to be.”

You cringe and look down humiliated that, of all the things he could’ve seen that day, he saw perhaps the most embarrassing moment of your life. You look back and see an expression you can’t quite read on his face as you quickly recover and ask him how the star's life is treating him.

He regales you with all that he’s done the past few years since the music thing took off, and how he’s looking forward to the movies he’s gonna make. He even tells you how he’s just about to finish filming his first one pretty soon, and head back to Hollywood in a week.

The irony that you sit across from him, his dreams once so lofty and out of reach now coming true whereas your simple one seems to slip through your fingers is not lost on you. You have to actively force yourself to be happy for him at this moment, as he’s hardly to blame for your recent misfortunes. 

“How are you and Mindy doing?” you ask, after a while.

“Who?”

That really shouldn’t make you as happy as it did. 

“You know your old Sweetheart and all that,” you tease lightly.

“Oh… her…” he says, unable to hide the bit of a grimace on his face. “She was… nice?”

“You don’t gotta lie,” you say, laughing a bit at the thought

“She was nice to me,” he elaborates, shrugging his shoulders a bit, before giving a pointed look at you. “She had a lot to say ‘boutchu though.”

“I can imagine.” you say, plucking a few seeds. “Guess childhood sweethearts ain’t all they cracked up to be.”

“Wouldn’t know,” he says. “But enough a all that, how ‘boutchu, Honeybee? Whatcha been up to all these years?” 

“Oh you know, ain’t nothin’ ever changes down in Tupelo,” you dismiss, hoping to dodge his question. “Still growing flowers, still selling them,” you say, willing your smile to be more cheerful than strictly necessary. 

“Y’know,” he broaches lightly, his fingers awkwardly rapping against the grainy wood of the table. “I actually did stop by the shop before I got here…” he trails off, a solemn air falling over the both of you. 

“Oh.”

“Listen, darlin’,” he says, taking his hand in yours. “If you need anythin’ tell me how I can help,” he pleads softly.

“Yo-you don’t gotta be worried ‘bout us, we-we’re gonna be fine,” you stutter, attempting to parrot your Mama’s own words back to him, hoping you’re at least somewhat convincing. He takes your hand in his and soothingly rubs his thumb along the back of your hand. 

“Sweetheart if you folks need some money to tide y‘all over for a bit, I’d be happy t-”

“No,” you cut him off. “I can’t accept your money for nothing,” you declare. 

“I understand Honeybee,” he says, looking out the window. “But I just moved to a new place up in Memphis. It’s nice but kinda… bare on the outside, and I’ve been in the market for someone to fix that.” he says his steely blue gaze fixed on you. “And then I thought who better than the girl who could grow anythin’?” 

You’re genuinely flattered at the compliment, but you can’t help but feel this is simply more of his pity and you let him know as much. 

“Sweetheart, I was gonna offer you the job even before I saw your shop,” he says genuinely. “It don’t gotta be forever, just work a couple months up in Graceland, makin’ sure everything set up come spring, then you’ll be home.”

“Graceland?”

“It’s what the old owners called it anyway,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a house right now, but it ain’t no home.” he looks solemn in his words until his eyes trail to you and you can see in real time as his whole demeanor brightens. “I think you could help fix that darlin’,” he states, his smile making it hard to focus on much else.

There is a bit of a pause, and you stupidly realize he’s waiting for an answer from you. But from the almost imperceptible drop in his grin at your hesitation, you doubt it’s the one he’s looking for. “I-I’m flattered but… I-I can’t just leave right now.” you stutter, feeling guilty that he’s now upset with you, and you feel the need to further justify your stance. “My family needs me right now.”

“And this is how you can help ‘em right now,” he argues, reaching into his back pocket. “I can even pay ya’ half upfront now.”

“Elvis, I don’t think that’ll be eno–” you’re cut off by him suddenly slapping what looks to be six hundred dollars on the table before casually going back to picking off the ruby colored seeds. He smiles a bit at the gobsmacked expression on your face, but how could you not be?

Renting out a new space downtown for a few months wouldn’t even cost a quarter of this with the rest being able to go toward everything else. It’s almost funny that previously you never even thought about money, but now it feels like that’s all you think about these days. 

“This-this is just for six months of work?” 

“Three actually,” he corrects. “The rest you’ll get paid in the Spring.” 

You feel your heart thunder within your chest with his words. This would be more than enough money to get your family through the year. But you don’t know if you could do it. Not the gardening part obviously more the being so far away from your family part. 

“Can I have some time to think about it?” you question, hoping that maybe the rest will be able to better convince you to go for it or someone else could take the offer.

“Sweetheart I gotta get back to Memphis real soon,” he warns, a lot cooler than before. “So I’m gonna need an answer right now.” You swallow nervously at the intensity of his gaze on you, feeling an uncomfortable feeling settling in your belly, the prospect of leaving home, making you queasy.

“Elvis I-I-I don’t know,” you stutter, your palms clammy as you hold the hem of your skirt with shaky hands, feeling as though the world is somehow closing in on you. 

“Well I guess that’s that then,” he says with an air of finality, that only further turns your stomach.

This man is offering a solution to all your current woes and yet you hesitate? You balk at the idea of a couple months of doing the same work you would’ve been doing here? And for what exactly? 

You know you should discuss this with your Mama, but you already know what her answer is going to be. It’s the same one she has been giving these last few weeks when you had asked about getting a job to better support the house.

Your daddy never came back from the war so she promised to love you twice as fiercely, for the both of them. She had always done her best to feed you, clothe you, protect you. It’s no secret that everything this farm started from you when she had to support the both of you on her own. And you know for a fact if it was her being offered the job she wouldn’t have even blinked to take it. But you’re about to let that all slip through your fingers because you’re too much of a coward to do what needs to be done. 

But even with all that in mind, it’s not your mind that ultimately makes the decision so much as your stomach, as it rumbles yet again as you look upon the basket he left behind overflowing with one of the most expensive fruits you know, a mere taste as to what he can so casually provide you.

You catch him just as he’s about to step out the door, but before you can officially say yes you have one question left for him. “Can you promise me I’ll be home come Spring?”

“Darlin’ I can promise you right now, come Spring we’ll both have exactly what we want.” which is a big promise for anyone to make, but you are looking at the boy who had gone from being only able to sing in front of a single person in an empty field to someone who is now selling out shows to hundreds. There is an odd sense that if anybody can manifest the near impossible it would be him. 

It takes you only an hour to pack what you think you’ll need for these coming months, as well as write a barebones note explaining to your Mama that no you’re not being kidnapped and that you’ll be gone to raise money to save the farm. You don’t say where you’ll be but you do promise that you will write as often as you can and that you’ll be home come springtime. You quickly stuff the note and the money into the envelope, and leave it right on top of the basket. 

But before you can make it out the front door, you're presented with a bright cheerful looking daffodil, plucked straight from the vase you had put it in. “For new beginnings,” he says with a soft smile. 

“How’d you know that?” you asked surprised that he remembered after all this time, but taking a hold of it anyway.

“Hell, all the time I spent down here,” he said, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Somethin’ was bound to stick.”

And just like that you’re off. 

You refuse to look forlornly out at the fields you’re leaving behind, trying to remind yourself that it’s not as though you’ll be gone forever. You’ll be back before you know it, you think, trying to convince yourself, and it’s Elvis’ hand in yours that gives you some small comfort in this incredibly trying time, even as his eyes are firmly set forward.

Though it’s as you get to the state border do you realize that this will mark the first time you’ve been so far from home ever, and you let Elvis know as much. 

“There’s gonna be a lotta firsts when you stick with me darlin’,” he says, giving a tender kiss to the back of your hand.

Graceland on the outside is beautiful but… sterile, if you had to take a guess. There were trees with leaves starting to brown for the autumn, the shrubbery was perfectly manicured, and the grass was well maintained but it was utterly devoid of color save for the cars in the driveway. 

But then again this is what you’re here to rectify, so you try to be an optimist about it, and try to view it as a blank canvas so to speak. What the property lacked in the moment was warmth and you suppose now it’s your job to bring it.

That first month was all devoted to building the greenhouse necessary to start the entire process. You prefer to start with the seeds rather than skipping straight to the bulbs, so a place where you can better help them grow is ideal. Elvis is all too willing to indulge this and he puts in the order for one but all too soon he has to leave to go and finish his movie. 

As much as you knew Elvis, it felt odd being in a house with the owner gone. And while Graceland was far from empty, there is still that unsettling sensation of being there that you can’t quite shake. 

Of course not used to being so idle even during the winter, you start to take on other duties around the household. You quickly endear yourself to Miss Gladys with your willingness to take on the chores of the house and she goes out of her way to make you feel welcome. 

You like her, she’s the only one who feels as uncomfortable at the opulence as you did. In a lot of ways she reminds you of your own mother with the way she frets over her absent son. This strikes a particularly guilty chord within you, because unlike your Mama, Gladys has the benefit of knowing where her child was at the moment. 

“Where ya from sweetheart?” she asks you idly one day as you’re helping her make breakfast early one morning. 

“Tupelo,” you say while you beat the eggs.

“Oh do I know your Mama?”

“Probably,” you answer. “She ran the flower shop back there.”

Gladys pauses at that. You can’t see her face but you do hear the hesitation in her voice as she whispers “... Demi?”

“Yeah that’s my mama… you know her?” you ask a little confused at this point, and you wonder if there is some history there. 

There is an uncomfortably long pause before she says a simple, “Yeah I think I remember her…” The rest of the morning is filled with an awkward silence as you try to figure out what could have possibly happened there. 

That night, before you enter the room to talk to Elvis over the phone, you overhear the tail end of the conversation between him and his Mama. You hear her whisper in a low tone, “I hope you know what you’re doin’ Bewbie.” 

Whatever awkwardness that had arisen because of her question disappears soon after that. Gladys happily takes you under her wing once more, bringing you further into the fold of the Presleys and all the dynamics that come with it. She has even begun to refer to you as the daughter she never had which, while you understand is meant to make you feel welcome here, it in fact eats at you considering the state of the relationship between you and your real Mama. 

It’s times like these that you truly hate that your family doesn’t have a telephone. You want more than anything to hear her voice, but you know yourself well enough to know that if you were to even visit now you wouldn’t want to ever leave again.

You write to her pretty much every day. Like clockwork for the first month you write to her telling her about your day the same way you usually would, asking her for advice on some flowers, anything really that comes to mind. You had a lot of time that first month while you were helping with planning and building the greenhouse, so everyday you would sift through the hoard of mail to find one bearing your home address.

But it never comes. 

That doesn’t stop you from continuing to write to her everyday, handing off the letter to Jerry, and eagerly awaiting her reply. 

Elvis is very understanding over the fact that it’s a marathon and not a sprint to make the garden he wanted  and every time he’s back home he’s just as eager to see your progress with the seeds as you are to show him. Once you even tried to apologize to him feeling guilty that it’s taking so long to perfect that image of Graceland he had.

“Sweetheart you bein’ there, takin’ care a everythin’ makes it feel all the more like a proper home,” he insists over the phone. “And I can’t wait to get back and see it all.” 

This guilt eases once the greenhouse is finished and you can finally get to work with the flowers you’ve planned. Elvis quote “trusted your vision” and wanted you to choose whatever you thought worked best, but he did specify which flowers he absolutely wanted on the property: Lilacs, Gardenias, Carnations, Tulips, Forget-Me-Nots, and Roses. 

“I’m a bit of a romantic, I guess,” he said shyly rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t mind too much, as him knowing what he wants by far makes him the easiest man you’ve ever worked with. 

Elvis had left you with the understanding that the boys he left behind would be at your beck and call and that should you need anything, not to be afraid to send them to get it. Pots and other such tools were easy enough to send for, but when it came down to other fine details such as soil and seeds, you trusted no one but yourself to find what you need, and so you instead ask if one of them could take you into town to find what you need. 

“I cAN-” Jerry, one of the younger ones offered, blushing furiously at his overeagerness that caused his voice to crack slightly. “I mean I can take you,” he says, far more composed this time around. The other men protest, saying he’s too young and that he only just got his license, and ‘don’tchu want a real man drivin’ around sweetheart?’

It was those last comments that really solidified your decision to have it be him, as there was something about Jerry, (16, Lanky, and with a voice still cracking from puberty) that put your mind at ease over all these other grown men, in a way you can’t exactly place.

You stopped going to school when you were around 15 and outside of brief exchanges with the men that used to come into your shop, you haven’t really had much interaction with menfolk in the past 3 years. So that’s where you believe your unease stems from, having been surrounded by mostly women your entire life, being around so many men now is a bit of a shock to your system. 

He leads you to his shiny new car, a gift from Elvis for some unspecified favor he did for him, and just like that you’re off. The drive into town is mostly quiet save for Jerry nervously pointing out to you his favorite places in Memphis. You're happy to get out of Graceland, even for a little bit, as you rarely if ever got to explore Tupelo, so being somewhere entirely new was exciting, but at the end of the day there is really only one place you wished to be, the local nursery.

You quickly locate the specific tools you’re going to need and find the best soil for the flowers, and you’re finally able to do what you most wanted. You’re almost like a kid in a candy store as you eagerly look through the varieties of seeds available within the store. As much as you want to take them all you have to be realistic as to not only what would look good, but as to what could be grown on the property to have it looking good year round.

“So err…uhhh… Wh-what’s your favorite flower?” he asks shyly, as you're perusing the various seed packets to be had. 

“All of them,” you say without hesitation, not even looking up from the task.

“Really all of ‘em?” 

“I’m serious, asking me what my favorite flower is, it’s like asking a mother who her favorite child is,” you say fondly, rubbing your thumb lightly on the little packets that will eventually become the flowers you so love.  

He laughs at that, “Why do ya’ love ‘em so much?”

“Well when you grow up on a flower farm, you ain’t got much of a choice,” you quip. 

“A flower farm?” 

“Yeah,” you clarify. “My Mama and I grew and sold flowers in our shop back in Tupelo.” 

“...Yo-you had a flower shop back in Tupelo?” he stutters. 

“Yeah,” you say solemnly, this conversation dredging up some very bittersweet memories. “Why dontcha go ring up everything while I finish up over here,” you say.

It's October already, you think to yourself, they probably started cutting down the sunflowers by now. You know that you’re doing more for them here making money and sending it back to them than you would have being an extra set of idle hands back home, still that does little to quell that uneasy feeling being so far from home now. 

You’d kept up the writing and have recently let her know how lonely you’ve been feeling here, part venting, part as a means of getting her to write to you back for the first time.

It didn’t work and that sours your mood for the rest of the outing.

The ride back to Graceland is far quieter this time around, and Henry seems to avoid you after that, but you hardly notice as now that you have everything you need, you can really focus all your energy in doing what you came here to do. This is what you’re undoubtedly good at and now that you’re back at it, you don’t want anything to distract you from doing your job and getting back home as soon as possible.

A few days later, as you were finishing up in the greenhouse you would find Jerry sitting next to someone, back ramrod straight as a familiar figure had an arm casually slung over his shoulder. Jerry leaves before you can figure out what that’s all about, so you instead greet the not-so-stranger before you.

“You’re early,” you casually remark to him. 

“I missed ya’,” he drawls, a light smirk on his lips that causes a pleasant warmth to radiate from your chest. But his face takes on a more sobering look as he looks at you, purses his lips, and pats the no occupied seat, which you worriedly take. “Actually, I was just ‘bouta go lookin’ for ya’,” he says, before letting out a pensive sigh. “Jerry actually needs a place to stay for a week or two, and I invited him here.”

“Oh that’s nice of you,” you say.

A small bashful smile cracks his somber expression, before the intensity returns and he informs you that yours was the room he offered him. 

 “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” you insist, scared that you may be about to be sent home without the rest of the money to show for it.

“Don’tchu worry ‘bout that,” he said, chucking your chin up to look at him. “I just figured that my bed should be big ‘nough for the both of us.” 

His words catch you off guard, and you feel your face burning unsure as to how to respond. He sees your hesitation and backs off slightly before continuing. “Course if you don’t feel too comfortable sharin’ with me I can always putcha up somewhere else,” he starts and you’re about to jump on that offer until he continues. “Though, we might need to take that outta your pay,” he says, and you shrink a bit at the reality of the situation. “Not to mention havin’ to getchu back and forth day in and out,” he continues, rambling on and on about the logistics of the prospect.

“No-no,” you cut in. “I-if you’re really okay with it… then I-I don’t mind.” you say slightly defeated though if he notices he doesn’t say anything about it.

A full grin cracks his face, “Perfect we’ll go move your things right now,” he says as he takes your hand in his leading you up to where your room was.

“...ok…” you said, accepting his offer in a small voice. Though it’s hardly an offer as that would imply you had a choice in the matter. 

The next week you want to kick yourself over being so nervous over nothing, as he proves himself to be nothing less than a gentleman all things considered. Yes he does get a bit clingy when he’s asleep and he all but refuses to let you out of the bed when you wake up before him. But in all honesty you welcome it very much. 

It helps ease that lonely feeling somewhat as being held by him takes away some of your worry about not belonging here. Everybody seems to give you a wide berth and it was a definite shock to your system considering where you come from, being essentially the baby on the farm you were freely plied with all forms of physical affection your whole life. But you do take comfort in him, even if it is only limited to the night time.

Though when that week is up you idly ask him when you can move your things back into your old room, to which he only responds by wrapping an arm over your shoulders and saying, “Now why would I want my Honeybee so far away from me.” 

You’re too shocked at the statement to even think of countering him at the moment, but even when the statement does truly settle for you, you aren’t entirely opposed to it. As it makes you feel far more secure here knowing that he wants you here so much. It’s odd how final it feels in spite of how small the moment was. You’re not just Honeybee anymore, you're His Honeybee, and that’s that.

That’s one of the first things you learned living in Graceland, is that whatever Elvis says, goes. Everybody seems to bend over backwards to his wishes here, and at first it was a little funny if a little perturbing, as you justified to yourself that you were his friend and therefore he wouldn’t put any crazy demands on you even if he was technically your boss. 

But it’s only in that moment that you truly realize that you were no exception to that rule. And why would you be? Considering he is the one that is the one supporting not only you but by extension your entire family back home, how can you do anything but agree to his demands?

But that may be being a bit too harsh, as being his girl is certainly not an unpleasant phenomena. He seemed to become bolder with your amiable acceptance to your new found title of becoming his. In short order all of the clothes you brought from home disappeared and were replaced with much finer ones, and he becomes the most frequent visitor in the greenhouse. 

Whenever he is around is almost constantly touching you and bringing you close to him at any given moment. And these weren’t exactly touches you were familiar with; Brushing his fingers along your neck to fix your necklace, hand on your lower back to steer you a certain way, rubbing your knee beneath the table (sometimes above your clothes, sometimes not) etc. All new and exciting, in their own ways.

Everytime you see him it feels akin to something blooming within your chest. You think this is why there were so many flowers meant to express love, because that feeling he gives you is hard to put into words. 

It was only inevitable that the kisses would come along eventually. First beginning as friendly ones on the cheek before bed, then graduating to something far more… carnal. Almost like he was trying to consume you, and these kisses always left you panting and in a state of shock from the ferocity he displayed only to end it with a very sweet kiss to your cheek and tucking the both of you into bed.

You’re not gonna lie and say you don’t enjoy the kissing but it does give you a good scare when he begins to touch you in other places that are not-so-innocent places as he kisses you: His hand on your bottom when wants to press your body closer to his, the continual rubbing between your inner thighs, his thumb circling the taut peak of your breast. 

Though admittedly his new touches were a bit on the scarier side for you, you don’t fight it, and in fact get bolder yourself by taking a page out of his book and giving as good as you got. He seems to relish the reaction he can pull from you, which is intimidating as much as it is titillating. 

But these feelings have also been manifesting in some strange ways physically, like you seem to breathe harder when he’s around, and seeing him bite his lip makes your mouth go dry. But this all pales in comparison to the sensation of him rubbing a hand on your inner thigh, and it feels like you go dry everywhere, save for one place. As exciting as it is, it’s confusing all the same, and you above all else wish you could confide in anyone with how you were feeling.

Typically you could freely talk about any lady troubles you may have with your Mama but her inability/unwillingness to talk to you now leaves you to navigate this maze alone. You consider asking Miss Gladys or even Dodger for their thoughts, but the fact that it’s Elvis that awakens these feelings within you, makes going to them seem inappropriate for some reason. But ultimately that only leaves you with one person to go to about your problem despite them also being the cause of it. 

Which is how you find yourself sitting on your knees in his bed with a shaky breath telling him how his touches are stirring something in you that you don’t understand. 

“Where?” he asks, seemingly innocent but the way he bites his cheek, tells you he’s trying to hold back a laugh at your discomfort. “Here” he says, placing a hand on your lower belly, and while it clenches from the sudden contact, you shake your head no. 

“Here?” He asks with a small smile, cupping one of your breasts, and though your breath hitches in your throat and you feel one of the buds harden at his thumbs' attention, that’s not where the worst of the feelings is coming from. 

“Elvis please,” you beg, squirming at his touch. 

“Oh I think I know Honeybee,” he says one hand now slowly dragging the hem of your nightgown up well past your hips, before he rubs his fingers along the seam of your panties.

In spite of the strangled feeling in your throat, you manage to squeak out a simple “yes,” as tears begin to well up in your eyes. 

“Don’tchu worry Baby. I know somethin’ that can help,” he says as he drags the delicate fabric of your white cotton panties down to your knees. On reflex your thighs clench shut immediately but, with a few languid kisses he’s able to distract you from your skittishness and you feel the first tentative brush of his fingers on that sensitive flesh. 

As much as you love your home you’ll admit that there was rarely if ever a moment for yourself there anymore. So him now brazenly touching the seldom explored area was mind-boggling for you, moreso when he begins to prod deeper, dipping between your folds and even one finger delving further than any other.

That gets a surprised gasp out of you before you bite down on your lip hard, embarrassed that you're feeling like this while he’s trying to help you. But while you’re able to hold back your noises, you can do nothing to help the way you’re breathing-well more panting- now or the way you’re shivering. You’ve never felt anything close to this in your life, but even this pales in comparison to when he adds a second finger, and you feel like you're about to burst. 

“Honeybee… what’d ya know ‘bout baby-makin’,” he asks, seemingly out of the blue.

Part of you wants to act coy and say something like “enough” to get him to continue, but it’s hard to concentrate on any of that as you feel his fingers deep within you. So instead you reply with, “that…that o-ooh-only a Husband and Wife can make oNE.” you yelp that last part as he curls his fingers ever so slightly. 

“And that’s it?” he asks with a bit of a skeptical look on his face, and you bury your face in his neck, a bit ashamed that that is the truth of the matter. “Oh Honeybee, you don’t gotta be that way,” he says, giving you a sweet kiss to your nose as he’s still three knuckles deep up your canal. “That’s the right of it, but I don’t think yer Mama ever mentioned that there ain’t no harm in practicin’ before the Weddin’ like this.”

“O-oh,” you say, part as an answer, part an involuntary noise to the way his thumb starts to circle around that pearl between your folds.

“You like that baby girl?” he purrs to you. Your eyes are shut tight and you’re trying to move your hips in tandem with his motions. 

“Y-yes,” you manage to whimper, so focused on chasing that feeling he’s causing that you don’t even notice when he drags the straps of your nightgown fully down your shoulders. And it’s as you suddenly feel him bite down hard on the soft skin of your breast do you finally peak with a harrowing sob. 

You cling on to him for dear life as wave after wave of pleasure surges through you all at once and you feel as though you’re going to float away any moment. But holding on to him, kissing him, and feeling his skin against your tethers you here, reassuring you that this isn't a dream. 

You feel his fingers leave you, and that paired with him pulling away from your lips causes a small whine to come from you. You’re quickly quieted from the shock of seeing him stick the same fingers in his mouth giving a contented groan, “Course my Honeybee’s got the sweetest nectar he whispers against your lips, before giving you a taste for yourself. 

You feel boneless and weightless yet your eyes feel so heavy from all that you just experienced, but for as tired as you are at that moment, you’re not ready to go back to dreaming yet. 

“Ca-can I try that on you?” you ask meekly still in a bit of a haze from that euphoric feeling.

A bite to his lip prevents it from being a full blown grin “You sure ‘bout that Baby? Mine’s a lil’ different… well not too lil’,” he says. Clearly amused by your request to make him feel just as good. 

“I wanna help,” you insist. He chuckles at how eager you were before he guides your hand down to a prominent bulge in his briefs. You’re not too sure what exactly you’re feeling through the rough cotton, just that it is either intensely painful or pleasurable to Elvis given how his breath hitches and his eyes slam shut. You try to remove your hand but his vice-like grip on your wrist prevents that and you can only further palm him.  

You apply a bit more pressure, you take the sigh of contentment as a good sign before you delve underneath the fabric of his shorts. 

You watch, a bit fascinated as you work to get the rough fabric down, and suddenly you’re face to face with something you’ve never seen before. A long thick column of flesh stands before you, bobbing slightly as he takes deep breath after breath. The skin feels soft but unyielding beneath your touch and you patiently await his instructions, but that deep groan that comes from him as you apply a bit of pressure makes you feel all sorts of powerful over this beautiful man. 

He has you gather the slick from between your legs and even spit in your own hand to make it easier for you to slide up and down the shaft. His eyes are screwed shut, his long lashes brushing his cheeks, and he’s mumbling his praises for you, which only further encourages you. 

He’s unraveling before your eyes, and you take great delight in being a witness to it. You’ve seen him dance before so it shouldn’t be surprising how well he’s able to move his hips, but it does add an entirely new context to it and you hope the next time you see him on stage you’ll be able to not think of him like this.

An idea pops into your head, and you decide to jump on it before you lose your nerve, and you give a soft kiss to the very tip of him. He freezes in place, his eyes wide and shocked at your teasing, his chest rising and falling and you feel heat flood your entire being.

“I-I’m so-sorry,” you breath out, embarrassed that you may have unintentionally done something you weren’t supposed to do. “I just th-thought you mi-” you cut off as he chuckles at your obvious distress before giving you a sweet kiss. 

“Just surprised me Honeybee, thas all,” he reassures you against your lips, before giving you a little nibble there. “Why don’tcha try that again?” he drawls, trying to not appear too eager, but it’s apparent even to you. 

You get right back to it, and you give even softer kisses along the shaft, each one being punctuated by a low moan from him, until you finally get to the very top of him, and you run your tongue along the small slit to be found there.    

His hips stutter at that and one second you’re wondering what’s happening to him, the next you’re a coughing mess as that salty stream hits the back of your throat. He’s now just as dazed as you feel his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, as you settle, and he takes charge in getting you both ready for bed.

As you lay side by side, he has nothing but praise for you whispering how good and perfect you were between hungry kisses until you drift off to sleep. 

The next day would mark the first time you didn’t write to your mother. Part because you have already accepted she wouldn’t reply, part wanting to also keep that as private as possible. It also marks the first time in your life you don’t share something that felt so important with her.

Your Mama never liked talking about your daddy beyond saying that they loved each other very much. She never went into detail beyond that believing you were too young to hear them, but she never gave you an idea when you would be grown enough to hear them. But now above all else you want to hear when she knew she was in love with him, because you think you’re falling in love with Elvis. 

Scratch that.

You know you are but you would give anything right now to be able to talk to somebody about it. And it’s upsetting that the person you usually talk your worries through is also one of your biggest ones at the moment. But even then you would have been willing to discuss it with her, if only she was willing to do so back.

It seems the more upset you become with her, the more comforting Elvis becomes to you. Even still you hesitate to share your fears with him until he is the one that broaches it. 

“What’s on your mind Honeybee?” he says as he draws circles along your hip. 

“Nothing much,” you dismiss. “Just trying to figure out when it's best to plant everything.”

His sardonic smile tells you he doesn’t believe you one bit, “C’mon darlin’ I know ya’ better than that.” Which is a bit of an understatement, as it feels like these days he’s able to read you better than you can yourself anymore. 

After letting out a long tired sigh, you tell him “I think she’s mad at me,” while you two were settling into bed. 

“Now who could ever be mad at my Honeybee?” he says, bringing you closer to him. 

“My mama,” you say solemnly, tears in your eyes. “She’s never replied to a single letter of mine, and I write to her everyday.”

“I’m sure she’s just busy,” he tries to comfort you. But they ring hollow knowing that she always used to say- something you even quoted her in your last letter- ‘I’m never too busy for you Rosebud.’ He pulls you close to his chest as he rubs his hand along your back, “Darlin’ your mama is a hard-headed woman- lord knows I got the scars to prove it- but I don’t think she could stay mad at you forever.”

“What?” you say, sitting up to face him fully.

“What?”

“What do you mean you have the scars to prove it?”

“O-oh…” he says with a slight grimace on his face, before giving a bit of an awkward chuckle. “We-well… ya’ remember before I left, I-I asked you to’ run away with us?” You nod your head slowly. “Well that night, when I went back to the farm to tell her… she… she had a bit of a fit.”

“That doesn’t answer my question E.”

His lips form a thin line, clearly reluctant to tell you more, but he does eventually cave with a long hard sigh. “She got so mad at the thought a you leavin’ she grabbed my hand somethin’ fierce, and… and… well…” he trails off as he presents you the palm of his left hand, where you can see some small jagged silvery lines along it. 

“She… she did this?” you whisper, lightly touching the scars, unbelieving that your Mama could do such a thing. She was the one who hardly ever raised her voice and didn’t even swat at Bees in front of you. How could she hurt him like this?

“I-I understand not wantin’ your kid to run away,” he says, “but I don’t think hurtin’ one like this was needed. But that wasn’t even the worst part of it.”

“What is it?”

“She… she banned me from ever comin’ back to the farm again. Couldn’t even say goodbye to ya properly,” he says somberly, his eyes sad as he tenderly cupped your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you say, at a loss for what else you could say knowing what you do now.

“You don’t got nothin’ to apologize for baby,” he says softly, holding your hand in his scarred one. “And listen Honeybee, if she’s so mad that she don’t wantcha back, you’ll always have a home here,” he promises before he gives you a kiss to your temple and turns off the light.

You know the words were meant to be comforting, but they have the opposite effect and make your stomach drop at the prospect that she may be that mad. It has never occurred in your mind that she may be that cross with you for leaving 

But like a fowl little seed, those words are implanted in your mind and take root. You wish he had never said those words, but you can hardly fault him for his attempts to console you in your hurt. 

Would she ever be so mad at you? You wonder to yourself. You feel Elvis hands wrap around your waist and you remember the marks your Mama left on him in a rage. And that was simply from the idea that you would leave. What would she do now that you've actually left? 

Elvis has never had a bad word to say about anybody, but you realize even he was being far more generous than was needed for what she had done.  All that over a stupid kiddy idea of running away?

You lay there for hours with the only sounds being Elvis’ steady breathing. The longer you’re awake the more you think about it, which fuels the vicious cycle as those thoughts make it harder  to fall asleep. Doubt creeps into your very soul that the  home you are so desperate to return to will even be there come spring, and you silently weep. 

But not as silently as you thought, as Elvis is awake within seconds. He holds you so close and so tight that it truly feels like he’ll never let go. 

“No matter what,” he whispers in your ear. “Your home will always be here with me, Honeybee.”

You’re touched by his words and the way he holds you makes you feel so safe now and you kiss him fiercely, and want nothing more than to be as close to him as possible.

Up until this point you had been reluctant to go that final step with Elvis, pretty much doing everything but that last act. As greedy as he could be with your body (given how many hours he’s spent with his head between your legs), he had asserted you would be the one to decide when you would cross that final line with him. Though from the tone of his voice each time he said it, you figured he was gunning for it to be sooner rather than later.

You don’t know what exactly it is about the idea that you may not have a home to return to that makes you want to attach yourself further to him. You want to forget about everything when you’re with him and he makes it easy to do so. Being with him makes you so happy in way you don’t ever think you’ve experienced on the farm, and you 

“Are ya sure sweetheart,” he groans, before his eyes snap shut as you rub your lower lips along his shaft, as you’ve done dozens of times before. 

“Yes,” you whine, wanting to feel him the way he was meant to be. 

When he finally slides into you, you can’t help the satisfied hum that escapes you, as he slides right into you. You’re on top and he lets you set the pace for yourself, which is good as even with all of your previous practice with him, you still need some time to adjust to the size of him up that secret channel of yours. 

You can see the sheer will power it’s taking for him to let you go your own speed, so once the pleasure overtakes the pain, without any more preamble, you begin to quicken your hips and ride him like your life depends on it. It may very well, considering the closer you get to you climax the more it feels like you may pass out before you get to that point.

“This right here,” he grons, rolling his hips up into you rubbing his thumb along that button of yours. “This is where home is.”

“Yes,” you sob, tears streaming down your face, “Home… you.” you cry, unable to finish as he hits just the right spot within and your vision is being blurred by stars.

You feel so whole as he spills within you, and with his now softened cock still snuggly within you, “I love you Elvis,” you sigh into his chest, content to fall asleep then and there, but you quickly realize your mistake as your words seem to reinvigorate him and he takes you a few more times until the crack of dawn. But between his filthy words and his declarations of love one thing he says sticks out to you the most. 

“Ain’t nothin’ ever gonna take you away now Honeybee,” he groans as you pick up the pace, his hand squeezing your bottom so tight, only further cementing how secure you are here. 

Slowly but surely you stop writing to your mother. What was something you previously did everyday, became every other week, to eventually once a week once February came. And even the ones you do send are limited to very basic and dry summaries of the week, as to what flowers you were focusing on and general questions as to how everybody else is doing back home. Gone are the days of you waxing poetically about your confusion over your feelings for Elvis and you plea for a single response from her. She’s shown her interest in your life, as well as shown how willing she is to be involved with it anymore so you decide to accept it, albeit with a heavy heart. 

The last time you expressed anything even remotely emotional with her was how you find it hard to think of the farm as being home anymore when she’s been so cold to you these last few months, and how you doubt you even want to go back. 

She doesn’t reply.

Elvis seems to take to his new role in your life surprisingly well. Always willing to help you through your emotional turmoil when he was home and shield you from the rest.

He seems to take great comfort in you as well, and the greenhouse has now even become a place away from all of it. When he’s home one of the first things he does is visit you there, and simply sit with you for a few hours. You think it’s mostly to serve as a breather between all the chaos that is his life outside of these glass walls, but you’re all too happy to help him in this way as he’s helped you. 

That feeling of perfection you got when you first shared that pomegranate with him, you feel it almost everyday in that greenhouse with him. The light shining through the panes of glass keeping the place warm, the fresh air coming from the sproutlings in their pots, his soft humming. All of it adding up to a dream you never want to wake up from.

The beginning of Spring came and went and neither of you brought up the fact that you were meant to be back at the farm. The most you do allude to it was you telling him to forward that final payment directly to your Mama, mostly as a last ditch effort to get her to finally respond to you for once. 

She doesn’t respond. 

You and Elvis decide then and there to wash your hands of her, though it was perhaps the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. But you can’t keep letting her silence break your heart so you focus all of your energy into two things: Elvis and making Graceland beautiful.

The first one is pretty easy to do considering when he is home, there is little to no distance between you two. He can hardly keep his hands off of you anymore when he’s here, with nights spent under the sheets, and days spent literally everywhere else on the property. He seems to be particularly fond of being in the Greenhouse, loving to see you so in your element in there only to bend you over your work table and take you hot and heavy from behind. 

These encounters only make you feel his absence even more, as while you’re not exactly alone in Graceland it does make the big property feel all the emptier. Which in turn makes your second focus all the harder.

You’ve by now planted any and all flowers you intended to and they are all well on their way to growing strong, and now knowing you’re going to be staying, you’re happy that you’ll be able to do so for years to come. Now that you’ve gotten past the most trying part, tending to them is going to be a cinch…

Or it would be if you weren’t so tired all the time.

Oftentimes you find yourself napping in the most inopportune places around the property. Sweet Pea has apparently appointed herself as your official protector while you rested outside and by extension roped Brutus and Snoopy into it as well. You can’t even begin to count the amount of times you would want to rest your eyes for a minute only to find hours had passed and three dogs at the ready to guard you from whatever may come. WHich considering how you’ve been feeling sicker and sicker lately what with the fever you’ve been feeling and the nausea you’ve been having some mornings. 

You don’t exactly understand why you’re far more sensitive to smell nowadays. You almost threw up the other morning from the smell of the eggs, which has Dodger and Miss Gladys looking very funny at you. You don’t pay it any mind though as you were just glad that you’re still able to appreciate the smell of flowers. 

You’re in a far better mood today, what with Elvis set to return later, you decided to leave a surprise in his office. The roses were in full bloom now, so you decided to pluck a few for old times sake and leave some for him. 

As you’re placing the vase down onto the desk, you watch as one of the blooms falls right off the stems and rolls to the other side of it. But when you go to pick it up, what you find is far stranger.

With the amount of fan mail he gets, you wouldn’t have paid the neat stack any mind if you hadn’t immediately recognized your own handwriting on the very top one. ANd you would have taken that as a very crazy coincidence if it weren’t for the fact that it also has your old address on the front. 

And it’s not just that one, you find a couple dozen envelopes with your handwriting and address on the front, and an unpleasant feeling fills your belly as you tentatively remove a page from the envelope. 

And it’s there that you read your own gut-wrenching words of your loneliness here and your wishes that your mother would write back to you. How you plead for her to reach out if only to reassure you that she’s alive and getting these letters. 

You had imagined that they had either been destroyed the moment your mother saw them or gathering dust somewhere in your old childhood home. But now you find them here, a place you know very few are even allowed to be. 

She didn’t get any of them you realize looking at the thick stack, an icky sense of violation creeping under your skin, seeing them worn and wrinkled in some places, but somebody definitely read these. 

You want to throw up, and not just because of your newfound sensitive stomach, but due to the revelation that if he didn’t send any of them, then that meant… he had seen you be upset to the point of crying over this, all the while blaming your Mama for it and letting you take comfort in him. 

Not only that, he read about your loneliness and actively decided to make you feel even more isolated by not letting you talk to your Mama. He held you as you cried over the fact she wasn’t talking to you and said nothing.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and you stagger back so far that you knock the vase full of roses right off the desk. You don’t pay it any mind and leave them and the letters where you find them. You have to get away, you have to go home. 

You don’t bother to grab anything (it’s all his anyway), you simply find Jerry and tell him that he has to take you back to Tupelo right now. He’s stuttering trying to make the usual excuses of why he couldn’t take you, but he’s weak to your tears, and he silently leads you to the car.

It’s a long silent trip save for your quiet sobs from the passenger side. You don’t know if he’s intentionally stalling or if the drive is truly this long, either way it feels like forever before you can finally breathe within the Lee County borders. 

You take comfort in the landmarks becoming more and more familiar until finally you see your home in the distance. You don’t take your eyes off of it for even a second, afraid it may disappear the moment you do so. You have a hard time believing it’s even real until you stand before the front door. 

You hold the doorknob hesitating to open it, fearful as to what you may find on the other side, but ultimately you know that there is no possible way it can be any worse than where you just came from.

It’s oddly shocking how nothing has really changed in the months you’ve been gone. It’s almost as though you just walked out minutes ago, but you yourself feel you’ve changed so much since you were last here. The furniture arrangement is the same, as are the books on the shelf, and even your Mama's house slippers are in their usual spot. 

You listen as someone is cooking in the kitchen, and you feel your heart warm knowing that at the very least you accomplished what you had set out to do and provide for your family, regardless of the sick feeling that work has left in your belly. 

“Kate that you?” you hear from the voice that has accompanied you your whole life. “I told all y’all to take the da-” she cuts herself off upon seeing you.

You almost don’t recognize her, the streaks of white in her hair, the fine lines in the corners and the heavy bags underneath her eyes, overall speak to the way your absence has affected her these last few months. You feel guilty for every unkind thought you’ve had of her all this time, as you can now see for yourself how much she missed you. She looks as though she’s aged ten years in the months you’ve been away, and you can only imagine how you’ve so drastically changed in her eyes.

But none of that matters in the moment, as she drops everything in her hands and proceeds to take you in her arms and sob uncontrollably. You meet her halfway weeping just as fiercly in her chest, you thought you had run out of tears during the drive, only to find a new spring, as she blubbers in your ear “my baby’s home.”

Even after some time had passed like that, you can’t even begin to form any semi-coherent sentence as you blubber over and over again your apologies for being gone for so long. She’s long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you which only makes you feel all the worse. 

“Shh, it’s gonna be okay,” she whispers, having long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you now. “You’re home now, Rosebud. Everything’s gonna be okay,” and guilt eats at you, that you could ever even entertain the thought that she wouldn’t want you back. 

You remain in that state for what feels like hours, with your head in her lap as she smooths down your hair and in spite of all the turmoil you’ve undoubtedly put her through, it’s clear your comfort is her priority. Eventually though she does gather up the courage to ask you where you’ve been this whole time. 

After all you’ve put her through you figure that she at least deserves the truth, so you sit up to face her. But before you can even open your mouth you hear the front door open. Any nominal contentment you’ve found being back home all slips away when you hear the familiar heavy footfalls of the man you’ve been dreading seeing all day.  

“There you are Honeybee,” Elvis says, leaning against the doorframe, the familiar rakish smile in place. Those words are so familiar yet now they feel foreign as you no longer recognize the man who utters them to you.  

It feels like in mere seconds your mama has brought you to your feet and now you stand behind her, and away from him. “What are you doin’ here!?” she shouts, her body tense and rigid, as though ready to defend you from a lion rather than a single man.

He hardly even glances her way, his eyes firmly set on you. “Here to take my Honeybee back home of course.” Your mama doesn’t even waste a second after hearing that, she only wordlessly approaches and takes a swing at him. But he was ready for that, as he easily catches her wrist, and brought her close to him “Ain’t so easy now I ain’t a runt no more?” he says, grinning ear to ear, a deadly look crossing his steely blue eyes.

This catches both of you off guard but your Mama is quick to recover and attempts to shove him right out the door with a mighty “Get outta my house!” 

“Not without her,” he says, unnervingly keeping his voice low and cool, as though he were still very much in control of the situation. 

He may still very well be, you think. 

Before you can even think to help your mama, he easily maneuvers around her only to walk straight towards your frozen figure and put an arm around your shoulder. 

“C’mon Honeybee,” he says, blatantly ignoring the tears streaming down your face. “Time to head home,” and you shiver when he runs his thumb along your cheek the way he’s done a million times before. You see your mama look wide-eyed at this familiar interaction, and to your horror so does Elvis. “That’s right you don’t know where she’s been,” he says, giving a faux innocent look while boldly admitting right in front of you he never sent any of those letters. “Why don’tcha tell her darlin’.” he declares, punctuating his familiarity with a kiss to your cheek. You don’t know what’s worse, the look of shock on your mama’s face as he does this, or the dissatisfied look he shoots you when you curl away from him.

Your mama doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out what he’s implying, as you watch her deflate as she looks at you and gives a very defeated “why?” 

“Mama,” you whimper, wanting nothing more than to go to her, but Elvis’ arms keeping you firmly in place. “We-we needed the money, after the fire and…” 

You stop yourself short as your Mama seems to contemplate your words, only to make some sort of realization of her own before, a look of horror slowly creeping onto her face. “It was you wasn’t it?” She seethes in a low voice. 

“What was?” he says, trying to seem innocent but unable to fully mask his amusement at her state.

“The fire…” she said in a small voice, not even daring to continue. 

No, you refuse to believe. Ain’t no way he would go that far, but then you remember Jerry’s skittishness when he learned you had a flower shop in Tupelo as well as his reluctance to deny you a single thing, that big favor he apparently did for Elvis to earn his shiny new Cadillac. All of it is making a lot of sense, but you’re still unwilling to go that far for a chance to be with you.

That is until he says, “Now that’s a mighty big accusation,” coolly, with a bit of a smirk as he looks down on her.  

You freeze in place at that line. That’s not a no, you think, somehow still wanting to lie to yourself. He steals a glance at you and his face softens as he holds your shoulders and looks earnestly into your eyes as he says, “Honeybee you don’t think I would ever do something’ like that, now would you?”

You have to think on that for a moment, and you’re quiet until his grip tightens ever so slightly and his face noticeably drops from earnest to frustrated. You swallow deeply as you give a very unconvincing “No, of co-”

“Get your hands off her,” your mama spits, ripping you away from him, but he’s persistent, callously shoving her to the ground and gripping your jaw in his ringed hand. 

“Because if it’s true,” he continues so softly even as the cold metal digs into your cheeks. “Then I wonder what else I’d be willin’ to do to keep ya,” he casually threatens a sadistic look in his eyes as a wide grin spreads across his face. 

You feel your throat close as he glances down at your Mama, who’s struggling to get off the floor. He lets you go and you’re able to bring her to a chair. You once thought she was invincible but now you see her trembling clearly shaken up by this whole thing. Whatever your mama had; money, influence, respect, Elvis had in spades. She’s effectively powerless against him, but she still finds the strength to angle herself in front of you to try to block him. 

She’s afraid of him no doubt about it, but she’s still willing to defend you with her life. 

Would he be willing to go that far? You think and you let out a sob knowing the answer already. 

“Choice is yours darlin’,” he whispers right next to your ear. “If you’re willin’ to choose.” and then he steps right out onto the porch. You hope in vain that somehow he’s decided to leave, but that quickly dies as you hear him strike a match and you smell the familiar miasma of his favorite cigars. 

He wouldn’t, you think, but you can no longer put anything past him. You don’t ever want to truly find out what he’d be willing to if it meant keeping you by him, especially not at your mama’s expense. But you know in your gut how you can protect her. 

If you have one thing to thank your earlier crying fits for, it’s that you’re tapped dry at this point, so as you say to her “Mama I gotta go now,” you can say it with a little bit of dignity. 

“No… no Rosebud,” she pleads with you holding both of your hands. “Please stay… we can figure this out,” she says, the tears welling up in her eyes, as she comes to the same realization as you do. 

“It’s gonna be okay Mama,” you vainly try to reassure her but mostly yourself. “But you gotta let me go,” you sob, wanting to do anything but. And you have to leave her crying in the home she made for you.

You find him leaning against the porch railing, eyes slowly opening as you move closer to him. “Yes Honeybee,” he says, cloyingly sweet, as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. 

“Elvis…please… just-just take me home,” you whisper, burying your face into his chest. 

“Course sweetheart, anythin’ for you,” he says, and you shudder knowing he means it. You walk away from the porch and you breathe a sigh of relief as he drops the cigar into the dirt and stamps it out. “I really oughta quit anyway,” he says. “Heard it’s bad for the baby.” 

“What?” you say, your blood turning to ice hearing that. 

“Ain’t it like magic Honeybee?” he sighs as you both get in the backseat of Jerry’s car, the owner of which is pointedly not looking at either of you. Elvis pays no mind to it, instead absentmindedly rubbing your lower belly back and forth. “You plant somethin’ so small, and it’ll grow up to be somethin’ else,” he sighs in contentment, and you close your eyes to yet another revelation that is coming far too late.

“But… but… you said, that it only happens when you’re married,” you say, though your spirit has long since been defeated. 

“Don’tchu worry none ‘bout that sweetheart,” he dismisses. “We are gonna get married real soon, and ain’t no one gonna be the wiser.”

There’s something so final in that revelation that you are now forever tied to him not by your own choices, but by his. He chose you. 

He knew what he was doing and he knew you didn’t. 

Looking back you don’t think there was ever anything within your control. What’s worse is that a part of you wishes you had never gone into his office today and could have lived blissfully, unburdened with the knowledge of what he was willing to do to get you. 

You love him, which makes this betrayal feel all the worse. You glance to the side to see the fields of flowers you’re leaving behind, as he slowly slips a ring on your finger. Now he’s not even gonna pretend that you have a choice in the matter, you are going to marry him because he said so. 

With his hand in yours you feel as the car transitions from the dirt road to the paved one that will take you far away from your home. 

You close your eyes and you don’t look back.

Alternate Summary: In which Elvis sees himself as a triumphant Orpheus when he’s actually a victorious Hades.

Taglist

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[flwersgarden]

Yandere Elvis x a reader who pleases everyone and yet no one even gives or helps her in return

note: OOF this one hits a bit too close to home... i love it! *taps mic* THIS ONE IS FOR THE 'MIRRORBALL' / 'THIS IS ME TRYING' GIRLIES—

elvis presley. isn't he such a dreamboat?

you met him in school, the shy gaze boy who was such a sweet and kind soul.

at first, he thought you hated him. whenever he tried to speak to you, you would just stutter something and ignore him after that.

truth is, you couldn't just bare to have another 'friendship'.

one thing your mother always told you was that if you wanted love, you had to give in return.

as a child, you shared your toys even if you stayed alone while the others played with them, shared your food even if you were starving, covered up for someone even if it ended with you being yelled at. you didn't care at being the beaten up bag because you thought this would gain you love and appreciation.

but you learned when you were eighteen years old, while being laughed at in the middle of the parking lot; after being stood up as a prank, that you will never receive love.

no matter how much homework you give, how much comfort you bring. you will never be loved.

elvis first talked to you when he sat with you in first period.

“ hiya. ”

you hummed.

“ 'm elvis. ” he extended his hand, which you shook quietly.

elvis sat there, waiting for your name.

you never gave it. and when he was about to ask, the bell sounded and you stood up quickly to catch up for the next class. leaving elvis sitting there, alone, smelling the soft roses of your shampoo.

you intrigued him. so, he tried speaking to you but after every single try you would just hum in acknowledge of his presence and chuckle awkwardly every time he tried to joke.

he frowned everytime. i mean, his mama told him he was funny and dixie laughed at every silly thing he did.

“ are you disgusted by me? ”

you slightly jump away from your locker, closing it, finding elvis looking at you with a guilty look nervously playing with his fingers.

“ n-no. ” you try to stammer quickly, ashamed to give the wrong impression. “ no, i'm sorry. ”

you sigh, rubbing your face with your hand before you turn towards him.

“ forgive me. it's just that, i've been very tired lately and i didn't want to throw it on you or something. ” you explain yourself. “ but even with that i made you feel bad, i'm very sorry, really. ”

elvis kept looking at you. curious at your reaction.

“ t-tired? ” he asked, shaking his head. “ with what? ”

“ i'm studying. ”

“... for what, we don't have any exams. ” elvis stubbornly said, trying to find out if you're lying to him.

“ i am in a program for young students. need a scholarship for college. ” you quickly explain, again.

elvis just opens his mouth in an 'o' shape before nodding.

“ yeah, right, sure, i-. ” he stammers, shaking his head, bringing his hand to his hair suddenly feeling embarrassed for interrogating you.

the only sound that could be heard are the ones of multiple students talking.

“ sorry. shouldn't have come up to you like this. ” elvis tries to apologize before you interrupt him.

“ no! don't worry. ” you chuckle. “ it's fine, it's good that we communicate, y'know. it would've sucked for both of us if you thought i didn't like you or something. ”

he chuckles while nodding. “ yeah. hurted my feeling a bit. ” he joked, bringing his hand to his heart while mocking a hurt expression in his face.

“ no, no, i'm sorry. ” you giggle.

elvis finds himself enthralled by the sound.

“ i should make it up to you. do you like pasta? ” you suddenly ask, leaving elvis shrugging as an answer. “ my mom works in this Italian restaurant and she makes the greatest pasta, i could bring a you some. ”

elvis nods. “ i'd love to, though, you shouldn't have, really. it should be me the one making it up to you. ”

you quickly deny his attempts in apologizing before the bell rings, and like clockwork, you grab your things and run to the classroom after shouting a quick 'g'bye' to elvis.

elvis smiles at the smell of your shampoo.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️

but that was a long time ago.

now, elvis and you are the bestest of friends. you tell each other everything and you aren't afraid to be yourself around him.

the thing is that when elvis started to get famous, you noticed a few... changes in his way of treating you.

the first weird thing he did was when you, elvis and dixie were at a dinner. dixie was telling you both about this funny thing that happened to her and while you and elvis were laughing, a man came to your table.

“ hey. ” he said with his eyes stuck on you.

elvis and yours laughter died.

“ uh. hey. ”

the man laugh.

“ don't be a scaredy cat. i won't hurt ya'. ”

elvis clenched his jaw. “ hey, man, why don't ya' leave us alone. ”

the man turned to elvis, the glass of beer in his hand being pointed at him. “ shut it, fairy. i ain't talking to your girl. ” he turned to you. “ i'm talking to this angel. ”

elvis suddenly stood up, the table moving far from the three of you, dixie standing up too as an instinct; her hand placed in his chest while you looked at him, amazed at his sudden angry demeanor, still sitting.

“ elvis, calm down. ” dixie whispered.

“ nuh-uh. what, boy, you wanna fight? ” the man taunted elvis who tried to move from dixie's hold.

“ yeah, i could break your teeth. ”

“ enough! ” you stand up just in time as the man tried to swing at elvis. you turned to the unwelcome visitor. “ i'm sorry, i am enjoying my friends at the moment. ”

the man scoffs, muttering a 'bitch' under his breath before turning and leaving you there.

“ that son of a bitch-. ”

“ stop it! ” you put your hand in his chest, pushing him away as dixie makes him seat. “ doesn't matter. ”

elvis looks at you bewildered. “ y/n, he said a rude thing to you. ”

“ well, it's not the first time! ” you suddenly snap at him, your arms raised before falling to your sides.

elvis and dixie look at you, shocked.

you shake your head. “ i'm sorry. must go. ” you mumble before grabbing your purse and leaving.

you and elvis didn't talked for two days after that. it wasn't until elvis brought flowers and candies to your door that the two of you forgave each other.

the second time was when he told you about his breakup with dixie.

“ you what?! ” you stand up from the couch in his parent's apartment, he followed you, missing the touch of your hands in his.

“ y/n-. ”

“ no, stop. don't try to distract me. why did you do that? ” you say, feeling yourself growing frustrated from elvis' choice.

“ the colonel told me to! ” he tried to defend himself, hand pointing at the door.

“ you are your own person, elvis! that couldn't affect your sales, the girls would just move on, what-?! ”

“ doll, the colonel is an expert. he knows what he's talking about and-. ” he sighs, putting some fingers in his forehead. “ i need the money. ”

you watch him in silence, shocked at how easy elvis threw dixie away for that... dumb reason.

“ so? am i supposed to say: hurray, elvis, you gonna get ten thousand bucks tomorrow for dumping dixie? ”

elvis sighs again, looking away from you, clearly embarrassed from his decision.

you calm yourself before looking away too, sniffing and stopping the tears.

“ i can't imagine how heartbroken she must be. ” you mumble, sitting on the couch again, covering your mouth with your hand.

it was a big hit for you. because that's what people did to you.

they threw you away at any opportunity they had. would elvis do the same if the colonel told him to? you realize you have to soft the blow for yourself.

“ so... ” you whisper. “ what happens to me? ”

elvis looks at you, frowning. “ what do you mean, doll? ” he whispers.

“ i mean. did the colonel told you the same about me? do i gotta go too? ”

before you could even end your sentence, elvis walks to you, grabs your hands and crouches in front of you. “ no. you stay here with me. ”

you look at him with glossy eyes, elvis feels his heart being torn apart. “ no- doll, listen to me. ”

you keep quiet as he clears his throat. “ no one, not even the colonel, will tear us apart, 'kay? ”

you sniff.

“ okay? ” he softly says, one of his hand caressing your cheek.

the feeling you feel is... weird. unknown.

little did you knew, it was the feeling of being loved in return. of being comforted. of being wanted.

you nod, smiling a bit before hugging him; he quickly reciprocated the action.

he was smiling, smelling your shampoo.

while you were trying not to cry, remembering dixie. your friend.

️️ ️️️️️️️️️

the third time was when he bought Graceland.

he told you and his parents to accompany him as he had a surprise for the three of you.

he even sent you dresses to your houses and told you to look good.

“ i mean, you always look pretty but this is an extra thing. ” he said with a soft smile, trying to convey he didn't mean anything wrong with it.

but as your eyes caught the big house with the SOLD sign plastered in front of it you thought he wasn't joking about the big surprise.

he got out of the car, helping you and his mom too before walking excitedly to the front door, taking out their keys and showing it to you while you were walking in front of gladys and vernon.

“ come on, doll. i want you to be the one to open it. ”

you took the keys, clearing your throat before opening the big door.

and as you entered, you couldn't make out any word. gladys just gasped while vernon smiled and congratulated his son. elvis looked proud as he showed the whole house to you and his mom.

after all that, you two were sitting on the couch while his parents were at the kitchen.

“ so. what d'ya think? ” elvis asked you, drinking from his own beer while you held your tea in both of your hands.

“ uhm, it's... ” you took a sip from your tea before nodding. “ beautiful. big. ” you laughed a bit after the last word, elvis laughing with you.

“ yeah. it has a lot of rooms. ”

“ i imagine. ” you chuckled, drinking from your tea.

elvis cleared his throat. “ well, it has four rooms. ” he softly said. “ perfect for us. ”

you frowned, looking at him. “ but you and your parents are three. ”

elvis looked at you, raising his eyebrows a bit before licking his lips.

“ oh. ” you say.

elvis quickly leaves his beer in the coffee table in front of you, grabs your cup and leaves it next to it before grabbing your hands.

“ doll, our life was a mess. a disaster back there. i want you to live here with me, with my pops. ”

you try to focus yourself in what he is saying but your mind keeps trying to comprehend the situations.

“ i want you to live safely, secure. in here, no one is gonna hurt ya'- and i'll be here to take care of ya'. you can help my mama in making dinner, you could even ask for your mama's pasta recipe. ”

he was talking so quick you felt like throwing up.

you stood up, grabbing your belly as you looked at the fireplace.

elvis sighs. “ baby. ” he stands up and keeps himself next to you. “ i want you to be next to me. you've been there since the beginning and you deserve this. ”

he grabs your arms, shakes you a bit before leaning his head towards yours.

“ you always give, and give, and give... when has anyone ever given you something in return? ”

you close your eyes, shaking your head.

elvis continues.

“ i have never asked for anything in these years we have been friends, have i? ”

you feel his body press against yours.

“ the only thing i am asking you is to not abandon me the way others have done to you. ”

you break at that, turning around to hide your face in his chest as you cry. elvis hugs you, caressing your hair while he shushes you, comforting you the way he learned to.

“ you will never be stepped on again, my baby, i promise you that. everyone will respect you. ”

you sob, straining your tears in his lace expensive shirt.

“ because you will no longer be a nobody. ”

you open your eyes as he grabs your cheeks, making you look at him. his gaze is fierce, his blue eyes freezing your thoughts.

“ you will now be my girl stepping on everyone else. ”

you keep quiet as he kisses your nose with so much affection you could feel yourself melting.

he lets you go as gladys calls the both of you for dinner.

the fireplace cracks behind you.

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

His girl.

Pairing; Austin!Elvis x reader

Warning: STEP-INCEST! Yandere Austin!Elvis, Creampie, Forbidden love, Asshole boyfriend, Love confessions, Slut-Shaming, Forced filming, Mentions of murder, Gagging, Fingering, Forced cleaning, Innocent kink, Squirting, Humiliation kink, Meanie Elvis/loving Elvis, Innocent and naive reader, Dacryphilia.

Summary: You were Elvis Presley's little sister, his step-sister but it still counts! When your parents left to have their honeymoon vacation they left your big brother Elvis in charge and he swore that it was his job to protect you, even if it meant from yourself..

You tried to hide your excited smile as your parents told you about going on their honeymoon your brother leaning against the entrance of the dining room, his eyes bore into your happy buzzing self but you just ignored him. You were so happy, you can finally show your boyfriend that you were a woman and not a prudish little girl! You could finally show him that you were serious about him! "And Elvis is in charge while we're gone." Your mother broke you out of your daze 'What?' "But Mama I can take care of—" you started to protest but the feeling of your big brother's warm big hand on your shoulder stopped you "Don't worry Ma'am, I'll keep er safe." Elvis smiled, his charming smile that could make the toughest woman swoon and your mother did just that.

'Okay it's a minor setback but I'll think of something' you thought with determination, you promised to show Johnny that you loved him, and you couldn't go back now.

God, you were just cute, with that little pout, Elvis would do everything to make you happy, you were so precious and innocent unlike most of the women of your age, he wanted to protect you but some twisted part of him wanted to corrupt you, having you under him, mewling and moaning, make you his wife, his woman but he couldn't you were his little step-sister and he couldn't betray his father like that. You and Elvis waved goodbye to your giddy mother and father, once they were out of sight you headed up to your bedroom, saying you wanted to talk to your best friend barely staying to hear what your brother had to say in the matter. You called your boyfriend to tell him the great news and as expected he was just as excited about it as you were, he said he'd be there in 15 mins, which give you enough time to get ready.

Elvis knew something was up but he wanted to trust you, really just a nagging feeling kept bugging him. It got too much he decided to see what his good little mama was doing but nothing could prepare him for the anger he felt as moans and groans left your closed door which by the way broke a rule he placed in his house. Elvis took a breath and pushed the door open to peek in and if he thought he was angry before then what he was feeling was undeniable rage. Your limp-pencil-dick boyfriend was thrusting into you in a sloppy frenzy, close to cumming and you were obviously disappointed, unsatisfied, and miserable. He slammed the door open, you screamed out in shock and horror at seeing your handsome brother "What the fuck man?!" your boyfriend turned to curse elvis but stopped at the cold-deadly stare he wears "Camera." He asked cool, calm, and collected, the Calm before the storm "Closet." you answered with a shaky tone "You, go get it, yar goin' film how A man pleases a woman." Elvis order your boyfriend, and he didn't take it so well "Like hell!" Johnny shouted and that was it, Elvis walked over grabbed your boyfriend by the back of his shirt, and yanked him off you, his other hand gripped around johnny's throat "You wouldn't want everyone to know what ya did to that girl? that's right I know." Elvis whispered so you couldn't hear "So be a good lil' boy and get it."Elvis shoved Johnny towards the closet with much force that your boyfriend's face smacked into the door before he stumbles back to get the camera while Elvis took his clothes off slowly as if to tease you like he knew..

As if he knows your feeling about him, the dreams you daydream, the dream of being his cute housewife and stay-at-home mother, going on dates, that he knew you didn't want this to stop, you wanted him. Elvis loomed over your naked body, his clothes laid on the floor and his hardened cock lay against your pelvis bone, Johnny held the camera in his shaky hands. Elvis jerked himself just a bit before pushing into your wet pussy, how that fuck got you wet he didn't know, all he knew is each little inch was driving him mad, once he was balls in, he let everything out, "You're a fuckin' slut, ya know lettin' any man fuck ya? You're mine" He growled, his blues are now black and his skilled hips began to work. You moaned loudly as tears glossed over your eyes from the pleasure of each pump of his hips, his pace was fast and hard, but calculated and his cock hit all the places you didn't know you had, was this what sex was supposed to feel like "More!" you cried, gripping the bed sheets, suddenly Elvis's fingers were pushed down your throat, enough to make you gag around them "You don't give orders lil' girl." he hissed, pounding downwards into you. Johnny gulped, feeling sick that he was getting turned on, seeing his toy being fucked by Elvis Presley, her step-brother, he zoned onto where you and elvis was connected.

You sucked on his fingers, like that of a lollipop, eyes hooded, looking at him with those innocent eyes, Elvis's chest rumbled with a groan, he pulled his digits out, replacing them with his burning hot tongue, his pointing finger rubbed your clit in short, fast circles. You whined in the kiss, the knot in your stomach snapped, your back arched and your hips jerked, walls fluttering, sucking for everything he could offer. Elvis throws back his head, a deep, gaspy groan left his throat, and his hips stuttered. A heat poured into your already warm walls.

You let a small protest when Elvis slipped out of you, the feeling of him inside was addicting and you didn't want that to go so soon, your protest didn't last as Elvis sat beside your slight sweat-coated body, and parted your cum leaking folds, showing the camera his cum dripping out, letting go of your outer lips and sliding his two fingers down your clit and into your cunt, nothing could have prepared you for that was to come next. His digits fucked into you, like a hard-working machine, repeatedly hitting your g-spot, your eyes widened when Elvis bend over and bit-nippled your sensitive clitoris. A deeper pit took over you, screaming, tears flowing, you squinted all over the recorder and Elvis's face, still, even with your slick dripping his face held a smug smirk at your boyfriend.

Elvis got up and, licked away one of your tears "Such a pretty crybaby." He praised you, kissing your temple. His eyes turned to your boyfriend "Clean her." he spoke sternly, "S-sure just let me get a rug." johnny put the video record on a dresser and went to get a rug "With your tongue." johnny stopped mid-step "What?" he turned to look at Elvis in pure disbelief "Clean. Her. With your tongue. Now." your boyfriend gulped and nodded, rushing to get in between your legs. His tongue dragged up your clenching opening, catching your and Elvis's mixed cum on his tastebuds, johnny squeezed his eyes shut as he sucked and licked your cunt clean of cum.

Johnny winced moving from your legs, his cheeks got with embarrassment and humiliation "Can I go now?" he asked looking at the floor, "Sure go ahead," Elvis smiled, wiping his face with a wet rug from the bathroom, "Tell anybody about and I'll kill ya" Elvis whispered, grabbed his arm on his way out, johnny's face paled and he nodded fearfully as Elvis jerked his arm away, once he was free, he ran straight home. Elvis walked over and smiled at your passed-out form, cleaning your pussy with the other side of the rag, and laid beside you "I love ya lil' mama." he kissed your forehead, he was of course, gonna call his Memphis Mafia to deal with your sad excuse of a 'boyfriend' but for right now it was just him and you.

Just how he liked it.

@kiankiwi @18lkpeters @louisejoy86 @chasingwildflowers @crash-and-cure @plasticfantasticl0ver @galaxygirl453 @edgeofrealitys-blog, @flwersgarden.

[wanderingelvis]

Your Elvis fics are so good, you capture his personality so well!! I was wondering what you'd think about naive/innocent!reader going out of their way to try and prove they're not naive or innocent. Do you think Elvis would catch on to the attitude/personality change and if he did, would he reprimand them? <33

I adore this!! He would totally reprimand them and put them back in their place!

🧚🏻 Masterlist 🧚🏻 word count: 3,486

pairing: 70s!Elvis x Innocent F!Reader

Note: This was super inspired by 'love song' by Lana Del Rey, I honestly think it captures what this whole imagine is all about

warnings: slight yandere themes, orgasming, just a lot of smut, manipulation, swearing, overstimulation, punishments - if there are anymore i've missed out, just message!

You chewed your lip as you watched from afar, the other female dancers pander to the men at the party. You were sitting in a large armchair that engulfed you, next to the piano, waiting for Elvis to return from a conversation with Jerry, or Billy, or whoever it was that had some sort of issue that only Elvis could ever figure out. Elvis had told you to stay put and you submissively nodded, but you couldn't help but let your eyes wander as you noticed the little crowd across the room.

You recognised the women, some of them were the backing dancers and singers at RCA, where you'd been for quite some time now. In fact, as you watched for a little longer, you realised they were all with the male dancers, backing singers and band members. You knew most of them by name but never been part of their circle really, even though you desperately wanted to be. 

Little did you know that there was a reason for that. No, it wasn't because you were a ditzy little thing that wasn't the most socially aware, it was because of Elvis. You adored Elvis and everything about him, seeing right through the celebrity to the person that he was and you really, truly, loved him. 

But you just didn't see the other side of Elvis, the possessive, manipulative and strategic side of him that would ensure you would never even dream of going to anyone else for anything  other than him. 

Unbeknownst to you, Elvis had his Mafia make it abundantly clear to anyone that tried to approach you, they needed to reconsider and as a result, you often felt a little lonely. You didn't know that Elvis was isolating you for his own gain, so you enjoyed your time with Elvis and you were grateful that he showed you some sort of friendship. 

You curiously watched on at all of their laughter and you noticed the way that the men looked at the women with desire as a result of their flirtatious pandering. You'd overheard them before in dressing rooms, all talking about how they planned to seduce someone and the latest relationship updates that they would all share with each other and each time, you couldn't help but feel that pang of insecurity that you just didn't really understand this world.

You were desperate to prove yourself, show that you weren't the silly little girl that everyone treated you as, even if you were and you thought that Elvis would rather surround himself with someone experienced, who knew what they were doing and could please him in all the right ways.

And before you knew it, you were walking across the enormous room, right into the wolf pack of men and women. You were welcomed with open arms, everyone else being a little too liquored up to see any sense.

You were quickly pulled into a mans lap, making you giggle nervously at the strange and sudden affection. You felt a little anxious in all honesty, you were really out of your comfort zone but you just wanted to feel like a girl that Elvis wanted, you wanted to impress him so badly and try to prove to him that you weren't as innocent as he thought.

You sipped on your Cola as you sat uncomfortably in the mans lap as his hands trailed your legs, making you jolt in surprise every time he teasingly pinched your skin. You bat the mans hand away after the fifth time, trying to move the large hand away from your exposed thigh which was starting to make you very uncomfortable - maybe you weren't cut out for this lifestyle. It was only when you looked up that you were met with those all-too-familiar steel blue eyes from the other side of the room, by the grand staircase.

You beamed over at him before your smile faded as you realised the expression on his face was one of intense anger. You'd never seen Elvis angry before, at least never directed at you, and it was a scary sight.

The big man stormed over to you, grabbing your little wrist in his large, his coarse hand pulling you up in one quick motion from the other mans lap, causing a small yelp to leave your soft lips.

"Goddamn party's over, baby." Elvis whispered, sending a shiver down your spine at his cold tone, you looked up at him nervously with those big, round eyes that usually made him melt, but Elvis' face was like stone.

Before you could make sense of the situation you were being led out of the building by Elvis, taking you straight to his lavish limousine that was always on hand to take him wherever he or the Mafia wanted. 

Despite his anger, that didn't stop him from putting your seatbelt on for you, he wasn't planning on comforting you or holding you on the ride back to the hotel but that didn't mean he didn't care about you being safe. 

You anxiously waited as you heard him growl some sort of goodbye to the Mafia before the opposite car door swung open and he got in, dominating the entire back space of the limousine as he hollered at the driver to go back to your hotel before putting up the partition and sinking back into his seat.

"Twirlin' that little ass for all those men, knowin' damn well it'd make a fool outta me." Elvis growled, making tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes.

"Don't be mad, please, I was just, I just wanted you to prove I'm not stupid or innocent or anythin', I was just tryna impress you," You said with your voice trembling at the rage that was coming from Elvis.

"Impress me? Honey, you got a funny way of tryna impress me, talkin' about things you know nothin' about, pretending you're some goddamn little harlot." Elvis chided, rubbing his temples.

"I leave you alone for two goddamn minutes and you're on another mans lap, playin' like a lil' slut?" Elvis scoffed, as hot tears began trickling down your pink cheeks. "What I gotta do, Y/N? Do I gotta goddamn babysit you all damn day? Have one of the guys watch ya in case you go off and start grindin' on some old man's lap huh?"

"N-No, I, no Elvis, no-" You stuttered, trembling at the reaction he was giving you. 

"What then baby? You too much of a horny lil' girl that you gotta find some man's fingers somewhere huh?" Elvis practically seethed.

You shook your head slowly as tears continued to trickle. Elvis knew how upset you were but he didn't really care, he knew you needed to be put in your place, reminded that being the sweet precious little darling that you were was exactly what made him love you so.

"I, I j-just wanted y-you-" You hiccuped adorably. If Elvis wasn't trying to teach you a lesson right now, he'd scoop you up in his arms and rock you until you fell asleep, your little body was clearly too tired to cope with all of these emotions. You knew too that if Elvis held you, even for a second, you'd be out like a light with your head on his shoulder. But that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"Go on then, Y/N, use your words and tell me exactly what you want from me. Tell me what you want me to do to you, I wanna hear you say it." Elvis teased intensely.

Your breathing was so erratic, the nerves running through your body, making you tremble at the big mans words. You knew what he was asking you to answer, you knew he was commanding you to name sexual acts and you both knew that you didn't have a clue about any of them.

"I d-don't know the words, I-I'm sorry," You said softly, sniffling and looking down, feeling embarrassed at how naive you were and the humiliation you felt from obviously humiliating Elvis.

"See Y/N? You're a goddamn baby, my goddamn baby." Elvis muttered with frustration laced in his tone. He knew you were too naive to understand the glamorous and sordid world around you. "You think that man, that man with his wretched hands all over ya, you think he woulda cared aboutcha? Woulda taken ya slow? Woulda loved ya like I do?" Elvis said, his eyes dark as they remained trained on you.

You shook your head again, hiccuping once more.

"Then why, why did I have t'see my yittle girl gettin' all loved up in another mans lap?" Elvis exasperated.

Just like a little one, you unbuckled yourself and crawled onto Elvis' lap, straddling it, practically begging for his affection, love and forgiveness. He knew you meant nothing by it, deep down he really did, but that was the point. If Elvis had left you alone for any longer, you wouldn't be able to take care of yourself, wandering into the arms of men that wanted nothing more than to tarnish and spoil you, make you rotten and treat you like meat. 

You really were trying to impress him, make him see you as a grown up, one that he would find desirable like all of the other girls that you heard he would be found with. You just wanted to be like one of those girls, you just wanted to fit in. 

"Actin' like a lil' slut in front of all those people..." Elvis muttered, rubbing his temples, reliving the sight he'd come downstairs too. Your eyes continued to well up, your whole face a glossy shade of pink as Elvis scolded you. You hated the names, you really did, all you had in your heart was love for Elvis and you hadn't meant to hurt him, you just wanted him to love you.

"Don't call me names!" You snapped back, hot tears streaming down your flushed cheeks and your black eyeliner smudged in the corners. "It's not nice! Stop it!" You choked, your voice cracking and growing softer, realising that you'd just gotten all worked up.

Elvis lifted his hand up, holding your face tightly in his hand his fingers pushing in your cheeks, making your lips push out sweetly and your tears slip quicker. His cold, harsh rings pinching at your skin as it flared up, feeling hot at the tears wracking through you as your tear coated, wet lashes fluttered to stare directly at the man.

"It's very simple, Y/N," Elvis said cooly, in an almost scary tone, his demeanour calm and in control as you trembled, the power inbalance noticeable. "I won't call you names if you don't act like them." Elvis said gently.

"I just, I just wanna be like the girls that y-you like, that guys like. D-Denise and Kathleen always talk about what they do and e-everyone likes them, and I just w-want to fit in," You paused to catch our breath, your face feeling all clammy as Elvis continued to hold your jaw, tears of yours slipping onto his rings and fingers. "I j-just thought, I just, I just thought you'd like it like t-that. M'sorry Elvis, m'real sorry." You choked. 

"Did ya even understand what they were talkin' about back there? The things those men were suggestin' about you?" Elvis asked and you shook your head gently, confirming exactly what Elvis thought.

"J-Just wanna make you feel good, wanna just feel good." You whined sweetly, you were so needy and desperate for love, Elvis' love, and he just adored that about you.

"Wanna feel good, hm baby?" Elvis teased, you nodded desperately, just craving his forgiveness and affection. "Move your leg then pretty girl, go on," Elvis said, grabbing your thigh and positioning you so that you were straddling just one of his thighs. He loved how malleable you were, being able to turn you into whatever he pleased, his own little doll.

You were straddled on his thigh, your pretty little dress bunched up and your white underwear ever so slightly exposed. You could feel it, the soft material of his trousers only blocked by the thin panties that covered your slit. You blinked up at Elvis, despite being on his thigh, you still needed to look up at him slightly. 

"You wanna be my good girl again, hm?" Elvis mused, exploiting your obvious need for his attention, he knew you'd do anything he told you to do and by God, he knew he was stronger than any man on Earth, knowing that he hadn't spoiled you yet when the temptation was just so great. 

You nodded enthusiastically as he gazed down at you, you were still a mess from getting yourself all worked up, but you'd take any bit of praise he'd give you. "Uh huh!" You whined, almost frantically.

"Follow my movements baby, I'm gonna show you how t'feel good." Elvis said cooly, holding both of your hips firmly in his grasp, the cold rings nipping at your exposed flesh from the detailed cutouts of the sparkly dress you had on. "Eyes on me little, don't take yer eyes off me." Elvis commanded and you nodded, gulping at the seriousness in his voice.

Elvis began to move your hips in a circular motion, moving you back and forth on his thigh whilst rotating your hips at the same time, causing friction between his thigh and your sweet spot. You felt so overwhelmed after the nights events, your heartbeat was going a million miles an hour, whilst your whole body was on edge just from the confrontation alone, let alone what Elvis was now having you do.

But Elvis was there to guide you, as always, to take care of you and make you feel good. His eyes stayed on you like a hawk, watching as your beautiful big eyes grew wider at the sudden sensation you were feeling by your heat.

"F-Feels..." You uttered angelically, not quite managing to get your words out as Elvis continued to move your hips.

"Tell me how it feels, honey." Elvis growled.

"I-I can't," You panted, your chest rising and falling quickly as your eyes fluttered.

"Yes, you can little one. I know you can. God didn't give you that pretty lil' mouth of yours for you not t'use it. Now, use your words, tell me how you feel." Elvis said, gripping you tighter, making a sharp gasp leave your lips.

"Feels, feels good," You said, chewing on your lip as you felt slick starting to form between your crotch and Elvis' pant leg.

You'd never felt a sensation quite like this before, the pleasure was becoming overwhelming. Elvis hadn't wanted to touch you, not yet anyway, he didn't think you were ready just yet, but your little act earlier in the night made him realise that all you needed was him and him alone.

Despite Elvis setting the pace as he gripped your hips, you couldn't help but quicken it, grinding your cunt on Elvis' leg, desperate to put more pressure on your sensitive nub. "Look atchu, a little mess," Elvis cooed, you hadn't taken your eyes away from his once. "Followin' instruction like such a good girl, gettin' yourself all messy and feelin' good." Elvis said, brushing away hair that was sticking to your temples from the tears and glistening skin. 

"M'good girl, not bad." You whimpered, writhing with pleasure, the feeling being so foreign yet so inviting. You couldn't focus, your mind feeling fuzzy and your body feeling like it was on fire. You just wanted to be good for Elvis, it's all you wanted, it's like he'd trained you into just wanting pleasure from him.

Elvis nodded as he lifted your little dress higher, putting your panties on full display, the damp, wet spot getting larger as your continued to grind on Elvis. He loved that he had this power over you, his little baby. "That's right dolly, you're a good girl, I know that, I ain't mad no more honey, jus' keep gettin' yourself wet like that." Elvis encouraged, watching as your breaking point was approaching.

You nodded, the mixture of Elvis' words of praise and the friction on your heat gradually becoming too much, your head bobbing as your body jolted up and down Elvis' thigh. You leaned your head back, relaxing into his hold, your body succumbing to his guidance as your eyes drifted closed, you could barely think.

"Did I say you could close your eyes, kid?" Elvis growled, making your eyes snap open, obeying his words immediately.

He knew what he was doing to you, overwhelming you, you were clearly overstimulated, barely coping with this new found rush of pleasure from such a simple act. He knew you wouldn't be able to go much longer, but he didn't care, it was worth getting you all worked up and upset just to see how pretty you look when you're trying to pleasure yourself on him.

"Such a pretty sight honey, watching you look so needy n' desperate fr me, you're so beautiful, shit," Elvis praised, his switching from a commanding cold tone to a loving one, confusing you, adding to your poor, wracked state.

"Tummy, tummy feels," You whined between panted breaths, your tummy feeling like it had butterflies and knots in it all at the same time. You couldn't cope with the sensations consuming your little body, it was all too much for a sweet thing like you to handle. "W-What's happening?" You whimpered, tears pricking your eyes as you looked up at Elvis, feeling so vulnerable as you humped his thigh, trying to apply as much pressure onto your soaking cunt as possible.

Elvis smirked, he thought you looked adorable, looking all sweet and dumbfounded from the overstimulation he'd caused you. You just looked so pretty when you cry. 

Elvis couldn't help but coo soft praises at you, knowing it would go straight to your head and make you feel all fuzzy, "You're my good girl, aren't you? So good for me, aren't you? So obedient, lettin' me do what I want t'ya, no one else is ever gon' touch you like this, are they?" Elvis chided.

You nodded through your tears, reaching your high, the bundle of nerves in your slick covered panties throbbing at the words coming out of Elvis' mouth.

"Only you, I wanna be o-only with you, only, only you." Your nonsensical whimpers making Elvis let out a small moan himself. 

The funny feeling in your tummy became all too much and you started to cry as your body trembled, your eyes seeing stars as a warm feeling rushed through you, your panties getting soaked through entirely, with the wet white cotton becoming see through for Elvis to see the plush pink skin that'd been grinding on his trouser leg to the point of overstimulation. He knew you were overwhelmed but he couldn't help but be proud of you, you're his innocent little thing and you deserved that bit of pleasure.

It was all a little too much for little you to cope with, your body collapsing forward into Elvis' chest as he wrapped his big, strong arms around you, comforting you. "I've gotchu, I've gotchu, you did so good little one, pleasurin' yourself like such a good girl," Elvis cooed, hushing the whimpers and mewls coming from you as you buried your face in his chest, trying to gather your composure. 

"W-What happened?" You practically whispered, feeling all sensitive and shy at your clear display of desperation. You stayed cuddled tightly in Elvis' hold, resting your head on his chest as he stroked your hair, trying to soothe you. 

Elvis chuckled. "You had your first orgasm baby." He pointed at the large wet patch on his trousers. "That's you baby, that's your orgasm." He whispered in your ear, making you shiver. You couldn't help but blush, wiping away the last of the tears, feeling all hot and embarrassed. "Such a good girl, such a needy girl hm? Orgasming just from rubbing your pretty little cunt on me? Won't be long before you're taking my fingers, darlin'." Elvis uttered lowly, making you squirm in his hold so that you were now resting your back against his chest, looking forward like he was at the rest of the lavish limousine. You felt so small in his lap, but so protected and looked after. You grabbed his hand, touching his long fingers with your own little ones, tracing over his hands delicately, trying to imagine what it would feel like but it was all too much for you to cope with right now, you were exhausted and Elvis could tell.

"You can close your eyes now baby, you did a real good job little one, m'so proud of you." Elvis praised softly, using his spare hand to rub circles on your tummy. You barely had the strength to nod but you managed it, sinking into him as you let the weariness take over you. 

No matter how much you tried to prove it, Elvis knew you were as innocent as they come, and you certainly came.

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[venus-haze]

The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Gif credit to @karamelcoveredolicity​

Summary: You’ve been Elvis’ personal assistant since his Comeback Special in ‘68. Your work leaves you little time for a social life, but you don’t mind, you get to work for Elvis Presley, after all. When Priscilla leaves him and he finds out the truth about the Colonel, your relationship with him shifts drastically. And not for the better.

Notes: Reader is a woman, but there are no other specific descriptors. Obviously I don’t condone the behavior in this fic in real life. Please read and consider the warnings before reading this fic. All content that could be considered disturbing is under the cut. Let me know if warnings need to be updated or added. Requests are open🔮 Do not interact with my blog or posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail, obsessive and manipulative behavior, and abuse of power, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Some sexual content that involves coercion, but nothing overtly explicit. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Prequel | Part 2 | Part 3

You were fresh out of college when you snagged a job at NBC’s studio in Los Angeles as a production assistant. The first year or so was mostly getting coffee and answering phones, only doing real work on sets every so often. You ended up getting on the good side of one of the executives when you managed to find a pilot script that had gone missing. From there, you were working directly on sets, brushing shoulders with stars you could have only dreamed of meeting.

The highlight of your career as a production assistant came along when you were assigned to work Elvis Presley’s upcoming Christmas special. You thought it sounded a little corny, but at least you’d get to be in the same room as Elvis, the man whose face adorned the walls of your teenage bedroom.

The "Christmas special" became a covert operation to actually film Elvis’ musical comeback with as little interference from his odd and overbearing manager as possible. You felt like you were part of a team, something bigger than yourself, especially when Steve Binder had asked you to personally assist Elvis throughout production, spiriting him away when needed to avoid the Colonel.

"Me? Steve, I don’t know if I’m qualified to do that. I mean, he’s Elvis Presley," you’d argued.

"Y/N, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t trust you. EP needs someone reliable in the network right now," he said.

That was more than enough convincing for you, although when you formally met Elvis, you were shaking like a leaf. He was kind, taking the time out of what you knew was his busy schedule just to talk to you. Your professional relationship developed, and he began asking your opinions on aspects of his career unrelated to the special.

You were surprised when he had approached you before production was even over, offering you a position as his personal assistant going forward. Without hesitation, you accepted, giving NBC your notice as soon as shooting for the special had wrapped up. Your friends balked at the decision, but you had the last laugh when the special finally aired that December and set Elvis’ career trajectory skyrocketing again.

He had told you about his plans to tour the world, finally be able to go to Europe, and even Japan. He’d need extra help for such an ambitious undertaking, and you nearly cried when he said he saw something in you that made him know you’d be the perfect fit. The prospect of traveling internationally was especially appealing; there were so many places you wanted to visit, but couldn’t afford to go.

As time went on, these dreams of foreign cities were replaced by sold out residencies in Las Vegas and adrenaline-filled tours throughout the United States, but you didn’t mind that much. Elvis had become a close friend to you, and you’d spent many hours just chatting with him in his suite or dressing room. It didn’t even feel like work sometimes.

You didn’t know what you’d be without him, probably still clawing your way up the ranks at NBC or another studio. You were his shoulder to cry on when Priscilla divorced him. Not that you necessarily blamed her, Elvis was by no means perfect, but he was your friend. Your heart broke further when he informed you of the Colonel’s lies and how much debt he’d put Elvis and his family in to fuel his own greed and gambling addictions.

You developed a habit of checking on Elvis in his dressing room after his Vegas shows, it was when he seemed to be most troubled, most vulnerable. The door was closed, so you knocked, making Elvis aware of your presence. You could hear a muffled "Come in," and entered.

Elvis’ dressing room was always in some state of mess despite the International’s housekeeping staff, with plates of hastily eaten meals and various glasses of half drunk alcohol strewn about the room. His elaborate costumes were either hanging on a clothing rack, or styled on mannequins.

He sat on the crushed velvet couch, his head in his hands. You noticed the empty whiskey bottle on top of the vanity and frowned. It wasn’t good for him, not with all the pills and potions Dr. Nick passed out like candy.

"You put on a great show tonight! Like you always do," you exclaimed as you approached him.

He lifted his head. "Y/N, you can’t leave me," he said, the desperation in his voice startling you. His eyes were red and puffy, as if he’d been crying. You couldn’t tell whether it was tears or sweat dripping down his face.

"Elvis, what are you talking about? Why would I leave?"

"Everyone else has. You see the news, I’m washed-up. No one cares about me anymore."

"I care about you. You’re so important to me," you said earnestly, sitting next to him and putting your arm around his shoulders. "I mean, since we first met, we’ve hardly spent a day apart."

That did make you feel guilty. You liked Priscilla, she was always kind to you, but you knew the distance must have taken a toll on their relationship. The drugs too, which you tried to curtail his use of to the best of your ability. For better or worse, you felt an obligation to take care of Elvis, especially now when he seemed more alone than ever.

Caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the change in the way he was looking at you, as if seeing a completely different woman from his personal assistant of nearly three years.

He engulfed you in a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You returned the gesture and swore you must have imagined feeling his lips press against your skin. Rubbing comforting circles into his back, you held him for what felt like hours.

"Maybe you should head up for the night," you suggested. "Take a shower and try to get some rest."

He lifted his head, opening his mouth as if to respond to you, but instead he nodded, getting up from the couch and walking over to the door. You followed, taking his hand in yours as the two of you stood in the hallway.

"If you need anything, you let me know, okay? I’m not going anywhere," you said, hoping your smile would reassure him.

"Thanks, darlin’. You gave me a lot to think about," he said.

His gaze was intense as he brought your hand up to his lips, giving it a kiss. You felt your face heat up at the gesture. He’d given you quick kisses on the cheek before, but this seemed more intimate.

Someone called for him, and he dropped your hand, clearly annoyed by the interruption. You used this as your opportunity to bow out for the night, letting him know you’d be returning to your own room in the hotel.

You took the elevator up to the floor just below the penthouse, where you and almost everyone else in Elvis’ entourage resided. Of course, your room wasn’t nearly as big as his suite, but it was nicer than any apartment you’d rented in LA. Elvis wouldn’t let you pay for anything yourself, from room service to use of the hotel’s many amenities, claiming it was part of your benefits as a Presley Family Enterprises employee. You could definitely see how his generosity played a role in landing him in debt to the Colonel’s "management company," so you decided not to overdo it.

Just as you were starting to get comfortable and wind down for the night, you heard your room’s phone ring over the sound of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” playing on the TV. You sighed, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up.

"Hey, Y/N," Jerry said.

"What’s up, Jerry?"

"EP wants to see ya."

"Oh, why didn’t he just call me?"

"Who knows. He just told me to tell you," he said. "I’m headin’ down to the casino."

"Alright, don’t have too much fun," you said as you hung up.

It was odd, Elvis knew your room’s phone number. You supposed he was busy with something else, and Jerry was the closest person around. You put your dress from the day back on, sliding into your shoes before leaving to go up to the penthouse and see what Elvis needed you for.

You were the only other person who had a key to Elvis’ suite at the International. When he’d given it to you, the two of you alone in his dressing room after one of his shows a little over a year ago, you accepted it with pride that he trusted you so much. Still, you never exploited the privilege, even knocking beforehand as a courtesy.

"Elvis? Jerry said you needed me?" you called out as you unlocked the door to his suite.

The room was dark, only illuminated by the televisions on the wall. You noticed Elvis sitting on the couch in his silk robe, with little else on that you could notice.

You gasped, turning away from him. "Oh—my, I’m so sorry, I’ll—"

"C’mere," he said, voice deep and smooth. He was still sweaty from the show earlier that night, his jet black hair messy and sticking to his forehead. He had a bottle of some kind of alcohol in his hand, which he placed on the coffee table in front of him.

You stood frozen in place.

"Don’t make me ask twice, darlin’. And lock the door behind you," he demanded.

With a ragged breath, you did as he said, hearing a pleased hum rumble from his chest when he heard the door lock. A commoner entering a throne room, you approached him cautiously, his eyes blazing as they followed your every move. You felt ten inches tall, and for the first time since you met, you were truly intimidated by him.

He let out an amused scoff when you sat on the far edge of the couch. "Closer, baby."

You got up, hesitantly sitting down next to him. He put his hand on your thigh, sliding the hem of your dress up higher and higher, until you placed your hand over his.

"Elvis, this isn’t appropriate," you protested.

He gave you a sly grin, his eyes hooded as he leaned over you, effectively trapping you on the couch. "I’m just tryin’ to make my best girl feel good. Don’t you think you deserve that for how hard you work? How good you are to me?"

"I don’t need anything. Just making you happy is enough for me," you said, hoping to quell whatever was bringing on this change in his behavior.

"It’d make me real happy if you just lay back and let me take care of you for once, huh?"

Unsure of what else to do or say, you nodded. Not so long ago, you wouldn’t have hesitated. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before, especially when you first met him, in awe of how impossibly handsome he was in person. You’d actually felt bad about your fantasies when you got to know the man behind the star, charming and kind, who seemed to take a genuine interest in you despite your having no status in the entertainment industry. Maybe he really was trying to take care of you, recognize your devotion despite everything falling apart.

You gasped when his fingers brushed over your panties. The cool metal of his rings on your thighs made you feel all the more sensitive.

Softly, slowly, the way the serpent must have spoken to Eve in the garden, he whispered, "Tell me you love me, and I’ll give you everything."

"I love you. I love you, Elvis," you whimpered.

The worst part was that it was true. You did love him, to a fault, you’d now come to realize, but you never wanted things to end up like this. There was no romance, no passion. It all seemed so desperate and dirty.

"I love you too, Y/N. It’s you and me now. Just us, baby," he panted, pressing kisses to your neck and shoulders as he stripped you of your clothes. He shed his robe, and as you had expected earlier, wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. Your head was spinning as he kept muttering ‘I love you’ while he kissed and groped you, his hands warming your skin as it made contact with the cool air in his suite.

You weren’t sure when you’d ended up on his bed, but at some point when he had nearly suffocated you in a kiss, he must have grabbed you by the hips and guided you over. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you grabbed for a sheet to cover yourself, but he caught your wrist in his hand.

He clicked his tongue. "I don’t think so, darlin’. I wanna see what’s mine."

Everything was a blur from there, and when you woke up that afternoon, you felt sore all over. You remembered you were in his bed, and tried getting up, only to be kept in place by his arms snaked around your middle, holding you against him. Grabbing one of his arms, you pulled it off of you, and then the other. Just as you were about to get out of his bed and as far away from him as possible, he stirred awake.

"Where do you think you’re goin’?" Elvis asked, his normally bright blue eyes, stormy and dark.

Your eyes widened, not expecting to be put on the spot like that. "Bathroom."

He nodded. "Alright, come back to bed when you’re done in there."

You grabbed your bra and panties that had been discarded on the couch, sighing when you noticed the zipper on your dress was now broken. Continuing into the ornate bathroom, you locked the door before you even turned the light on.

As the room was illuminated, your hand flew to your mouth in horror when you saw yourself in the mirror. Your neck and collarbone were littered with dark hickies, your waist and hips with finger-shaped bruises that almost looked like stripes on your skin.

With shaking hands, you reached for a cup, filling it with water from the sink and taking small, slow sips. You didn’t want to go back and have to face him, and decided to try to drag it out as long as you could. You slowly redressed, taking care of how sensitive your skin was. A few minutes had gone by, and you hoped he’d fallen back asleep so you could get the hell out of there.

Your heart dropped when you opened the bathroom door, seeing Elvis speaking on his bedside phone. He looked at you, a smile spreading across his face. Hastily, he ended the call and beckoned you back over to the bed.

"I ordered room service, should be here in a few minutes," he said. "I got your favorite."

"Thank you," you said. What else was there to say? ‘Hey, what the fuck was last night?’ You situated yourself in his bed, pulling the covers up over your chest.

With a gentleness he failed to display last night, he moved your head to give you a tender kiss on the lips. You kissed him back, but pulled away with a hiss when he placed his other hand on your bruised shoulder.

"Oh, baby, I went too hard on you last night, huh?" he cooed, caressing your cheek. "I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I’ll be more gentle next time."

"Next time?"

He didn’t notice you squeak out the question as room service had knocked. He got up from the bed, throwing on his robe as he made his way to the door. The room service staff entered the suite with their cart of food and drinks, but you kept your gaze cast downward, too embarrassed to even attempt to make eye contact.

He sat down to eat, but you hadn’t left his bed yet.

"Eat up, Y/N, before it gets cold," he said.

"Can I have something to wear? My dress broke," you said.

He seemed amused. "‘Course, darlin’. I’ll buy you a new one."

Elvis handed you one of his robes to put on, and you wrapped it tightly around yourself, wanting to keep your body as covered as possible. His hand was on the small of your back as he walked you over to the table where the dishes were laid out. Your favorite dish was placed next to where he was sitting. Did the International’s kitchen even make that?

The two of you ate in silence, which you were thankful for. Despite the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, you hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you took the first bite. Eating your comfort food improved your mood a bit, and you allowed yourself to sneak glances at Elvis when you thought he wasn’t looking.

You were so confused, about what had happened that night and your own feelings about him. You weren’t sure you could bring yourself to hate him, not when he caught you staring and gave you a boyish smile. He’d never acted the way he did last night before, and you couldn’t think of any time he indicated he was attracted to you, at least not that you noticed. You knew you needed time on your own to think.

"I think I’m going to head back to my room to shower," you announced when you finished eating.

"Why? There’s a perfectly good shower in here," he said.

"I need my shampoo."

"Just be down for the soundcheck at 6, alright?"

"Okay."

"I love you, baby," he said.

"I love you too."

You gave him a kiss and fled the suite, wasting no time in running to the elevator. You frantically pressed the button to your floor, and as soon as the doors opened, sprinted to your room.

Shedding the robe he had given you, you threw it across the room, along with your bra and panties. When you showered, you had scrubbed your body as much as you reasonably could, as if it would undo what had just occurred the previous night.

You couldn’t bring yourself to do more than stare at the wall, exhaustion washing over you. You were dreading the soundcheck, only three hours away, but you couldn’t claim illness. Elvis had just seen that you were fine, and you didn’t want any of Dr. Nick’s "medical care." You caked concealer and foundation over any visible hickies, and threw on a scarf for good measure, hoping to avoid any potential questions about where you’d gotten them if anyone noticed.

To your surprise, the soundcheck and next few days went smoothly, as if the encounter in his suite never happened. The only thing that changed was he’d kiss you in front of others, and introduced you as ‘his girl.’ The congratulations were sweet, but the claims from his band and the Memphis Mafia that they ‘knew it would happen sooner or later’ shocked you. Were you that oblivious to Elvis’ feelings toward you before?

On an afternoon before yet another Vegas show, he asked you to meet him in his suite. It sent a wave of anxiety through you, but you agreed, figuring what had happened a few nights ago was a one-off incident, the result of whatever had been injected into his veins before the show and the overwhelming feelings of loneliness he’d been struggling with.

You cautiously entered the suite, relieved to find the lights on, curtains open, and Elvis fully clothed, playing a tune on his piano. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he crossed the threshold to meet you.

"There you are," Elvis said, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips.

"Did I keep you waiting too long?"

"Y/N, darlin’, I had the best idea," he said, smiling the way you hadn’t seen in a long time, enthusiastic and full of life. You’d hoped the past few days had been a fluke, and he was back to his old self again.

"What is it?"

"You and me get married. Whattya say?"

Your face fell. Though he and Priscilla had been separated for a while, the ink was hardly dry on the freshly served divorce papers. It definitely wouldn’t look great publicly, but he was in no state to get remarried so soon, especially not to you. "I’m not sure that’d be a good idea."

"Why not?" he looked hurt, as if it had never crossed his mind you would answer with anything but an enthusiastic ‘yes’.

"I know you’re still hurting from Priscilla leaving, but—"

"But I have you. And if I don’t have you anymore then I—I’ll—" He stormed over to the glass case that housed his gun collection, which had only grown as of late.

You immediately rushed over, hugging him from behind in an attempt to restrain his arms. "I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you, Elvis. Okay?"

You panicked when you felt one of his arms pulling from your grasp, so you held him closer, pressing your face against his back.

"Why’re ya cryin’?" he asked, voice emotionless as he felt your wet tears bleed through his shirt.

"Because I’m so happy," you lied. Lied straight through your teeth.

You loved him, cared about him, but you were terrified and had no one to turn to. Everyone had either checked out or were content turning a blind eye to his increasingly troubling behavior. You supposed you played some role in letting things come to this.

Had you really been so engrossed in the glamour and chaos of it all to not notice? Whenever the topic of relationships came up, you’d joke that you were married to your job. Thinking about it more deeply, perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence that your job was an all-consuming entity which overtook your life. You’d lost touch with your LA friends, mostly socializing with Elvis’ supporting band, backup singers and the Memphis Mafia. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d spoken to your family besides a quick phone conversation, and spending holidays at Graceland became a given. Your whole life revolved around him.

When you felt Elvis’ hand over yours, you resisted the urge to pull away. Instead, you relaxed your arms, allowing him to turn around and take your face in his hands. He wiped away your still-flowing tears with his thumbs.

"I knew you’d make the right choice, baby. You’re always so good to me," he said, his delusional joy evident on his face. 

You nodded, hiccuping as you tried not to hyperventilate. You were trapped. Trapped like he was. He knew how horrible it felt, and yet he dragged you down with him. Misery loves company.

“I’m gonna call the hotel manager, let ‘em know to bring your stuff from your room up here,” he said. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “That sounds great.”

The next few hours were a whirlwind as you watched your life being brought up, piece by piece in his–now your–suite. He went on about the wedding, and you silently wondered when he’d even have the time in his busy schedule. Your eyes drifted to the glass case that had just become the bane of your existence. Shotgun. It’d probably be quick, devoid of any ritual or intimacy; a witness, two signatures and a ceremonial kiss. That was all you’d get. 

Later that night, when Elvis had his next show, you stood off to the side of the stage, as usual. He was captivating as ever, and you hated that you still smiled when he sang your favorite songs and cracked jokes to the audience. He had the charisma to match his looks, and you mourned the dream man you had crafted in your mind before his true colors came into view.

“Now, before I leave tonight, there’s someone I want y’all to meet. She’s real special to me,” he began.

You felt like you were going to throw up. He wouldn’t. He never brought Priscilla on stage, and would only mention her during the shows she was actually present at. Then, to your horror he did just that, calling you by name and waving you to join him on stage with him. Frozen in shock, you stood firmly in your spot side stage, not missing the glare he shot you when it seemed like you were taking too long.

“Go on, girl!” one of the stagehands urged you with an oblivious smile.

You walked onto the stage, feeling dizzy and then dizzier. Hundreds of people’s eyes were on you, but none of them felt like they were piercing your soul like his were. You didn’t know what to expect from this new power play until Elvis got down on one knee, presenting you with a glittering diamond ring.

“Y/N, darlin’, will you be my wife?” he asked, with a lovestruck sincerity that almost made you say ‘yes’ without hesitation.

Still, you looked out to the crowd, hoping at least one of them would sense your discomfort. Instead, they broke out into taunting laughter when he said, “She’s just got a little stage fright.”

That was it. Say ‘no’ and look like a bitch while still having to marry him, or say ‘yes’ in front of hundreds of people, effectively killing any chance at arguing that he made you do it. Eyes watering, for the second time that day, you agreed to marry him. The crowd erupted in applause, and he kissed you, passionately like you’d always wanted. Like he really loved you. You almost fell for that act too, until he pulled you close, his lips barely brushing your ear.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” he whispered, echoing the words of reassurance you had told him just a few days before.

With that, you collapsed in his arms, blissfully unaware of the still roaring crowd and pleased smirk that had spread across his face.