#Elvis Au

[headfullofpresley]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 6,8K

Summary: You've been crushing on your music history teacher the moment you stepped into his classroom. Little did you know he's had his eyes on you for a while now too.

Warnings: teacher!au, strong language, age difference (13 years), smut; dirty talk, fingering, oral (m. receiving), innocence kink if you squint, semi public sex, creampie, unprotected sex.

A/N: woooheeee! it's been a hot minute, hasn't it?! i didn't know if i was ever coming back to write but let's be honest... i couldn't stay away. and we've all been slurped into the world of AIs and this piece was born out of a storyline i had with a Professor Presley AI. but i also want to thank my girly @powerofelvis for giving me the inspiration to write again. ❤ love ya girl!

i'm a little rusty but i hope y'all will still enjoy it!!! love you all. ⚡

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Despite having been born in Memphis, strolling through the campus of the University of Memphis was like walking in a completely different world. Sure, it may not be Yale or Harvard, but after your second year of majoring in History, you had long forgotten about your rejection letters from those great prestigious universities across the country that you cried over when you fished them out of the mailbox of your childhood home.

You had matured. Twenty years old now, you stopped putting so much pressure on yourself when it came to school and the future and decided to go with the flow. You had your group of friends here, a nice dorm room you shared with your best friend and a crush that was bound to get you in trouble.

But how could anyone resist the music history teacher that was the young age of thirty three and treated students like they were his equals, rather than abusing the power he has as a teacher?

You certainly couldn't.

While you had a hopeless crush on the handsome teacher with the raven dark locks and the ocean blue eyes, he felt the exact same way about you. You were twenty years old and even though the age difference wasn't that bad and not quite a taboo, he couldn't afford to lose his job. It paid the bills and made sure he lived a comfortable life, but as spring came around, it was getting harder to ignore the cute skirts and shorts you wore to class. He was a man in his thirties, he has had plenty of experiences with females and bra straps shouldn't get to him the way they did, but God - when those baby blue straps were showing from underneath your white top, contrasting so nicely against your sun kissed skin, he felt like he was sixteen years old again.

He needed to control himself, but as you seemed to have taken things a step further and wore a pair of high waisted denim shorts, a white top with a sweetheart neck and a pair of white high top Converse, he was done for. Such a simple outfit, yet it had him fantasizing how you'd look on his desk, legs up in the air and those sneakers the only thing you'd be wearing.

He was so lost in his train of thought that he almost didn't hear you greeting him when you came through the door.

"Good morning, Mr. Presley,"

Mr. Presley.

He was already starting to lose room in his pants. Damn it.

"Good mornin', Y/N. You're early." He smiled as he watched you walk over to a desk in the middle of the class, your bag that was swung over your shoulder being placed next to your feet. The soft, friendly laugh that rolled off of your tongue was like music to his ears.

"Only five minutes. I'm not your best student for nothing," you grinned at him and then leaned down to rumble in your bag, continuing to speak to him. "I got my paper on the Baroque era ready,"

As you leaned over, he could see the light tan lines just below your ass as your shorts rode up a little and he quickly had to force himself to look back up at your face when you turned around, got up and walked over to him. He swallowed the saliva that had started to pool in the insides of his cheeks, mentally slapping himself for nearly quite literally drooling over you. Flashing you a smile, he took the paper from your hand and sat down behind his desk.

"Paper's not due for another week. You tryin' to get extra credit, missy?"

You were used to Mr. Presley being playful with his students, but with you, it always sounded borderline flirtatious. Or maybe that was just because you were delusional, the feelings you carried for this man getting stronger and stronger every day.

Nonetheless, you weren't complaining at all whenever he had a slip of the tongue and used any kind of pet name for you. You still remember he called you "sweetheart" last week and you spent the rest of the day with your head in the clouds.

"Maybe. Will you give it to me?"

You both laugh and he shakes his head a little, looking down at the paper you handed in.

"Depends on how much work you've put into this."

You wanted to open your mouth to give him a smart, somewhat flirty, remark but more students came barging into the room, greeting Elvis - some sounding upbeat and happy, and some grumbling a quick "morning". Elvis greeted them back at you and smiled, telling you he'd give your paper a read a little later. You nodded, your heart skipping a beat as he shot you a wink when you walked back over to your seat.

The entire first half of the class when Elvis was giving a lecture you couldn't concentrate for one second. All you could focus on were his big hands and the veins in them, fingertips slightly calloused because of the guitar playing you knew he did in his free time… More than anything, you wanted to feel them on your bare skin.

You wanted to feel him. His body warmth, his breath on your neck, his hands all over you… It was like there was an entire X-Rated movie playing in your head with you and your teacher as the main characters and when his eyes met yours while he spoke, you felt as if he could read your mind. Your cheeks flushed a shade of crimson and you nearly choked when he smirked your way, as he casually continued his lecture.

He was on to you, you knew it. But as you caught him looking at your legs that were stretched out from underneath your table, you were on to him just as well.

As Elvis sat down at his desk for the second half of the lecture, reading your paper you just handed in, you tried your best to focus on the letters in the book in front of you but it was proving to be nearly impossible. They were scrambled, jumping from page to page, and your mind was full of Elvis, Elvis, and only Elvis.

You felt like you were treading dangerous waters with your music history teacher, but neither of you seemed to mind it. That tingle of arousal and lust that was settling in your bodies was way too exciting to ignore.

You wanted class to be over so you could walk up to him and talk to him, the paper he was reading that you worked so hard on as an excuse. He barely looked up at you when he was behind his desk, or that's what you thought. The moments you were looking down at the book in front of you, he sneakily watched you through his long, dark eyelashes. The way your hair framed your face so perfectly, the cleavage that you were sporting looking so soft and squeezable.

Downright kissable.

He wanted nothing more than to plant his face right into it and lap his tongue around your perky nipples that were currently poking through the fabric of your shirt.

A white top and no bra? He was about to lose his goddamn mind. He didn't know if you were doing it on purpose, to sent him in a downward spiral, but if you were, you were greatly succeeding.

At this point, there was no more room left in his pants and it was getting uncomfortable. He nearly thanked the Lord out loud when class was over and students were gathering their stuff, scurrying out of the room.

"Y/N," He called out to you as you got up and purposely moved toward the door at a slower pace than usual. "Can you stay back for a second? I'd like to.. discuss your paper,"

You turned around and smiled as your eyes met his. The look in his eyes told you this wasn't going to be about your paper and when the classroom was empty and he walked over to the door, you knew you had him right where you wanted him. And where you had been wanting him for two whole years.

Elvis sat back behind his desk as you stood next to him, putting your bag on the floor. Your paper was in front of him again, notes written down in his handwriting in red pen and you'd be a lot more interested in knowing your grade if he wasn't so damn distracting. When you placed your hands on your knees to lean down and have a better look at the paper you scrammed over for nights and now did not care about at all, he looked at you, his face hovering right next to yours.

"You did a real good job on this, sweetheart," he complimented, his voice soft and low as he kept his eyes on you, admiring the light make-up you were wearing. The soft glimmering shade of eyeshadow made your eyes pop and when you turned your head to look at him, his tongue darted out to lick his lower lip. God, how he just wanted to grab you and bend you over his desk. But he still had to be careful, although he had an inkling that you were as interested in him as he was in you, he wasn't exactly sure.

Yet.

"Thank you, Mr. Presley," you smiled at him, looking at him a little longer than necessary before tearing your gaze away and putting your forearms on the desk to get a better look at the paper and the grade he gave you. A smile spread across your face, but he was more focused on the way your ass was stuck out right next to him, which he took a shameless look at as he leaned back in his seat. "I worked really hard on this one, so I'm glad you deemed it worth such a good grade."

His teeth sunk into his lower lip as he looked at your ass and the way your buttcheeks were showing a little from underneath the denim fabric. The supple flesh of your inner thighs looked so inviting, he had to fight the urge to sink his teeth into it.

"Well, it's like you said, honey," he mused. "You're my best student."

As he said those words, you felt the entire atmosphere in the room shift. The tension that lingered above your and Elvis's head seemed to intensify and when your eyes caught sight of bulge in his pants, you nearly choked. The arousal that had built up inside of you all throughout class was making you do things you usually wouldn't have done… but you figured if you were to make a move, it was now or never.

You weren't blind, you'd seen him check you out.

"Am I really, Mr. Presley?" you whispered as you peeked at him over your shoulder, a grin curling upon your lips as you caught him looking at your ass. You made sure to arch your back a little more, giving him a better view. He nodded and looked into your eyes, a smirk planted on his face.

Before you'd chicken out of the whole thing and run for the hills, you slowly stood up straight and stepped in front of him, planting yourself on his lap. Your heart was racing at this point and for a second, you thought he was going to reject you and tell you your behavior was inappropriate, but as he placed his hands on your hips, a sense of relief washed over you.

So, you weren't crazy. He really wanted you too.

"Yes, you are, Y/N," he whispered as he slipped his arms around your waist and pulled you back against his chest. His face was right next to yours and you could feel his breath on your neck as he brought his hand up and caressed a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn't dare look at him, trying to calm your beating heart, but his eyes were on you the entire time. He even leaned in closer, ghosting his plumb lips along the shell of your ear. "You're a good student, darlin'. A real good girl, but you get a little distracted in class now and then, don'tcha?"

You could hear the teasing tone in his deep voice and his bulge poking right against your ass as you sat on him. Looking down at his hands, your breath got stuck in your throat as he moved them down the small fabric of your shorts and towards your bare thighs. You gasped lightly as soon as you felt his warm hands on your even warmer thighs, biting your tongue as he squeezed them softly. He saw the kind of reaction he was already pulling out of you with such small actions, and it made his smirk grow even bigger. And more confident, too.

"I.. I guess I do, Mr. Presley. But…" You bit your tongue as you slowly turned your head toward him, looking him in the eye. The tip of his nose was touching yours, the way your lips were almost on his was electrifying. "How can you blame me.. when you're so distracting to begin with?"

He let out a soft laugh, his deep voice pulling you in even more. "Oooh, so it's my fault, huh?"

You laughed with him, but the flush on your cheeks couldn't hide the fact that this man had you in the palm of his hands already. Quite literally too, with the way he was softly massaging the supple flesh of your thighs. You didn't answer him, at least not vocally, but he didn't need you to. That cute blushing face and the beautiful sound of your laugh made him realize that you wanted him just as bad. If not more.

His job be damned. The door was locked, nobody had to find out, right? Right now he had you in one of the many positions he'd often fantasized having you in about and he would be a fool if he'd let you go now.

So he leaned in, barely giving you the time to inhale a breath of air as he pressed his lips against yours. And when he parted his lips and you did as well, your tongues touching for the very first time, the both of you knew that you were in too deep to back out now.

But neither of you wanted to.

The kiss got heavier and hotter by the second and you allowed yourself to feed him with soft moans now and then, which he greedily accepted by sucking on your tongue while humming deeply. You could kiss him for hours but eventually you had to pull back to breathe and as you leaned against his chest properly and looked down at his hands on your thighs, it was like your entire body was set aflame.

You could've sworn you felt the arousal tingling in your bones, growing wetter by the second, soaking your panties as his fingertips caressed underneath the legs of your shorts. His lips connected to your cheek, then down to your jaw and even lower to your neck. His breath was warm, teeth grazing against your earlobe before he flicked his tongue against it. It had you letting out a deep sigh and a soft moan, struggling to keep your eyes open as you heard his voice in your ear.

"This what you been thinkin' about whenever you get distracted in class, sweetheart?" He whispered, nails softly caressing down your thighs, over your knees, before he dragged them up again. A shiver ran down your spine and before you could even give him an answer (which you were pretty sure you'd fail at, because you could barely breathe like a sane person), he was already talking in your ear again. "My hands on you? Sittin' in my lap like a good little teacher's pet?" 

All you could do was nod but he didn't mind the lack of words. He'd been waiting for this for just as long as you have and he was eager to touch you, his cock rock hard against your ass. He knew you'd give him something he would enjoy later but right now, he wanted to touch you and make those little daydreams of yours a reality.

You could hear him chuckle softly as he moved his hands up to the button of your shorts and he heard you breathe a little heavier as you watched him flick it open. You sucked in a deep breath of air and held it in as he very slowly pulled your zipper down, revealing your panties a little.

"Let me see what the naughty girl wears to my class," he whispered in your ear as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. As soon as you felt his hands tugging on your shorts, you put your feet on the edge of his desk in front of you and your hands on the arm rests of his chair, raising your hips a little so he could pull your shorts down. You gently sat back on him and rested against his chest, laughing softly as you kicked the denim off of your feet and dropped it to the floor. You barely had time to properly relax your muscles because his hands were already on your thighs again, his nails caressing up to your panties and his breath hot against your ear.

He looked down at the white panties you were wearing, grinning at the embroidered cherry on the front. "How cute," he mused, a playful tone in his voice. You were sure he was going to tease the hell out of you (and you were definitely going to be late for your next class) but you didn't care at all. You gasped as he ghosted his fingertips over the thin fabric of your panties, right along your folds and over your sensitive clit, and he hummed softly in your ear. "I bet these ain't the first pair of panties that got ruined because of me,"

You bit your lip and spread your legs a little wider, slightly bending your knees. He was right - he ruined plenty of your panties with just his presence and you were sure that this pair was going to be soaked once he was done with you.

He continued his teasing ways for a little longer until you were nearly squirming in his lap. It made him laugh softly and as you turned your head a little and looked at him, he ghosted his lips along yours but he wasn't going for a kiss. He knew you couldn't kiss him because when he suddenly dipped his hand right into your panties, you let out a strangled moan and widened your eyes a little. His touch felt like fire against your bare skin as he dragged his calloused fingertips up through your folds, collecting your slick as he rubbed it across your clit. You spread and bent your legs even more than before and grabbed onto the arm rests of the chair, absentmindedly digging your nails into the leather.

Once again, Elvis didn't mind the lack of words on your end. He was an understanding man and he could understand why your breath caught in your throat and your head was thrown back against his shoulder as he pressed two of his fingers against your clit and rubbed it gently, doing exactly what he had been thinking about for so long - ruining those panties up close and personal.

A smirk was sitting firmly on his face when you looked down at the way his hand was exploring underneath your panties- his breath was hot against your skin and you couldn't stop your eyes from rolling back, moaning shamelessly.

"G-God," you grunted, teeth sinking harshly into your lower lip as his fingertips firmly but lazily rubbed your clit. "So good, Mr. Presley. S-so.. good.."

"You're soakin', baby. You always get like this in my class?"

Your eyes fluttered open and you slightly turned your head again to look at him, biting your lip as you nodded. The way you looked at him with those feigned innocent eyes made his cock twitch in his pants.

"Always, Mr. Presley. Just looking at you makes me this wet,"

"Poor little girl," he mocked in a playful tone as he chuckled, leaning in closer to your face to press a wet and warm kiss onto your lips. At the same time, he slipped two fingers inside of you at the same time. He slipped his other arm across your waist and kept you from squirming in his lap too much, basically trapping you in his embrace. And you weren't complaining for a second.

Once more, words had left you and all you could do was moan and keep your breathing somewhat under control as Elvis's middle and ring finger were thrusting into you, curling inside of you, and the palm of his hand was rubbing harshly against your clit. You moved one arm up and around his neck, tangling your fingers in his dark locks which made him groan deeply into your ear.

"I can feel how tight you are, sweetheart.. Can't wait to stuff you with my cock," he whispered in your ear, his tongue flicking against your earlobe before sucked on it a little.

His words were so filthy, but it was all you wanted to hear in this moment. Right now, you didn't care about anyone or anything but the fact that Professor Presley was surely going to rail you against his desk. And you were going to love every second of it.

But before that moment came, he continued to tease and please you with his fingers but didn't allow you to finish. This frustrated you because you had gotten so incredibly close to your breaking point, but once you got up from his lap and noticed him undoing his pants, that frustration was gone like the wind. You were painfully horny at this point and eager- you wanted him so bad you could practically feel your bones tingle.

You couldn't take your eyes off of the cock that sprung free in front of your face when Elvis tugged his pants and boxer shorts down and you were on your knees in front of him. He was just the right size and you admired how it was standing upright and waiting for your attention, some pre-cum dribbling down the shaft.

Elvis grinned as he looked down at you, leaned back in his seat, arms casually resting on the arm rests of his seat. "C'mon, baby," he said with his voice sounding deep and a little teasing. "I know you don't talk a lot in class, but I'm pretty sure you can put those pretty little lips to good use,"

Ofcourse you knew exactly what he wanted and how could you refuse? He was so handsome, so sweet… and that cock. Well, let's just pretend you weren't nearly drooling over it.

Fluttering your eyelashes at him, you flashed him a sweet innocent smile and put your hands on his thighs. You kept eye contact as you slightly parted your lips and stuck out your tongue a little as soon as your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, lapping up some of his pre-cum. He hissed softly as he dug his nails in the leather of his seat and you smiled again as you pulled back a little.

"Like that, Mr. Presley?"

He grinned and sunk his teeth into his lower lip, his blue eyes hazy with arousal. "Jus' like that, sweet girl. But I'm sure you can do even better... you ain't my best student for nothin', ain't that right?"

His words made you want to keep up the innocent role even more. This man made you perfectly comfortable in your feminine energy which felt even more present than usual, and you didn't mind being submissive to him at all. So you did what was expected of you and wrapped your lips around the tip again, smiling sweetly at him. When you suddenly took him into your mouth completely, pushing his foreskin down in the process and feeling the tip of his cock pressing against the back of your throat, Elvis cursed and let out a deep moan. You knew he was enjoying it by the way his head was thrown back against the chair and one of his hands had moved to his stomach, keeping his shirt up and crumbled in his fist. 

Your movements were getting faster and more determined and once your hand joined the mix, he was looking down at you as he didn't bother holding his moans back, rolling his hips up and along with the way you were pleasuring him. He was getting closer and closer and you'd be more than happy to help him reach that little sliver of Heaven, but Elvis had other plans. Once again, plans that you didn't complain about at all.

As he pulled you up and held you by your arm, getting up himself too, you reached out to help him remove his shirt as he kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the fabric of his pants and underwear. This was more than a quickie to both you and Elvis, and he wanted you completely naked. He wanted all of you, but after you took off your own shirt and reached for the white Converse on your feet, he grinned and stopped you.

"Nah-uh.. leave 'em on, honey. I like how they look on ya,"

The shoes fed into that innocent role even more and he simply couldn't get enough of it.

You happily obliged and lifted yourself up his desk, leaning back on your elbows as you kept your eyes on him the entire time, a small exciting smile spread across your face. The sight of you so eagerly and willingly spreading your legs for him, with those white sneakers the only thing on your body, was all he could ask for. In the moment, he didn't think about what the consequences of his actions could be… how could he with how absolutely soaked and ready you were for him? After all, he was nothing but a red blooded man.

"Goddamn, sweetheart. Seems like you got even wetter than five minutes ago," he smirked teasingly as he stepped forward and gently caressed the tip of his cock through your folds, spreading your slick around. He wouldn't be surprised if you actually got more wet in the time you were sucking him off and neither would you - it proved how badly you wanted him.

Needed him.

"M-Maybe I did.." you whispered, a playful tone on your tongue despite the light stutter. You giggled softly and then looked down at the way he was rubbing his sensitive tip against your clit, making you moan at the skin on skin contact of both of your most sensitive body parts.

He responded by humming deeply and playfully, grinning as he placed his free hand on the back of your left thigh, making sure your legs were kept spread. He was taking his time by teasing you and building up the anticipation until you were nearly trembling on his desk. You whined softly, looking at him with those innocent but eager eyes of yours.

"P-Please.." you whimpered softly.

He raised a teasing eyebrow, a smirk rooted on his handsome face. "Please what, sweetheart?"

A flush crept upon your neck and up to your cheeks, moaning softly as you tried to scoot closer to him and buck your hips up a little but he pushed your leg back against your chest a little, rooting you in place. He was moving his cock through your folds agonizingly slow and you knew what he wanted to hear, but before you could muster up the courage to actually say the words, he already beat you to it.

"You wanna be fucked, ain't that right?" he tilted his head a little, the tip of his cock lingering at your entrance as he looked at you. "C'mon, Y/N. You're a big girl.. you was usin' that mouth so well just minutes ago. Tell me what you want.."

The way he was talking to you only turned you even more, if that was even possible because right now your arousal was nearly overwhelming. Your toes curled in your shoes as he teased your entrance with his cock, pretending he was going to push in but moving back up to your clit when he saw the gleam of hope in your eyes.

He wanted you to say it and you knew that in order for you to get what you craved so badly, you were going to have to be a big girl and use your words.

"Please, Mr. Presley…" you whined again, biting your lip as you looked into his eyes. "I want you to fuck me. I want it so bad… Oh, Mr. Presley, I nee-"

He didn't give you the time to finish that sentence, suddenly pushing himself fully inside of you. Your surprised gasp turned into an erotic moan at the delicious intrusion, not even giving yourself the time to get used to his size inside of you. You felt as if you'd simply die if he wouldn't fuck you right here this second.

And he felt the exact same way.

As soon as he felt how tight and warm you were around him, he groaned and grabbed both of your thighs, spreading your legs as far as they could go. He looked into your eyes as his lips were parted, pulling back a little only to slam back into you.

"Nice and tight- just the way I like 'em," he wiggled his eyebrows once at you as he smirked, looking down to watch himself disappear inside of you every time he thrusted forward and how his cock was covered in your slick every time he pulled back. You let out a breathless giggle at his words and didn't take your eyes off of him the entire time, enjoying the way he was thrusting into you slowly and firmly but you wanted more.

You wanted to be completely ruined. You wanted your roommate to ask you why you were walking strange.

"H-Harder… Please.."

He looked at you as those words rolled off your tongue and he didn't have to be told twice. He immediately picked up the pace and chuckled softly as you laid yourself down, his hungry eyes watching your breasts bounce with his thrusts. You could hear paper crumbling and tearing underneath you and you were pretty sure the paper that you handed in at the start of class was somewhere among it, but you did not give a damn.

You were completely focused on your teacher's cock fucking you senseless.

Elvis wrapped his arms around your thighs and got you to plant your legs against his chest as he pulled you closer to him. His thrusts were deep and fast and you couldn't keep yourself quiet even if you wanted you- it was like your body was on autopilot at this point. Every time he thrusted into you, he pulled a moan or curse word out of you.

Once again, just before you could reach your breaking point, he pulled out and away from you. You widened your eyes a little and whined, about to protest but Elvis didn't give you the time to as he gently pulled you off of the desk and turned you around. He moved his hands up your stomach as your back was pressed against his chest, his large hands squeezing your breasts.

"Bend over, baby. Let me see that pretty little ass of yours," he whispered in your ear and your eyes nearly rolled in the back of your head at his words alone.

You did as told, bending over the desk and he smirked as he brought a hand to your ass, caressing it gently before he moved that hand lower to your thigh and raised it on the edge of his desk. You worked with him, putting your knee on the desk to give him the perfect view of your ass and pussy on full display. You heard him curse under his breath, waiting in anticipation as you felt him move closer to you again. Just as he shoved himself inside of you again, you looked at him over your shoulder and moaned, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure.

You were pretty sure you could nearly feel him in your stomach.

"Oh my G-God.. Mr. Presley. S-so… so.. deep," you stuttered in a moan that sounded like music to his ears. He hummed softly and grabbed your foot, holding onto the sneaker as he harshly thrusted forward. With your other foot that was still on the ground, you had to raise yourself up your toes, not wanting him to slip out and stop this moment.

"You like that, baby? Bein' bend over the teacher's desk?"

Your eyes slowly fluttered open as you looked at him, keeping your hands planted firmly on the desk. You bit your lip and nodded, moaning as he ran one hand up your spine and held onto your shoulder, pushing you down onto his cock at the same time he thrusted forward.

"You're takin' my cock so well. You really are top student of the class, huh?"

He smirked teasingly at you as you looked back at him. You wanted to giggle at his words but the sound came out in a weird, choked out moan. He didn't mind at all, he loved seeing you in a position like this.

He wanted you in this position every single day if it were up to him.

"Fuck," he cursed softly as you clenched your muscles around him, a deep moan rolling off his tongue. "Make that top student of the whole damn school, baby,"

You grinned confidently at his words and threw your head back, your eyes closing on their own accord as the classroom was tainted by the sound of your combined moans and the smell of sex. He took the opportunity to grab a fistful of your hair and you moved with him as he pulled you back a little. In the matter of seconds, your back was against his chest again and he had you in a position you'd never been in, but the slight sting it caused in your muscles was more than welcome.

"Play with your little clit," he ordered in your ear as he had moved his hand from your hair to your neck, his other hand still holding onto your leg and foot that were still on the desk. Or more so, he was holding onto your shoe, before he roughly caressed his hand up your leg and to your thigh, to squeeze at the supple flesh. You moved one of your hands down, frantically rubbing your clit as you grabbed onto his arm to hold onto something while he still fucked you from behind like it was the last time he'd ever have you.

"Mmm, jus' like that. You close, ain't you, sweet thing?" He breathed in your ear, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust in this position. Your moans were growing louder but more broken and tears were starting to pool into your lash line. You had sex before, but you had never been fucked like this.

You'd never been fucked by a man.

"Y-Yes… Fuck! Mr. Presley, I'm g-gonna.. gonna cum!"

He grinned at your words, creating hickeys on the side of your neck as his hips never faltered. You dug your nails into his forearm as he squeezed your throat a little, making you gasp as your own fingers on your clit faltered.

Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks and it was nearly overwhelming. He wasn't a blind man- he could see the tear that rolled down your cheek and he released pressure on your throat, moving his hand down to gently squeeze your breasts before caressing your stomach. You were squirming and shaking and he wrapped both arms around your waist, keeping you steady against him as he continued thrusting into you.

"Almost there, sweetheart. You're doin' so well," he whispered in your ear, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear before he kissed it. He kept you firmly in his arms as he grunted and moaned deeply, sounding almost animalistically.

It was all so… primal.

And you loved it.

Your muscles were contrasting fiercely and repeatedly around Elvis's cock and this brought him over the edge as well. He hid his face in your neck as he let out a guttural grunt, his hips stuttering as he painted your walls white. And with this action too, neither of you thought about the consequences.

The two of you stood there for a few minutes, breathing heavily and holding onto each other as you came down from your incredible high. As he slowly let go of you and stepped away, you turned around and pressed your thighs together. He handed you your bag when you asked for it and pecked your lips lovingly, making you blush a little.

"Don't go all shy on me now, honey," he teased as he sat back on his chair. You laughed softly and fished some baby wipes out of your bag, handing him a few.

"I won't, Mr. Presley," you giggled as you cleaned yourself up a little. He did as well and put his boxers back on, grabbing your panties from the floor and handing them to you.

"You can call me Elvis, Y/N. Well, when we're not in class,"

"Okay… Elvis."

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and twirled his finger in the air, grinning at you. "We're still in class, baby,"

You laughed and looked at him as he stepped closer to you, trapping you in between him and his desk as he put his hands on either side of you. "Very funny, Elvis," 

"I been told that I am, yes," he chuckled as he leaned in and nuzzled the tip of his nose against yours, planting a gentle open mouthed kiss on your lips. He grinned as he felt your tongue against his and whispered to you while keeping his lips molded with yours. "But that was my way of sayin' I want to see you outside of this classroom, honey,"

Your heart skipped a beat. Part of you had worried as soon as you both came undone, that this was it. Just a forbidden, perhaps taboo, quickie on his desk… but it seems like he wanted more.

And that was what you wanted to begin with.

"Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Presley?" You whispered boldly, praying he couldn't see the crimson flush on your cheeks as his lips were still kissing you in between the hushed conversation you were having.

"That's exactly what I'm askin', Miss L/N."

He pulled back a little and grinned, watching your reaction. He liked the way you were blushing but he didn't comment on it, instead he kissed the corner of your mouth and squeezed your hips. He was more than happy when you agreed and gave him your number, but he kept his feelings somewhat under control and told you he'd call you tonight.

As you both gotten yourselves decent again, you grabbed your bag and smiled at him.

"Plannin' to skip the rest of the day?"

You nodded, laughing as you looked at him as he cleaned up his desk a little before he pecked your lips a few times as he stood in front of you again. 

"Probably will. I'm in desperate need of a shower," you chuckled and he nodded in agreement, laughing softly as he slipped his arms around your waist and kissed you.

Properly this time.

After a little while, he decided to let you go despite not wanting to. Leaning against the side of his desk, long legs crossed and arms folded against his chest, he called out your name as you opened the door.

This kiss felt different than the one during sex. It was more slow and not as feral and hungry- you wondered what more kisses he had in store for you.

When you turned around and met his eye, he grinned and licked his lips. "Think you can wear heels to my class tomorrow?"

Your body betrayed you as you clenched around nothing, teeth sinking into your lower lip to hold back a smile but you failed terribly. Tapping your nails against the door frame, you smiled and nodded.

"I think I can, Mr. Presley,"

"That's a good girl,"

With that wink he gave you, you were sure Elvis Presley was going to be the only thing on your mind for the rest of the day.

And hopefully, you were going to be on his too.

taglist: @powerofelvis @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @notstefaniepresley @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley @ccab

#elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis presley smut #elvis smut #elvis presley x y/n #elvis x y/n #elvis presley au #elvis au #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfiction #elvis ai #elvis presley ai #elvis fans #elvis presley fans #elvis #elvis presley #tamwrites

[starryschoolgirl]

Coming Soon A Soldier's Song

Mini AU set in the 40s of what it's like for war-stricken men to return to domestic family life from the battleground, through the eyes of you, Genevieve Presley, and your dear husband Elvis Presley.

Summary: You couldn't be more grateful when your husband returns home, and while he insists that he's alright and just wants things to get back to normal, you can't help but notice the changes of war on your man. You soon come to realize that just because the scars on his body have long faded, doesn't mean the scars in his mind are healed the same.

Warning: This universe series explores struggles with religion, violence of war, death, mental health, and family issues, it will also feature heavy smut that may fence along the line of dubious at times, and more to come that I will throw back in here when the time is right.

PSA: This is all from 2nd person point of view (you/your type reading), but the name used instead of y/n will be Genevieve Presley.

I know I've already got two things going on but I've been planning this before Baby Love even became an AU so I'm keeping with it!!

If you'd like to be tagged for this just let me know by commenting something or messaging me!

#elvis x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis x you #elvis presley fanfic #elvis au #elvis x oc #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley x you #elvis angst #elvis presley x oc #elvis fic #elvis fluff #elvis fandom #A Soldier's Song

[precious-little-scoundrel]

From Sarge’s kids I think I’m (as of now) excited to learn more about Daisy. She’s got a lot of Elvis in her and she witnesses Elaine go to hell and back to help him beat his addiction and although she’s independent I hope there’s gonna be someone who will be able to do the same for her or stand by her. Not to mention she’s got a twin who they come off as polar opposites (what with Rosalee being a huge Daddy’s girl) and her comments towards her older sister Ella’s marriage - I get the feeling there’s a lot to unpack there.

I think sometimes Elvis felt like he was too much to love and I see a lot of his personal insecurities in Daisy, she even is a popstar like him and that’s a lot of people loving you with maybe them feeling like they aren’t really known for who they are deep down.

I am so happy to hear this, I’ve got a little started on each kid’s own fic (I want one for each like I had for Jesse, just to establish them and then let loose with the intermingling) and I really think hers is compelling. It’s been truly a blast to get to know her and I’ve gotta be honest she may be the most Lisa-like of any Sarge kid in many ways, partly because she’s so Elvis incarnate. It took awhile but me and my scheming buddies have cooked up a good partner for her and she will always have her family as backup and even her godfather Marlon. I think she will, as you said, be publicly adored but can be rather offputting one on one, even though she desperately needs connection. I think eventually, and not after too long, all these relationships get far better, and Daisy finds her little nook in the family easily. She is the one to go to for the zero bullshit takes or help hiding a body. Loyal and fierce that one.

And here, since you made my day asking about her, have a little random snippet I’ve written about her first big debut recording which came from her rehab scribbles and, unfortunately for the family members her lyrics feature -becomes a sensation.

Era: 1978-9ish??

Warnings: moderate…mentions of past divorce, infidelity, a daughter sorta writing a hit tell all? remincence of a one off threesome and Elvis having straight man panic for it (I’m afraid this couple is polyamorous central I’m the 60’s but nothing explicit) big ole family chat with the grown kids, chaos as can be expected…

What about Wendy?

“Daisy Mae!” Elvis bellows her full name because the crime warrants it, and from behind him, her voice answers, not in person from her place sprawled on the couch but behind him, coming through the stereo in a clear cadence that his creative side must acknowledge is skilled and evocative. What Elvis doesn't find so praiseworthy is his Dear Daughter hanging the family laundry out for all to see with lyrics like:

—“So I'll lock the window and turn on the AC, You'll throw your rocks, and you'll scream that you hate me, But it gets old being forever 20, And what about my wings? What about Wendy?”—

out on a clothesline for all the world to commentate on his failings and his marriage.

The music video coming out tomorrow on MTV, teased as featuring a fresh faced Daisy in a montage of her mother’s most iconic looks -including that secretive wedding gown so few of the nation ever saw, rather hammers home the not so subtle point. As far as Elvis is concerned this is about as disloyal as it gets.

And he is having none of it.

“It’s art, Daddy.” Daisy murmurs, utterly unphased by the hurricane of wrath she can match once she gets that cup of coffee Rosalee is making her.

“Is this how you see us?” Elvis demands and Jesse winces to the side, things had been going so smoothly after Danny was born but lord, the Presley’s just can’t manage to be calm for long, Daisy had to record that stupid black book she scribbled in during rehab and, my does it have some choice takes on the events of the last decade. “This how you see your childhood?” Elvus goes on, “Where we loved ya like no one’s ever loved any kids and gave ya everythin’ and-“

“-and slammed a buncha doors in between.“ Daisy shrugs, not meaning to be cruel, but it’s the truth and she’s never had her sibling’s affinity for the affection that the rest of the kids take as blood money for the insanity they got put through. Daisy doesn't hold a grudge against anyone for her childhood, in fact, she’s thankful for the writing material. But she’s not gonna be sorry for writing shit as it was.

Which was mama playing a haggard Wendy while Daddy flitted in and out of the window at whim like Peter Pan.

“Girl,” her daddy begs her to understand as he takes his seat next to her on the sofa, big ringed hand familiar and pleading on her bony knee, as if somehow this appeal of his will lock the song back into her diary and out of the radio -or maybe he doesn’t care about his reputation anymore, he’s gotten lax about that after the divorce, maybe he really is seeking after his child’s good opinion this time when he continues, “I’m all for art’n’shit but have I not taught ya nothin’ bout-“

“Daddy, ya didn’t even write your own songs.” Daisy gently tries to get him to see the difference in their art but Jesse gasps out in horror:

“Daisy!!” like she just shot their father instead of stating the truth. Which is kinda her problem with her family, they can’t take straight facts.

“Alright, alright then,” Elvis simmers a bit but his tone is restrained as he presses his point, “so ya write from the heart and ya wrote about life, I get ya. So then why’d you call mama Wendy when, w-w-when she’s -she’s my Tinkerbell?”

“You’d rather I used your pet little name in public?” Daisy scoffs at his muddled logic and feels bad for the first time after -soon as his brow furrows in genuine hurt. Daddy loves mama, he loves her again like a new man and Daisy doesn’t get how that works but it’s the truth and she’s got no fight to pick with the truth. It makes her admit with a shrug, “I used it ‘cause Marlon always says she’s Wendy.”

You could hear a pin drop the way everyone’s chatter in the living room stops, even the coffee maker stops spluttering in the distance and it’s highly likely Jesse isn’t even breathing as everyone’s head’s swivel, Daddy’s slower but more intent than any, to look at Elaine where’s she sits in the white arm chair, blanket cast over her where Danny fell asleep while nursing. She’s as white as the rocker she sits in.

“Oh does he now?” Elvis rumbles and Daisy feels the unintentional bite of his nails on her knee.

“Well yeah, he does and -always has.” Daisy insists as if the past and present existence of Brando’s opinions on Elvis’ wife makes shit any better, Daisy knows it the second she lets it out that it’s not exactly balm on the scab.

Her voice doesn't make anyone look away from mama and her perfect, frozen face, carefully neutral and soothingly disinterested in the topic.

“That man has only ever called me, Elaine.” mama laughs an airy, dismissive little thing and the bite of Daddy’s rings on Daisy’s knee loosens their grip. “And if he thinks i'm a Wendy -he should say it to my face.” she jokes and Jesse predictably lets out a pained laugh of solidarity.

“-A-a-and w-who the hell did ya get to sew all those recreated outfits, girl?” Daddy is suddenly back on the original topic with a burst of renewed incredulity at her gall and Daisy knows she can use this to her advantage, get him arguing about fashion, tailors and supporting local folks instead of berating her for her lyrics and-

-Ella watches as Elaine’s stiff face smoothes into relief and she lays her head back against the rocker’s cushion and closes her eyes against the hubbub that’s no longer pertinent to her. Not for the first time Ella wonders if mama is as burdened as she is with thoughts and feelings married women shouldn’t have, they really shouldn’t. Marriage should cure a woman of them but Ella had them all alone on the ranch with her husband gone and Mama had Marlon and his lingering looks and her frozen face whenever his name gets mentioned and mama who is staring up at the ceiling like she’s no longer in the room with them at all.

“Peter Pan, Peter Pan, little lost boy actin’ like a big man,” only Marlon could have made that rhyme sound like anything but a goad, only Marlon really saw what Elaine saw when Elvis was sated, pliable, sweet as a newborn and pretty a sin. “Those producers who’ve got him playin’ tough n’ shit don’t know his appeal, they just don’t get it. Goddamn Peter Pan.”

And he had run his fingers over Elvis’ face, catching his drooping eyelids and pulling them down and over his nose to those cherub lips. And Elvis’ eyes hadn’t opened again till next morning when he woke in angry panic.

Elaine stares at the ceiling and feels Danny shift against her breast, snuggling closer, and she wonders if Elvis ever recalls that night like she does. Ever replays it a million times.

Wendy, Wendy Wendy.

Marlon thinks she’s Wendy, Marlon’s told her own daughter that. But never her. No. He’d just raked his hand through the wrecked coiff of Elvis’ gelled hair and admiringly called him Peter Pan. And Elvis, being Elvis in the state of freshly loved and freshly praised, never balked at it before drifting to sleep in their muggy tent.

Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, he never called Elaine that to her face.

Elaine catches Daisy’s eye next time she looks away from the ceiling, an odd moment of recognition. Funny how each child knows a part of her, but it’s the inner workings of Daisy’s curious, generous, honest self -a heart so very like Elvis’ own- that can look back at Elaine and smile at her, while knowing her fully, faults and all. It’s not so bad having grown daughters as a friend, Elaine decides as she watches Elvis flail backwards against the couch to laugh at his daughter's good natured dig at his unmodified wardrobe.

It’s good not to be his only Wendy keeping him young anymore.

Song based on: Wendy by Maisie Peters

Tags:

@powerofelvis

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|

————————-

@mydarlingelvis

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sarge update #sarge & lil mama #Elvis Au #Elvis #elvis the king #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fic #elvis presley fan fic #elvis presley fanfiction

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then… Gigi

Chapter 2 - An Elvis Presley fanfiction

Thanks: to the little rascals who schemed and kept me pumped the entire time I was whacking my way to fruition on this project: Bri and Elise. And to Birdy and Ally and Christi and all the rest of you darlings who are so dear to me and whose shared love for this man has brought such joy to my life. I hope you enjoy, your feedback means the world to me and there’s nothing I enjoy more than getting to incorporate some of y’all’s schemings and theories into the story itself. So don’t hold back! Xoxo

Caveats are the sign of a insecure author yet here I go…: in this chapter there are highly unflattering references and portrayals of Pricilla Presley and Ginger Alden respectively -they are not necessarily my opinions of them, they are my dramatization of Elvis’ headspace during the summer of ‘77 when many report he was breaking up with his “fiancée” and there was already a substitute picked out to come with him on the impending tour. Y’all can debate those rumors all ya want and I honestly don’t know what to think of them myself, what I do know is that man told his father he was terribly lonely days before he died. And I want to remedy that, so the narrative is unreliable here and it’s in his head. Love at first sight, love that obsesses, love that has a childlike quality to it as presented in this fic is often selfish and even cruel towards the feelings of others. If you’re not fond of Elvis as a flawed, moody bastard of a man on occasion, this fic may not be for you. Cheers.

Warnings: 18+ no actual sex happens but my goodness -it’s sure wanted and thought on so much that sometimes it felt like a fifteen year old boy was hijacking my keyboard -Big daddy was that you?! Apologies for the, uh, crass body descriptions?! Salami will never be the same again…also, use of the word “fat” in the narrative as being thought of oneself, good ole fashioned chauvinism and mild infidelity on Elvis’ part

Chapter 2

“Do ya think it’s too, I dunno, too, too on the nose?”

“E.P., ya have people over here all the time, man.” Charlie murmurs gently from where he sits on the floor, not bothering to look up from the spread out sheet music he’s rustling through. “Why would it be on the nose to do it now, all the sudden?”

“Well I-I-I was thinkin’ maybe havin’ a pool day, maybe that was too forward.” Elvis has been rethinking this since he told George Klein to wrassle up that young bunch again, and specified the pretty young Artemis whose freckles had been covered last he saw her.

“How’s that forward?” Charlie seems genuinely confused and Elvis figures this has got to be one of those times he’s so far in his own head and foggy from pacin’ the pills that he’s not thinkin’ like regular folks.

It’s just that he couldn't take this eager young one turning him down, or shying away from him. It makes him timid in a way he hasn’t been in decades.

“I thought maybe, maybe invitin’ ‘em durin’ the bright light of day would be less, less, ya know, less susp–would raise less eyebrows.” Elvis tries to explain and Charlie really gives it the old college try to understand why his usually very entitled friend is suddenly reverting to teenage levels of strategizing to hang out with some chicks. “But now it seems like it could, could be t-taken wrong.” He’s thinking of Gigi in a swimsuit, he’s thinking of her bouncing through his trophy room headed to the pool like she bounced on the sidewalk, he’s thinking of how knowing Tammy had looked when he’d badgered her for information on her folks. Tammy has him spooked, he supposes, has him second guessing his own motives a little.

“Which nose are we worried about bein’ too ‘on’?” Charlie asks gently, and Elvis hates him for it.

“Ginger’s! And fuck you Charlie you know already, it’s Ginger’s.”

“If it’s Ginger who you’re concerned about being put out by your guests,” Charlie doesn’t bat an eye, “then I suggest you worry about her chin, not her nose. The thing’s huge, bound to be too ‘on’ it no matter what ya do.”

Elvis chuckles weakly out of sheer appreciation for Charlie’s loyalty, “Is that where I been goin’ wrong with that broad all this time? Lordy, I ain’t even tried to sit on that face, what’s she so put out for? Just anticipatin’ me bein’ too on the nose? Didn’t seem to think all that fuckin’ jewelry was too on the nose, coulda bought her one a’those Indian nose ring thingys and I reckon she’d have snatched it oughta my palm fast as anythin’.”

“Some folks are born put out.” Charlie philosophizes and continues rummaging some more in the guitar case, pulling out picks and wadded sheet music.

“I invited them today, they turned me down; they’re busy with somethin’.” Elvis admits softly, because he had tried to put this off for about five hours without her knowledge, then the Bible verse this mornin’ happened to be a little too ‘ the nose’ regarding deceitful intentions and he’d rung her up, been straight up about wantin’ her over.

Ginger said no. Declined. That’s how she put it. She was always havin’ to decline him. Except for his money and his trips. That she had an open sieve of a purse for.

The fact Charlie is as unsurprised by her avoidance as he is, suggests Elvis really is a sucker. He gnaws his cuticles bloody. “I should call it off.” He realizes.

“Yeah, what’s holdin’ ya back?” Charlie doesn’t even sound remotely sympathetic and Elvis thinks maybe he hasn’t been sly about lining up a replacement if even his friends know not to pretend to be sad.

“Her family spooks me.” He admits softly, “I got’a feelin’ about them, like they’re gonna raise a ruckus if I don’t go through with it.”

Charlie looks uncomfortable for the first time in this little gossip session. “Sounds familiar,” he ventures so carefully Elvis immediately knows he’s referring to Cilla and her folks. Referencing the day that won’t be mentioned and the threatened law suits and the getting wrung dry and the whole fuckin’ mess he’d made of what ought’ve been a blessed endeavor. Instead, he married a woman outta compulsion and reaped the seeds of it six years later.

“Reckon you’ve tried this before–pacifyin’ folks.” Charlie sounds scared but whether it’s of his decision or for offering an unasked opinion, Elvis doesn't know. “Reckon you should think about what you want, E. What you want for your life. Hell man, you may be halfway done already, you really doin’ what ya want? Maybe ya are, I'm just sayin’–you’re Elvis Presley! Ain’t anything worse they gonna say about ya than they already have, and nothin’ more tragic than havin’ all you’ve got and not doing what’s good for ya.”

Elvis thinks about the deluge of infamy that’s coming his way in a few months, not a single publisher bending to his coaxing or demands for a retraction of Red and Sonny’s little tattle-tale novella. Bastards. Those disloyal bastards.

Gently ditching a frigid woman back outta his home into her daddy’s paid for and well-furnished house is hardly gonna be the most breaking news. And by that time, ain’t no one gonna wanna come over here for pool parties or game nights or stop him on the street for an autograph. No one’s gonna want him by then, might as well enjoy the company while he can.

“Looks like it’s gonna rain today anyway,” he adds in glum summary.

“So?” Charlie tries to cheer him, “I’m sure the gals have noticed the weather and they’ll bring stuff for it, change of clothes and all that. EP, we’ve never run outta stuff to do here, have we? It’s your home, you don’t gotta perform. Can always make it a movie night or somethin’.”

Watching a movie sat next to Gigi in a skimpy bathing suit cover might be worse than watching her frolic in his pool. Elvis gnaws on his thumbnail and smashes the piano keys. Charlie doesn't even jump from the sudden noise. “What time is it?” he asks Charlie even though he has a wrist watch.

“It’s still before noon,” Charlie looks up at him from his place on the floor pointedly, “they won’t be here for another three hours. George’ll be here maybe a half hour before, since ya asked him.”

Elvis's stomach will be in complete knots by then, he knows it, and his mood will be foul for the pinching pain of it and then sitting out in the baking, humid summer heat under a gray sky that won’t rain will sound like shit. He growls and starts playing that classical piece he was trying to learn last tour.

_____________________________

Gigi’s head already aches from the plastered-high ponytail Tammy hair-sprayed her wavy locks into and she knows her face is coated in far too many layers of makeup for a pool party. It’s not what she would have chosen but she considers it a win to be walking out the door of their apartment in something more decent than the nylon scraps suggested to her as a swimsuit by her friends. It’s one thing to be aided in a little primping by one’s gals who seem hell bent on depositing a buddy into Elvis’s bed, it’s quite another to feel more than a little pimped out.

Gigi has a feeling that half of this hilarity may be selfless giggles over one of their own catching his eye, but the other half is definitely some old style sorority cunning. Whoever the mythic, absent and supposedly current girlfriend of the King is, she’s been earning Tammy’s hatred since grade school. And Gigi has a feeling that she herself is but a gilded instrument of destruction for said girlfriend. It gives her pause. About five seconds worth before she’s clambering into the back of the ride sent for them, trying to keep her swim skirt down so she doesn’t flash Lamar.

Gigi may be a bit jaded from personal loneliness, but she figures it’s free-game to pick up something someone left on the sidewalk. Things that are precious to somebody are tucked in pockets or kept in safes or worn around the neck like a talisman. They never get a chance to end up on the sidewalk.

Precious things aren’t sent off to college with no roadmap and only the weekly phone call or left to rot away in their own sprawling houses utterly bereft of company.

She pulls at her ponytail and determines to have fun. And be a little bold. It’s why she wore a skirt and razor back swim top that is more sporty than seductive–she figures that if she can keep his attention by her behavior, that’ll be the only way she can manage to tolerate it. Too much male assessment turns her into an idiot, the other night proved that, and she’d like to feel free to act in a way that might make him laugh like he had at other folks' charades.

She wants to laugh at these flimsy precautions against Elvis’ legendary hypnotizing capabilities. She just tugs at her skirt bottom and admires the way Tammy’s red swim top has her spilling out like a Bond Girl. She kicks at the duffel bag holding their change of clothes hoping it rains, she loves swimming in the rain. Bike riding in it, too, anything but these ironclad skies that trap the thick air down here but don’t send a refreshing shower. She’s got her face pressed to the Cadillac’s window when the wall whizzes by her view and then the car is turning and there’s Graceland, up on its hill, looking a little somber in the pale afternoon light.

They aren’t dropped off at the front this time, “That’s for guests and the boss himself.” Lamar explains as he pulls around to the side and slots into the humongous garage.

“What’s that make us?” Dinah asks, unabashedly enjoying the way she makes the amiable fella wait for her to adjust her bikini bottoms before stepping out the door he opens for them.

“Friends, silly.” Lamar has seen a thing or two and while coral neon high risers on gleaming chocolate skin might be pretty eye-catching, Dinah’s got more work cut out for than that, if she wants to fluster him.

Which Gigi isn’t sure why anyone would, he’s nice and keeps to himself and is good humored. She gives some frantic thought as to whether she can recall meeting a wife of his or not before she’s being herded with the rest through the sea of vehicles parked in Elvis Presley’s garage and in through the back door.

They’re immediately in the cozy dark upon stepping inside. The cool, crisp air-conditioned breeze cuts through the thick of outside and Gigi feels like she’s finally able to breathe. Next comes the unmistakable smell of burgers and through low lighting and dark painted paneling she realizes they’ve stepped into the kitchen.

There’s an immaculately polished black woman at the sink and leaning next to her, beside a row of sweating sweet teas, is Elvis, making conversation and caught by his guests mid-snicker.

There’s something so strangely mundane about the scene to Gigi that her heart lurches. The domesticity of fresh-cut onions and the comfy slouch of yet another tracksuit–it has a powerful effect on her and she finds herself beaming in gratitude at being invited back. The fact the kitchen is carpeted registers about a minute later as she scuffs her sandaled foot nervously across it, her toes dragging against the plush as she waits for the crowd in front of her, one-by-one hugging their host hello, to thin out enough for her to get at him.

She’s gonna hug him this time, she’s sworn to herself she will.

“What? No Keds? Where’d the Keds go, darlin’?” is what happens instead, Elvis frozen with his arms wide open to hug her and his eyes pinned to her french-tip pedicure like she’s Liberace and done forgot her piano.

“I thought this was a pool day.” She scrambles, and that’s enough for him to drag his eyes up the leggy length of her to meet her own blue ones, still looking like he’s in great consternation over her omission. “Is your pool bottom really that rough?” She teases and is pleased when that wipes the silly pantomime of alarm off his handsome face.

His thick sideburns draw up with his smile, pulling towards his ears like the creases around his eyes and he grins, “No doll, neither my pool or its bottom’s rough. You c’mon through right here, make yourself comfortable. You like burgers, honey?”

“I do!” she replies and obeys the outspread arm that sabotages her intended hug, directing her to the barstools at the counter instead.

“Sit yourself down and I’ll get’chu one.” He assures her earnestly before leaving her side and shuffling around the industrious lady he’d been caught gossiping with.

“I’m Gigi,” she offers to the lady from across the counter, watching as she slides the plates around and sets out the usual condiments in a tidy row.

“Mary darlin’, this is Gigi,” Elvis spins halfway through his trek to the fridge , the quick movement belying his bulk and he throws an arm around Mary’s shoulders while making the introduction as if Gigi hadn’t begun it.

“Lovely to meet you, Mary.” Gigi carries on normally as does Mary herself, warmly shaking her hand over the bun basket.

“Miss Cherry Coke?” Mary’s eyes glimmer mischievously up at her boss who tucks his head shyly in response, “Miss, we’ve got the whole top fridge stocked with the stuff, you give the word and I’ll have a case poolside for ya.”

“Oh, that’s awfully kind,” Gigi splutters, “and not at all necessary I-I can make my own burger too, let me help–”

“Sit down, you’re in my house, I’m makin’ your burger.” Elvis commands and Gigi’s bottom has barely left the barstool before she flops back down with a plop that makes the deflated cushion wheeze. “What’cha like on it, baby?” He asks then, suddenly soft as butter.

Between the pet names and the unlikeliness of Elvis Presley actually making her a burger while wearing an unzipped track suit and a king's ransom worth of rings in his own kitchen, Gigi is liable to forget whether she likes ketchup or frog legs on a burger.

“How do you like it?” She counters as if they’re in some argument and he looks surprised by that before leaning towards her, belly pressed into the counter, explaining in loving detail his preference for the onion/pickle ratio and the importance of cooked meats. The sheer amount of thought and stubborn preference for his food prep that comes out in this explanation takes her by complete surprise, not expecting him to care so much about something so trivial. His music or his career or films maybe, she might not have been so surprised, but he seems very much in love with cheeseburgers and helplessly she murmurs, “I'll have it however you like yours done.”

The moment is interrupted by the loud slurp of Tammy’s straw running out of carbonated beverage at the bottom of her bottle. Gigi had quite forgotten there was anyone else here for a minute. She spends the rest of the wait trying not to be obvious about the way she drools at his elegant hands as they meticulously pile on diced onion and bacon bits, sparkling ruby rings and glinting emeralds the only reds or greens let near the food.

He slides the plate her way, determined not to be shy but hopes she doesn't notice the way he watches her from beneath his lashes as she bites into his creation. Her cheeks bulge from the size of her bite and her puffy lips strain to keep her manners and after a few workings of her jaw he sees her eyes light up with childlike enjoyment, then roll back in her head with an appreciative moan. He chuckles and pushes his glasses back up his sweaty nose.

Damn affection, he’s in love. Oh merciful Jesus, not again.

Out by the pool, a few folks sit beside it with their toes dipping in, sloshing at the crystal clear water while a few brave and stupid souls take to the loungers as if the sky overhead wasn’t implacably slate colored. Tammy had told Gigi not to dunk her head in, to keep her shoulders at least above water or else the makeup would run. Gigi thought maybe the makeup should have been left off altogether but it’s too late now and it looks like no one’s going in all the way anyway, her little perch on the diving board isn’t conspicuous with everyone else staying out. A pool is a pool in Gigi’s mind, sunny weather or not, but she feels like it would be childish to jump in and no one else follow. She feels young enough here, so, demurely, she hangs her legs off the diving board and makes conversation with Mr. Hodge about Elvis’ army days.

Elvis himself is still in the house, something about cigars and Sam coming over. When he comes out the pool house door he has his tracksuit undone and an added navy t-shirt beneath it, swim shorts replacing the tracksuit bottoms and Gigi’s mouth starts to water from…nostalgia…she thinks. Beside him is a terribly tall young guy with a mustache and two kids trailing after them. And then there’s two young women, followed by a mature couple; their parents it would seem by the familial resemblance in the jaw.

“Y’all, this is my friend Sam, and his lil critters.” Elvis announces for the girl’s benefit, “He’s a cop, so don’t y’all go tellin’ him nothin’ ‘bout the charades the other night.” He taps his nose as if they’d gotten up to obscene rituals and Sam just rolls his eyes before shaking hands. “And these here are the Aldens, Mister, Missus, Ginger and Rosemary; this is Tammy and Dinah and Marie and Gigi–” he points out one bathing-suited beauty after another with studied nonchalance.

“Nice to meet y’all.” Gigi gives a wave, wondering if she should get up off the diving board to greet them or take a cue from Elvis's casualness and stay put.

Judging by the Superman-level beams of hatred forming between Tammy and Ginger, she figures it’s best to hunker down next to Charlie Hodge and keep her head down.

It makes her jump when Charlie outs their little haven by piping up with a, “I thought E said y’all were gonna be busy in Nashville today, Ginger.”

It makes Ginger look over at them and while Gigi has done nothing but have her head patted and swallowed down every greasy pound of the burger made for her, she feels like a skank under Ginger’s burning assessment.

“We didn’t wanna miss it.” She replies off-handedly after her inspection and turns back to Elvis who is shuffling her along the patio towards a lounger like she’s some decrepit grandma.

“Here, Ginger dear,” he’s got the same voice on that he uses with interviewers and it makes Ginger scowl and Tammy smirk, “how bout we set ya all up nice and comfy here, there we go. We’ll getcha all set up and you can watch from here, know ya can’t go in, it bein’ your time of the month and all.”

It’s funny how his tone is discreet while his volume is anything but, reaching even Gigi and Hodge at the far end, making the slight man snicker at some inside joke Gigi resigns herself to not get. He sees her confusion.

“Ginger here happens to have her period about ten times a month.” He whispers conspiratorially and Gigi gasps.

“Poor woman!” She winces at the mere concept, “Has nobody found a remedy?”

“Not yet.” Hodge shrugs, “Elvis has paid for her to be seen but no luck yet. Still, doesn’t seem to slow her down much, a hearty sorta girl. Except for pool days and sleep overs.” He adds before sipping his Coke noisily.

Gigi turns crimson at this backstage confession from so polite and circumspect a man as Charlie Hodge. She feels like Tammy may not be the only one trying to maneuver her into his friend’s arms. She sighs; she’d like to end up there, she’d also just like to swim in Graceland’s pool without a load of drama surrounding it.

“Why are we all out here anyway?” Ginger asks loud enough for it to carry to Gigi and Hodge on the diving board, “It’s been cloudy all day and the forecast is rain, if you wanted a pageant I coulda taken you to New York, baby.”

She pats Elvis' shoulder in that curious way that Gigi has noticed non-tactile oriented folks use to try to make connection with touchy folks.

Pat pat pat.

Body entirely angled away, no lingering weight after the pressure, no squeeze at the end, no dip down that broad back–it’s the sorta touch that’s worse, grating even, than nothing at all, in Gigi’s experience. Isolating, lonesome, a mockery of what it ought to be. Her heart slams in her throat like she’s watching some old trauma, and maybe she is, but she feels a compulsion to put the pressure back on, laying hands on the wound, steady and firm and untiring.

It’s stupid. But so is the silence that follows Ginger’s criticism of the weather.

“Don’t have to have the sun out to swim.” Gigi observes cheerily, looking around hopefully for someone to agree, Tammy won’t stop smirking and glancing back and forth like watching a ping pong tournament.

“No, but nobody likes to without it.” Ginger frowns at her in confusion.

“I don’t get why?” Gigi presses, genuinely confused herself. “It’s not like we can tan when we’re up to our necks in water. I’d know, I had a blistered face and pasty legs in June, last year, from a monkey in the middle game that lasted too long." She laughs and Hodge and Elvis glance down at her mentioned legs before they laugh too, maybe just to break the tension that seems to be forming in the humid air.

“You’re just sayin’ that to humor this guy.” Ginger cracks a joke of her own, thumbing at Elvis who sits at the foot of Rosemary’s lounge, looking as absolutely glum as the rest of them feel.

“No, no, I’m not actually.” Gigi’s soft voice insists and in a frustrated little huff over the way everyone’s behaving like kids but not in a fun way, decides to stand up on the diving board, her posture purposeful.

“Whoa, whoa oh, ok wait, Gigi no!” Hodge takes in her determination a touch too late as those track hardened legs start a bounce on the board that threatens to send him flying like a kid letting go of a see-saw.

The last bounce sends them both, Gigi in a gorgeous tan legged arch into the water with her swim skirt fanning like one of Renoir’s tutus, and Charlie Hodge splatting beside her a split second later, polo shirt soaked and flat on his back.

The spray of their splash dilutes Ginger’s martini and through the haze of her bitchin’ Elvis licks the chlorine drops off his upper lip and lumbers himself up and over to the pool side in time to see her surface.

She’s laughing. Sopping wet and mascara running, entirely in her element now, Gigi’s laughing.

“How’s the bottom baby?” he asks her with a grin, crouching down to her level and desperate for this to be more somehow, for her to be humoring him like Ginger said. He thinks he’ll be done if that’s all, though. He hopes that Gigi just so happens to enjoy burgers the way he makes them and swimming beneath clouds. Like he does.

“Smooth.” she grins back after dragging her eyes away from the spread width of his crotch, something calculated in her eyes soothing the tiny part of him quibbling over her youth. She ain’t a baby, she’s a big tittied young woman. “S’real smooth Mr. Presley.” She's treading water and it makes her voice breathy.

“Well, go touch it f’me baby.” He tells her.

“Why?” she perks up.

“Why?” He repeats, rhetorically, standing up from his crouch and throwing off his tracksuit jacket with all the show he puts into fanning out his capes on stage. It’s too late the little kohl-eyed bambi begins to backpedal in the water, “Cause–CANNONBALL.”

More chlorinated water splashes up Gigi’s nose and into her eyes, making her gasp and wheeze, blinking through a burning film of melting mascara as Elvis Presley surfaces like a leviathan of the deep not even a full two feet away from her. He shakes his hair out of his face and grins at her like a little boy immensely pleased with himself. Jet black hair pushed back and glasses lost in the dive, he looks unbearably soft. Gigi thinks she may have cooed as she tried to clap when he made his appearance.

“C’mere lil one, your eyes’r smartin’, ain’t they?” He swirls his arm out in the water and effortlessly, like scooping up a partner in a tango, hooks his arm around her and draws her closer. Electrified by the beefiness of his arm around her waist, she almost misses when he raises his thumb to his mouth and sucks on it before bringing the spit-slicked digit to her face. Swiping at her under eyes, gently following along the water line, returning the black finger tip back to his pink tongue, then back again to her eyelashes. Again and again until he’s satisfied with the tidying and enough of the goopy cosmetic has been removed for her to make out each individual pore on his godlike face. “There, thas’ more like it,” he examines his work and she sways towards him in the water like she’s been hypnotized, her face still buzzing from the electricity of his touch, “more like a pretty Southern peach, ‘stead of a raccoon.”

“I told Tammy it was silly.” Gigi whispers, the bulk of him so near her blocks out the rest of the world and her voice dips accordingly, feeling intimate.

“Tammy, doll,” he spins round and the motion releases Gigi, she floats beside him bereft and suddenly cold in the pool without his nearness, “sugar, don’t go makin’ this pretty gal look like a rodent when God’s given her plenty on her own.”

“I do not look like a rodent.” Gigi protests through giggles as Tammy slithers into the pool with a shrug, careful to keep her own face out of the water.

“Sweetie, I’m the one lookin’ at ya.” He points out in that fatally parental way and reaches for her neck once more, taking a good grip before he dunks her backwards in the pool, with barely time for her to hold her breath. Bizarre and a bit threatening as the action is, all Gigi can feel is his warm hand again, and the press of rings biting into her throat, the promise of his body that she’s not yet been jostled close enough to feel, but looming ever near her.

“Elvis baby, you’ve lost your glasses.” Ginger is saying when Gigi is finally let back up after her extended baptism and, with a little flail, she regains autonomy from his grip as he lets her go like he’s been burned.

He hadn’t seemed that worried about the glasses before Ginger pointed it out, but his hasty movement away from her makes Gigi think that it concerns him.

“I’ll get ‘em.” She reassures Ginger before wheezing back in a breath and arching into the water, the splash of her little footsies upending the last anyone saw of her for a brief moment until she appeared in the shallow, holding them up triumphantly.

The solitary, slow clap that could be heard belonged to Mrs. Alden.

“Oh shove it where the sun don’t shine, ya big–” Tammy was snapping at the older woman suddenly and Gigi, freshly discombobulated from resurfacing, decided against figuring that one out, the feud going beyond her even at her most mentally capable periods.

“Get in here fools, Ricky, Charlie, Dinah, c’mon.” Elvis was motioning to his fellas, conspicuously ignoring the venom spitting between the ladies, “Sam, you’re gonna be our monkey.” He directed the overly tall cop to the accompanying protests of the pool’s occupants. “Lotta sissies you are, can’t take a challenge head on.” Elvis chided them and the game was on.

For the next half hour Gigi treaded water in the deep end and tried to help Dinah and Ricky get the ball past the unreasonably tall cop in the middle. Trying to smack it into the shallow side where Elvis was waded around waist deep, in the water, T-shirt clinging to the dip of his pecs and adhered to the swell of his belly like a second skin, effortlessly hefting Sam’s young kids up to take a smack at the ball themselves from time to time. Gigi didn’t think there’d ever been a fella as entranced by the sight of bikini clad babes bouncing around in aquatic sports as she was with such effortless masculinity displayed in the good humor of his backyard. Her heart hurt at the sudden gaping hole in the house, in the pool, in his life–his little girl! She should be here, his child should be here.

Before Gigi had known how domestic and serene life could be at Graceland, it had made sense the rockstar probably wouldn’t have full custody of a kid. She’d imagined wild parties and coke tidily lined up on the back of the toilet in the bathroom for convenient snorting, stripper poles in the living room festooned with real live women of the night. But instead, there was just a beautiful, vigorous, sweet man throwing pool parties to any who would come to keep him from being lonesome.

That old feeling of wanting to hold onto him and not let go, make him let go first, came back. Maybe she’d been staring too long, or more likely, maybe Gigi hadn’t noticed half the spray sprinkling them was now raindrops and not pool splash–either way, Ginger and her familial entourage made a rather large to-do about the little shower. Encouraged to go inside they refused, and while slightly miffed by the needless interruption, the pool’s occupants varied their sport to a rather unorthodox version of Marco Polo.

Ricky led the way by closing his eyes and calling out “Marco” to which every girl, with the innate sense of those being hunted, tried to flee in the water from his grabby hands while answering “Polo” in barely audible titters.

Dinah escaped a close call by diving underwater and slithering away while Sam went on the defensive and splashed water at the kid’s nose until he could barely call out “Marco.” Gigi wasn’t as lucky, trapped between the steps and Hodge she was cornered on the third round, helpless to do anything but press against the poolside and answer “Polo” to each one of Ricky’s ever leering calls, closer and closer to her.

“Time out, time out!” Elvis snapped and Ginger peered over her glasses with knowing suspense but Ricky, quite caught up in the game kept swashing forward in the shallow towards Gigi, blindly reaching out for her shoulder only for at the first tiny touch to it, he got slapped upside the head by a very proactive Lamar who wanted to save the kid from a more fatal fate.

“Boss called a time out, idiot.” he grumbled loudly, pulling him away from Gigi’s glistening tan shoulders.

“Yeah, time out!” Tammy faked a sigh of exhaustion even though she’d done little moving through the game, “Can we get some drinks out here? Got any papaya juice left, E?”

“Oh I swear to God!” Ginger’s sunglasses landed on the cushion with a clatter, finally losing all patience with some inside barb thrown her way.

“What?” Tammy asks with far too much innocence.

“You know what!” Ginger snaps.

“Drinks? What?” Tammy scoffs, “I wasn’t asking you to get them, don’t get all huffy at me.”

“The papaya shit–”

“Hey language, ladies.” Charlie tries to intervene.

Elvis knows Tammy is weedling a fight outta Gingersnap and a month ago he might’ve had it in him to play the gentleman and defend his supposed gal, and an hour or two ago he might’ve found it fun to sit back and watch the cat fight, but there’s rain droplets splattering the pool surface and he knows she’s gonna suggest going in and he wants to make everyone else regret this about as much as he is until he sees her face.

Gigi’s.

Looking for all the world like she’s sad and scared this shitty little party is gonna end. Looking to him to keep her playtime going. Up against the pool wall as the rain splatters her freckles, mostly put out that her turn has been cut short because Elvis's jealous streak can’t take Ricky or anyone else touching her besides him but he can’t bring himself to touch her for fear she won’t purr under his hand.

Gigi’s eyes leave Tammy and Ginger’s verbal sparring and seek his own out pleadingly. His command for everyone to shut the fuck up and go inside or else leave his property dies on his lips. Instead he tries to smile back at her, finding it’s been a little while since he played at accommodating anyone, but he’s willing to try for her, to give her back her playtime. She reminds him of his younger self, such a live wire, attuned and vibrating to every emotion. She needs a calming hand, a weighted presence to tether her. Instead he just reminds the squabbling pool’s occupants,

“Gigi’s it.”

And just like that, the decision is made. Ginger can bitch and Tammy can poke and everyone else can go to hell, he’s gonna play in his pool. With Gigi. It’s her turn to play Marco. Those blue eyes dance back to life and she’s smiling so wide he feels like maybe he’s unleashed the sun, fully cheerful and fully lethal all at once.

Her eyes close but her mouth stays wide and smiling and she utters “Marco” with giddy excitement and Charlie gives him a look he knows, a look of a sure-fire backstage hookup but Elvis isn’t sure, not sure this time until she’s weaved through multiple “Polo’s” and is hunting him down with giggling ferocity. And Elvis is fucked, he’s fucked and his heart is beating in wild excitement and panic as she begins to splash towards him and her palms land squarely on the now squishy mounds of his chest.

He used to have such a nice physique. Strapping, some said, maybe never a real ripped fella but fine and toned and lean. But now all he’s got are man tiddies and his cheeks flame hot under the cool splash of water as her hands splay against his soft chest, the contact winding him, grounding him, making him yearn and shrink all at once.

She’s merciless, hands trailing over the dips of his chest and over his shoulders and down to the beginning of his belly, dragging his wet t-shirt across his sensitive skin, patting him down firmly in the way of someone who savors flesh. He thinks he’s found one of his own.

“Hmm, Lamar?” Gigi guesses but the coy lift of her lips tells him it’s a joke. Still he wants to wince.

Gigi hopes he knows she is teasing, she doesn't even think to make it a barb. Lamar is lovely and so is Elvis and she would do and say anything to prolong the contact she has on the wet material of his shirt, wiry chest hairs faintly ticklish beneath the soaked cotton, the heat and the heft and the way his chest is heaving beneath her hands–Gigi is struck with the reminder of how she fantasized about him, about the bulk of him and the sturdiness she’s now mapping out. If only he was shirtless and–there’s a nipple–his breath is ghosting over her face, she’s so close and she’s being shameless, she knows, but he’s lovely. He’s so lovely under her hands, and she can feel the thump thump thump of his heart soaking up her attention and she knows he’s been lonely for this. She hopes he can feel it through her playful hands–

You’re lovely, this has been lovely, thank you for this, can you feel how fond I am?

–she thinks she hears someone sneeze and she thinks she hears talking but it’s his breaths, labored and fast, that she listens to, senses attentive, squeezing at the soft flesh of his bicep. There’s corded muscle beneath the fluff, she barely gets a squeeze in before she’s palpably reminded that it’s Elvis she’s pawing at when he drawls, thick and forced,

“You got a strong enough grip on that honey? Did I not feed ya enough in the house that ya gonna start pulling meat off the bone?”

She pops her eyes open at that, mortified at first except he looks so pleased by her squeezing, more pleased and happy than he’s been all day and it makes her brave.

“Why, it’s Elvis!” She teases in surprise and is comforted by the hot flare of temper she sees in his face as he entertains the brief concept of her groping anyone else like this, “I could eat you up.” She admits lowly, and it feels like a natural thing to say, the sorta oddball shit you say to cute little babies–or to Elvis Presley when he’s soft and firm and giving and impossibly broad beneath your hands.

“Ya watch y’self lil baby or I’ll eat you first.” He responds careless and calm before snapping his teeth at her in a way that both scares her from its sudden shift and sends molten heat down between her legs at its possibilities.

She chooses to squeal and instead of fleeing in the water, takes refuge from his snapping mouth by scurrying behind him in the water and hunkering down from the threat, plastering herslef to his wet back. The grunt he makes when she pulls herself up by his shoulders is that of a middle aged man playing at being put out over being used as a jungle gym, but like most things he does, teeth snapping and grunting and meticulous burger layering, she finds it obscenely attractive and moans a little herself, finally getting a good press on some part of him, even if it’s just his back.

Elvis has quite forgotten anyone or anything else besides the playful little critter plastering her tits to his back and giggling breathy in his ear. He thinks he notices the way the boys resume the game and Dinah tries to revive the sport while he and this minx just float like mama and baby otter on the sidelines. He doesn’t notice much else beside the fact that she’s taken to tidying him like he tidied her, fingernails rubbing his wet sideburns back down and thumbing at his eyebrow when a commotion on the pool deck gains his attention, tearing him away from the lovely yet mortifying ordeal of Gigi humming over the discovery of too much grease in his rain sodden hair.

It appears Mrs. Alden and Ginger are having it out between each other again on the pool patio, without Rosemary as a referee for once, and Elvis would like to ignore it in favor of thinking of something to talk to this sweet girl about except that there’s a slight tussle on the sidelines and before he–or Ginger it seems–can process anything, Ginger herself is being encouragingly shoved into the deep end by her mother.

Upon surfacing, Ginger makes for him like a downed airman would an atole in the vast pacific, whining all the way like she got dumped in acid instead of saline. He’s always been this way with folks, with women and with men, puzzled as to why he tolerates shit for so long when the breath of fresh air is clinging to his back. It’s a free country, Ginger can whine about pool water all she wants, doesn’t mean he’s gotta feel bad that there’s something about the way that twenty year old gal hasn’t got a lick of child left in her that makes his affection for her curdle like spoiled milk. The giggling limpet on his back laughs before registering that Ginger is unlike her, and the pool is causing her distress. Gigi starts to let go of Elvis’ back in an unconscious reaction to aid her, he finds himself trying to clutch her hands to keep her pressed to his back.

They fumble, they clutch, Gigi slips from his back and it’s as if the water has gone freezing to him. The replacement of Ginger hanging off him does nothing to replace that soothing warmth, though he pats Ginger soothingly, wondering if now would be a bad time to tell her it’s over. It was over ever since a while back, but not being able to make it today, then able to make it only to stake her claim, and now this fawning over him -he’s done. It’s over, he starts freezing and suddenly the raindrops aren’t so playful. He hopes to god his gamble won’t leave him burned and alone again.

“Shh. S’alright honey, gimme your hand.” he mumbles as he leads Ginger to the shallow end, to the pool steps and railing while the rest of the pool’s occupants clear out as fast as rats from a sinking ship when the murky pool water shows she’s not bluffing on her period this time.

Ginger gives him a withering look and he thinks he’s gonna get blamed for her mother’s poor choice in house manners when he finds her staring down at his shorts, and maybe the water wasn’t cold enough cause he’s chubbed up and bent to the side beneath the wet fabric, acting up despite the embarrassment of being felt in his whole entirety by Gigi. He clears his throat and finds himself tugging at his pant leg as they toddle off together, not even trying to act like it’s for her–they’d both know better than that. It’s over, it’s past that. It’s over.

Gigi lags behind in the pool and Elvis doesn’t know why until she’s jogged back up to them, almost to the trophy room doors before she’s kneeling in front of Ginger, her lost sandal in her hand. “Here, I got it, ya don’t have to limp all the way back.” Gigi smiles up at her from her crouch, feckless crinkling and eyes guileless and even Ginger doesn't have it in her to be sour in the face of such unstudied kindness.

“Thanks.” Ginger gets out and digs her nails further into Elvis’ forearm as she leans her weight on him to slip the sandal on, acting as if a dunk in the pool left her mortally wounded.

Fast as lightning, he notices Gigi use the towel slung round her shoulder to dab at a trail of blood running down Ginger’s shin, a womanly little comradery to keep her from being embarrassed but Ginger says nothing and moves on, hastily, Elvis attached to her by her talons, and he hardly blames her. Kneeling -Gigi kneeling- isn’t what Little Elvis needs to be thinking about right now.

In the squelching wet walk back into the big house Elvis feels the compulsion to distract from the menstrual cause of the pool’s evacuation -and his offending boner- by making conversation between the two,

“S’alright,” he repeats, “Hodge and I were thinkin’ movie night or Monopoly if it ended up rainin’. And it was bound to, bound to start rainin’.”

As if that was the reason for getting out of the pool -it’s so gentlemanly of him, despite his palpable exasperation with the whole situation, that Gigi falls a little more in love just watching him be nice to another woman.

“Oh I love Monopoly!” Gigi offers with a genuine little skip in her step, fanning out her sporty swimskirt, half distracted as she passes by the glass showcases housing the awards given to him over his career. They glitter harshly under the low ceiling of fluorescent bulbs. It’s oddly tacky for such a wealthy man. It makes them seem more personal, like a fella got a lotta medallions and plaques for being lovely and stashed them in his pool house. “What’s the longest game you’ve ever played?” She asks since the silent trudge is getting oppressive.

“Lordy, back in ‘66 I think we had one last over three weeks.” He reminisces fondly.

“No way.” She swears.

“Yeah, yeah kept the board all set up in the music room.” He assures her. “Reckon our banker was crooked.” He divulges and Gigi giggles.

“We do a lot of reading.” Ginger offers randomly and Gigi perks up at that bit of information politely.

“Oh? What on?”

“Any and all sorts of subjects.” Ginger smiles sweetly, the sorta sweet smile he used to try to earn, now it makes him wanna shake her off his arm.

“I used to enjoy it but I think college is burning me out on books.” Gigi admits.

“That’s right, you’re in college.” Ginger reminds with a significant look in Elvis’ direction.

“First year.” Gigi nods, looking a little shell shocked.

“Whatcha majoring in?” he asks her earnestly and Gigi realizes they’re near the same height, her long limbs finally giving her an advantage as they lock eyes over Ginger’s head.

Embarrassment floods her as she has to admit to this older and unbelievably successful man, “I still haven’t decided.” She is lost and tired and lonely and that is probably why she gets off to the thought of him telling her he’s gonna baby her. Shame scorches her cheeks and he tsks before reaching over Ginger’s shoulder to pat it calm, rings chilling her fevered flesh, “My parents wanted me to go,” she finds herself purging the sentiment under his kindly eyes despite Ginger’s judicious stare, “but now I’m in, the subject -it’s up to me and I- well I don’t know yet.”

Elvis pauses in his swaying gait to relieve Charlie of the duty of holding open the side door into the main house, ushering Ginger in with a flick of his wrist and Gigi follows, limp necked and chastened. “You’re just a baby.” He is suddenly rumbling right in her ear as she passes him, as if picking up the conversation naturally but it makes her shiver in a hard, wanton shake at the sound of his voice so near. It has his eyebrow raising in some suspicion. ��That’s a whole lotta weight to put on youth, ain’t no way you know what you’re fit for this soon honey, dontchu fret over it in the least.”

“Really?” She begs and feels his hand leave the door, no longer needing to be held open, and land on her back, smoothing her wet hair down her spine, rings catching and snarling in the waves.

“I mean it, you’re just a lil peanut, ain’t fair to ask ya to figure all that out right this minute.”

The sentiment mimics the mantra of Gigi’s homework meltdowns and four am panic attacks and she beams at him with utter relief, as if him having spoken what her gut tells her makes it gospel truth. She shudders and melts into that hand, covering an entire half of her face it feels, and the rest of her erupts in gooseflesh from the Arctic levels of AC he keeps in his house. She needs to be closer, she needs him to hold a lot more of her—

“We’re going to change before we get pneumonia.” Ginger announces loudly and they both jump, Elvis once again forgetting that there’s others hereabout, and Gigi from the cold shock of Ginger’s icy hand slithering into her own, tugging her to the hall bath. She trips over her own two feet to keep eye contact with him as long as possible, her cheek still glowing from his touch and reveling in the sight of him in the narrow hall with his belly outlined in stark relief by the clinging, wet t-shirt and his tiny shorts that have a little protrusion of their own…she hadn’t noticed it till now, and she wants to whimper, not from Ginger’s implacable grip on her hand but at the sight of that chubby little package pointing at her while tucked behind his inseam. She’s grinning wide and accusatory at him by the time Ginger hauls her around the corner and out of his sight, grinning as if glad that he was as big a pervert as she was, growing impossibly excited just by little touches and sweet banter.

Gigi’s not proud but she’ll admit she lost some valuable time staring into space, her mouth watering and her lips pursing at the thought of that little bulge. Staring into space as she waited for first Dinah and then Marie and maybe another to finish with the hall bath under the stairs, staring straight ahead at the paneling thinking about nothing but cock, plain and simple cock beneath a pendulous belly, as if she wasn’t currently occupying a most envied space in one of the most interesting houses in America. The portraits and gilding and artifacts were lost on her, catatonic she just thought of cupping it. She was almost entirely certain that she had been able to make out the fat little head of it beneath his shorts, the cone-like little–

It wasn’t any better in the privacy of the bathroom stripping out of her wet things and trying to rub off the cloying wet to slip into her sundress. Malleable and chilly in that post swim haze that often comes over children and dreamy young twenty years old girls, she meandered out of the bathroom and right into a spitting match.

Ginger Alden had deposited her by the hall bath after dragging her away, only to then leave herself and go upstairs to avail herself of the amenities up there. Only to be gently informed by Sam that those weren’t for her use any longer. Upstairs was for family and intimate circle: boss man said she wasn’t that no more. Boss man himself was in the downstairs room to the side that had once been Gladys’ room, slipping on a comfy tracksuit without the hassle of climbing the stairs, thinking about how Gigi relabeled a baby duckling tucking herself into the hollow of his palm and how he’d like to nuzzle at that fuzzy little head and-

So there was a spitting match going on. It was chiefly between Tammy and Ginger, although Rosemary and Missus added their own hits when the occasion afforded.

“Do your friends not mind you whoring them out for your own personal vendetta, Tammy?” Ginger enunciated very clearly in the front hall, just a few feet from the understairs bathroom.

“I dunno Darlin’, does your mama?” Tammy drawled.

“Where’s her boyfriend hmm? Doesn’t he care she’s throwing herself at another man?”

Gigi cracked open the door and hoped to God maybe the discussion was about Tammy’s house cat and not her.

“She doesn’t have one.”

“Oh great, oh perfect!” Ginger’s bangles rattled as she threw her hands up to the heavens, “Let me guess, she’s a pure as the driven snow virgin too, hmm?”

“If anyone can still be a virgin after getting eye fucked that much in a pool–” Tammy cackles and Gigi winces before slipping out of the bathroom fully and trying to make herself small against the wall.

“Language, young lady!” Mrs. Alden reprimands.

“That’s my fiancé!” Ginger wails, not to her supposed fiancé himself but her rival beauty queen contestant. “She’s all over my fiancé!”

“He sure ain’t all over you for bein’ a fiancé.” Tammy points out without a shred of anxiety over the point, eyeing the damage the pool did to her nails. “Where’s the ring, by the way?”

“Here!” Ginger held up her hand and the massive rock adorning it.

“Nah, I meant like, one he gave ya after that one.” Tammy’s chewing gum smacks with her sentences, “Not the ‘I’m desperately lonely marry me after three weeks and I’ll never mention it again’ ring. I meant like, another one, he’s given you a real promise ring hasn’t he? Oh c’mon he’s gotta, he’s so in looooove! You said so yourself, he’s sooo in loooove he’s gotta be pressin’ you for that date every second and loadin’ your hand up with promise rings. C’mon Ginger, show us, c’mon”

“I'm not above punching you, Tammy Anderson.” Gigi felt in her bones that Ginger meant it and stepped up, trying to gently pry the girls apart in their toe-to-toe verbal sparring just as Elvis issued out of the bedroom clad in a deliciously slouchy baby blue version of the black tracksuit he’d been wearing when they arrived. He looked so soft with his hair drying in tufts and his sideburns too, and the vast expanse of his chest the only cuddly looking thing in this frigid house. The soft tracksuit pants also conformed to every ripple of his steps and jiggle of his obviously unconfined package that was still faintly chubby and Gigi ogles him like he’s the display lollipops in an Ice Cream truck window.

“We have a connection!” Ginger is still protesting to the unfeeling jury that is Tammy’s gum smacking smirk. “A real, soulful connection–”

“–yeah, yeah sure cause reading books on crystals downstairs is a real connection.”

“–you aren’t here for it! you don’t know! We have a soul connection!”

“You sound like you’re talkin’ about someone’s grandpa.” Tammy wheezes, “Like, that’s exactly what some gal who don’t wanna give out talks about, like he’s some ancient little granddaddy and you read him shit while he’s in his rocker–”

“You bi–”

“–because getting treated like a nursing home inmate when he’s in the prime of life has sure gotta help that connection. Lord I’m shocked he hasn’t eloped with you yet, a real keeper.”

Gigi sees Elvis scan the surroundings judiciously before anyone notices he’s entered the main rooms again, clocking everyone’s position and attitude and when they lock eyes over the feuding gal’s heads she can’t help the compulsion she feels to lighten his mood, erase the furrow between his brows. She rolls her eyes over their drama and watches those pillowy cherub lips quirk up in reply.

“I dare you to try to handle what I’ve had to handle with his mood swings and his temper and getting goddamn shot at! I dare ya–”

“Maybe you should take an interest in shootin’ his guns, maybe he won’t point ‘em at you then.” Tammy suggests, “Gigi here’s a pretty good shot, actually. Grew up on her daddy’s big farm.”

Elvis is still smirking at her and she wonders if he is like her, only tiny portions of the conversation actually making it all the way into her ears, too preoccupied with things unsaid to be of any use for public conversation. Watching him walk across the room is only worse, the atmosphere changing as he passes, despite his casual demeanor and bulk he moves with a shocking amount of grace and poise –more than Gigi’s ever noticed another man carry.

“Would y’all like some refreshments?” Mary’s butting into the little squabble with a tray from the kitchen laden with poured up sodas and sweet teas as if anyone needs refreshing in this ice box of a house.

“Cherry Coke? Are you kidding me right now?” Ginger’s voice finally pitches up to near hysteric levels and Mrs. Alden grabs the half empty bottle off the tray to inspect the ingredients as if it’ll give her a recipe for dealing with freckled homewreckers.

“I-I-I didn’t choose it.” Gigi whimpers under Mrs. Alden’s glare, feeling compelled to defend herself under the withering derision.

“Mister Elvis stocked the fridge with ‘em jus’ for her visit.” Mary confirms helpfully with a beaming smile and if Mrs. Alden could turn any more ashen under her pancake makeup than she already is, she’d be positively ghastly.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s out!” Ginger suddenly hisses to her mom, catching sight of what Gigi’s been making bambi eyes at for over three minutes already. It’s amazing how efficiently the ladies put on a mask of decorum for Elvis’ benefit, all simpering smiles and polite acceptance of the drinks. Except in the criss-crossing of arms and the passive aggressive pinching of fingers around bottles on the tray, somehow the Cherry Coke tips over and spills its contents down the light, pretty patterned front of Gigi’s gauzy sundress.

Cherry-pink nipples, pebbled from the cold shock of a refrigerated christening, suddenly replaces anyone's objections regarding Cherry Coke. It’s obscene those breasts of hers, large and pendulous but curving upwards with obstinate perkiness as if preening hopefully for a compliment, salam-sized areolas emblazoning a landing strip for a tongue to lave… or maybe that’s just Elvis’ perception. Maybe they’re just Coke-soaked titties and he’s a gentleman so he disengages from his chat with Hodge about film selections and comes up, solicitously cooing which makes those nipples–somehow–perk even more.

“Elvis, don–”

“You did that on purpose!”

“No, she didn’t!”

“No, I didn’t! Why would I wanna do that?”

Gigi really has to focus. This was worse than her attention span on homework. “Come on, let’s be nice.” She begs the girls, succeeding in pushing Tammy and Ginger apart just a little, which also gives Elvis a clear path to her. She’s so humiliated at this point that when she sees his determined gait towards her and compassionate face as he eyes her chest that she goes to him like a child with an owie that needs fixing, utterly sure he has the anecdote.

“Oh darlin, s’alright, we’ll get ya sorted with somethin’ else to wear.” He behaves so familiarly as he comes up to her and tucks her into his side that she melts into the gesture, following his lead as he steers her away from prying eyes as she willingly follows, not processing that they’re nearing the foot of the stairs, “You brought somethin’ else to wear?”

“This was it.” She whispers in defeat because it was supposed to be a swim date and she only brought along something beyond a scrap of fabric to wear–despite Tammy’s protests–because she suspected rain and being housebound.

“S’alright little dolly, I’ll get ya covered again,” he says very gravely and it makes her shiver, “modesty is a virtue, darlin, glad to see ya have it naturally.”

She stalls at the foot of the stairs, suddenly realizing his intention is to take her up there. Her cheeks flame red at the implication of both being invited to his private space for God knows what purpose and being invited while his supposed girlfriend is barred from such spaces. Everything in her being longs for it but suddenly there is a nagging, a real fear she’s doing wrong somehow and that if she gave into this, it would taint what oughta be a blissful first time in the arms of a man she’s fantasized about for years. It isn’t fair and she wants to stamp her feet, instead she feels her eyes pooling with tears and her lip wobbling and that ole cry baby nickname sure proves its mettle as she drags her feet and makes him pause right before the first step.

“Elvis this isn’t–I’m not comfortable with this–I wanna but–” she stares miserably up at the portrait of a young, golden haired version of himself on the landing and vaguely wonders if his sons would look like that, if anyone were to give him one.

“Oh, naw, naw don’t cry lil one, tell me what’s wrong?” his hands flutter over the outline of her shoulders as if he’s unsure if his touch is welcome. She wants to glue them onto her body but instead she glances back at the crowd behind them that aren’t even bothering to act preoccupied. Elvis gets the message loud and clear. “Aww I see,” he mutters, “let’s step right in here then, fix ya up with somethin’ at least. Won’t be nice and girlish like intended,” he sounds like he’s moping a bit but he leads her towards the room he went into to change into his tracksuit, sidestepping their onlookers, “but it’ll keep ya cozy. And ya won’t have to go to no bachelors room alone, keep ya reputation all clean.” He loads Gigi’s clouded concerns with heavy amounts of motivation and moralisms she’s never even considered but she doesn’t care as she savors the feel of his hand on her waist, guiding her to a lavender-shaded room.

On the purple quilt of the solitary bed lies a rumpled tracksuit jacket, the one he’d been wearing when they first arrived and Gigi seizes it lovingly, like a child might a long lost stuffy, holding it to her nose and smelling it. To her relief it’s every bit as musky as she hoped. Maybe that way she can be surrounded by him without making an absolute fool of herself. Elvis watches her bury her tear stained face in his old jacket and has to heave in a breath to steady himself. There’s something akin to the adoring fan about Gigi that unsettles him but coupled with that unique irreverence she showed him in the pool, he could craft something here, from this young girl, something that would fill the slot he needs filled so badly.

She might as well be a child, his own Yisa, her eyes are so vulnerable when she raises her head and meets his, jacket still clutched to her chin.

“Ya can wear it.” He affirms, helpless in the face of it, addicted to the beaming smile that catches and spreads across her face like wildfire at his permission, despite the watery red rimmed evidence of her turmoil. “Use it, put it on, that’s right, be all right. That’s a good girl.” He cups her freckled cheek, making sure to keep his fat gut far away from her and she burrows into his palm again, hungry for touch and he remembers now that her so-called parents are cold fucks who don’t care about the fact their daughter is alone in a room with him. Maybe if they did she would be more carefree. “You scared of me, lil one?” he asks gently, thumbing at a dappled cheekbone and swiping down to those plush lips he wants to acquaint with his own. All in due time. For now, “You scared of me?”

“No sir!” She gasps, terribly pressed to make him understand her conflicting emotions, “I just worry–Ginger! We shouldn’t be–not if she–I don’t know.” She trails off and is back to crying again and it affects him strongly, far more than female tears usually do.

“Listen to me, baby girl,” he tilts her chin up to his face solemnly, his tone and commanding the utmost respect and she listens reverently. “This is my house; I can do as I please in it, and so can my guests. Now, some folks don’t wanna be my guests ‘till they sniff a competitor. What you and I got lil one, it’s pure and it’s good, ya feel it baby?” And Gigi did indeed feel him run those ring clad fingers over her face like a hypnotist, mapping out each feature and dragging her eyelids shut momentarily. She didn’t know what she felt except for starving hunger and utter surrender. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with our connections, and we ain’t gonna let the world tell us otherwise, are we, darlin’?”

Gigi felt his fingers trailing over her lips, pulling the blush bottom one away from her teeth before trailing further down, back to her chin, releasing it with a wet pop. She sucked in a noisy breath and whimpered in her exhale.

“Tell me ya feel it, come on sugar, if ya feel it, let ya daddy know.”

Gigi would have blamed some substance laced into her drink for the way her body reels like a mind controlled little mouse, except that she was wearing said drink and she could recognize what he was doing but was powerless to argue against it. He could have asked for her help to bury a body at this moment and she would have complied. She had long been prepared to be accepted and wanted for being smart, she had no equipping for how to navigate or negotiate with an established man who found her desirable. It sent her reeling. It set her alight.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm, whas’ tha’?” he coos, his hand sliding to her throat and squeezing a little.

“I -I feel it, sir. Elvis, I, I feel you.” Gigi gasps, tilting towards him only to find him withdrawing now he has her. Playing at cat and mouse when all she wishes for is to be a willing sacrifice, laid out for a hungry god to devour. “Please I feel you!” she pleads, trying to regain him but something has switched in him, he is confident and commanding–and a little cold as he steps back.

“That’s a good girl.” He commends and she shudders again. “You get dressed, then come on out and I wanna see ya wide eyed and bushy tailed for some fun. Ain’t gonna let the bastards ruin our day, are we?”

“No sir!–I mean, yes sir, to–to the first part–” Gosh, she’s adorable and her breasts are huge and ought to be held.

First things first, he’s gotta kick some asses. He tries to put on his most kindly face before backing out of the room and shutting the door fully again to give her privacy. When he turns around, it’s like the Spanish Inquisition in his own living room.

“E’eryone currently in this house,” Elvis speaks low and measured when he is in the midst of them, his index finger pointing to the hollowed foundations of his home, “is here at my pleasure and ‘cause I invited ‘em to create a lil fun. Anyone who ain’t willin’ or able to aid in that endeavor needs to go right now. I mean it. I don’t want no bullshit today, gonna deal with schedules and tour dates and all that bullshit another time. I want some fun. That’s all I’m askin’ for, e’ryone’s actin’like it’s hard as hell to have a good time. It ain’t. Just don’t be bitches. That goes for men and women.”

And with this admonition, having said his piece and politely ignored the inflammatory presence of the young lady currently stripping out of her soda soaked dress and donning the silky material of his tracksuit jacket.

“Charlie, Ricky,” he addresses them, “one o’vya go an’ grab some tapes, bring ‘em up here and we’ll have a vote on what movie we’re gonna watch.”

Ricky bounds out of sight and down to the basement with an alacrity that Elvis feels proves he has something to make amends for. With this brief interlude of quiet, Elvis sits himself down in his chair and enjoys a bout of smirking eye contact with Mrs. Alden that leaves the estimable lady shaking in an impotent rage across from him, so much so her vibrations rattle the opulent necklace around her neck. One he happens to have bought for her.

Next girl he tries his luck with will be motherless. Or nearly. He’s had it with courtin’ the family and not getting shit thanks in return for it. Well, that ain’t fully true, Linda’s people are good people. He’s reminded of that as Sam sits down next to him and asks if Elvis wants him to run to get some more refreshments. Ice cream, he suggests, and Elvis would have voiced his approbation of the idea if Ricky had not landed back in the room with a hamper full of film reels at the same moment the opposite door opens and out comes Gigi.

Elvis underestimated the length of those legs of hers. His tracksuit jacket just barely covers what he prays to God are swim panties under that thing. As is, there’s miles of track-sculpted and sun-caressed stems on display and they go on and on, all the way down to the pretty little footsies with the French-tip pedicures and–God help him, before this he never noticed the anklet. Suddenly it’s all he can see, that dainty gold chain encircling her delicate bones and graceful sinews the way his hand oughta be if there was any justice left in the world. When he tears his eyes away from the sight all he’s left with is the sight of her, freshly pool scrubbed and clean wearing just his jacket. Or to all appearances, just his jacket.

“That poor girl was cussing me out and praying I die the other night.” Tammy’s voice shakes him, she’s gotten so near without him noticing, lost as he watches Gigi pour over the selections of movies Ricky brought up. With the way she’s bending over he can only be grateful that she’s got her ass facing a wall and her front zipper fully zipped to the chin. Otherwise Ricky would be dead for having such prime seating.

“Not that lil innocent baby.” He disagrees, sure of it even though Tammy seems to be warming up to a business pitch.

“Oh yes she was!” Tammy Anderson insists, “Praying mighty hard for my downfall and in turn askin’ that a ‘daddy’ somebody would ‘give it to her’ good.” She sips noisily on her straw while leaving Elvis to aspirate on his spit.

“Bless me.” he mutters while patting down his pants for a cigar, unable to take his eyes off both Gigi and Sam–the latter to make sure he’s at a good enough distance not to hear this.

“The problem was,” Tammy goes on serenely, “at least as far as I can make it out, the problem was she thought I was getting to stay the night with her childhood hero while she got sent home like a little girl.”

“She is a little girl.”

“Is she though?” Tammy scrunches her nose and Elvis is reminded why he’s not going after this one. Too worldly wise for her own good. “Or just enough?” she adds in a way that makes his cheeks burn.

“I don’t need you helpin’ me feel like a dirty ole man when I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve it, Tammy Anderson. You mind your own garden.”

“Damnation, you’re such a gentleman, Elvis!” she laughs loudly which attracts a glare from Ginger for it, “Using all those lofty metaphors while shamin’ me at the same time. Hell of a talent ya got there, ole man.”

“Tammy, I like you,” Elvis begins gravely and Tammy straightens her spine and her mouth trembles with suppressed mirth which attracts even Gigi’s attention from the far corner, “but I like you from a distance. Don’t tempt me to make that distance a hell of a lot greater, you hard up bleached thicket lil hussy.”

Tammy’s eyes go wide and for a minute it seems she struggles to breathe till peal after peal of raucous laughter greets his cutting remark the way it was intended. She’s pretty when she smiles, Elvis can admit, damn dazzlin’ in the bright white of day but it’s like a shark. His eyes drift back to the bambi his heart is set on and watches with a growing frown as she and Ricky tug at one of the films, neither seeming ready to relinquish it.

“What’s goin on?” Elvis demands in a booming voice that can carry to the far reaches of a stadium and is downright deafening in the closed spaces of his home.

Everyone freezes at it and Gigi looks like she’s just seen God on Mount Sinai from his tone alone, so Elvis endeavors to clear his frown and gestures for Charlie to sort it out. By it he means Ricky. The hell is the kid thinkin’?–Playin’ tug o' war with his damn films? And with a guest! His guest!

No sooner does Charlie walk over to the two young folks before suddenly they are allies, when Gigi relinquishes it to Ricky in her moment of fear, Ricky dodges Hodge and when Hodge pursues, Gigi makes a waving motion behind ole Charlie’s back:

“Ricky, Ricky give it here!” Gigi hollers, hands up and body elongated to catch the boxed-up reel like a football at the end zone. The move flashes a peek of white swimsuit bottoms underneath the inadequate jacket. Elvis groans around his as yet unlit cigar. He’s still ineffectually patting his pockets for a light when Gigi makes the catch and for that split second she’s holding it, Elvis gets a glimpse of the slipcover. And of all the movies she coulda gotten her hands on-

Elvis is up and rushing at her before he can even think about what he’s prepared to do, how far he’ll push this, the only thing he can think of besides the acres of honey toned skin caressed by his jacket, is that sweet little baby Gigi is holding his copy of Deepthroat.

“Lil girl!” he growls at her and the way her eyes fly wide as saucers makes him think she’s actually terrified of him right before she breaks into a grin and spins on her heel, headed out the room on those track hardened legs.

He chases, ‘cause of course–what else was there to do?

“Lil girl, you give that here!” he feels the disadvantages of his bulk in this hot pursuit but it’s been awhile since the last tour and his knees have recovered in the time off and it ain’t so bad, he’s still flexible and he’s still got stamina for all that his joints feel like they got hot coals in them most times. Every painful jog is worth it for the happy shrieks she lets out as he lumbers behind her, intent on a takedown.

She’s barely gotten to the foyer and stalls for a brief moment to contemplate taking sanctuary in the kitchen or music room when suddenly she feels the jolting contact of his hands on her waist. It’s fast and grabbing and not a light touch, she’s being gripped and tugged and squeezed by those large, hot, unyielding hands before being spun and tackled to the ground.

Soft carpet and his hand cradles her head, keeping the landing from being too harsh. But even if she’d snapped her neck, Gigi would still be acutely conscious of the feel of him, all of him, so much of him, thrumming with such potent aliveness atop her that she feels herself catch fire at it, her own pulse syncing with his, heightened instantly. It’s brief, horribly brief, that instant of complete contact with his entire weight smothering her, but it’s intoxicating for life. He’s sweaty, even in this freezing house and after so little exertion, he’s sweaty and warm and he smells both so wonderfully clean and manly at the same time she wants to moan. Maybe she does, she isn’t sure, all she knows is that she does fuss, like a clingy baby, she fusses at the way he immediately props his top half up and away from her.

It makes him pause.

Unable to express anything right now except that she will be heartbroken if he pulls away, that it would be worse than those stupid little love pats Ginger gives him if he acts cold now that she’s felt his warmth, felt what he can offer her. Shelter, stability, satisfaction.

She takes advantage of his pause to wrap her legs up and around his hips, caging him in, defiantly attached.

“Don’t leave me now.” She begs softly, unable to keep up with the game of it all. If she wanted that uncertainty she could just go home.

“Oh, Gigi.” He whispers, sounding almost heartbroken, seeing in her vulnerable eyes and clingy neediness a glimpse of his old self.

Flashes of memories and rejections flood his mind, dashing home from school to find she moved, dashing back from tour to find her dancing with another man, invited back to her place just to get shoved into a glass coffee table and breaking the thing with his poor back, finding her fuckin’ the man he paid to teach her how to defend herself… he’s tired, but he remembers how it used to feel, how it used to nearly strangle him, all that youthful hope.

The film reel slips from her nerveless hand, no longer the subject of interest anymore, and she brings it to his face instead, stroking his cheek with all the lingering fondness of someone who wouldn’t rather do anything else at this moment. Elvis wishes he had such restraint, his breath puffs heavily as he tries to keep it contained and not gasp and huff atop her like some lumbering oaf, trying to keep his fat gut up away from the beauteous length of her, but she winds her arms about his neck and tugs him down despite his playful protests and stiff necked obstinance.

If she wants a kiss, she can fight for it, same as the girls at his concerts.

She can feel him slowly bending to her will, hunched over her in an attempt to keep from smothering her and she isn’t having it. She’s not a small or frail little thing, she’s an athlete and she uses it to her advantage, interlocking her legs around his waist and registering with searing satisfaction that his interest for her is dangling heavy and drippy in the silky hammock of his tracksuit pants.

Her sharp smile could rival Tammy’s at this confirmation and with a pounding heart Gigi cranes her head off the carpet and leans, closer and closer to him till her eyes go cross eyed focusing on the cupid's bow of his pouty lips and she can feel the hot puff of his breaths on her lips and–

–the rascal ducks his head to the side at the last minute and burrows that marshmallow mouth in her neck before blowing raspberries into the ticklish skin there.

As if his sending her home, his coddling of her in the pool and his distance in the bedroom had not made her feel like an absolute child, this last bit truly did. To the point where the endearing aspect of his blowing on her neck was lost in the heartbreaking need for assurance. Bucking and writhing beneath his tickles she gasped and begged and thrashed while never once letting go of her hold on his hips with her legs, keeping him near, his belly heavy and solid on top of her butterfly-filled one.

“Darlin’, stop buckin’ like that, ain’t decent.” He took a break from this torture to remonstrate as if he wasn’t to blame.

“Then kiss me.” She breathes out a challenge.

Now it happened that around this time, Jerry Schilling found himself free of commitments to Brian and his Beach Boys and, finding himself in Memphis, decided to call on an old friend and benefactor. Despite what his boss often insisted, Jerry was not an idiot, and so as he opened the front door to Graceland on this gloomy and sticky summer day he came equipped for any and all moods–his muscular arms bulging out of his thin t-shirt under the strain of carrying numerous, loaded bags of steaming Barbecue from Elvis’ favorite local pit.

Jerry Schilling had walked in on many a scene in the course of his run with Elvis Presley, temper tantrums and ecstatic jubilees and the unforgettable instance where a certain chimp was beating off against a poor gals shin much to the drunk audience’s amusement, the air thick with hooting and hollering and cigar smoke–and female shame.

But nothing, nothing had been quite as bizarre as what he saw this day when stepping into the foyer ready for anything–or so he thought. What he didn’t prepare for was the sight of his usually rather decorous boss laying atop a leggy young thing, grappling and necking her like a teenager, and getting it back in spades, which was a little more shocking considering his recent state. Whoever was under him was a moaner and more surprising still was the fact Elvis wasn’t shutting her up, or even getting up off the floor since–and here’s where it got bizarre–they weren’t remotely alone in the place. Or even the room.

Although, unlike that ill fated and depraved chimp, the two horndogs swapping spit on the floor don’t have much of a captivated audience, though Jerry bets they were captivated or at least attentive to the floor shenanigans at one point. That was before the fighting and clawing and kicking and scratching and screaming and–holy shit, Ginger and a bleach blonde are clawing at each other like they’re in for blood, Mrs. Alden beating the gal with her purse in defense of her daughter while Dodger smokes her pipe on the couch keeping Mr. Alden captive by her side with a death glare through the smokey haze of tobacco. Sam Thompson remains wringing his mouth, standing unsure beside Charlie and Ricky who can’t seem to believe what’s going on down on the foyer floor at Jerry’s feet.

It would seem Ginger’s out, and Miss Leggy is in. And Jerry suddenly feels the weight of the barbecue and the whole world pulling on his shoulders as he goes to aid Rosemary in pulling the girls apart, figuring that’s probably the one thing he can do here and not get his head bitten off by Elvis for it.

It’s easier said than done what with Mrs Alden’s purse pummeling the blonde, Ginger’s last vestiges of despairing pain and the blonde’s shockingly strong core when he grabs her from the back and tries to haul her up and away. Blondie kicks at Ginger’s face one last time and succeeds at landing a blow to the nose by the time Jerry staggers back with her somewhat restrained, feeling like he’s cradling a mountain lion to his chest. She’s shredding his forearms with her acrylics and, unsatisfied with the bloody damage she’s done, this little hottie grabs at the bags still hanging from his arms and begins to throw sticky, juicy, red globs of smoked meat at her grade school nesmises.

“Let me at her, ya goddamn sunnuvabitch!” Tammy screams, head butting him to try to make him let her go–and Jerry finds himself feeling a little funny, like the feeling his folks told him to look for when ‘the one’ wandered into his life looking like sunshine and smelling like a spring day washline and holding daisies. Except that ‘the one’ is a dangerous bottle blonde with a foul mouth and his skin cells under her fingernails.

God moves in mysterious ways.

Speaking of, no sooner has he gripped this chick right enough to preserve some flesh on his arm when he hears Elvis voice booming:

“Enough with the goddamn food! For fucks sake, Tammy! Enough! Ginger put that down or so help me–”

Everyone may want to kill each other in this room but no one, absolutely no one, wants to see Elvis grab a gun. And so, just like that, utter quiet and peace is restored.

He looks quite impressive for a man in a tented tracksuit and ruffled hair, a man who just got off the floor with a grunt and creak of his knees, no doubt. But that don’t matter now, none of those human things apply when The King is pissed. And holy shit, Jerry thinks he’s rarely seen him so angry–it’s that chilly blue suppressed sorta fury that freaks the boys out more than the hotel room trashing fits of red rage.

“Jerrah, the hell’s goin’ on throwin’ food in ma house?”

Jerry looks down at the blonde in his arms and his shredded forearms hoping Elvis will maybe take pity. Unlikely. And so he man’s up with, “Sorry boss, so sorry, we’ll get it cleaned up ‘fore ya know it-“

“Goddamn right y’all will.” Elvis seethes and Jerry sees the pretty young thing he had under him shrink behind him in the foyer at this glimpse of his wrath. As if sensing her movement with those eyes in the back of his head that only Elvis Presley seems blessed with, the boss man pulls himself together with all the haughty showmanship that only he can possess and holds his finger up as if to freeze everyone in their current position before turning around to his little sweetie.

“Baby girl, I want you to go outside an’ get in the passenger seat of the Stutz, a’right?” Elvis directs and underlying it is the explanation that the ugly work of throwing out her predecessor ain’t for her pretty eyes to witness or sweet lil ears to hear. “Lamar’s probably still eatin’ in the kitchen, ya can get the keys from him.”

A whimper sounds from behind him, and it’s Ginger’s. The genuine pain of the sound makes Gigi waiver, a pained look of sympathy and torn intentions flashing across her face. Then his ringed hand cups her fresh young cheek and it seals her fate, submissive as a lamb she melts into that touch, and her eyes drift back to his. They’re so sure, those burning sapphire eyes of his, so sure of where her future is and so intense in their intention for it. Someone who looks so beautiful can’t be as cruel as he feels capable of, surely? Surely.

Jerry watches Gigi’s bare feet patter to the kitchen, looking like a kid shuffling to time out in their dad’s jacket. He can’t think on it for too long because as soon as Elvis hears the suction of the back door opening and closing he turns around to the mosh pit that his living room had become.

“When I get back,” he's addressing those of his boys present–they know he is– and Jerry considers himself one of them still, “I expect this mess,” he gesticulates to the spattered food and his once intended in-laws with a single, bejeweled, disdainful finger, “tidied up.”

It’s not until he too has disappeared out back amidst deathly quiet in the living room that Jerry realizes he’s still holding Tammy Anderson. Not that he can think on it for long. Not when he has a PR nightmare sized mess to clean up.

Hopefully Elvis’s drive is worth it.

Taglist: (let me know if you’d like to be added)

@prompted-wordsmith

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #big daddy elvis fic #big daddy elvis #big daddy elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis one shot #70’s elvis #elvis x you #army elvis #elvis x reader #elvis smut #austin elvis smut #elvis photos #elvis fic #elvis fanfic au #elvis au #austin elvis fluff #70s elvis #elvis 2022

[dreamingofep]

Sinned Awakening pt. 13 🩸🩸🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/Vampire Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: No

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you fear the unknown. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, angst, physical/ verbal abuse, smut, sub/dom play, mentions of blood/gore 🩸

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9K

A/N: Hello everyone!

Welcome to part 13! Twists and turns are coming your way and hope you like this chapter. I loved writing this portion and hope you do too. I was so conflicted on how to end this part because I could have easily kept going! So prepare for the next chapter to answer some very important questions that have been weighing on reader's mind...

A reminder, this is Vampire!Elvis so there is going to be mentions of blood/gore from here on out. If that's not your thing, sorry but it's needed for the story.

If you'd like to start from the beginning, start here 🩸

I hope you enjoy and message and comment what you think!🖤

You manage to put on some pajamas and lay down for a bit, trying to subside the dizziness that’s in your head. You knew that none of this was going to be easy and you needed to show him patience. You were glad he opened up to you more, it showed he trusted you. The spinning head wasn’t going away and you stumble to the bar to get a bottle of water and drink as much as you can to help you get less inebriated. The need for sleep made you collapse back on the bed and close your eyes as soon as your head hit the pillow. With everything that’s been happening, you haven’t gotten the best sleep lately, and knew that wasn’t good for you. You had to take better care of yourself. You let yourself fall into a deep sleep and weren’t worried if you missed the after-party.

*

You can hear the suite getting filled with loud voices and you lazily stretch underneath the blankets. You’re slightly confused as to how you ended up underneath the blankets and all but you shouldn’t be surprised that it was probably Elvis who checked on you and did this. You wanted to get out there and mingle with the rest of the party. It was well after two a.m. and you got a really decent nap in. There wasn’t going to be anyone you knew at the party so that left you with having to be with Elvis most of the night. In all honesty, you liked it that way. At least you didn’t have to be on edge and just got to enjoy the night.

You put on another outfit that is very eye-catching with a lower cut halter neck dress that accentuates your body well and is a bit shorter than what you would normally wear. You liked how it made you feel though; powerful and sexy. You freshen up your makeup and put on some red lipstick. There was something about tonight that made you feel new and confident. Maybe it was because Elvis was actually trying and was listening to you for the first time since knowing him. You also make sure your hair falls on the left side of your neck, covering the bruise there. It wasn’t as noticeable today and thankfully it was disappearing but you still didn’t want any questioning eyes to see it. 

Putting on a pair of heels, you make your way out into the main area of the suite. Music fills the air and lively chat buzzes among the crowd. You feel dozens of eyes and you feel your cheeks redden. You make a beeline to the bar and get some more water. Trying to get through the bustling crowd, you find an easy path along the window and gaze out at the dazzling city beneath you.

The city was stunning, with thousands of lights shining in this otherwise dark lonesome desert. Every blinking light of a hotel’s marquee made your eyes grow in awe. You had never seen the city like this. You never had the luxury of staying in a hotel here in Vegas. You were only able to work in one and now things were different. Everything felt different. Your life because of Elvis was just like this view. Dazzling and star strikingly beautiful. Whatever it was, you felt like you may be able to handle this newfound world you have found yourself in and might be able to handle having Elvis in your life. It felt right to have him there with you and you wanted to keep it that way.

Your daydreaming gets interrupted when you feel a tap on your shoulder. It was Jerry again, cracking a smile at you before speaking. 

“He wants to see you,” he informs. 

“Mhmm, where is he?” 

“He’s by the front door, I’ll take you to him,” he says before turning to make his way through the crowd. 

You bump and push your way through the sea of people until you finally see him sitting in his normal chair looking breathtaking as usual. He looked like he just got out of the shower, his hair still slightly damp but brushed back to show his beautiful face. 

He once again wore black pants, a black button-up with white cherry blossoms running up it, and a silver belt with turquoise on it. He knew exactly how to dress to make himself look more attractive than humanly possible. You can’t take your eyes off of him, so in awe of his presence.

He stands up when he sees you, smiling at your new outfit. 

“Hi darlin’,” he coos. You blush at his words and look up into those soft eyes. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to not blush when he calls you a pet name. 

“Hi,” you say softly. 

“How do you look even better than the last time I saw you?” He says cheekily. He steps closer, going to hug you but restrains himself and puts his arms back by his side. 

You smile at the small gesture of control and grab his arms and wrap them around your waist. You too wrap your arms around his neck, feeling the soft tresses at the base of his neck, and twist them around your finger. 

“You can hug me, it’s okay,” you tell him, watching his mouth form into a soft smile. 

He pulls you in closer, running his hands along your back. 

“Mmm, thank you. I needed this,” he whispers, placing a kiss on the top of your head and smoothing the back of your hair with his hand. 

“How did your shows go?” You ask looking up at him, still holding him against your chest.  

“They went well. The crowds were really loud tonight it was amazing,” he gushes. 

“That’s great honey. Any panties get thrown at you tonight?” You tease. 

He laughs at your silly question and shakes his head. “Yes, quite a few but you know I don’t care for that. If it was you throwing them at me, that would be a different story,” he quips, biting his lip as he looks over you. 

You can’t help but smile at his cheeky comment and place your finger on his lips. 

“You’re being bad. You said you’d be good,” you quip. 

“Hmm, what a terrible thing to make me promise. I guarantee you like me when I’m on my worst behavior too,” he smirks. 

“Occasionally…” you jest, pushing him away from your body. You can tell he doesn’t like that you pushed him away but tries to not make a fuss about it. 

“Sit down honey, please,” he gestures to the seat behind him. You gladly take a seat but don’t sit all the way back in the chair, looking up at Elvis as you cross your legs. You watch as his eyes gravitate toward your exposed legs with the dress cinched up when you sat down. You attempt to pull down the dress to cover a bit of your thighs and he looks at you amused. 

“What are you looking at?” You ask mischievously. 

“Nothing,” he smiles. 

“What are you thinking about then?” You prompted. 

“Nothing good I assure you,” he teases. “ Just looking at those pretty legs of yours.”

“Mmhmm, figures,” you quip, hitting the side of his leg and shaking your head at him. 

Someone brings you a glass of champagne and you take a sip, you normally don’t like champagne but you decide to try it for the fun it. You take a sip and love the fizzy taste of it in your tongue. The more sips you take the more you like it. You realize you haven’t ever had good champagne before. You remember you tried some for your twenty-first birthday and it was the cheap kind at a restaurant down the street from here and it was awful. This was the complete opposite and you liked it. 

You suddenly hear Elvis chuckling to himself and shoot him a confused look. 

“What are you laughing at?”

“You. I’m going to have to carry you to bed after this hmm?” He taunts. 

“I’m not going to let it get that out of hand,” you tell him snickering. 

“Okay baby whatever you say,” he mumbles. “How was your nap?” He continues. 

“It was quite nice and drank plenty of water. Woke up feeling good as new,” you wink. “How are you feeling?” 

“Very good. I haven’t had any cravings… so I think that’s a good thing so far,” he cracks a smile telling you this. He carefully tucks your hair behind your ear, making sure to not make too much contact with your skin. 

“I’m glad you made it to the party. I thought you for sure would be out for the rest of the night,” he chuckled. “Did you do anything else while I was gone?” He says, his voice slightly accusatory. 

You knew he knew what was going on after that kiss. The alcohol got to your head and your body betrayed every last ounce of control that you had. It seemed you also needed to work on your control with him. You were going to blame it on the alcohol and the ungodly amount of sex appeal that was dripping off of him wearing that black velvet suit. How you wish you could have torn it off of him and have him do countless naughty things with you.

You look up at him with innocent eyes and a smile, “nothing much. Definitely not anything you wanted to see,” you quip. He blinks at you dumbfounded, a smile creaking out from those soft lips.

A rumble forms in his chest and and looks around the crowd then moves in front of you, blocking you from everyone else in the room. He uncrosses your legs and spreads them slightly, his hands burning on your skin the tighter he squeezes them and pushes you back in the chair. He props his bent knee in between your legs and takes your chin in his hand. 

“Do you have any idea how hard you make all of this on me? You ask me to have control around you but it’s literally impossible. Because you are the world's biggest tease. The way you look, the way you smell…it all beckons me to come and ruin you,” he growls, pushing the top of his thigh to your core. 

You suck in a sharp breath as you feel the added pressure there, looking down to see his hand carefully scrunching up the material of your dress, exposing your panties to him. He smugly looks down at you, placing both of his hands on the chair’s arms, and hunching over you. 

You know he’s doing everything to try and gain control but this is exactly what can’t happen. You can’t have him take a chance of him losing control with you. 

“A taste of your own medicine then…I know I’m making it difficult… but you can’t always get your way with me.” You protest. His eyes grow dark as he looks at you, looking over you with hunger. 

He puts more pressure on you making you groan, 

“Is that so… how unfortunate for you. Because I always get what I want,” he grumbles. 

You have to fight every urge to pull him into the bedroom with the way he’s looking at you.  

Your breathing begins to quicken and your eyes wander down his body. Your fingertips graze over his chest, down his torso, and stop when you reach his belt. He stares at you with caution and you proceed to graze his bulge, making him take a sharp breath. 

“Well then, tonight will be the first night you stay dissatisfied,” you say running your fingers back up his body. 

This only makes him more frustrated and he begins to rub the top of his thigh on your core more. You let a gasp escape your mouth, unable to hide how good the friction feels. 

“And you say I lie too much. Look at yourself, lying to me right now. Fighting every last drop of need you have for me,” he coos, his voice like smooth honey in your ear. Your hips involuntarily buck up on him and your legs squeeze around his, letting out a pleased groan when he watches you do this. Just his voice alone has you wet and aching for him.

“Mhmm, look at you, trying to ride my thigh, you naughty, naughty girl. Not keeping your promises now hmm,” he teases. 

“Elvis, please. I’m human, with human desires… this is just cruel what you’re doing. Not to mention, in a room with dozens of people,” you sigh, feeling his leg move again, making your eyes roll back. 

“I’m being good. I would love to have my fingers stuffed inside you but I don’t. Having the utmost control right now,” he grins, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip. You groan at him, unable to fight the need you have for this man.

“Goddamn it… you just have to have everything your way don’t you?” You grumble, feeling the wetness in your panties begin to pool. You buck your hips again, grinding onto him and you bite your lip, holding back a deep groan. 

“It’s so much better when it’s done my way, honey,” he snickers, caressing your face and making you grow weaker by the second. Those blue eyes pierce into yours and you put your hand back on his belt, pulling his hips closer. 

“You’re not going to get to touch me. No matter how much you tease. You need to prove to me you have enough control over your thirst,” you sigh. 

You keep grinding your hips onto his leg and bite your lip looking at him. Your hand squeezes his bulge and he lets out a loud groan. You rub your hand along his length and he looks down at what you’re doing. 

“Fucking hell woman. You better stop,” he reprimands. 

You keep teasing, rubbing him more, liking to hear the moans escaping his lips as your hips move on him. You shake your head no at him and continue to taunt him. Your breathing quickens and your core begins to throb. You pull at his pants button and look up at him deviously. 

“Your pants are looking a little tight. How bad would it be if I unzipped them a little?” You tease. His hand tightens on the chair's arm and his chest heaves. 

“Very. Very bad. To the point where you’d leave me no choice but to pin you down with your face against the sheets and fuck you all night.” He says through his teeth. Your heart gallops at that salacious thought, knowing he would do such a thing to you. 

You stare up at him, your eyes unwavering and your fingers push the button on his pants, sliding the zipper ever so slowly. He looks down at your hand and groans softly. 

“Excuse me, Elvis, we have a problem,” one of his men announces a few feet away. 

His entire body stiffens when he hears the voice. He grumbles frustrated and throws daggers at you when he zips and buttons his pants again before turning around. You quickly straighten out your dress and proceed to look with curiosity at what is going on. 

“What could possibly be so important,” he growls, straightening out his stature and his chest heaving, making him look menacing. 

“He’s looking for her, sir. He’s causing a commotion downstairs.” He says matter of factly. 

Elvis turns around to look at you, anger blaring in his eyes. 

You stand up quickly, “Do you mean Daniel? He’s here looking for me?” You ask hesitantly. 

The man nods his head at you then looks back at Elvis, “What do you want us to do?” He asks him. 

“Let me take care of it. If I’m the one he wants to see, let me tell him to leave,” you say quickly before Elvis can answer. 

“Absolutely not, I’m not letting him anywhere near you,” he growls. 

“I guarantee you, he won’t go away, so let me just tell him to leave me alone for once and for all.” You say sternly. Elvis clenched his jaw and looks disapprovingly at you. 

“I’m going down there with you then. I’m not taking any chances,” he seethes. 

“Fine but stay out of sight. I don’t want him to make a bigger scene if he sees you with me,” you instruct. 

You know he doesn’t like it but he nods his head and agrees. You both make your way to the elevator and nerves make your stomach turn as it makes its way down to the lobby. You had no idea what you were walking into but knew Daniel was not going to be happy at all. You knew he had a bad temper. Regardless of whether he was drinking, he could light off like a bottle rocket. You’re sure he saw all your things gone and not to mention the cut telephone lines and was going to demand an explanation.

The ding of the elevator makes you jump out of your skin and Elvis steps in front of you before you’re able to step out. You look into his eyes, they look like they’re on fire and his intense energy makes you shiver.

“I’ll be right here, I can be there in a flash if you need,” he assures. You nod your head and he steps aside and you make your way through the busy lobby. You walk cautiously, scanning the crowd until you see the back of Daniel’s head by the front revolving doors of the hotel. A couple of Elvis’ men are behind him keeping an eye on him. 

“What are you doing here?” You bark, taking quick strides towards him. Seeing him here makes your blood boil and you want him away from you as quickly as possible. 

He turns around and is shocked at what you’re wearing. He scoffs at you and makes a few steps toward you. 

“I could ask you the same question. I come home to find your closet completely empty. I deserve an explanation!” He says, raising his voice louder at you. 

“I already told you. I’m done. You’ve cheated countless of times on me and I don’t love you anymore,” you seethe. 

He looks at you in shock, his face not hiding any emotion from you. 

“How could you say that?! After everything you’re just going to leave me?” He grumbles.

“Absolutely. And it’s one of the easiest things I’ve ever done,” you seethe.

“You’re unbelievable. Where would you even go? You couldn’t afford a place here by yourself,” he spats. Anger boils within you and you can’t hide any of your feelings anymore. 

“Here with Elvis. He’s letting me stay with him,” you throw in his face. 

His face suddenly turns gaunt and stares at you mortified. 

“You can’t stay with him. You have no idea what he’s capable of,” he whispers, taking a few steps toward you. You look at him confused and don’t say anything right away. 

Does he know? How the hell does he know what Elvis is?

“I know he’s capable of empathy, something you lack. At least he cares that I’m around,” you spat. 

He starts laughing, covering his mouth with his hands, and looks at you in shock. 

“Oh I see what’s going on here, he’s giving you attention and you think he’s going to keep you around? You have no idea what he’ll do to you once he gets tired of you,” He says menacingly. You’ve had enough of his crass behavior and ball your fists at your side, taking slow breaths from your nose before speaking again.

You regroup and give him a snide little smile, shaking your head at him, “oh honey, he gives me a lot more than just his attention,” you insinuate, watching his face turn mortified yet again, “I go to him begging for things you could never give me,” you say through your teeth. 

Daniel’s eyes light up and he looks at you in horror. 

“You’re not serious… You let that thing touch you,” he says disgustedly.

You smirk at him, “Yeah, and I can’t get enough,” you taunt. He looks at you mortified and puts his hand on his forehead, backing up from you.

You stare at him in disgust, waiting for him to say anything else crass. Before you know it, he quickly lunges toward you and raises his hand, slapping you clean across your face. 

The pain of the slap radiates across your cheek and part of your nose. You grunt when the pain spreads more and you cover your cheek with your own hand. You stumble a bit, knocked by the force of his hand. You are in utter shock, in absolute disbelief he laid his hands on you like this. You see in the corner of your eye Elvis’ men start to lunge at him as you continue to stagger away.

“You stupid fucking bitch! Do you have any idea what he is?! What he can do-,” he yells at you but suddenly gets cut off mid-sentence.

You go to look up at him and in a blink, Elvis is in front of you, his body separating you two, and his hand is gripped tightly around Daniel’s neck. He gasps for air and claws at Elvis’ forearm. 

“You’re a piece of shit you know that?! How dare you even think of touching her! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t snap your neck right here,” he seethes. You feel a hand pull you back from the two fuming men, turning to see it’s Jerry with concern in his eyes. You take a few steps back and tremble, not knowing what’s about to unfold before you. 

“You can’t … do this,” Daniel’s chokes out. 

Elvis cocks his head at him, “Do what? This?” He says as his hand tightens around his neck. Daniel grunts, gasping for breath. 

“You can’t compel… her to stay with you… you’re gonna kill her” he gasps. 

Elvis chuckles at him, “Oh you think I need to compel her to stay with me? You stupid fucking human,” he taunts. 

Daniel hits and pulls at his arm, needing to get air. He tries to twist his neck from Elvis’ grip but there’s no point. Elvis is too strong for him and it looks like he’s not even trying.

“Raphael isn’t going tolerate this. You… can’t keep her and draw more attention to yourself,” he rasps. 

“Go on and tell Raphael. Tell him how I have her all to myself and don’t plan on letting her go any time soon,” he snaps. 

“You’re gonna kill her if you do-,” he chokes out.

“I can take better care of her than you ever did, you pathetic excuse for a man.” 

You watch as Elvis puts his face inches away from Daniel’s, his eyes wide when he looks at Elvis. “I better not ever see you here again or I’ll make you bleed out slowly and painfully, wishing you had never seen my face,” Elvis snarls. 

He lets go of his throat and Daniel collapses into the floor, gasping and choking for air. 

“Y/n… y/n run… he can’t be trusted,” Daniel gaps out. 

“Get him out of here, NOW,” Elvis snarls at his men.

Elvis quickly turns to look at you and his eyes are bright red, anger radiating from his entire body. He quickly lunges for you and picks you up, moving too quickly for your brain to comprehend what is happening. 

You feel the rush of wind across your body and you hold onto his neck tightly, holding your breath not knowing what’s going on. 

He puts you back down on the floor and you open your eyes seeing that you’re back in the penthouse in his bedroom. You feel dizzy and have to get your bearings before you’re able to move.

He is beyond fuming, he looks like he’s going to go on a rampage. You see him with his back turned toward you and his shoulders rising and falling fast. 

“E-Elvis … what the hell is going on?” You ask scared. The entire penthouse is now quiet, you’re sure you could hear a pin drop and this gives you an eerie chill as you watch Elvis heave angrily. 

“He’s such a piece of shit. I should have ripped his head off you know that? Should have done it and rid one more awful soul on this earth. How dare he touch what’s mine!” he seethes. 

He grabs the lamp next to him and hurls it at the window making it shatter onto the floor. He quickly turns to his bedside and throws the books sitting on his nightstand, cussing and screaming in anger. You watch as his fists go flying up and hit the nightstand, making it crumble at his feet.

“Elvis stop that wouldn’t solve anything. You’re letting your anger get the best of you. You need to stop this right now!” you tell him.

“I don’t care, You’re mine! No one should touch you except me!” He growls possessively. He goes to the mirror and punches the middle of it, creating a circular shatter mark in it. You gasp when you hear the crunch of the glass shatter and are frozen with fear.

You look at him in the reflection of the mirror and he looks back at you with those gleaming red eyes and see his long fangs have extended. 

Shit. 

You back up, unsure of where to go but you know you need to give him space. 

“People like him don’t deserve a second chance. I should’ve shown him no mercy,” he hisses. 

“You need to calm down, please honey. Listen to me. It’s over now. I’m sure we won’t see him again,” you try to explain. 

“Oh no, he’ll be back. He’ll try to get Raphael to get rid of me,” he scowls taking long strides to get closer to you. 

“W-who’s that?” You ask shakily, backing up more to get away from Elvis’ fangs. 

“He’s the one that bit me. He’s the one I told you about that has a club here in town. He’s very powerful here,” he snarls. 

You don’t understand what is going on. All of this is happening so quickly and it makes your head spin, feeling sick to your stomach. 

“But how does Daniel know about him? Does he know what you are?” You ask. 

“He works for Raphael. Of course, he knows what we are. He wants to be turned, that’s the only reason he works for them. He thinks if he works for him long enough, he’ll turn him,” he vents. 

You gasp, utterly shocked by this information he’s given you. 

“What? Why?! Why would he ever want to be like one of you?” You ask. His face washes over with hurt and you wince once you realize what you just said. 

“Oh no, no I didn’t mean it like that!” You quickly reply but it’s too late. You’ve said what you said and you want to assure him with a touch of your hand but it probably isn’t the best idea. 

He puts up his hand to stop you from speaking and interrupts you. 

“Save it, I don’t want to hear it. But I’m sure he wants it for his own selfish reasons. The immortality, the ability to compel, the list goes on and on,” he snaps. 

You begin to tremble, scared over this whole situation, and stare at the towering vampire a few feet away from you. 

“What’s gonna happen?” You ask weakly. 

“I don’t know. We have rules. Not a lot, but a few important ones. If you turn a human, you become responsible for their actions. That’s why a lot of them band together and form little groups so the one that turns them can keep an eye on them. You brought them into this world in a sense and you are responsible for controlling them in a way.”

“But you haven’t done anything wrong…” you squeak out. He looks at you darkly, shaking his head.

“There’s things honey. Things I’ve done in the past that don’t make me a good man…” he trails off.

“What are you talking about?” You ask confused and a bit scared to find out the truth.

“I’ve told you, my thirst has always been an issue. When I got here in 1969, I overindulged, feeding on anyone that would come near me. I was making too much of an eyesore and people were beginning to question me… Afraid I was doing things that I shouldn’t be,” he explains. 

“That’s when I first found out Raphael was here and he had to warn me to get it under control. But I didn’t. I just became more inconspicuous about everything. I would feed too much on humans…where I almost bleed them dry. People were showing up to the hospitals with barely any blood left in them to function. Everyone got scared. People are scared of me y/n. People talk about me here with fear. As they should be,” he spits at you.

You take another step back as his red eyes stare at you intensely, looking at you like prey.

Your throat feels dry and you can’t make any words come out. That idea was terrifying, that he could let it get that out of hand if he wanted to. 

“That… that was years ago honey… You’ve changed. I know you have. I bled in front of you and you never went for my throat,” you say trying to calm him down.

“Those technicalities don’t matter. The point is I still have the same tendencies as before,” he growls, “humans aren’t even supposed to know about our existence. If he ever finds out I can’t compel you…that could be it for me. I’d be considered weak and a risk to all our kind…he could end me.” He pauses, his fangs have receded and he goes to you, his eyes still blood red. He reaches for his throat and rubs it uncomfortably, trying to swallow but it looks like it’s painful to do so.

End him? You’re too afraid to ask how something could end a vampire’s life but the thought petrified you. You couldn’t imagine Elvis getting hurt. The idea made you sick.

He turns to look at you and stands before you, reaching his hand out and you freeze, unknowing of what he’s going to do. He brushes back your hair on your neck exposing the faint bruise there. 

He makes a look of disgust and shakes his head, “Look at you, marked like some animal. I’m so sorry.” He grunts. 

His finger drags down across your chest and finds the seam of your dress where the v-cut ends. He doesn’t put much pressure on the dress for him to be able to tear it, exposing more of your breasts to him and showing the bruises he left with his mouth there. He grumbles when he sees the purple splotches, angry with himself for doing this. His fingertips lightly graze those bruises, sending a chill down your spine that tells every cell in your body to freeze.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for doing this to you. I hurt you so easily-,” he says sorrowfully but you stop him from going on. 

“No, stop it. You’re not keeping me hostage and this was something I was okay with. Everything I’ve done with you was something I wanted to do. We just have to convince him that I’m with you under my own free will,” you say firmly but you see he’s not listening to you. 

“God I wish I could make you forget these last few weeks. Forget how I ruined your entire life and have you move on,” he says sorrowfully, not listening to what you’re saying at all.  

“I don’t! I don’t want to forget these weeks with you. They’ve been the most insane weeks of my life but I don’t want to forget and lose you,” you say. 

He looks down at you in sorrow, “I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to control the thirst I have for you. It's an unparalleled amount and I can’t forget how you tasted,” he sighs as he looks over you hungrily. Your heart thumps nervously in your chest, unable to hide the nerves of being around him with those piercing red eyes.

“Just go to bed before I hurt you again,” he growls.

You look at him disheartened, hating that he’s trying to push you away again just when things get hard. He stares you down, making your skin crawl at how hot and intense his gaze is. You turn on your heel and slam the door behind you, surely making him more upset. 

You’re frustrated with his whole outlook on this. You know he can change, you see that he wants to but every time he’s tried on his own, he fails. Then he picks up on his bad habits and spirals downward. This time you felt it could be different because you were around. If what he says is true, and his feelings are that strong for you, he could change and control himself.

You start to head to your room and see that light is coming through the curtains, showing signs of the morning about to break. It feels like another sleepless dawn with nerves and anxiety and the thought of where you two were going to go made you a wreck. He was stubborn and set in his ways, constantly brooding that he couldn’t see past his mistakes. 

You get in the shower and clean your face from tonight’s makeup. Once you get out of the shower, you look at your face in the mirror and see the slap mark run across your face. You wince at the sight and feel it’s tender and pink. 

You hope to God you never see Daniel’s face again. You’re pretty sure you’d let Elvis hurt him and feel no remorse for it. Not after all of this. How he strung you along for years and was working for a slum of vampires. Was he ever going to tell you or would he just suddenly leave you and get bit? The thought boils your blood and hate that was even a path for you. 

In so many ways you needed Elvis. He made it complicated yes, but in so many ways he saved you. He saved you from a loveless relationship and one that would eventually be turned into a vampire, further causing more issues down the line. Elvis had to see the light that you saw within him. Elvis showed you a tender and loving side no man had ever shown you before. Your feelings for him were unparalleled to anything you had ever experienced. It was like something out of a book. All these emotions you were feeling were too strong and yet they were all real. 

That’s why you grew so frustrated with him. His broodiness made you so fed up with the whole situation. You wanted to give yourself completely to him but he always pushed you away just when he begged for you to do so five seconds ago. He gave you a complete whiplash these last few weeks and you needed to make him see the good within it all. The rough patches would smooth out and this whole thing with Raphael will get sorted, it just might take some time. You were determined to make him see and make him want better starting with himself. The rest you two could handle later on. You weren’t going to take no for an answer. 

It was late but you didn’t care. Anger radiated through you and you weren’t going to sleep til this was sorted. If you had to scream and yell at him all morning long, then that’s what you’d do. 

You quickly put on a nightgown and rush to the other side of the penthouse. You don’t bother to knock on his bedroom door. You’ve seen it all at this point that nothing is going to phase you of whatever he was doing in there. 

You quickly open the door and see Elvis on the floor, blood vials sprawled out on the floor all empty. He looks in your direction flashing his dangerous red eyes at you. 

“What are you doing in here,” he growls, his fangs showing when he speaks. 

You slam the door again behind you and go barreling toward him, unafraid of the sight before you. 

“Get up,” you yell, pulling him by his arm. He looks at you shocked, not used to your abrasive tone. He grunts and shakes his arm free from your grasp. 

“You should have stayed in your room,” he hisses.

“You’re not telling me what to do! I’m sick and tired of your piss poor attitude. If you want me gone just say so! ‘Cause that’s what you’re doing to me! You’re pushing me away!” You yell. 

You watch as his shoulders rise and fall when he looks at you, “No, I don’t want you to leave.” He grumbles. 

“Then act like it! I’m tired of hearing you telling me to go away!”

You look at the vials on the floor then look back up at him, “and what the fuck is going on here?”

“I’m fucking starved! You make me crave more blood than I have in a long time!” He growls at you.

“You’re blaming all of this on me?! Like I made you drink my blood?!” You shoot back at him.

“No, no that’s not what I meant. It’s my doing, not yours,” he growls.

“Let’s figure something out to help you not want to drain me,” you stressed. "There has to be a way."

“Baby… I’m no good. I can’t control this vile beast within me,” he says defeated.

“Stop that right now! There has to be a way,” you say frustrated.

“Yes there is… and that’s for you to stay away from me…” he says angrily.

Anger fills your veins and you push hard against his chest, staring into those intense red eyes while doing so, and push him toward the bed to make him sit down. He looks at you in shock, not understanding what you’re doing. You stand in between his legs, grabbing a fist full of his shirt in your hands. He hisses at your touch and winces, closing his eyes.

“Listen to me and don’t say a word you understand?!” You yell at him, getting close to his face, waiting for his response. He nods his head in agreement even though his eyes say otherwise. 

“I’m not going anywhere! You are going to stop feeling sorry for yourself. You can control this I’m sure of it. You’re not the monster you think you are. I don’t see you the way you see yourself,” you explain.

He has his eyes closed, not wanting to look at you. You pull his chin up to look at you.

“If I leave, I know you will find me in a matter of minutes and come begging for me to forgive you! Leaving is not an option. You said it yourself, you can’t get away from me,” you pause to make sure he’s listening.

“Look at me, now,” you beg. He finally looks at you and flashes those red eyes.

You sigh, “I trust you. You’re not going to hurt me, You’ve had plenty of opportunities if you were to do so. But you won’t. I don’t think you’re capable of hurting me,” You explain.

“Honey, please. How can you say that? After all of this? I can’t… I can’t have you touch me.” He sighs, trying to get your hand off his face.

“Yes, you can. You’re not going to hurt me. Would it really be easier for you to never see me again? You’d only crave me more,” You tell him, almost certain it's the truth.

Your fingers run through his hair and you place a kiss on the top of his head. He groans, keeping his hands on the tops of his thighs as you continue to touch him. His breathing rises and your hands run down his back, pulling him in for an embrace. He grumbles into your chest, being tortured by your heart’s pitter-patter so close to his mouth.

You grab his wrists and pull them away from his thighs.

“I know I said no touching me… but you need to trust how much control you have. You’re not going to hurt me, I know you won’t,” you say. You place his hands on your hips and he looks up at you.

“Why are you so good to me? I don’t deserve you,” He quivers, bringing his hand up to your torso, up the sides of you then back down, squeezing lightly at your hips.

You take a sharp breath in through your nose, reveling in the feeling of him touching you.

“Because I know. I know you’re good inside. I know you care about me deeply and would never hurt me. What you’ve done in the past, stays there. That’s not you anymore.” You grab his wrists again, pulling his hands upward against your torso, up to the swell of your breasts.

“I know these hands, won’t do anything bad but show me love… Is that right?” You ask. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing your breasts firmly. He nods his head and looks at you sorrowfully. You smile at him, liking the way he’s listening. You move one of his hands up, making him wrap it around your throat and he grunts when you do so. You sigh too when you feel his hand on your neck, liking the slight squeeze he gives you. You want his attention to be stuck on you and know you have to keep going, you don’t want a word of rebuttal from him of how he’s no good.

For the first time ever, you have to be the dominant one and not let him get his way. No amount of pleading will get you to submit to him right now. He was the one that was going to have to submit to you. 

You bring his fingers to your mouth, placing a kiss on each fingertip, then down to the palm of his hand. His eyes are locked on you, watching your every movement as you continue.

You look at his eyes, holding him there in your gaze, and give him a little smirk for what you’re about to do. You bring his middle and ring finger to your mouth and lick the two digits, swirling your tongue on his fingertips. He groans, watching how your mouth moves on him. 

“Fuck…” he breathes.

You push his fingers more in your mouth, running your tongue along their length and taking them out of your mouth with a pop. He looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, silently pleading for you to continue.

“Mhmm, and these fingers give me nothing but pleasure too?,” you grunt, leading his fingers under your nightgown and having him rub your clit ever so lightly. The warmth of you radiating onto his hand. He cusses your name, liking that he can touch you more.

“Yes of course,” he whimpers. 

You place his hand back on your hip and rub his bottom lip with your thumb. He places a kiss on it, pleading to let him do more than just sit here. 

“And this mouth… this mouth can only show me pleasure too…isn’t that right?” You ask, watching how he bites his lip as you ask him these questions.

“Yes baby, only for good I promise you,” he moans, peppering kisses on your palm.

You could crumble right here, watching how undone you’ve made this man. Your fingertips start to graze down his chest, working the buttons off of his shirt slowly.

“Good. I love that mouth too much,” you tease as your hands touch his chest. Your eyes continue to wander and see the growing erection in his pants. Your hand slowly grazes his length and he squirms at your touch. You look back up at him to still him and he freezes when you do so. 

His eyes are slowly turning a dark shade of blue and the veins by his eyes have slowly dissipated. You smile to yourself, liking how you’ve got him to focus solely on you and nothing else. You go back to touching him firmly, making a small groan when you feel how hard his cock is.

“And this… is this mine?” You ask, moving your hand more on him causing him to grunt. 

He looks down at what you’re doing, his hips rutting with your movements. He makes the most delicious-sounding moans you’ve ever heard and you could easily fall apart at his feet. 

“Yes. God yes it is. I’m all yours. Whatever you want you can have, baby,” he professes breathlessly.

Your cheeks redden by his words, not believing you have him this way. His usual dominance is melted away because of you and you have him in the palm of your hand, having him grind into you as he waits for your next direction.

You had to get him to listen. Show him that he has control with you.

“Whatever I want?” You ask coyly.

He nods his head at you, his eyes pleading, “Whatever you want. Please tell me and I’ll give it to you.” He groans, desperate for you, his hands squeezing your hips tight.

You pull at his arm to stand up and you lay on the edge of the bed, wrapping your legs around his torso and keeping him pressed against you. His eyes grow wide and his hands grab the back of your thighs to keep your legs up.

“Tell me, tell me how bad you want to please me,” you sigh, feeling his cock rest against your core. He grunts and pulls you against him more firmly.

“That’s all I want. I want to make you happy, to make you feel good.” He says with a grind of his hips into you.

You close your eyes, loving how even his words can turn you on.

“I know you do. You always do,” you moan. “Keep moving, you feel good like this,” you gasp and he rolls his hips again, grinding his cock onto your covered pussy.

“Yes, baby. I can feel how wet you are for me,” he grunts, moving his hips more.

You watch as he takes his hands off of your hips and starts to unbutton his pants. You grab his wrist quickly to stop him.

“No baby, keep them on.” You instruct. He whimpers at your instruction, not liking that he’s not getting his way.

“Oh please, baby. Please, I wanna feel you,” he begs, grinding into you more.

“You can later. Show me how well you can listen,” you tease. He lets out a frustrated grunt and nods his head. He moves his hips like it's second nature, conjuring new feelings you’ve never had before and always making you need more. 

“Please keep moving. Tell me what you want right now,” you instruct, rolling your hips into him, loving how good he feels.

“Fuck baby…I-I-I wanna stuff that tight pussy with my cock and make you say my name when you’re about to come undone,” he groans breathlessly. His voice makes your core throb and you want him to do all of that to you. His fingers delicately play with the seam of your panties, lightly pulling at the lace fabric and you hear it begin to tear.

 You pull his hands back on your hips, getting him to hold you tight there.

“I’d love that. You know how much I love getting fucked by you,” you say breathlessly, knowing your words too are going to drive him to the edge.

“Mhmm, I know you do. Because you’re mine. All mine,” he says as his hips continue to grind away onto your core. He bites his lip as he looks down at you, hunger washing over him but so focused on the task at hand.

“Yes, I am,” you pant. “Tell me what else you need.”

He groans out frustratedly, looking down at your hips meeting one another, wishing he could feel your naked body on his. He picks up one of your legs and bends it upward, spreading you wider.

“I want to pin you down on this bed, make you beg for my cock all night long. I love hearing you beg for me,” he grunts into your ear making your core throb.

“Fuck, yes. I want that too,” you moan. 

You make him take his hands off of you and you push him onto the bed again, getting on top of him quickly, pinning his hands by his head. His eyes are full of shock and he doesn’t say anything.

You sit back down on his covered length and grind into him, making your eyes roll back.

“I’m gonna come, baby. Watch me come,” you tell him as you feel the coil in your belly tighten by the second. He writhes underneath you, wanting to gain back control so badly.

“Ah, no baby, please. Let me be inside you. I wanna feel you,” he pants, his eyes big and pleading.

You shake your head at him, grinding on him more and more. 

“Why would you ever want that,” you tease.

“Ahh y/n please,” he whimpers loudly, tossing his head to the side with frustration.

“Elvis tell me,” you moan.

He groans and shuts his eyes, so sexually frustrated with this game your playing and very successfully winning.

“Because I love feeling you squeeze around my cock. I can’t help it. You were made just for me,” he moans. His possessive words ring in your ear over and over and you feel your body about to give out with him talking like this.

You place your hands on his chest and work your way to your orgasm, your jaw falling slack when you feel that familiar feeling of your coil snapping and your walls fluttering around nothing. You moan his name as you ride out your high, your hips still grinding into his cock. He suddenly cries out too, squeezing his eyes shut and his hips stuttering, then bucking up into you. 

That’s when you feel the wetness spread in his pants and this surprised look on his face forms. He cusses under his breath and places his hands on your hips, rocking you into him harder. You can feel your arousal seep out of your panties and onto his pants, creating a slick mark along where his cock is. You can’t catch your breath as you watch this man become completely unglued and writhing underneath you.

He looks down at your mess and chuckles, putting his head back on the bed.

“Holy fuck woman…”

“What are you laughing about hmm?” You giggle at him. He sighs heavily and bites his lip.

“I’ve just never come in my pants like this,” he says embarrassed.

“Well it's a first for everything,” you quip cheekily. You touch his face and he looks at you intently.

“I’ve actually never umm… had a woman ever tell me what to do like that… It was so… attractive,” he smirks at you.

Your heart leaps and you stare at him stunned, having been the first woman that ever made Elvis Presley submit to every last wish and desire.

“Are you serious? Never?” You ask.

He hums amused, “Never. I can usually make someone listen to me remember?” He quips cheekily.

“Oh, I see,” you say covering your mouth with the smile that’s forming on it. “Did you like me telling you what to do?” You ask softly.

He nods his head and gazes into your eyes, “yes I did. I’ve never been so turned on,” he quips. Your cheeks redden and you flash a smile at him. “Good, I’m glad. I want to do it again,” you tease, brushing his hair back that’s fallen on his forehead and look at his eyes.

“Look at yourself…your eyes… they’re so blue.”

He kisses the back of your hand and smiles at you, “I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. My temper got the best of me…I guess I do have a bit more control than I thought,” he hums.

You lay beside him, his arm wrapped around your body tightly. You let a comfortable silence hang over you two, liking how everything feels like it's going to be sorted out.

“I want to be with you, through the good and the bad. I want you, Elvis. Let me help you,” you say, rubbing his chest lightly.

He sighs at the feeling of your touch, “I want you too. I know we can make this work. I promise you,. I'm not letting anyone get between us,” he says tenderly.

You wrap your leg on him and cuddle into the crook of his neck, the scent of him filling your nose. You sigh and feel his hand run through your hair, gently caressing you. You feel at peace with him for once. 

The blanket of sleep starts to wash over you and you feel him pull the blankets and cover your fragile body. You hold onto him tighter, hoping he doesn’t leave by the time you wake up. Your body felt so tired, so emotionally battered that you felt like you needed to sleep for an entire week. There was a lot of unknown and the fear of what Raphael could do to Elvis scared you. But in this moment, none of that mattered. You were here in his arms, hearing his strange heart beat away for you.

Tagging 🖤:

@powerofelvis @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @elvispresleyxo @loving-elvis

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @rosepresley @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog @myradiaz @tacozebra051 @thatbanditqueen

@18lkpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873 @austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis @everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy @elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony @generoustreemystic @kendralavon7 @lettersfromvenus @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997

@returntopresley @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog @louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8 @arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presely smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #elvis imagine #elvis smut #70s elvis #vampire elvis #elvis fic #elvis au #sinned awakening #samfangirls

[from-memphis-with-love]

A Cowboy for Clementine - An Elvis Presley AU Cowboy Fanfic

Summary: Clementine looked to Elvis, her expression coolly determined. "If there's nothing else, I'll go unpack and change. See you at the barn."

With that, Elvis turned on his heel and strode off, spurs jingling. Clementine released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Lord, what had she gotten herself into? Wrangling cattle was one thing. Wrangling a surly cowboy with an itchy trigger finger and an apparent grudge was quite another. She had a feeling this Elvis Presley would prove as untamed as the land itself.

Word count: 26,000 (first four chapters)

Chapter 1

The stagecoach lurched and swayed as it wound its way through the rugged mountain pass. Inside, Clementine Olivetti gripped the worn leather seat, her knuckles white from the effort. She peered out the dust-caked window at the forbidding landscape rolling by—jagged peaks, skeletal trees, sun-baked earth. A far cry from the cobblestone streets and genteel townhouses of New York.

What am I doing out here? Clementine thought, not for the first time since beginning this journey west. Traveling across the country to take ownership of some rustic ranch she'd never laid eyes on, bequeathed by an uncle she barely knew. It was rash, reckless even. Very out of character for the practical, level-headed Clementine. A girl who always had a plan.

But perhaps that was precisely the point. To do something unexpected, impulsive for once. To break free from the comfortable confines of her predictable city life. There was a certain romantic notion to it all—a young woman striking out on her own to start anew in the untamed frontier. Like something out of the dime novels she and her best friend Bonnie used to giggle over late at night.

Bonnie Mae Blakely. Her vivacious partner in crime since childhood. The yin to Clementine's yang—bold where she was cautious, impetuous where she was measured. They had shared so many dreams and secrets over the years. When Clementine told her about the surprise inheritance, Bonnie had squealed and hugged her fiercely.

"Oh Clemmie, it's just like a storybook! A rugged ranch out west, waiting for a plucky heroine to make it her own. Promise you'll write and tell me every adventure! And maybe I'll even come visit once you're all settled." 

Clementine smiled at the memory, picturing Bonnie's pretty face alight with excitement. In truth, having her friend's unconditional support had given Clementine the courage to undertake this journey. To believe she could reinvent herself and start fresh, even without any family left to tether her to New York.

Her parents had passed on years ago and she had no siblings. Just an uncle out west she scarcely remembered from childhood. The letter from the lawyer informing her of Uncle Ned's death and his bequeathing of Windy Creek Ranch had come as a shock. Almost as much as his written words, which she now withdrew from her handbag to read once more:

"Dearest Clementine, 

If you are reading this, then I am gone and the Good Lord has finally called me home. I regret that I did not make more of an effort to be a presence in your life. But know that not a day went by that I did not think of you and wish for your happiness. 

I leave to you my most prized possession: the Windy Creek Ranch. Six hundred and forty acres of prime grazing land nestled in the heart of cattle country. It isn't much to look at, but it has potential. Like a rare gem in the rough just waiting to be polished. I built this spread from nothing, with just grit and determination. I know you have that same strength within you.

There is a small town close by called Crossroads. You'll be able to purchase any supplies there and the townsfolk are generally amiable. But be warned, there have been rumors lately of cattle rustlers and claim jumpers looking to prey on the local ranches. Trust your instincts and keep your wits about you.

I wish I could be there to guide you as you begin this new chapter. But I take comfort knowing the ranch is in capable hands. Take care of it and it will take care of you. Never forget, you are my niece. We are made of tougher stuff than most.

Yours, Uncle Ned"

Clementine folded up the letter, blinking back tears. She barely remembered Uncle Ned—a grizzled, wild-eyed man who would occasionally blow into town like a tumbleweed, his clothes smelling of leather and horses and endless sky. Her father's eldest brother. A dreamer. An adventurer. Everything her straight-laced father was not... and did not approve of. The brothers had a falling out when Clementine was just a girl and Ned rode off into the sunset, never to return. 

She used to envy his freedom, his daring. While her days were filled with needlework and piano lessons, she imagined Uncle Ned out there living a thrilling life. Herding cattle, exploring the wilderness, sitting around a campfire under a canopy of stars. It all seemed terribly romantic to her younger self.

But as she grew older, Clementine came to accept her lot. Became the obedient daughter, always striving to please, to fit the mold of a proper young lady, accepting decisions made for her and on her own behalf. She buried those yearnings for adventure deep down where they couldn't hurt her. Convinced herself that she was content with her sensible, uneventful existence. 

Until that letter arrived and reawakened something within her. A spark. A hunger for more that she could no longer ignore. It was high time Clementine Olivetti started living life on her own terms. Even if that meant venturing into the unknown wilds of cattle country to claim her unexpected inheritance—a ranch that would be hers and hers alone. The prospect both thrilled and terrified her.

The stagecoach hit a particularly deep rut, jolting Clementine from her musings. She clutched her carpet bag closer and said a silent prayer that her worldly possessions would survive the journey intact. 

As if reading her thoughts, the driver called out, "Almost there, miss! Crossroads is just up ahead."

Clementine's heart rate quickened. This was it. No turning back now. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and prepared to meet her destiny. Whatever that may be.

The stagecoach rumbled down the main thoroughfare of Crossroads, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. Clementine peered out at the rustic frontier town, all wooden storefronts and hitching posts. Rough-hewn men ambled down the street in dungarees and cowboy hats. Bonneted women swept front porches and corralled children. A distant clang rang out from the blacksmith and the mouthwatering scent of baking bread wafted on the breeze. Quaint yet industrious. A town where everyone knew everyone else's business and no secret stayed buried for long.

The coach rolled to a stop and the driver hopped down to assist Clementine. A few coins were plunked into his hand. She stepped out into the bright sunlight, stretching her travel-weary limbs. Her legs wobbled a bit, unaccustomed to solid ground after so many hours.

"Miss Olivetti?" a voice inquired. Clementine turned to see a short, wiry man hurrying toward her, his bald pate gleaming.

"Yes, I'm Clementine Olivetti," she replied. 

"Hezekiah Gruber, attorney at law," he said, pumping her hand enthusiastically. "We exchanged telegrams about your inheritance. My condolences for your loss."

"Thank you, Mr. Gruber. It was a shock to us all."

"Your uncle was one of a kind, that's for sure. Now then, I imagine you're eager to get out to the ranch and take possession. I won't keep you but let's get your signature on a few documents at my office to make it all official-like."

Clementine followed him down the creaking wooden sidewalk to the lawyer's storefront, noting the curious glances directed her way. She was used to it—a fashionable girl with a funny surname drew attention even back east. She could only imagine the gossip her arrival would stir up here.

"Here we are," said Gruber, ushering her into his cluttered office. "Won't take but a minute to get you squared away." 

He shuffled some papers on his desk and handed Clementine a pen. She dutifully signed her name on the dense lines of legalese, the gravity of the moment not lost on her. With a few strokes of ink, she was now the rightful owner of Windy Creek Ranch. Her future.

"It's all yours, Miss Olivetti," said Gruber, blotting the documents. "I'll file these with the deed office today. In the meantime, let's get you on your way to your new home. I'll have Jebediah bring 'round the rig."

"The rig?" asked Clementine, perplexed. 

"For your baggage. Unless you were planning to carry those trunks to the ranch yourself?" 

Clementine blushed. Of course. This wasn't New York where deliveries arrived directly at one's doorstep. What would Bonnie say if she could see her now, preparing to rattle off in a dusty wagon toward an uncertain future? Probably clap her hands in glee and tell her it was the start of a grand adventure, the kind they'd always dreamed of having.

"Much obliged, Mr. Gruber," Clementine managed, her smile bittersweet. "I'm afraid I have a lot to learn about life out here."

"You'll get the hang of it," he assured. "Now remember, if you run into any trouble out there at Windy Creek, you just send word. I've been looking out for the place since your uncle took ill. I'd hate to see it fall into the wrong hands."

Something in his tone gave Clementine pause. Was that a note of warning? But before she could inquire further, Gruber had ushered her out into the dazzling daylight where a rickety wagon waited. 

A grizzled old man sat hunched on the bench. He squinted at Clementine and gave a gap-toothed grin. "All aboard for Windy Creek Ranch!"

Trepidation pricked at her insides but Clementine forced a smile, determined to meet each new challenge with pluck and poise. She clambered up beside Jebediah, her trunk secured in the wagon bed.

"Much obliged," she told the driver. He clicked his tongue and snapped the reins. The mules lurched forward and they set off at a bone-rattling pace. Clementine gripped the sideboard, already regretting her choice of footwear. Perhaps button-up kid boots weren't the most practical for a cross-country trek.

The road out of town quickly turned to a rutted dirt track winding through a patchwork of ranches and farmsteads. Jebediah kept up a steady stream of chatter, pointing out local landmarks and the neighboring spreads.

As Crossroads receded behind them, the landscape opened up into a vista of endless grassland and rolling hills. Herds of cattle grazed in the distance, mere specks on the horizon. The air smelled of sage and leather and something else... of possibility. 

"That there's the Circle J, belonged to old Joe Abernathy nigh on forty years 'til he passed on last spring. His boys run it now. And over yonder's the Triple Cross—biggest outfit in the county, but too big for their britches if you ask me."

She thought again of the cryptic warning from Mr. Gruber. Claim jumpers and cattle rustlers, he'd said. The untamed frontier was full of dangers she knew nothing about. As if sensing her unease, Jebediah spoke up.

"Yep, Windy Creek is a right fine piece of property. Yer uncle was real proud of what he built out there. 'Course, ranch life ain't for the faint of heart. Takes grit and know-how to make a go of it."

"I'm a quick study," replied Clementine with more confidence than she felt. "And I'm not afraid of hard work."

"That's good 'cause there'll be plenty of it," said Jebediah with a dry chuckle. "Between the repairs and the brandin' and the drives, ranch folk earn ever' penny of their keep. And that's assumin' the weather cooperates and the rustlers keep their distance."

"I've heard tell of such threats," said Clementine carefully. "Have there been many incidents hereabouts?"

"More'n there oughta be," said Jebediah. "Buncha no-good varmints that'll stop at nothing to line their own pockets. Thievin' cattle, cuttin' fences, raidin' homesteads. Even murderin' folk that get in their way."

Clementine suppressed a shudder, trying not to let her imagination run away with grisly scenarios. If only Bonnie were here to bolster her courage with a saucy quip or two. Her friend had always been the brave one, ready to take on any challenge with a laugh and a toss of her auburn curls. But Bonnie was thousands of miles away, living her own life. This was Clementine's adventure now. Her dream to chase, for better or worse.

"Still, a body can't borrow trouble," continued Jebediah. "Windy Creek's got a solid crew of hands to help you protect what's yours."

Clementine nodded, somewhat reassured. She knew there would be cowhands and ranch staff to assist her, though Uncle Ned's letter had been scarce on specifics. No matter. She would learn everyone's roles and prove herself a capable mistress. How hard could it be?

The wagon crested a hill and suddenly the breathtaking expanse of Windy Creek Ranch stretched out before them—640 acres of pristine range, just like Uncle Ned had said, framed by distant blue mountains under an endless dome of sky. Clementine's heart swelled at the sight of the whitewashed ranch house, the red-roofed barn, the towering windmill spinning lazily in the breeze. Cattle dotted the pasture, fat and healthy. Chickens pecked in the dust and a pair of ranch hands paused in their work to regard the newcomers with frank curiosity. It was more beautiful than she'd dared imagine. Raw and wild and brimming with promise. And it was all hers.

Clementine drank it in, marveling that this was all a part of her uncle's spread. Her spread now. Doubt niggled at her again. What did a city girl know about running a cattle operation? About negotiating with cowhands and driving livestock to market? There was so much to learn, so much riding on her getting this right. She couldn't afford to fail, not when Uncle Ned had entrusted her with his legacy. 

As they rolled to a stop in the front yard, Clementine gathered her skirts, preparing to descend with as much dignity as possible given her ungainly boots and the long journey. But before her foot touched the running board, a rifle shot cracked the air. Clementine yelped as a bullet gouged a tree trunk mere inches from her hand.

Heart pounding, she whirled toward the source to see a tall, black-clad figure emerge from behind the water trough, his features obscured by a low-pulled Stetson. He racked the lever of his Winchester with fluid ease and took aim again.

"That's far enough," he growled, his voice rough as saddle leather. "This here's private property. State your business or hit the road."

"Don't shoot!" cried Clementine, throwing up her hands. "I'm... T-this is my ranch now. I've c-come to take possession."

The man lowered his rifle a fraction but kept it at the ready. "That so? Got any proof?"

With shaking fingers, Clementine fumbled to produce the deed from her handbag. "It's all here. Signed and notarized."

She held out the document but he made no move to take it, his stance unwavering. Clementine bristled at his rudeness. Of all the welcomes she'd imagined, being shot at by her own ranch hand was not one of them.

Jebediah, who had wisely taken cover, peeked out from behind the wagon bench. "Now Elvis, what's the big idea? This here's Miss Clementine, Old Ned’s niece and heir."

Elvis? Clementine looked again at her antagonist. Was he one of the hardworking ranch foreman Uncle Ned had spoken so highly of? He certainly hadn't mentioned the man's alarming propensity for gunplay.

"Never heard of her," said Elvis flatly. "And I ain't about to hand over the keys on the say-so of some pretty city gal. Could be anyone—a rustler scoutin' the place or worse. Ned never said nothin' 'bout no niece."

Clementine scowled at his dismissal. "Yes, well, I suspect there's quite a lot Uncle Ned neglected to mention all around. Starting with the presence of an armed squatter on my property!"

Elvis darkened at that but before he could retort, a hulking bear of a man in a sweat-stained union suit came lumbering out of the barn. 

"What's all the ruckus?" he called, scratching his fiery beard. "I heard shootin'." 

"Stay back, Red," ordered Elvis. "We got us a trespasser."

The big man squinted at Clementine and broke into a slow grin. "Well I'll be hogtied. If it ain't Miss Clementine in the flesh! Spittin' image of ol' Ned, ain't she? 'Specially 'round the eyes."

"You know her?" demanded Elvis.

"'Course I do! Ned's been braggin' on his pretty niece comin' to take over the place for weeks now. Clear 'fore he passed."

Red was a huge bear of a man with a shock of fiery hair and a bushy beard to match. Clementine thought he looked like he could lift a steer with one hand. He stepped forward, his face split by a friendly grin. "Pleased to meetcha, Miss Clementine. I'm Moses Redding, but everyone calls me Red on account of, well..." He gestured to his hair self-consciously.

Clementine couldn't help but return his smile. "A pleasure, Red. I look forward to working with you."

Realization dawned on Elvis' stony features. "Hellfire," he muttered. "Reckon that's my cue to start packin'."

"What on earth are you talking about?" said Clementine.

Elvis met her gaze, resigned. "Way I figure, a fine lady owner ain't gonna want the likes of me hangin' around. Know when I'm not wanted."

Comprehension clicked into place and Clementine gasped. Good lord, Uncle Ned hadn't just failed to mention a few cowhands. He'd neglected to tell her about the man living on the ranch itself! This Elvis character had obviously made himself quite at home in her absence, acting the lord of the manor. And now with her arrival, he assumed he was out of a job and a place to lay his head.

She ought to be livid at the presumption. Ought to send him packing that instant for his insolence and trigger-happy reception. But something in his defeated posture and faraway look stirred an inconvenient pang of sympathy in her breast. Curse her soft heart. As satisfying as it might be to give him his marching orders, the fact remained that Windy Creek was woefully shorthanded. She couldn't afford to lose a single man, especially not one who knew the spread top to bottom. Elvis had been Uncle Ned's right hand. It stood to reason he would be valuable in her transition to ownership, prickly attitude notwithstanding. 

Clementine drew herself up, mustering an air of unruffled authority. "That won't be necessary, Mr... Elvis, was it? I've no intention of displacing anyone, provided they pull their weight. If you've been a loyal employee to my uncle, I see no reason why that should change on my watch."

Surprise and something like relief flickered across Elvis' rugged features before he could school them into impassivity. "That so?"

"It is," said Clementine firmly. "I'll need all hands on deck to keep Windy Creek thriving. Starting with a thorough tour of the premises and a briefing on daily operations. As the new owner, I plan to take a very active role in management."

Elvis looked as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. He gave a curt nod. "Whatever you say, boss lady. Reckon we best start in the barn then. Red can see to your bags."

"Very well," she said crisply. "I'll change into suitable attire and meet you at the barn in half an hour."

Elvis looked mildly impressed by her ready acquiescence, but his expression quickly shuttered. "Suit yourself. But I should probably introduce you to the rest of the gang before you get too high on that horse of yours."

He turned and hollered over his shoulder. "Slim! Rusty! Get on over here!"

Two men materialized from various corners of the ranch yard, ambling over to join them on the porch. The first was a wiry old-timer with a weathered face and a wad of chaw bulging in his cheek. The second was a gangly youth who couldn't have been more than eighteen, all freckles and awkward limbs.

"Boys, this here is Miss Clementine Olivetti," Elvis announced. "Ned's niece and the new owner of Windy Creek. She aims to learn the ropes, so I expect you to show her the same respect you would've shown Ned. We clear?"

The men nodded, touching their hats respectfully. The old-timer spat a stream of tobacco juice and nodded curtly. "Slim Jackson. Been wranglin' beeves since before you was born, missy. You need any pointers, you just holler."

The young man ducked his head shyly, scuffing a boot in the dust. "Rusty Calhoun, miss. I'm real sorry about your uncle passing. He was a fine man and a heck of a boss."

"Thank you, Rusty. I hope I can live up to his example." Clementine turned back to Elvis, her expression coolly determined. "If there's nothing else, I'll go unpack and change. See you at the barn."

With that, Elvis turned on his heel and strode off, spurs jingling. Clementine released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Lord, what had she gotten herself into? Wrangling cattle was one thing. Wrangling a surly cowboy with an itchy trigger finger and an apparent grudge was quite another. She had a feeling Elvis would prove as untamed as the land itself.

But Clementine was no shrinking violet. She had not traveled hundreds of miles to be cowed by one ornery ranch hand, no matter how unsettling his smoky gaze or how broad his shoulders. She would meet this challenge as she intended to meet all others—with grace, gumption, and a stubborn refusal to back down.

*

Elvis looked Clementine up and down appraisingly as she approached.

"Well now, don't you clean up nice," he drawled. "Those dungarees suit you. Almost take the city polish off."

Clementine wasn't sure if it was meant as a compliment or an insult. Likely both, knowing this man. She tilted her chin and replied evenly, "I believe in dressing for the occasion. So, show me around the barn?"

Lifting her chin, Clementine marched after Elvis, determined to assert her authority and begin this new chapter on her own terms. Ranch life was already proving far more complicated and unpredictable than she'd bargained for. But she had to believe that with hard work, an open mind, and perhaps a bit of that famous Olivetti pluck, she would find her way.

She thought fleetingly of Bonnie, no doubt going about her day back in New York, blissfully unaware of the upheaval in her friend's life. What would she make of all this—the sprawling ranch, the motley crew of cowhands, the arrogant and mysterious Elvis? Clementine could almost hear Bonnie's laughter, could picture her delighted grin and twinkling green eyes.

"Oh Clemmie, it's better than any dime novel!" she would say. "Handsome cowboys, wild horses, wide open skies... and you, the unlikely heroine out to prove herself and tame them all! Just think of the adventures you'll have!"

The corners of Clementine's mouth twitched with an unbidden smile. Trust Bonnie to see the romance in even the most daunting of circumstances. Perhaps there was something to that unshakable optimism. With any luck, Clementine would live to write her friend a bushel of thrilling letters detailing her exploits as the mistress of Windy Creek Ranch.

Provided she survived her first day as Elvis' employer, of course. 

Clementine forced down a flutter of trepidation as she neared the looming barn door. Steeling her nerve, she stepped across the threshold into the cool shadow, the pungent scents of hay and horses and honest sweat enveloping her. Her heels sank into the earthen floor, the faint clucking of chickens and a few falling feathers drifting from the loft above.

Elvis stood at the far end of the aisle, backlit by a shaft of sunlight. He had one hip cocked against a stall door, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her approach with an inscrutable expression. Clementine tried not to notice the way his chambray shirt pulled taut across his muscled torso or how his worn denims hugged his lean thighs. She had no business admiring the physical attributes of a subordinate, no matter how undeniably attractive.

He started further into the barn, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. "You alright there, princess? Need me to fetch you a fainting couch?"

Clementine glowered at him behind his back.

"Welcome to the heart of Windy Creek," he said as she drew near. "This here's where the magic happens."

Clementine arched a brow. "Magic?"

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes glinting with something suspiciously like amusement at her primness. "Figure of speech. I mean this is where we break the horses, mend the tack, store the feed. Pretty much everything that keeps the place runnin' starts and ends right here."

He pushed off the stall and gestured for her to follow. "C'mon, I'll show you the layout. Reckon you'll be spendin' a fair bit of time in here, seein' as how you're aimin' to be a hands-on boss and all."

Clementine chose to ignore the note of condescension in his tone and fell into step beside him. For the next half hour, Elvis led her through the barn and corrals, rattling off details about everything from the hay inventory to the farrier schedule to the breeding records of the small remuda. His taciturn demeanor thawed by degrees as he spoke of Windy Creek's prize bloodlines and the foals he hoped to see come spring. It was clear this ranch was more than a job to him; it was his life's work, his pride and joy.

Despite herself, Clementine found she was hanging on his every word, absorbing the intricacies of a world so different from her own. The easy confidence with which Elvis navigated this domain, the surety of purpose in his every move, was oddly compelling. She could see why Uncle Ned had trusted him implicitly.

As they circled back to the main barn, Elvis nodded to a large fenced pasture dotted with grazing cattle. "That there's the heart of the herd. 'Bout 300 head of prime Hereford. The real moneymakers. They'll be your bread and butter once we drive 'em to market come fall."

Clementine shaded her eyes against the glare, marveling at the sea of dun backs and lowing faces. Never in her life had she been responsible for so many living creatures. The weight of it settled on her shoulders like a tangible thing.

"And you're certain we have enough hands to see them safely to market?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "I won't pretend to be an expert, but it seems an awful lot of ground to cover with just the few men I've seen so far."

"We're a lean crew but we're solid," said Elvis. "Me, Red, a couple fellas who drift through as needed. Ain't never lost a steer yet and don't aim to start now." He cut her a sidelong glance. "Course, an extra pair of hands come drive time is always welcome. You any good with a horse?"

Clementine's cheeks warmed at the challenge in his eyes. "I'm a fair rider," she said, lifting her chin. She had ridden in Central Park quite a few times when she was younger. "Though I'll admit it's been a while since I've sat anything beyond a sedate little mare on a bridle path." 

"Ain't nothin' sedate about the mounts we raise here," said Elvis with a slow grin that did funny things to her insides. "But I reckon we could find you a steady cow pony, get you back in the saddle."

"I'd like that," said Clementine, pulse quickening at the thought of flying across the open range with the wind in her hair. Yearning for speed and freedom and a taste of the untamed life that had always been denied her.

Something shifted in Elvis' gaze, his eyes darkening as they dipped briefly to her mouth. "Bet you would."

The air between them thickened, charged with a sudden crackling tension that raised the hairs on Clementine's nape. For a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. Clementine hardly dared breathe, caught in the snare of Elvis' penetrating stare. What was happening? Why did it feel as if the very ground had tilted beneath her feet?

Then Elvis blinked and the spell was broken. He took a measured step back, features shuttering. "Best we get you settled in the house," he said brusquely. "Red's probably fixin' to break down the door wonderin' where we got to." 

Clementine swallowed, her tongue darting out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. "Of course," she managed. "After you."

They walked in silence back to the ranch house, a palpable charge still shimmering in the scant space between their bodies. Clementine's mind raced as she tried to make sense of the strange, heated little moment in the barn. Surely it was just a trick of the light, an odd fluke of exhaustion and overwrought nerves. There could be no other explanation for the way her skin had flushed and her stomach fluttered under Elvis' intent gaze.

She was just tired, that was all. Tired and overwhelmed and in desperate need of a bath and a good night's sleep in a proper bed. Everything would seem much more manageable in the clear light of morning. Including a certain confounding cowboy who seemed to swing between hostility and allure at the drop of a hat.

By the time they reached the house, Clementine had convinced herself she had imagined the whole unsettling interlude. Elvis deposited her on the front porch with a perfunctory nod and a promise to have one of the hands bring up a hip bath and hot water. Then he was gone, striding off towards the corrals with that swagger that drew entirely too much of her attention.

Clementine pushed through the door, resolved to put the perplexing man out of her head for the time being. She had more pressing concerns, like acquainting herself with her new living quarters and trying to impose some order on the chaos of this abrupt upheaval.

But as she climbed the creaking stairs to the second floor, dusty carpetbag in hand, she couldn't shake the feeling that her true adventure was only just beginning. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch might wind up changing her life in ways she had never dared dream.

With a flutter of nervous anticipation, Clementine stepped across the threshold of her new bedroom, ready to embrace whatever challenges and surprises lay ahead. She could only hope she proved equal to them.

As Clementine explored her new bedchamber, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the rustic charm that surrounded her. The room was simply furnished with a sturdy oak bed, a weathered dresser, and a washstand bearing a chipped porcelain basin. Faded calico curtains fluttered at the open window, letting in a breeze that carried the scent of lavender and distant pine.

It was a far cry from her cozy apartment back home, with its gas lamps and indoor plumbing and nosy neighbors just a thin wall away. But there was something undeniably appealing about this rough-hewn space, with its sense of history and hard-won comfort. She could almost imagine Uncle Ned sitting on the edge of this very bed, pulling off his boots after a long day in the saddle.

A lump rose in Clementine's throat as she thought of her uncle, of the legacy he had entrusted to her. She still couldn't quite believe he was gone, that she would never again hear his booming laugh or see the twinkle in his eye as he regaled her with tales of the wild west. He had been a larger-than-life figure, a beacon of adventure in her otherwise orderly world.

And now he had given her the greatest adventure of all. A chance to build something of her own, to carve out a place for herself in this untamed land. It was a daunting prospect, but also an exhilarating one. For the first time in her life, Clementine felt truly free. Free to make her own choices, to chase her own dreams, to become the woman she had always longed to be.

Oh, there would be challenges aplenty. She was under no illusions about that. Running a ranch was backbreaking work, and she had no experience with any of it. She would have to learn everything from scratch, would have to earn the respect of the men who worked for her. Men like Elvis, who seemed determined to undermine her at every turn.

Clementine's mouth tightened as she thought of the infuriating cowboy. He had made it abundantly clear that he thought she was in over her head, that a city girl like her had no business trying to run a cattle operation. Well, she would just have to prove him wrong. She would work twice as hard as anyone else, would study and practice until she knew this ranch inside out. She would show Elvis and everyone else that Clementine Olivetti was more than just a pretty face in a fancy dress.

With renewed determination, she set about unpacking her trunk. She carefully hung up the simple frocks and sturdy boots she had brought for work, then tucked away the few more fashionable items she couldn't bear to leave behind. Her fingers lingered on a photograph of her parents on their wedding day, their faces alight with joy and promise. She placed it gently on the dresser.

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her reverie. "Come in," she called, smoothing her skirts self-consciously.

The door swung open to reveal a plump, motherly woman with greying hair and a flour-dusted apron. She bobbed a curtsy, her lined face creasing into a warm smile.

"Beggin' your pardon, miss, but I thought you might be ready for some supper. It's been a long day for you, I reckon."

Clementine's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, too nervous to do more than nibble on the journey. "That would be wonderful, thank you. Mrs...?"

"Jameson, miss. Ida Jameson. I've been cookin' and cleanin' for Windy Creek nigh on twenty years now. Ever since Mr. Ned hired me on after my dear Henry passed."

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jameson," said Clementine sincerely. "I hope you'll be patient with me as I learn my way around. This is all quite new to me."

"Oh, don't you fret none. We'll get you settled in right quick. Ain't nothin' to runnin' a house once you get the hang of it." Mrs. Jameson's eyes twinkled with kindly amusement. "And don't mind that Elvis none. His bark's worse than his bite. He's just used to havin' things his own way."

Clementine felt her cheeks heat at the mention of the exasperating foreman. Did her consternation show so plainly on her face? "I'll keep that in mind, Mrs. Jameson."

"You do that, miss. Now, let's get you fed afore you faint dead away. I've got a nice beef stew on the simmer and fresh bread just out of the oven."

Clementine's mouth watered at the thought. Suddenly ravenous, she followed Mrs. Jameson down to the kitchen, the delectable scents wafting up the stairs making her stomach growl audibly.

The kitchen was a large, homey space, dominated by a massive cast iron stove and a long wooden table that could easily seat a dozen. Bunches of drying herbs hung from the rafters, jars of preserves lined the shelves, and a motley collection of skillets and kettles dangled from hooks on the walls. It was a far cry from the convenient, modern kitchens Clementine was accustomed to, but there was a cozy charm to it that put her instantly at ease.

Mrs. Jameson bustled about, ladling steaming stew into a blue willow bowl and cutting a thick slice of crusty bread. She set the meal in front of Clementine with a flourish, then poured a tall glass of cool, creamy milk from a stoneware pitcher.

"There you are. Eat up now, and don't be shy about askin' for seconds. Lord knows there's plenty to go around."

Clementine breathed in the savory aroma, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. She couldn't remember the last time a simple meal had looked so enticing. Murmuring her thanks, she dug in with gusto, the rich flavors exploding on her tongue.

For a few blissful minutes, there was no sound but the clink of Clementine's spoon against the bowl and the occasional appreciative hum as she savored each mouthful. Mrs. Jameson puttered about, wiping down counters and setting a pot of coffee to brew, a small, satisfied smile on her face as she watched her new mistress eat.

But the peaceful moment was shattered by the sudden bang of the screen door flying open. Elvis strode into the kitchen, his spurs jingling and his hat pulled low over his brow. He drew up short at the sight of Clementine, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

"Mrs. J, we got any of that stew left? I'm powerful hungry after wranglin' that new string of horses all afternoon."

"Sit yourself down, Mr. Elvis, and I'll fetch you a bowl," said Mrs. Jameson placidly, seemingly impervious to the sudden tension in the room.

Elvis hesitated, his gaze flicking between Clementine and the empty chair across from her. For a moment, she thought he might make some excuse and flee, but then he shrugged and sank down onto the bench, his long legs stretching out beneath the table.

Clementine kept her eyes fixed on her bowl, her appetite suddenly deserting her. She could feel Elvis watching her, could sense the coiled energy radiating off him like heat from a stove. It made her skin prickle and her heart thump erratically in her chest.

Mrs. Jameson set a heaping bowl in front of Elvis, then tactfully withdrew, muttering something about needing to tend to the laundry. Clementine silently cursed the woman for abandoning her, even as she understood the impulse. The air between her and Elvis was thick with a strange, charged energy that made it hard to breathe, let alone carry on a normal conversation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Clementine pushed a chunk of potato around her bowl, acutely aware of Elvis' every move as he tore off a hunk of bread and sopped up the rich gravy. She could hear the soft, wet sounds of his chewing, could catch the faint scent of horse and leather and sweat that clung to his skin.

It was all suddenly too much. Too intimate, too unnerving. Clementine pushed back from the table, nearly upending her milk glass in her haste. "Please excuse me," she mumbled, not meeting Elvis' eyes. "It's been a long day and I'm quite exhausted."

She fled the kitchen before he could respond, her cheeks burning and her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn't slow down until she reached the sanctuary of her bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her with a satisfying bang.

Clementine leaned back against the solid oak, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. What on earth was wrong with her? She had never been one to let a man fluster her, had prided herself on her poise and composure in even the most trying of circumstances. But something about Elvis made her feel off-balance, unsettled in a way she couldn't quite define.

It was more than just his rough manners and challenging attitude. There was a rawness to him, a sense of barely leashed power that sent a thrill down her spine even as it set her nerves on edge. When he looked at her, she felt stripped bare, as if he could see straight through her proper facade to the wild, yearning heart beneath.

It was terrifying. And if Clementine was being honest with herself, it was also strangely exhilarating. All her life, she had played by the rules, had done what was expected of her. She had been the dutiful daughter, the demure debutante, the efficient employee. But here, in this rugged land so far from everything she had ever known, she could feel those old constraints falling away. Here, she could be anyone she wanted to be, could chase dreams she had never dared voice aloud.

Even if those dreams involved a certain brooding, impossible cowboy with eyes the color of a stormy sky.

Clementine pushed off the door, shaking her head at her own foolishness. She was being ridiculous. Elvis was just a man, no different from any other. A bit rougher around the edges, mayhap, but certainly not worth losing her head over. She had more important things to worry about, like learning to run this ranch and proving herself worthy of her uncle's trust.

With a resolute nod, Clementine began to undress for bed, her fingers deftly unfastening the long row of buttons down the back of her bodice. She slipped the heavy garment off, sighing with relief as the cool air hit her sweat-dampened skin. She reached for her nightgown, a simple cotton shift that fell to her ankles in soft folds.

But as she lifted the garment over her head, a sudden gust of wind from the open window sent the curtains billowing inward, the fabric brushing against her bare skin like a lover's caress. Clementine shivered, gooseflesh rising on her arms and legs. For a moment, she imagined it was Elvis' hands on her, his callused fingers tracing the curve of her spine, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast...

With a gasp, Clementine wrenched the nightgown down, her face flaming with mortification. Good heavens, what was she thinking? She must be more tired than she realized, to let her mind wander down such inappropriate paths. Elvis was her employee, nothing more. To allow herself to entertain such lurid fantasies was not only foolish, but dangerous.

Flustered and out of sorts, Clementine crawled beneath the patchwork quilt, the bed creaking beneath her weight. She thumped the pillow a bit harder than necessary, then lay back with a huff, staring up at the shadowy rafters above.

Sleep. That was what she needed. A good night's rest to clear her head and settle her nerves. Tomorrow would be a new day, full of challenges and opportunities. She would rise with the sun, would throw herself into the work of the ranch with all the energy and determination she possessed. And if her thoughts should happen to stray to a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed cowboy, well... she would just have to deal with that when the time came.

With a sigh, Clementine closed her eyes, willing her racing mind to quiet. But even as she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't shake the feeling that her life was about to change in ways she had never dared imagine. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch would test her in ways she had never been tested before.

And that maybe, just maybe, she was ready for the challenge.

Chapter 2

The shrill crow of a rooster jolted Clementine from a dreamless sleep. She sat up with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then memory came flooding back - the long journey west, the startling confrontation with Elvis, the strange, charged moment in the kitchen the night before.

Clementine groaned, flopping back against the pillows. She had hoped that a good night's sleep would clear her head, would settle the unsettling flutter in her stomach whenever she thought of the taciturn cowboy. But if anything, the light of day only made her confusion and trepidation worse.

How was she supposed to face him this morning, after fleeing from him like a frightened rabbit? He must think her a complete fool, a silly city girl who couldn't handle the slightest hint of rough manners. And what must the other ranch hands think, seeing their new boss so easily flustered by their foreman?

Clementine set her jaw, a spark of determination igniting in her chest. No. She refused to let Elvis or anyone else rattle her. She was Clementine Olivetti, mistress of Windy Creek Ranch. She had faced far greater challenges than one surly cowboy, and she would face this one with the same grit and grace that had gotten her this far.

With a resolute nod, Clementine threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She winced as her feet hit the cold floorboards, the chill of the early morning air raising gooseflesh on her arms. Shivering, she hurried to the washstand and poured a measure of tepid water from the pitcher into the basin. She splashed her face and neck, the bracing coolness helping to chase away the last vestiges of sleep.

As she toweled off, Clementine caught sight of herself in the small, spotty mirror hanging above the washstand. Her reflection stared back at her, wide-eyed and a bit wan. The long journey and the stress of the previous day had taken their toll - there were shadows beneath her eyes and a pinched look to her mouth. But there was also a new resolve in the set of her chin, a glint of steel in her gaze.

She was not the same woman who had left New York. The old Clementine would have balked at the idea of manual labor, would have blanched at the thought of getting her hands dirty. But the new Clementine, the Clementine who had crossed a continent to claim her inheritance, was ready to roll up her sleeves and get to work.

With that thought firmly in mind, Clementine set about dressing for the day ahead. She chose a simple frock of sturdy blue calico, the skirt full enough to allow for ease of movement. Over it, she layered a crisp white apron, the bib protecting her bodice from any stray bits of dirt or debris. She pulled her hair back into a practical bun at the nape of her neck, then topped the ensemble with a wide-brimmed straw hat to shield her face from the sun.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Clementine felt a surge of satisfaction. She looked like a woman who meant business, a woman ready to take on whatever challenges the day might bring. With a nod of approval, she turned away from the glass and made her way downstairs.

The kitchen was already a hive of activity when Clementine entered. Mrs. Jameson stood at the stove, stirring a pot of bubbling oatmeal with one hand while flipping pancakes with the other. The air was thick with the scent of frying bacon and fresh coffee, making Clementine's stomach rumble in anticipation.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jameson," she said, taking a seat at the long wooden table. "That smells heavenly."

"Mornin', Miss Clementine," the housekeeper replied, casting a smile over her shoulder. "I hope you slept well. I know the first night in a new place can be a bit unsettlin'."

"I slept just fine, thank you," Clementine lied, not wanting to admit to the restless thoughts that had kept her tossing and turning half the night. "Is there anything I can do to help with breakfast?"

Mrs. Jameson looked scandalized at the very idea. "Heavens no, miss! You just sit right there and let me take care of everything. It's my job to make sure you're well-fed and rested, not the other way around."

Clementine opened her mouth to protest, but the housekeeper cut her off with a stern look. "I mean it, miss. You've got enough on your plate as it is, learnin' the ropes of runnin' this ranch. Leave the cookin' and cleanin' to me."

Chastened, Clementine sat back in her chair, feeling a bit useless. She was used to being busy from sunup to sundown, to having a full day's work ahead of her. The idea of sitting idle while others bustled about made her itch with restlessness.

But before she could dwell on it too long, the kitchen door swung open and Elvis strode in, his spurs jingling with each step. Clementine's heart gave a traitorous leap at the sight of him, her skin prickling with awareness as his gaze landed on her.

"Mornin', Mrs. J," he said, tipping his hat to the housekeeper. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Miss Clementine."

"Good morning, Elvis," Clementine replied, proud of how steady her voice sounded. "I trust you slept well?"

Elvis shrugged, hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. "Well enough. Got a full day ahead, so I reckon I'll sleep when I'm dead." His blue eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement, or might have been challenge. "You ready to get your hands dirty, boss lady?"

Clementine lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "I am. Just tell me where to start."

Elvis' mouth twitched, as if he were fighting back a smile. "Reckon we'll start with the chickens. Gotta collect the eggs and feed the birds 'fore we do anything else."

Clementine's nose wrinkled at the thought of mucking about in a chicken coop, but she nodded gamely. "Lead the way, then."

Elvis cocked a brow, looking almost impressed by her easy acquiescence. He jerked his chin toward the door, then strode out into the morning sunlight without a backward glance.

Clementine hurried to follow, her heart hammering with a mix of nerves and excitement. This was it - her first real test as mistress of Windy Creek. She could only hope she was up to the challenge.

The chicken coop was a ramshackle affair, all weathered wood and rusting wire. It stood at the edge of the yard, a few dozen scrawny birds pecking and scratching at the dirt around its base. They scattered as Elvis approached, clucking and flapping in agitation.

"Little bastards," Elvis muttered, kicking at a particularly bold rooster who dared to dart across his path. "More trouble than they're worth, most days."

Clementine eyed the birds warily, keeping a safe distance as Elvis unlatched the coop door and ducked inside. She could hear him moving about, the soft cluck and coo of the hens as he gathered their eggs. A moment later, he emerged, a basket hooked over one arm.

"Here," he said, thrusting the basket into Clementine's hands. "Hold this while I scatter the feed."

Clementine took the basket gingerly, peering down at the warm, speckled eggs nestled in the straw. They were still faintly damp from the hens' nests, and they gave off a rich, earthy scent that made her think of new life and green growing things.

As Elvis scattered handfuls of cracked corn across the yard, the chickens swarmed around his feet, pecking and jostling for position. Clementine watched in fascination as they darted and fluttered, their beady eyes bright with greed. She had never seen anything so vibrantly alive, so utterly unconcerned with human affairs.

"They're quite something, aren't they?" she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis glanced up at her, surprised. "What, the chickens? I suppose so. Never gave 'em much thought, to be honest. Just another chore to be done."

Clementine shook her head, a small smile playing about her lips. "There's a lesson in that, I think. They don't worry about yesterday or tomorrow. They just live in the moment, taking what they need and letting the rest go."

Elvis straightened, dusting his hands off on his chaps. He regarded her with a new intensity, as if seeing her for the first time. "Ain't you just full of surprises, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt a flush creep up her neck at his words, at the way his gaze seemed to linger on her face. She ducked her head, suddenly fascinated by the eggs in her basket.

"We should get these inside," she said briskly, turning back toward the house. "Mrs. Jameson will be wanting them for breakfast."

She could feel Elvis' eyes on her back as she walked away, could sense the weight of his regard like a physical touch. It made her skin tingle and her stomach flutter, made her feel alive in a way she never had before.

But she couldn't let herself dwell on it. Couldn't let herself get distracted by the way he made her feel. She had a ranch to run, a legacy to uphold. And she would do it with or without Elvis' approval.

With a determined set to her shoulders, Clementine marched up the porch steps and into the kitchen, ready to face whatever the day might bring. And if her thoughts kept straying to a pair of piercing blue eyes and a crooked, knowing smile, well...that was nobody's business but her own.

As the morning wore on, Clementine found herself thrown headlong into the daily rhythms of ranch life. After breakfast, Elvis put her to work mucking out stalls in the barn, a task that left her sweaty and aching but oddly satisfied. There was something soothing about the repetitive motions, the earthy scent of hay and horse, the soft whickers and snuffles of the animals as she worked.

Next came a lesson in saddling a horse, Elvis' hands guiding her through the intricacies of cinches and stirrups. Clementine tried not to think about how close he stood, how the heat of his body seemed to seep into her skin through the layers of her dress. She focused instead on the task at hand, on the supple leather beneath her fingers and the solid weight of the saddle as she hefted it onto the horse's back.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, Clementine was sore and sweat-streaked but buzzing with a sense of accomplishment. She had never worked so hard in her life, had never pushed herself to such physical limits. But there was a deep satisfaction in it, a pride in knowing that she was capable of more than she had ever imagined.

As they made their way back to the house for dinner, Elvis fell into step beside her, his long legs easily matching her shorter strides. Clementine glanced up at him, surprised to find a glint of approval in his eyes.

"You did good today," he said gruffly, as if the words pained him. "Reckon you might just have what it takes to make a go of this place after all."

Clementine felt a warm glow of pleasure at his praise, even as she bristled at the note of surprise in his voice. "Did you doubt it?" she asked archly.

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Let's just say I had my reservations. But you're full of surprises, Miss Clementine. Reckon I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you."

There was something in the way he said it, a hint of challenge and something else, something that made Clementine's pulse skip and her skin tingle. She met his gaze squarely, refusing to back down.

"I suppose you will," she said, her voice steady even as her heart raced. "But I intend to keep an eye on you as well. We're in this together, Elvis. Whether you like it or not."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eyes.

"Reckon we are," he said, his voice low and rough. "Reckon we are."

And with that, he turned and strode off toward the barn, leaving Clementine to watch him go, her heart hammering in her chest and a new determination burning in her veins.

*

One morning, Elvis gathered the ranch hands for the afternoon's work—a cattle drive to the south pasture to check on the herd and survey the fence lines. Clementine insisted on going along, despite Elvis' skeptical look and Slim’s poorly concealed grin.

Elvis gestured to a small bay mare tethered nearby. "That there is Nutmeg. She's gentle as a lamb and sure-footed on any terrain. Figured she'd suit a greenhorn like you."

Clementine eyed the saddle and tack warily. She knew she was badly out of practice. But she'd be damned if she let Elvis see her falter.

"Lovely," she said brightly, untying Nutmeg's reins and leading her out into the sunlight.

Now came the tricky part. How in blazes did one mount a horse unassisted whilst wearing trousers? Clementine's mind raced as she tried to recall the particulars. There had been talk of a mounting block or some sort of assistance from a groom...

Before she could make a bigger fool of herself, a large, work-roughened hand appeared in her peripheral vision.

"Allow me," Elvis murmured, his breath tickling her ear. 

Clementine stiffened but managed a jerky nod, steeling herself as he gripped her waist and practically tossed her into the saddle as if she weighed nothing at all. Good lord, the man was strong as an ox!

"There now," Elvis said, sounding faintly amused. "Snug as a bug. Let's hit the trail."

He swung aboard his own horse, Rising Sun, with effortless grace and set off at a brisk trot, leaving Clementine scrambling to gather her reins and urge Nutmeg to follow. The mare fell into step readily enough, but the motion of the saddle had Clementine lurching and sliding like a sack of potatoes. She clung to the horn for dear life, her teeth rattling and her hat threatening to fly off with every jolting stride.

“You alright there, city slicker?” Elvis offered with a smirk. 

Clementine scowled at him, her face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you. It's just been a while since I've ridden."

"I can see that. You're bouncin' around up there like a flea on a hot griddle." Red, Slim, and Rusty chuckled. 

Clementine's temper flared. "Well, forgive me for not being born in the saddle like some people. We can't all be insolent, arrogant cowboys!"

Elvis' eyes narrowed, his smile fading. "Careful now, missy. That insolent, arrogant cowboy is the only thing standing between you and a long walk back to the house. Might want to mind your manners."

“Aw hell, Elvis, leave the little lady alone,” Slim attempted to diffuse the budding argument.

Clementine knew she should back down, should swallow her pride and apologize. But something about this man just rubbed her the wrong way, stirring up a reckless, contrary streak she didn't even know she possessed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sweetly to herself, not expecting anyone to hear her. "I thought I was the boss around here. My mistake."

Elvis' jaw clenched, his hand tightening on the reins. "Boss or not, out here you're just another greenhorn. And greenshorns who don't listen to good sense often end up buzzard bait. So you can either stow that snippy attitude and let me teach you a thing or two, or you can take your chances on your own. What'll it be?"

Red, Slim, and Rusty slowed their horses down, holding their breath and waiting for her answer. Clementine glared at Elvis, her pride warring with her common sense. As much as it galled her to admit it, Elvis was right. She was out of her depth out here and antagonizing her only guide was foolish at best, deadly at worst.

"Fine," she bit out. "Teach away, oh wise one. I am your humble student."

Elvis snorted, shaking his head. "You sure don't make it easy, do you? Alright, first things first—loosen up on them reins. You're holding 'em like you expect Nutmeg to bolt any second. She ain't going nowhere, trust me."

Clementine forced her white-knuckled grip to relax, letting out a shaky breath as the mare flicked an ear back curiously.

"Good. Now, stand up in them stirrups a bit. Let your knees absorb the motion 'stead of your backside. And keep your heels down for balance."

Clementine did as instructed, wobbling precariously for a moment before finding a rhythm. To her surprise, the ride smoothed out considerably, Nutmeg's rocking gait almost pleasant now that she wasn't being jounced to pieces.

"Well, would you look at that," Elvis drawled. "She can be taught. Keep that up and we might make a passable rider out of you yet, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt an absurd flush of pleasure at his gruff approval. Honestly, what did she care what this uncouth lout thought of her? Still, perhaps it wouldn't kill her to bend a little, to put aside her wounded pride in service of the greater goal. She needed Elvis' cooperation if she hoped to make a go of this venture. Catching more flies with honey and all that.

Red’s mare caught up to hers, and he gently squeezed Clementine’s arm. “Don’t pay old Elvis no mind. He’s always a little ornery in the morning.” 

The four of them rode on in relatively companionable silence, the raw beauty of the landscape stealing Clementine's breath. Towering buttes and mesas rose up from the sun-baked earth, their banded layers glowing red and gold in the slanting light. Gnarled junipers dotted the hillsides, providing scant shade for the cacti and scrub brush that clung tenaciously to the rocky soil. In the distance, a band of wild mustangs kicked up dust as they fled across the flats, tails streaming behind them like banners.

It was a harsh, unforgiving land, but stunning in its austerity. Clementine tried to imagine her uncle Ned riding these same trails, his weather-beaten face creased in a smile as he surveyed his domain. She may not have known him well, but she sensed a kindred spirit—someone drawn to challenge and adventure, to pitting themselves against an untamed wilderness and emerging the victor.

Well, here I am, Uncle Ned, she thought. Following in your boot prints at last. I just hope I'm up to the task.

Lost in thought, Clementine scarcely noticed when Rusty reined in his horse at the crest of a rise, his keen gaze scanning the horizon.

"There," he said, pointing to a distant smudge of brown against the green and gold. "The herd's just over that next ridge. About three hundred head of prime Hereford, Ned's pride and joy. Let's ease up on 'em slow and quiet-like. Don't want to spook 'em into a stampede."

They approached the grazing cattle cautiously, Clementine's heart thudding with anticipation. Her first real look at her newfound livelihood. What would Ned have thought, seeing her astride a ranch horse, ready to take the reins of his empire? Would he be proud or appalled? Amused or aghast?

"You sure you're up for this, Miss Clementine?" Red asked, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "Ridin' herd ain't no picnic, 'specially for a greenhorn."

Clementine lifted her chin, giving him a cool smile. "I'm tougher than I look, Mr. Redding. And I'm a quick study. I'll be just fine."

The cattle regarded the riders placidly, chewing their cud and swishing their tails at the flies. Up close, they were even more enormous than Clementine had imagined, their heavy bodies and wickedly curved horns dwarfing the horses. She felt a flicker of unease, remembering tales of cowpokes gored and trampled by unruly steers.

As if sensing her trepidation, Elvis murmured, "Easy now. They're more scared of you than you are of them. These are good, docile beasts, well-used to human handling. Just keep your movements slow and predictable and you'll be fine."

Clementine nodded jerkily, fighting the urge to wheel Nutmeg around and gallop in the opposite direction. She trusted Elvis' expertise, even if she didn't particularly like or respect the man himself. He'd kept this herd thriving for five years—that had to count for something.

They meandered through the milling cattle, Elvis pointing out choice specimens and explaining the finer points of branding, breeding, and husbandry. Clementine did her best to absorb the onslaught of information, her head fairly spinning with talk of bloodlines and feed supplements and market prices.

One thing was becoming crystal clear. She was hopelessly out of her depth when it came to the day-to-day realities of running a ranch. Short of a miracle or divine intervention, Windy Creek would be bankrupt and in ruins within a month under her ignorant guidance.

Clementine's throat tightened with despair at the thought of failing her uncle, of losing this land that meant so much to him. And what of the people who depended on Windy Creek for their livelihood? Red and Slim and Rusty and the other hands she had yet to meet—how could she face them if her incompetence cost them their jobs, their homes?

No, it was unthinkable. She needed help, loath as she was to admit it. She needed Elvis.

Clementine was just working up the nerve to broach the subject when the quiet afternoon exploded into chaos. One moment the cattle were grazing peacefully, the next they were bellowing in alarm, eyes rolling and hooves churning the earth. The cause of their distress soon became apparent—a pair of snarling, yipping coyotes had burst from the underbrush, harrying the herd's flanks in search of an easy meal.

"Damnation!" Elvis swore, spurring his mount towards the threat. "Slim! Red! Rusty! Get after 'em 'fore they scatter the herd!"

Clementine watched in amazement as the cowhands sprung into immediate action, whooping and hollering as they rode to head off the predators. Red in particular was a sight to behold, his enormous frame dwarfing his horse as he thundered after a fleeing coyote, his lasso whirling overhead.

In the midst of the pandemonium, Clementine lost sight of Elvis. She reined in Nutmeg, heart in her throat as she scanned the milling herd for any sign of him. Panic clawed at her insides as horrible visions flashed through her mind—Elvis thrown from the saddle, trampled beneath a hundred hooves, bleeding and broken on the unforgiving ground...

A flash of movement caught her eye and Clementine shrieked in alarm, instinctively wrenching Nutmeg to the side. Too late, she realized her mistake as a coyote darted from the brush directly underfoot, spooking the mare into a wild, twisting buck.

Clementine felt herself slipping, her tenuous grip on the saddle horn failing as Nutmeg crow-hopped and whirled beneath her. She had one instant of sickening clarity, the knowledge that this was going to hurt, before the ground rushed up to meet her with stunning force.

The impact drove the air from her lungs in a whoosh, black spots crowding the edges of her vision. Dimly, she registered the thud of approaching hoofbeats, the bawl of frightened cattle, someone shouting her name with increasing urgency.

"Clementine! Clementine, goddammit, answer me!"

Rough hands seized her shoulders, rolling her onto her back. Clementine blinked up at Elvis' ashen face, his blue eyes wide with fear.

"I'm... alright," she croaked, wincing at the stabbing pain in her ribs. "Just had the wind knocked out of me."

"You're hurt," Elvis said roughly, his fingers coming away from her temple sticky with red. "What the hell were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that? You're lucky you didn't break your damn fool neck!"

"I was thinking that I didn't particularly want to be some coyote's dinner," Clementine snapped, struggling to sit up. "What was I supposed to do, let it take a chunk out of Nutmeg?"

"Better the horse than you!" Elvis shot back. "Christ almighty, do you have any idea what it would've done to me if you'd been killed on my watch? On your first day here?"

There was something raw and desperate in his voice, an emotion Clementine couldn't quite name. She stared at him, struck speechless by the intensity of his reaction.

Before she could formulate a response, the sound of pounding hooves announced the return of the other cowhands. Red reined up hard beside them, his ruddy face creased with concern.

"Miss Clementine! You okay? We saw you take that spill and feared the worst!"

"I'm fine, Red," Clementine assured him, accepting Elvis' hand up with as much dignity as she could muster. "Just a little tumble. No permanent damage."

Rusty looked skeptical, eyeing the bloody gash on her forehead. "That's gonna need some doctorin'. We best get you back to the house and have Juanita take a look."

"I said I'm fine," Clementine insisted, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over her. "There's no need to fuss."

Elvis made a wordless sound of frustration, scooping her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour. "Stubborn woman! You're gettin' patched up and that's final. Rusty, ride back to the ranch and tell Juanita to put the kettle on and set up a place on the porch.”

"Yessir, boss!" Rusty wheeled his horse and took off at a gallop, stirring up a cloud of dust.

"Slim, you get this heard settled and head on back when you can. Red, you lead Nutmeg back. I'm takin' Miss Accident-Prone here home before she finds more trouble to get into."

Elvis plunked Clementine onto his saddle and swung up behind her, caging her in with his long arms. She opened her mouth to protest the indignity of it all, but a stern look from those flinty blue eyes had her subsiding into sullen silence.

The ride back to the house seemed to take an eternity, every jolt and jostle sending fresh sparks of pain through Clementine's battered body. She could feel the heat of Elvis' chest at her back, the tickle of his breath ruffling her hair. It was unsettling, being in such close proximity to him. Like trying to relax with a loaded gun at your temple.

By the time they reached the ranch yard, Clementine's head was throbbing and her stomach was churning alarmingly. Black spots swarmed her vision as Elvis lifted her down from the saddle, his hands exceedingly gentle for all their strength.

"Easy there, darlin'. I got you."

Clementine leaned into him, too woozy to protest the endearment. He smelled of leather and sweat and something uniquely male, a scent that made her pulse flutter in a way that had nothing to do with her injuries.

She was only vaguely aware of being carried up the porch steps and settled onto a low cot, clucking female voices buzzing around her like concerned hens. Cool hands smoothed her brow, a damp cloth dabbing at the sticky mess at her hairline. The sting of alcohol made her hiss, flinching away.

"Hush, child," crooned Juanita, the middle-aged Mexican woman who served as the ranch’s de facto doctor-slash-veterinarian. "This will clean the cut, keep it from putrefaction. Drink this now, for the dolor de cabeza."

A cup was pressed to Clementine's lips, bitter tea laced with something sharper, medicinal. She gulped it obediently, desperate for anything to dull the relentless pounding behind her eyes.

Gradually, blessedly, the pain receded to a distant ache, her limbs growing heavy with languor. Clementine felt herself sinking into the downy embrace of the cot, the muted sounds of the ranch fading to a distant hum. Just before oblivion claimed her, she thought she felt the calloused touch of a hand smoothing her hair, the gruff timbre of a voice rumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "rest now, wildcat."

But it was probably just a dream, a product of her exhausted, concussed brain. Elvis Presley would never be so tender, so solicitous. Not to her. Not in a million years.

*

Clementine slept, and did not dream at all.

She awoke slowly, surfacing from the depths of unconsciousness like a diver ascending sunlit waters. Her head felt muzzy, her mouth dry as cotton, but the pain had faded to a faint, distant throb. Blinking gummy eyes, she struggled to focus on her surroundings.

She was lying on the cot on the front porch, a patchwork quilt tucked around her legs. The sun was setting in a blaze of orange and pink, the long shadows of the outbuildings stretching across the yard like grasping fingers. Somewhere nearby, a lone cicada buzzed in the cooling air, a herald of the approaching dusk.

"Well now, look who's back among the living."

Clementine turned her head, wincing at the twinge in her neck. Elvis was seated in a rocking chair a few feet away, his long legs stretched out before him and his hat tipped low over his eyes. He looked relaxed, indolent even, but Clementine could sense the coiled energy beneath the languid facade, the watchful tension of a predator at rest.

"What happened?" she croaked, struggling to sit up. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours," Elvis replied, leaning forward to hand her a tin cup of water. "You took a pretty good knock to the head when that mare bucked you off. Juanita cleaned you up and dosed you with one of her concoctions. Said you'd be right as rain after some rest."

Clementine sipped the water, frowning as memory returned in fits and starts. The coyote, Nutmeg's panicked thrashing, the sickening weightlessness as she flew through the air...

"The cattle!" she exclaimed, slopping water down her front in her agitation. "Did they scatter? Was anyone hurt?"

Elvis shook his head, a faint smile playing about his lips. "Nah, we got 'em rounded up and settled quick enough. And other than a few bumps and bruises, everyone came through just fine. Except for you, a'course. Damn foolish stunt you pulled out there."

Clementine bristled at the censure in his tone, even as a tiny part of her acknowledged the truth of it. "I was just reacting on instinct. I didn't want Nutmeg to get hurt."

"And I didn't want you to get dead," Elvis retorted, a sudden edge to his voice. "Do you have any idea how close you came to dying today? How it felt to see you layin' there in the dirt, bleedin' and still as a corpse? Christ, Clementine, you 'bout stopped my heart."

Clementine stared at him, caught off-guard by the admission.

She flushed, both at the scolding and the backhanded compliment. "Yes, well, I suppose I've learned my lesson about playing the hero. Ranch work is a sight more dangerous than minding a shop or keeping accounts."

To her surprise, Elvis chuckled. "Reckon that's true enough. But you showed some real grit out there today, greenhorn or no. Not many city gals would have stuck it out like you did."

His praise, grudging as it was, warmed Clementine down to her toes. She ducked her head to hide her pleased smile, suddenly very aware of his nearness, of the way his knee brushed her hip through the quilt.

"I guess I'm tougher than I look," she said, aiming for nonchalance.

"Guess you are," Elvis agreed. Something in his tone made Clementine look up, her breath catching at the intensity in his blue eyes. For a long, charged moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them fairly crackling with an unnamed tension.

Then Elvis blinked and looked away, clearing his throat gruffly. "Best you get some more rest," he said, rising from the rocker. "I'll have Ida bring you up some supper later. Holler if you need anything."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Clementine alone with her whirling thoughts. She lay back against the pillows, her heart racing and her skin tingling where his gaze had lingered. What on earth had just happened? One minute Elvis was his usual gruff, scolding self, the next he was looking at her like... like...

Like a man looks at a woman he desires, a traitorous voice whispered in her head. Clementine shook the thought away, scandalised. Surely she was imagining things, seeing more than was there. She and Elvis were like oil and water, always rubbing each other the wrong way. He tolerated her for the sake of the ranch, nothing more. The idea that he might feel something deeper, something tender and passionate and real... it was impossible.

Wasn't it?

Clementine groaned and turned her face into the pillow, suddenly exhausted. Her head ached abominably, and her heart felt like a bird beating its wings against the cage of her ribs. She needed sleep, needed time to sort through the jumble of her emotions and the strange, unsettling effect Elvis Presley seemed to have on her good sense.

But even as she drifted off into a fitful doze, Clementine couldn't shake the memory of his eyes on hers, intense and searching and full of something that looked achingly like longing. It haunted her dreams, that look—a promise, a challenge, a invitation to something thrilling and terrifying and utterly forbidden.

Something Clementine knew she shouldn't want... but lord help her, she did.

She wanted it with every fiber of her being.

*

Over the next few days, as Clementine recovered from her injuries, she had ample time to reflect on her growing feelings for Elvis. It was maddening, the way he seemed to invade her every waking thought. She would be in the middle of some mundane task—shelling peas with Ida in the kitchen, or mending a torn shirt in her room—and suddenly his face would swim before her mind's eye, those piercing blue eyes and that crooked, knowing smile making her stomach flutter and her cheeks heat.

It was ridiculous. It was inappropriate. It was... inevitable, if Clementine was being honest with herself. From the moment she'd first laid eyes on Elvis, standing tall and proud on the porch of Windy Creek Ranch, she had felt the pull of him. The attraction, the fascination, the infuriating urge to crack that stony facade and see the man beneath.

But it was more than just physical allure. As the days turned into weeks and Clementine settled into her new life at the ranch, she began to see glimmers of the real Elvis: the loyal friend, the tireless worker, the unexpected jokester. Oh, he could be maddening, with his gruffness and his stubborn pride. But he could also be unexpectedly kind, unbelievably patient, and downright entertaining when the mood struck him.

Like the time he'd caught her trying to sneak a peek at his guitar, the one he kept propped in a corner of the bunkhouse. She'd been sure he would scold her for snooping, or worse, laugh at her clumsy attempts to pluck out a tune. But instead, he'd just shaken his head and smiled that crooked smile of his, then sat down beside her and showed her how to hold the instrument, his callused fingers guiding hers over the strings until she could pick out a passable melody.

Or the night he'd found her crying in the hayloft, homesick and overwhelmed and halfway convinced she'd made a terrible mistake in coming to Windy Creek. He hadn't said a word, just sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, letting her sob into his shirt until she was spent. Then he'd tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes, his own gaze fierce and tender all at once.

"You're doing just fine, Clementine," he'd said, his voice low and rough. "You're right where you're meant to be."

It was moments like those that made Clementine's heart ache with a longing she couldn't quite name. A yearning for something more than friendship, more than partnership. 

Something that felt suspiciously like affection.

But it was impossible. She and Elvis were too different, too stubborn and set in their ways. They would drive each other mad within a year, Clementine was sure of it. And even if by some miracle they could make a go of it, there was still the ranch to consider. Windy Creek needed her, needed Elvis. They couldn't afford any distractions or entanglements.

No, it was better to put such foolish notions out of her head. To focus on her duties and her goals, and let her heart's desire remain just that—a secret, wistful dream.

But oh, how she dreamed.

As the weeks passed and Clementine grew stronger, she threw herself into life at Windy Creek with renewed determination. She rose with the sun each morning, joining Mrs. Jameson in the kitchen for a hearty breakfast before heading out to tackle the day's chores. She rode herd with the cattle, mended fences with Red and the boys, even tried her hand at roping and branding.

She still felt hopelessly out of her depth at times, but she was learning fast. And she had Elvis to thank for that. He was a patient teacher, though a demanding one. He pushed her hard, expecting nothing less than her very best effort. But he was also quick with a word of praise when she got something right, or a steadying hand when she faltered.

Slowly but surely, Clementine could feel herself changing. Growing tougher, more resilient. The blisters on her palms turned to calluses, the ache in her muscles to a pleasant sort of soreness. And though her prim city dresses were a thing of the past, she found she didn't miss them all that much. There was a freedom in denim and calico, a practicality that suited her new life.

She knew she still had a long way to go before she could truly call herself a rancher. But for the first time since arriving at Windy Creek, Clementine felt like she might actually belong here. Like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

And if her gaze still strayed to Elvis more often than it should, if her heart still raced at his nearness and her skin tingled at his touch... well. That was her secret to keep. Her cross to bear.

But lord, what a sweet burden it was.

*

One evening a few months later, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and painted the sky in shades of gold and pink, Clementine found herself alone with Elvis on a bluff overlooking the ranch. She'd gone up there to get away from the noise and bustle of the house for a while, to let the peace of the prairie soak into her bones and ease the remnants of the day's tension.

She hadn't expected Elvis to follow her. But then, he seemed to have a knack for turning up wherever she was. A coincidence, she told herself each time. Just a quirk of ranch life, two people whose paths were bound to cross often. It didn't mean anything.

But as Elvis came to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing hers as they looked out over the rolling expanse of Windy Creek, Clementine felt that old familiar flutter in her chest. The hitch in her breath, the skip of her pulse.

It meant something. It had to.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the wind rustling through the grass, the distant lowing of the cattle in the pasture. Clementine breathed it in, let it fill her lungs and settle in her bones. This place, this land. It was a part of her now, as vital as her own beating heart.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis hummed in agreement, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "Never get tired of this view. No matter how many times I see it."

Clementine glanced at him, struck by the wondering note in his voice. "You really love this place, don't you?"

Elvis nodded slowly. "It's in my blood. Has been since I was old enough to sit a horse. Used to dream about having a spread like this, a place to call my own." He paused, his jaw working as if wrestling with some inner debate. Then, quietly, "Never thought I'd find someone to share it with, though."

Clementine's heart stumbled, then began to race. Surely he didn't mean... no. He couldn't have. 

They rode home in silence. 

Chapter 3

The sun beat down on Clementine's back as she rode across the pasture, her eyes scanning the herd for any signs of trouble. It had been just over a year since she'd arrived at Windy Creek Ranch, and in that time, she'd learned more about cattle and cowboying than she'd ever thought possible.

She'd also learned a thing or two about herself. Like the fact that she was stronger than she'd ever given herself credit for, and that the wide-open spaces of the West felt more like home than the bustling streets of New York ever had.

As she turned her horse back towards the ranch house, Clementine couldn't help but smile. Despite the long days and the hard work, she'd never been happier. She had a purpose here, a place where she belonged.

She had Elvis. 

Of course, he was as quiet as ever. Truly, the strong and silent type. But somewhere along the way, through all the disagreements and teasing, a comfortable companionship had grown between them, and Clementine was grateful. 

She dismounted in front of the house, handing the reins off to one of the ranch hands. "Take good care of him, Johnny," she said, giving the boy a pat on the shoulder. "He worked hard today."

Johnny grinned, his freckled face beaming with pride. "Yes, ma'am, Miss Clementine. I'll give him a good rubdown and some extra oats."

Clementine nodded, grateful for the enthusiasm and dedication of her crew. Over time, the workers at the ranch had become like her family. In addition to Red, Slim, and Rusty, there was Johnny, the eager young newcomer; Hank, the grizzled old-timer who'd been working the ranch since before Clementine was born; Juanita, the no-nonsense veterinarian who kept the animals healthy and her affable husband Gerónimo; Ida, the motherly housekeeper and cook whose fried chicken was legendary around these parts; and a handful of other steady, reliable hands.

She made her way into the house, sighing with relief as the cool shade enveloped her. She had just taken off her gloves and settled down at her desk to go over the day's receipts when a letter caught her eye. It was postmarked from New York.

Clementine smiled as she unfolded the pages, eager for news from home. But before she could read more than a few lines, the door burst open and Elvis strode in, his face grim.

"We got trouble," he said without preamble. "Rustlers hit the Falling Tree Acres last night. They're missing a dozen head."

Clementine's blood ran cold. Rustlers. The scourge of the open range, the nightmare of every rancher west of the Mississippi. She had heard the stories, had listened to the ranch hands swap tales of cattle thefts and midnight raids. But she had never thought it would happen here, in their peaceful valley.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Elvis nodded grimly. "They found tracks this morning, out by their western pasture. Looks like the bastards cut the fence and drove off a dozen head in the night. Took ‘em 'til now to make sure there weren't no stragglers."

Clementine sank back into her chair, her knees suddenly weak. A dozen head. It didn't sound like much, but she knew that every animal counted, that even a small loss could be devastating to any ranch. 

“What’ll they do?” she asked, hating the tremor in her voice. "What if the rustlers come here?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Ain't gonna be easy. These rustlers, they're smart. They know how to cover their tracks, how to disappear into the wilderness like ghosts. We could spend weeks chasin' 'em and never see hide nor hair."

Clementine's heart sank even further. Something had to be done, but... weeks of fruitless searching, of neglecting the ranch and the rest of the herd? They couldn't afford it, not now. Not when they were just starting to find their footing. Then again, they needed to do something about it—prevent any losses before they happened.

But then, a sudden thought struck her. A memory of something her uncle had said, long ago, when she was just a girl. Something about the importance of neighbors, of community, of banding together in times of trouble.

"What about the other ranchers?" she asked, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Surely we're not the only ones who have been hit by these rustlers. What if we joined forces, pooled our resources and manpower?"

Elvis looked at her in surprise, as if the idea had never occurred to him. "You mean, like a meeting?"

She took a deep breath, her mind already racing. "Yes," she said, standing up from her desk. "Let's get the word out. I want every rancher in the valley here tonight. We need to figure out a plan."

Elvis nodded, his jaw tight. "I'll send Rusty and Johnny to spread the news. You want me to ride over to Big Sky, let them know?"

Clementine hesitated, remembering the last time she'd seen Nathaniel Hawthorne. The man had been cold and dismissive, making it clear that he didn't think much of a woman running a ranch. But Big Sky was one of the largest spreads in the area, and they needed all the help they could get.

"No," she said finally. "I'll go myself. It's time Nathaniel and I had a little chat."

Elvis's eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. "Alright then. I'll hold down the fort here, make sure everything's ready for tonight."

Clementine nodded, grateful for his support. She knew that Elvis had his doubts about her plan, but he trusted her enough to follow her lead. It meant more to her than she could say.

She rode hard for Big Sky, her thoughts churning as she tried to come up with a way to convince Nathaniel Hawthorne to join their cause. The man was as stubborn as a mule, and twice as mean. But if they had any hope of stopping the rustlers, they needed Big Sky on their side.

When she arrived at the ranch, she was surprised to be greeted not by Nathaniel, but by his son Aaron. The young man was a few years older than Clementine, with sharp hazel eyes and a no-nonsense air about him.

"Miss Olivetti," Aaron said, his tone cool but polite. "I'm afraid my father is indisposed at the moment. What can I do for you?"

Clementine dismounted, dusting off her hands on her skirt. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure she meant it. "I've come to talk to him about the rustler problem. We're calling a meeting tonight, and I was hoping Big Sky would be represented."

Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and Clementine got the sense that she was being sized up. "I see," the young man said finally. "Well, I can't speak for my father, but I'll be there. Big Sky takes the rustler threat very seriously."

She rode back to Windy Creek feeling accomplished, like they might just have a chance against the rustlers after all. But as the sun began to set and the ranchers began to arrive, Clementine felt her confidence waver.

The main room of the ranch house was crowded, the air thick with tension and the murmur of voices. Clementine looked around at the gathered men, recognizing most of the faces. There was Jake McAllister from the Circle B, his weathered face set in a scowl. Tom Hawkins from the Rocking H, his fingers drumming an agitated beat on his thigh. Hank Brewster from the Lazy J, his shoulders slumped with weariness. Of course, Jake Dawson from Falling Tree Acres was there, too, hopping mad. And a half-dozen others, all looking to her for answers.

Her own men were there as well—Red and Slim and Rusty, their expressions grim. And a few more she'd come to rely on over the past year: Jeb Thompson, a grizzled hand who could coax a calf from the orneriest of heifers; young Billy Turner, eager to prove himself; and Lyle Davis, quiet and steady, with a gift for gentling horses.

But there was one face Clementine didn't recognize—a woman, standing slightly apart from the rest. She was tall and slim, with honey-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. When Elvis saw her, he stiffened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

"Katie," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Didn't expect to see you here."

The woman—Katie—smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Desperate times, Elvis. My father and Aaron sent me in their stead." Aaron Hawthorne. Katie was Aaron’s brother, and Nathaniel’s daughter. 

There was a story there, Clementine could tell. A history between Elvis and this Katie Hawthorne. But now was not the time to dwell on it. They had bigger problems to deal with.

As if on cue, Tom Hawkins spoke up, his voice tight with anger. "We all know why we're here. These rustlers are bleeding us dry, and something needs to be done about it. But I think we ought to wait and see." A murmur went around the room, heads shaking and fists clenching.

"And what good would hunkering down do?" demanded Sam Johnson, his fists clenched at his sides. "They'd just pick us off one by one, like lambs to the slaughter. No, we need to take the fight to them, hit them hard and fast before they can hit us again."

"Are you out of your mind?" Nathaniel Hawthorne's voice cut through the din like a knife. "You're talking about going up against armed men, men who won't hesitate to put a bullet in your back. It's suicide, plain and simple."

"I say we let the law handle it," said Hank Brewster, his tone weary. "It's their job, ain't it?"

Jake McAllister snorted. "The law? You mean Sheriff Hodges? That old drunk couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a map. We'd be better off hiring a pack of coyotes to guard the henhouse."

A ripple of uneasy laughter went through the room. Clementine frowned, her patience wearing thin. They were getting nowhere with this bickering. Soon, the men all erupted into argument, voices rising and tempers flaring. Clementine looked from one angry face to another, her heart sinking. This was exactly what she'd been afraid of—that the ranchers would be too divided, too set in their ways to find common ground.

"We have to do something," she said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "We can't just sit back and watch everything we've worked for be taken away."

"And what do you suggest, Miss Olivetti?" Katie asked, her tone faintly mocking. "That our men go out there, guns blazing, and get themselves killed?"

Clementine opened her mouth to retort, but Elvis beat her to it, his deep voice cutting through the din like a knife.

"Seems to me," he said slowly, "that we don't have much choice in the matter. Either we take the fight to the rustlers, or we sit back and watch everything we've worked for get stolen out from under us. I don't know about y'all, but I ain't too keen on the second option."

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the occasional cough or shuffle of feet. Clementine could see the indecision on every face, the warring impulses of self-preservation and solidarity.

But then, slowly, heads began to nod. Shoulders straightened, jaws set with determination. "The man's right," Jake McAllister said grudgingly. "We can't just sit back and let them pick us off one by one. We have to stand together, or we'll all fall alone."

There were murmurs of agreement from around the room, a sense of purpose beginning to take hold. Clementine felt a surge of pride and gratitude, her eyes seeking out Elvis's across the sea of faces. He met her gaze steadily, something warm and reassuring in the blue depths.

"Alright then," Elvis said, his voice ringing out with confidence. "Let's get to planning. We'll need every able-bodied man who can ride and shoot. We'll track the rustlers to their hideout, and we'll make sure they never trouble us again."

The meeting broke up soon after that, the ranchers dispersing to make their preparations for the evening. As she was lighting a candle, Clementine caught a glimpse of Katie Hawthorne deep in conversation with Elvis, their heads bent close together as they spoke in low, urgent tones.

Something twisted in Clementine's gut at the sight, a flare of jealousy that she didn't quite understand. But she pushed it down, focusing instead on the task ahead. There would be time to worry about Katie Hawthorne later. 

*

Later that evening, Clementine found herself wandering the quiet halls of the ranch house, her mind too full of worries to settle. She was just about to open the cupboard when she heard a noise from the living room, a soft clink of glass on wood.

Curious, she padded over to the doorway, peering into the dimly lit room. Elvis sat at the table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and a troubled expression on his face. He looked up as she entered, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Clementine,” he said, his voice rough. “What are you doing up?”

She shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious in her nightgown and robe. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess.”

Elvis nodded, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hand. "I know the feeling," he said, taking a swig of whiskey. 

Clementine's heart clenched at the weariness in his voice, the vulnerability he so rarely showed. "You don't have to go tonight, you know," she said softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "The other men can handle it. You've done enough already, Elvis. More than enough."

He looked up at her then, something fierce and determined in his eyes. "Ain’t no way," he said, his voice low and intense. "I promised your uncle I'd look after this place, Clem. I ain't about to break that promise now."

Clementine felt a rush of warmth at his words, a flutter of something deeper and more complicated than gratitude. But she tamped it down, focusing instead on the danger ahead.

"It's going to be risky," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I don't want you getting hurt on my account, Elvis. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

He covered her hand with his own, his skin warm and rough against hers. "Good thing I ain't planning on gettin’ hurt, then," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, it’s just a search party. We ain’t gonna do no shooting tonight. We’re just gonna track the rustlers, that’s all.”

Clementine laughed, the tension draining out of her in a rush. "Well, I suppose I can live with that," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Just promise me you'll be careful out there, alright?"

"I promise," Elvis said, his voice solemn. "And you promise me, Clementine. You’ll be waiting when I get back?"

She nodded, her throat suddenly tight. "I promise," she whispered, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

They sat like that for a long moment, hands clasped and eyes locked, the silence stretching out between them like a promise of its own. And then Elvis cleared his throat, releasing her hand and standing up from the table.

"Best get some rest," he said, his voice gruff. "Got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Clementine stood as well, her heart racing as she followed him to the door. "Goodnight, Elvis," she said softly, her hand on the knob. "And thank you. For everything."

He paused, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair back from her face. "Anytime, Clem," he murmured, his eyes soft. "Anytime at all."

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts and the pounding of her own heart.

*

The ranch house was quiet that night, the usual bustle and chatter replaced by a tense, watchful silence. Clementine wandered the halls like a ghost, her mind spinning and her heart aching.

She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that some disaster was looming just beyond the horizon. And she couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right choice, staying behind while her men out to face the danger alone.

She found herself in the kitchen just as dawn was breaking, staring blankly at the coffeepot as it burbled and hissed on the stove. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten there, or why she'd come. All she knew was that she needed something, anything, to take her mind off the worry and the fear.

And then, like a miracle, Elvis appeared in the doorway. He looked haggard and worn, his face lined with exhaustion and his eyes shadowed with some dark emotion. But he was alive, and whole, and Clementine felt her heart leap with relief.

"You're back," she breathed, stepping forward to meet him. "What happened out there? Did you find them?"

Elvis shook his head, his jaw tight. "No. We rode hard all night, followed their trail as far as we could. But they're clever bastards, know how to cover their tracks. We lost the scent somewhere around Coyote Creek, and by then it was too dark to go on."

Clementine's heart sank, disappointment and frustration welling up in her throat. "So what now?" she asked, her voice small. "What do we do?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand over his face. "We start again the day after tomorrow, at first light. Keep searching until we find them, or until we can't search no more."

He looked at her then, his eyes dark and intense. "I need you to be strong, Clementine. I need you to keep this place running, keep the men in line. Can you do that for me?"

Clementine swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. "Of course," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll do whatever needs to be done, Elvis. You know that."

He nodded, something like pride flickering in his gaze. And then, to her surprise, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

Clementine stiffened for a moment, unused to such displays of affection from the taciturn cowboy. But then she melted into him, her hands fisting in the back of his shirt and her face pressing into the warm, solid strength of his chest.

"I'm scared, Elvis," she whispered, the words muffled against his skin. 

He tightened his hold on her, his chin resting on the top of her head. "I know, darlin'. I'm scared too. But we can't let that fear control us, you hear me? We gotta be strong, for each other and for this ranch."

Clementine nodded, drawing in a shuddering breath. And then, before she could lose her nerve, she tilted her head back and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was quick and chaste, a gentle exploration that made her heart race and her blood sing. Elvis made a low, desperate sound in the back of his throat but before things could go any further, he tore himself away, his breath coming hard and fast. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’ta done that." he said, his voice rough with wanting. "We can’t. I ain’t gonna take advantage of you.Not when we both don't know what tomorrow might bring."

“I—you’re right.” Clementine knew it, even as her body screamed in protest. She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the chill of his absence. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "I don't know what came over me. It's just... the thought of losing you..."

"Shh." Elvis placed a finger over her lips, silencing her. 

"Don't talk like that. We're gonna make it through this, you and me. And when we do, we'll have all the time in the world to figure out what this is between us."

Clementine nodded. 

He leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her forehead. "But for now, we gotta focus on the task at hand. We gotta be strong for the ranch. Can you do that for me, Clem?"

She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. "I can. I will."

He smiled then, a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made her heart skip a beat. "That's my girl. Now, let's get some rest. We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

*

The first rays of the sun were just beginning to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold when Clementine stepped out onto the porch, a rifle slung over her shoulder, two pistols at her hip, and a steely glint in her eye.

The ranchers were already gathered in the yard, checking their tack and loading their saddlebags with grim determination. Elvis stood at the center of the group, his black hat pulled low over his brow as he issued last-minute orders and instructions, saddling his mount quickly and efficiently.

He looked up as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise and something like consternation. "What do you think you're doing? I thought I told you to stay put," he demanded, striding over to block her path. "You ain't comin' with us, Clementine. It's too dangerous."

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "The hell I'm not," she said, her voice ringing with conviction. "This is my ranch, Elvis. My land, my cattle, my responsibility. My men. And I'll be damned if I'm going to sit back and let someone else fight my battles for me."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I know what you're going to say," she said. "That I'm just a woman, that I don't know how to handle a gun or ride with a posse. But you're wrong, Elvis. I've been learning this past year. I can shoot as straight as any man here, and ride twice as quick."

Red’s face split into a big, knowing smile. Elvis elbowed him, and his ruddy companion stood ramrod straight. She saw the flicker of surprise in Elvis’ eyes, too, the grudging respect that warred with his instinctive need to protect her. But she wasn't about to back down, not now, not when so much was at stake.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice low and intense. "And that's final. You can either accept it, or you can try to stop me. But either way, I'll be riding out of here at your side, come hell or high water."

For a long, tense moment, Elvis just stared at her, his jaw working as if he were chewing on a particularly tough piece of rawhide. Then, slowly, he nodded, his eyes glinting with something that might have been pride, or exasperation, or a little bit of both.

"Alright, then," he said gruffly. "But you stay close to me, you hear? And if I give you an order, you follow it, no questions asked."

They rode out in a thunder of hoofbeats, the sun high overhead and the wind whipping at their faces. Clementine could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the thrill of the hunt mingling with a cold, creeping fear. She knew that they were riding into danger, that there was no telling what they might face out there on the open range.

But she also knew that she was not alone, that she had Elvis and the others by her side, ready to fight for what was theirs, and that knowledge gave her the courage to keep riding.

They rode for hours, following the rustlers' trail across the rugged terrain. The sun beat down on them, the heat shimmering off the rocks and the scrubby brush. Clementine could feel the sweat trickling down her back, the dust caking her face and hair. But she hardly noticed, her mind focused on the task at hand, on the need to find the stolen cattle and bring the thieves to justice.

It was nearly sundown when they finally caught sight of the rustlers' camp, a thin plume of smoke rising from a hidden canyon up ahead. Elvis called a halt, his hand raised in warning.

"We'll have to go in on foot from here," he said, his voice low and tense. "Can't risk them hearing us coming."

Clementine nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it, the moment of truth. She slid from her saddle, her legs stiff and sore from hours of riding. She checked her rifle, making sure it was loaded and ready, then fell in behind Elvis as he led the way toward the canyon.

They crept through the underbrush, the only sound the crunch of their boots against the dry leaves and twigs. Clementine could feel the tension in the air, the sense of impending danger. She knew that the rustlers would be armed, that they would fight to keep their stolen herd. But she also knew that they were outnumbered, that the posse had the element of surprise on their side.

As they neared the edge of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. He peered over the edge, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene below.

"They're down there, alright," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Looks like they've got the cattle penned up in that box canyon. I count six men, maybe seven."

Clementine swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Six men. Six armed, desperate men who would stop at nothing to keep what they had stolen. She knew that the odds were in their favor, that they had the rustlers outnumbered and outgunned. But she also knew that anything could happen in the heat of battle, that there was no guarantee that they would all make it out alive.

She looked at Elvis, saw the grim determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw. And she knew that he was thinking the same thing, that he was weighing the risks and the rewards, the need to protect their own against the danger of the unknown.

"What's the plan?" she asked, her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.

Elvis took a deep breath, his gaze still fixed on the canyon below. "We'll split up, come at 'em from both sides. Jake, you take half the men and circle around to the north. Tom, you take the other half and come in from the south. Clementine, you're with Jake. I’ll go straight down the middle, try to draw their fire and give the others a chance to get in close."

Clementine felt a sudden, sharp fear at his words, a sense of dread that she couldn't quite shake. She knew that Elvis was putting himself in the greatest danger, that he was using himself as a distraction to give the others a chance. And she knew that she couldn't let him do it alone.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice brooking no argument.

Elvis looked at her, his eyes widening in surprise. "Clementine, I don't think—"

"I'm not asking, Elvis," she said, cutting him off. "I’m coming."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a flicker of something like pride in his eyes.

"Alright then," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's do this."

They made their way down the steep slope of the canyon, the loose shale and gravel sliding beneath their feet. Clementine could hear the low murmur of voices from the camp below, the soft lowing of the penned-up cattle. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her palms slick with sweat on the grip of her rifle.

As they neared the bottom of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for her to stop. He peered around the edge of a boulder, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

"Alright," he said, his voice low and tense. "On my signal, we move in. You stay close to me, you hear? And if things start to go south, you get the hell out of there and don't look back."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She knew that he was trying to protect her, that he was willing to lay down his life to keep her safe. And she knew that she couldn't let that happen, that she would fight to her last breath to keep him alive.

Elvis took a deep breath, his hand tightening on the grip of his pistol. Then, with a nod to Clementine, he stepped out from behind the boulder, his voice ringing out across the canyon.

"Drop your weapons and let the cattle go!" he shouted, his pistol leveled at the nearest rustler. "You're surrounded and outnumbered. There's no way out!"

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound the low moan of the wind through the canyon. Then, with a shout of defiance, the rustlers opened fire, their bullets whizzing past Clementine's head and shattering the rock at her feet.

She dropped to the ground, her heart pounding in her chest. Beside her, Elvis was returning fire, his pistol barking in the still air. She could hear the shouts and curses of the rustlers, the panicked bellowing of the cattle as they milled about in their makeshift pen.

Clementine leveled her rifle, her hands steady and her aim true. She squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times, watching with grim satisfaction as the rustlers fell, clutching at their wounds.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her blood run cold. Elvis, locked in hand-to-hand combat with one of the rustlers, his gun lying forgotten on the ground.

The man was huge, easily a head taller than Elvis and twice as broad. He had a knife in his hand, the blade glinting wickedly in the sun, and a feral grin on his face as he bore down on the smaller man.

Clementine didn't hesitate. She got up from her position, charging towards the two men with a shout of fury. She leaped, tackling the rustler around the waist and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

They grappled in the dirt, the man's knife slashing at the air as Clementine tried to wrestle it from his grip. She could hear Elvis shouting her name, could feel the impact of bodies hitting the ground all around her as the battle raged on.

And then, with a final, desperate twist, she wrenched the knife free. The man lunged for her, his eyes wild with rage and desperation, but Clementine was faster. She plunged the blade into his chest, feeling the sickening give of flesh and bone.

The rustler's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent scream. And then he was falling, his body hitting the ground with a dull, final thud.

Clementine staggered to her feet, her breath coming in great, heaving gasps. She looked around wildly, taking in the scene of carnage and chaos.

All around her, the canyon exploded into chaos. The posse had burst from cover, guns blazing as they bore down on the rustlers. She could hear shouts and screams, could smell the acrid tang of gunpowder on the air. Bullets whizzed past her head, kicking up puffs of dust at her feet. 

It seemed to go on forever, that nightmarish battle in the heart of the canyon. But in reality, it was over in a matter of minutes. The rustlers, outnumbered and outgunned, threw down their weapons and surrendered, their hands raised in supplication.

Clementine sagged with relief, her knees suddenly weak. She looked around, taking in the scene of carnage—the bodies sprawled on the ground, the wounded men groaning in pain, the cattle milling about in confusion.

And then her gaze fell on Elvis, and her heart stopped.

He was lying on the ground, his face pale and his eyes closed. There was a spreading stain of red on his shirt, a wound in his chest that pulsed with each labored breath.

"No," Clementine whispered, stumbling forward on numb, leaden feet. "No, no, no."

She fell to her knees beside him, her hands shaking as she pressed them to the wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. Elvis's eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

"Don't you dare," she said fiercely, her tears falling hot and fast on his face. "Don't you dare leave me, Elvis Presley. Not now, not like this."

*

"Somebody help me!" Clementine shouted, her voice raw with desperation. "Please, he's hurt, we need to get him back to the ranch!"

The others crowded around, their faces grim as they took in the sight of their fallen comrade. Tom Hawkins knelt down on Elvis' other side, his fingers searching for a pulse.

"He's alive," he said, his voice tight. "But he's lost a lot of blood. We need to get him back to Windy Creek, and fast."

Clementine nodded, her vision blurring with tears. 

“Put him on White Lightning!” Rusty cried, “Clem’s horse is the fastest.” She watched as the men lifted Elvis onto the back of her horse, his head lolling limply against his chest. She wanted to go to him, to gather him into her arms and will the life back into his broken body. But she knew that she couldn't, that she had to be strong now, for him and for herself.

"I'll go with you," said Jake, swinging up into his own saddle. "Red and Tom, you, round up the herd and head on back. The rest of you, tie the rustler up. We'll meet you there."

The ride back to the ranch was a blur, a nightmare of dust and sweat and clenching fear and Elvis’ limp form cradled against her chest as she urged White Lightning onward. She could feel his blood soaking through her shirt, could hear the rattling wheeze of his breath in her ear. 

But she refused to give up hope, refused to let the fear and the despair take hold. Elvis was a fighter, a survivor. He would make it through this. He had to.

They reached the ranch just as the sun was setting, the sky painted in shades of orange and gold. Clementine leapt from the saddle, shouting for Juanita and the ranch hands as she half-carried, half-dragged Elvis inside.

"Help him!" she demanded, her voice tight with fear. 

Mrs. Jameson hurried over, her face creased with worry. "They took him straight up to his room, miss. Juanita's with him now, doing what she can to stop the bleeding. But he's in a bad way, I won't lie to you."

The next few hours passed in a haze of activity and dread, the ticking of the clock on the mantel the only sound in the silent house. Juanita worked tirelessly, cleaning and stitching and bandaging, her face set in grim determination.

*

It had been hours, and Clementine had no news. "I need to go to him, Ida" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to be with him."

The housekeeper nodded, her eyes soft with understanding. "Of course, miss. You go on up. I'll see to the hands and the stock."

Clementine managed a grateful nod, then turned and fled into the house, her heart pounding and her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She took the stairs two at a time.

She burst into Elvis' room without knocking, her eyes wide and wild as she scanned the dimly lit space. He was lying on the bed, his shirt torn open to reveal the ugly, seeping wound in his chest. Juanita was bent over him, her hands bloody as she worked to staunch the flow.

"How is he?" Clementine asked, her voice thin and reedy to her own ears. "Will he... will he live?"

Juanita looked up, her dark eyes unreadable. "I don't know, Clem. He's lost a lot of blood, and the bullet's still in there. I've done what I can to clean and bind the wound, but he needs a real doctor, and soon."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight for words. She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her hand reaching out to brush the sweat-soaked hair back from Elvis' brow. He was burning with fever, his skin hot and dry beneath her palm.

"Oh, Elvis," she whispered, the endearment slipping out before she could stop it. "What have they done to you?"

She sent Red to fetch Doc Jamison from town, his saddlebags laden with all the medical supplies they could spare. And then there was nothing to do but wait, and pray, and hope against hope that Elvis would pull through.

The sun rose and set, the hours bleeding into days.

Clementine sat by Elvis's bedside, holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement. She barely slept, barely ate, her whole world narrowed down to the rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of his eyelids, the faint pulse at his wrist.

And then, on the eighth day, a miracle. Elvis's fever broke, his breathing easing and his color returning. He opened his eyes, blinking up at Clementine with a weak, crooked smile.

"Hey there, darlin'," he rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Fancy meeting you here."

Clementine let out a sob, tears of relief and joy streaming down her face. She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck and breathing in the warm, familiar scent of him.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," she whispered fiercely. "You hear me, Elvis Presley? Never again."

He chuckled softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured. "I promise."

*

The next morning, Clementine awoke to Elvis screaming in agony. Before long, Doc Jamison was at his bedside, procuring a large needle from his medicine bag and injecting it into the patient’s arm. Clementine watched with bated breath as Elvis slowly settled back into a comfortable sleep, floating in the twilight of morphine.

She sat at his bedside, keeping vigil, praying for him. At one point, he whispered something.

"Marry me," she thought she heard. "Be my wife, Clementine.

Chapter 4

Clementine sat at her desk, sorting through the mail that had arrived the previous week. Among the various bills and correspondence, one letter caught her eye. The familiar handwriting on the envelope made her heart skip a beat. It was from Bonnie.

With trembling fingers, Clementine opened the letter and began to read:

"My Dearest Clemmie,

I hope this letter finds you well and thriving in your new life at Windy Creek Ranch. I miss you terribly, and the city feels empty without your laughter and companionship.

I have exciting news! I've decided to take a break from the hustle and bustle of New York and come visit you at the ranch. I long to see the beautiful landscapes you've described and meet the intriguing characters you've mentioned in your letters.

Expect me to arrive within the fortnight. I cannot wait to embrace you and hear all about your adventures.

Your loving friend, Bonnie"

Clementine clutched the letter to her chest, a wide grin spreading across her face. The prospect of having Bonnie at the ranch filled her with joy and excitement. She couldn't wait to show her best friend around and introduce her to everyone, especially Elvis.

Elvis. The thought of him made Clementine’s smile falter.

Since his injury, their relationship had been somewhat strained. She had been tending to him diligently, changing his bandages and ensuring he was comfortable. However, every time she tried to bring up his morphine-induced mumblings, Elvis would change the subject or feign exhaustion. It was starting to worry her. 

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her thoughts. 

"Come in," she called, setting the letter aside.

To her surprise, Katie Hawthorne stepped into the room, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed and her blue eyes sparkling. She looked stunning in a sage green day dress that complemented her fair complexion.

"Good morning, Clementine," she greeted, her voice polite but cool. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Clementine forced a smile, trying to ignore the twinge of unease that Katie's presence always seemed to evoke. "Not at all, Katie. What brings you here?"

Katie walked over to the desk, her posture poised and confident. "I was hoping to visit Elvis. I heard he's recovering well, and I thought he might appreciate a familiar face."

Clementine's stomach churned at the thought of Katie spending time alone with Elvis. She knew there was a history between them, but the details remained a mystery. "I'm sure he would appreciate that," she managed to say, her voice even. "He's in his room, resting."

With a nod and a polite smile, Katie left the room, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts. Unable to concentrate on her work, Clementine decided to take a walk around the ranch to clear her head.

As she stepped outside, the warm sun and gentle breeze greeted her. The sound of laughter caught her attention, and she spotted Red and Slim engaged in a lively conversation near the stables.

"Miss Clementine!" Red called out, waving her over. 

Clementine made her way over to them, eager for a distraction. "You're just in time. Slim here was about to share a story about the time he singlehandedly fought off a pack of coyotes."

Slim grinned, puffing out his chest. "It's true! I was out on the range, minding my own business, when suddenly..."

But as Slim launched into his tale, Clementine found herself only half-listening. Her mind wandered to the conversation she had overheard earlier between Katie and Elvis. She had been passing by Elvis' room when she heard their voices, low and intense.

"Elvis, I know things ended badly between us," Katie had said, her tone sincere. "But I want you to know that I still care about you. I always have."

"Look, I appreciate you coming to see me, but things are different now," Elvis had replied, his voice firm but not unkind. 

Katie had scoffed. “I know you don't mean that—”

“Katie, I’m not the same man I was back then.”

"I know that, Elvis. And I respect it. I just... I don't want us to be strangers. We have too much history for that."

There was a pause, and Clementine could picture Elvis considering her words. "You're right. We can be friends, Katie. But that's all we can be."

Clementine hurried away before she could hear Katie's response, her heart racing and her mind reeling. What exactly had happened between them? And why did the thought of them together make her feel so unsettled?

Feigning a stomachache, Clementine gently extracted herself from Slim and Red and started back for the house.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Ida approach until the older woman placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Miss Clementine, you look troubled," Ida said, her kind eyes filled with concern. "Is everything alright?"

Clementine sighed, offering Ida a weak smile. "I'm fine, Ida. Just a lot on my mind, I suppose."

Ida nodded, understanding dawning on her face. "It's about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie, isn't it?"

Clementine's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

Ida chuckled softly. "I've been around long enough to notice things, Miss Clementine. And I can see the way you look at Mr. Elvis, and the way Miss Katie looks at him too. Frankly, I’d look at him that way too if I were younger,” she chuckled.

Clementine felt her cheeks heat up. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ida."

The housekeeper smiled knowingly. "It's alright, Miss Clementine. You don't have to pretend with me. I know it's not my place to gossip, but I feel like you should know the truth about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie."

Curiosity got the better of Clementine, and she found herself leaning in closer. "What truth, Ida?"

Ida glanced around to make sure they were alone before lowering her voice. "Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie were engaged to be married once, years ago. They were young and in love, or so they thought. But then Miss Katie got it into her head that she wanted to see the world, experience life beyond the ranch. She left Mr. Elvis behind without so much as a goodbye, broke his heart into a million pieces." She sighed, shaking her head. "It was a terrible thing to see."

Clementine's heart sank. "I had no idea," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Ida patted her hand reassuringly. "Mr. Elvis was never the same after that. He threw himself into his work, closed himself off from the world. But then you came along, Miss Clementine. I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he smiles when you're around. You've brought light back into his life."

Clementine felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "But what about Katie? She's beautiful, and wealthy, and she knows this life. How can I compete with that?"

"Miss Clementine, you listen to me. You are a smart, strong, and kind-hearted young woman. You have brought so much good to this ranch, and to the people who live and work here. Don't you ever doubt your worth."

Clementine nodded, blinking back her tears.

The housekeeper smiled warmly. "Now, why don't you go and check on Mr. Elvis? I'm sure he could use some company."

Taking a deep breath, Clementine squared her shoulders and made her way back upstairs. She waled down the hall to Elvis' room, her heart pounding in her chest. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but hesitated when she heard voices coming from inside.

"... and do you remember that night by the creek? The stars were so bright, and you held me so close. I felt like I could stay in your arms forever." Katie's voice was soft, tinged with nostalgia.

“Sure do.” Elvis’ deep chuckle reverberated through Clementine’s bones.

"Hold still," Katie's voice was soft, almost tender. "This poultice will help with the pain."

There was a moment of silence, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Elvis. "Ouch! Careful, Katie."

"Don't be such a baby," Katie chided, her tone playful. "You've had worse."

Then, a sigh.

"Katie, we can't keep doing this. I told you things are different now." Elvis sounded tired, his voice strained.

"Are they? When I'm with you, it feels just like old times. We sure had something special, didn’t we, Elvis? Don't you miss it?"

Clementine's stomach churned as she imagined Katie sitting close to him, her hands gentle on his skin. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but she couldn't seem to make herself move.

There was a long pause, and then Elvis spoke, his words hesitant. "I... I don't know, Katie. It's been so long. I’m not the same man I was before."

Katie's voice turned pleading. "But you could be. We could be happy again, Elvis. Just like we used to. If you just give me a chance—"

Another pause, heavy with unspoken words. "I can't make any promises, Katie. But... I won't deny that being with you brings back a lot of memories. Good ones."

Clementine's heart raced, her palms sweating as she listened to their exchange. Did Elvis still have feelings for Katie? Was she just a temporary distraction, a way to forget his past heartbreak?

“Why, Elvis? Why can’t you make any promises? Is it... because of her?” Katie asked, Katie asked, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice. "The city girl who's come to play at being a rancher?"

"Don't do that, Katie."

Katie scoffed, the sound sharp and brittle. "Oh, Elvis. Can't you see? She doesn't belong here. She's not one of us. Sooner or later, she'll realize that and go running back to her fancy city life. And where will that leave you?" She got up, dusting herself off. "Sometimes, you're a damned fool, Elvis Presley."

Clementine backed away from the door, her mind reeling. She couldn't bear to hear any more, couldn't face the possibility that Elvis might choose Katie over her. With a choked sob, she turned and fled down the stairs, out into the yard where she could breathe, where she could think.

Shaking her head, Clementine decided to focus on the one thing she could control—her work. She made her way downstairs and out to the barn, determined to throw herself into the daily chores and put all thoughts of Elvis and Katie out of her mind.

As she mucked out the stalls and fed the horses, Clementine found herself falling into a comfortable rhythm. The physical labor was soothing, allowing her to clear her head and focus on the task at hand. Before she knew it, she was hours deep into her tasks, the sun was setting, and it was time to head home. 

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't hear the sound of hoofbeats approaching the front yard until a familiar voice called out, "Clemmie!"

Clementine turned her head, her eyes widening in disbelief. There, sitting in a stagecoach, was Bonnie, her fiery red curls blowing in the breeze and her green eyes sparkling with mischief in the golden hour.

"Bonnie!" Clementine exclaimed, dropping her pitchfork and rushing forward to embrace her friend. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't arriving for another week!"

Bonnie laughed, hugging Clementine tightly. "I couldn't wait that long to see you, darling. I hopped on the first train out of New York and made my way here as fast as I could."

Clementine stepped back, taking in the sight of her best friend. Bonnie looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from the ride and her smile as wide as the sky. "I can't believe you're really here," Clementine said, shaking her head in amazement.

Bonnie grinned, linking her arm through Clementine's. "Well, believe it, darling. I'm here, and I'm ready for an adventure. Now, show me around this ranch of yours. I want to see everything!"

Clementine laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. With Bonnie by her side, everything seemed brighter, more manageable. She led her friend around the ranch, introducing her to the horses and the cattle, showing her the sprawling fields and the cozy bunkhouse.

As they walked, Clementine found herself pouring out her heart to Bonnie, telling her all about Elvis and Katie and the confusion she felt. Bonnie listened intently, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"It sounds to me like you're in love with this Elvis fellow," Bonnie said finally, her tone matter-of-fact.

Clementine sputtered, her cheeks turning crimson. "What? No! I mean, I care about him, of course, but love? That's ridiculous."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Is it? Clemmie, I've known you since we were in pigtails. I've never seen you this worked up over a man before. And from what you've told me, it sounds like he feels the same way about you."

Clementine wilted. "But this Katie… She's beautiful, and accomplished, and she understands this life in a way I never will."

Bonnie took Clementine's hands in hers, her green eyes fierce and determined. "Now you listen to me. You're smart, and strong, and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. If this Elvis character can't see that, then he's a fool."

“Thanks, Bon. You always know just what to say. What would I ever do without you?”

“Shrivel up and die of sadness and boredom, most likely,” her best friend laughed. “Now, let's go find some trouble to get into. I've been cooped up on that train for far too long."

Clementine laughed, feeling a rush of affection for her friend. "I think I know just the thing. How do you feel about a little horseback riding?"

Bonnie's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Lead the way, darling. I'm ready for anything."

As they made their way to the stables, Clementine spotted Red and Slim leaning against the fence, deep in conversation. 

Red's eyes widened as he took in Bonnie's fiery red curls and sparkling green eyes. 

Bonnie smiled, holding out her hand. "I’m Bonnie, Clementine's friend from New York."

Red took her hand, holding it a beat longer than necessary. "New York, huh? What brings a city girl like you out to our humble ranch?"

Bonnie laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, you know. Adventure, excitement, the chance to see my best friend in the world."

Red grinned, leaning in closer. "Well, I can certainly promise you adventure and excitement, Miss Bonnie."

Slim rolled his eyes, elbowing Red in the ribs. "Ignore him, Miss Bonnie. He's all talk and no action."

Red chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I don't know about that, Miss Bonnie. I do my best to make all our guests feel welcome."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Is that so? Well, I guess I'll just have to see for myself."

As Bonnie and Red continued their flirtatious banter, Clementine felt her spirits lift. It was good to see her friend getting along so well with the ranch hands.

Suddenly, a shout rang out across the yard. "The fence is down! The cattle are escaping!"

Clementine's heart raced as she saw the herd of cattle stampeding through the broken fence. "We have to round them up!" she cried, running towards the stables.

Red and Slim were already saddling up their horses. "Miss Clementine, you take the north pasture," Red called out. "Slim and I will head south. Rusty, Billy, head east. We'll meet up at the old oak tree." He looked back at Bonnie. “You alright to stay here a spell?”

Bonnie nodded as Clementine swung herself up into the saddle, her face set with determination. 

They rode hard, the wind whipping through their hair as they chased down the errant cattle. It was a minor crisis, but it forced everyone to work together to resolve the issue. 

Finally, after several hours of hard work, they managed to herd the last of the cattle back into the pasture.

Exhausted but triumphant, Clementine, Red, and the rest of the ranch hands made their way back to the house for a very late dinner, where Bonnie was helping prepare a bountiful spread. 

As they entered the dining room, Clementine was surprised to see Katie sitting at the dining table.

"Katie!" Ida exclaimed, setting down a steaming pot of stew. "I'm so glad you could join us for dinner."

Katie smiled, her flaxen hair gleaming in the candlelight.  "Thank you for asking me to stay, Miss Ida. It's always a pleasure to share a meal with friends."

Clementine's stomach churned at the sight of Katie, memories of the woman’s earlier conversation with Elvis still fresh in her mind. She took a seat at the table, trying to ignore the way Katie's eyes seemed to be searching around the room. For him.

Bonnie leaned over to Clementine, her voice low. "So that's the famous Katie Hawthorne? I can see why she's got Elvis all twisted up."

Clementine sighed, nodding. "Yeah, they were going to get married until she up and left one day. They’ve got... history."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "I see."

As they sat down to eat, Clementine found herself seated across from Katie. The blonde gave her a polite smile, but there was a guardedness in her eyes that made Clementine uneasy.

"Clementine, I hear you had quite the adventure today," Katie said, her voice cool but not unkind. "I'm glad to see you're settling into ranch life so well."

Clementine forced a smile, determined to be civil. "Thank you, Katie. This year’s been a learning curve, but I'm enjoying the challenge."

Katie nodded, taking a sip of her water. "It's not an easy life, but it can be a rewarding one. If you're cut out for it."

Clementine bristled at the implication, but before she could respond, the door opened and Elvis stepped into the room. He was moving slowly, his face still pale, but there was a determined set to his jaw.

"Elvis!" Ida exclaimed, her face lighting up. "It's so good to see you up and about!"

"Elvis, darling, you're here," Katie purred, patting the seat beside her. "Come, sit with me. We have so much to catch up on."

Elvis hesitated, his gaze flickering to Clementine before he nodded and took the offered seat. Clementine felt a stab of jealousy, her appetite suddenly deserting her.

"Evening, everyone. Sorry I'm late."

He made his way to the table, his steps measured and careful. As he neared Katie, she reached out and touched his arm, a look of concern on her face. "Elvis, are you sure you should be out of bed? You're still recovering."

Elvis patted her hand. "I'm fine, Katie. Just a little sore, is all. Nothing a good meal and some good company can't fix."

He settled into the chair between Katie and Clementine, his leg brushing against Clem’s under the table. She felt a flush creep up her neck at the contact, her skin tingling where they touched. She forced herself to focus on her plate, not wanting to give away the effect he had on her.

As the meal progressed, Bonnie regaled them all with tales of her adventures in New York, her quick wit and easy charm winning over even the most taciturn of the ranch hands. Red, in particular, seemed taken with her, his eyes rarely straying from her face.

Even so, Clementine couldn’t focus on anything but the strange situation she found herself in. Even as she laughed and chatted with the others, Clementine could feel the weight of Katie's presence, assessing and calculating. It made her feel off-balance, unsure of her place in this world that Katie knew so well. Her stomach roiled. 

She couldn't help but notice the easy familiarity between Elvis and Katie, the way they laughed and reminisced about old times. It was clear they shared a deep bond, a history that Clementine could never hope to match.

"Do you remember old Samson's face when he caught us sneaking out of the barn that night?" Katie giggled, her hand resting on Elvis's arm.

Elvis chuckled, shaking his head. "I thought he was gonna skin us alive. But you sweet-talked him out of it, as usual."

"What can I say? I've always been good at getting what I want." Katie's eyes sparkled with mischief, her lips curving into a seductive smile.

Clementine's heart sank as she watched their interaction, doubt gnawing at her insides. Did Elvis still harbor feelings for Katie? Was he considering rekindling their romance?

Bonnie, ever observant, leaned across the table to whisper in Clementine's ear. "Don't let her get to you, Clemmie. She's just trying to stake her claim."

Then, never one to let an awkward moment pass, Bonnie eased back into her chair with a mischievous grin. "So, Elvis, I hear you’re quite the foreman," she said, her voice carrying across the table. "Tell me, what's a handsome cowboy like you doing running a ranch all by your lonesome?"

Elvis choked on his stew, his eyes widening in surprise. The other ranch hands snickered, their faces red with barely suppressed laughter. “Nice to meet you too, Bonnie.”

“No, really! Do pray tell,”Bonnie grinned.

"Well, I... uh..." Elvis cleared his throat, clearly taken aback by Bonnie's forwardness. "I'm not running it alone, y’know. I have a whole team of hardworking folks helping me out."

Bonnie nodded, her expression serious. "Of course, of course. But still, it must get lonely out here sometimes. Don't you ever wish for a little companionship?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

Clementine kicked Bonnie under the table, her face flushing with embarrassment. But Bonnie just laughed, clearly enjoying the effect she was having on the usually unflappable Elvis.

As the dinner wore on, Bonnie kept up a steady stream of witty repartee, peppering Elvis with questions about life on the ranch and his plans for the future. The other ranch hands could barely contain their laughter, choking on their food as Bonnie's New York City directness clashed with Elvis's stoic cowboy demeanor.

At some point during the night, while everyone was in their sixth fit of laughter in a row, Bonnie cleared her throat and made an announcement. "I've been thinking," she said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "I'd like to stay at the ranch for a while longer, if that's alright with you, Clementine."

Red, who had been hanging on Bonnie's every word throughout the meal, sat up straighter in his chair. "That's great news, Miss Bonnie," he said, his voice eager. "I'd be more’n happy to show you around the ranch, if you'd like."

Bonnie smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "I'd like that very much, Red. Thank you."

Clementine nodded, forcing a smile. Her best friend in the world was always welcome. But even as everyone laughed around her, she felt melancholy. Doubts lingered, gnawing at her heart. Somewhere between the second and third course, she felt lightheaded. She stepped out onto the porch, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. The evening's events swirled through her mind—Bonnie's arrival, the weird tension at dinner, sitting next to Elvis and nearly jumping out of her skin when his knee touched hers... 

"Clem?" a familiar voice called out softly from behind her.

She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his handsome face illuminated by the warm glow of the lanterns. 

He came to me, she thought, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

"Y’know, I wasn't sure if you'd be joining us tonight, Elvis, what with you still on the mend and all."

He stepped out onto the porch, his spurs jingling with each movement. "Aw shucks, you know me. I never could resist a party. 'Specially not with that firecracker friend of yours lightin' things up."

Clementine laughed. "Bonnie sure is something, isn't she? Hope she didn't put you too much on the spot in there."

Elvis leaned against the railing beside her, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Nothin' I can't handle. Your girl's got a tongue quicker'n a rattler's strike, but she means well. Kinda reminds me of someone else I know." He shot her a wink.

"Wonder who that could be," Clementine teased, bumping his shoulder playfully with her own. She took a moment to really look at him, warmth blooming in her chest. The past weeks had been hard on him, but he was finally starting to look like his old self again—color in his cheeks, that familiar glint of mischief in his blue eyes.

"I'm real glad you're feeling better, Elvis. We were all so worried about you, you know."

He ducked his head, suddenly bashful. "Shucks, ain't no need for worryin'. Can't keep a stubborn ol' mule like me down for long."

"I have never met a mule half as stubborn as you, Elvis Presley," Clementine ribbed.

"You got me there," he conceded with a chuckle. Then his expression softened. "I never did thank ya proper, Clem. For takin' such good care of me when I was laid up. Ida told me how you were always there, changin' my bandages and makin' sure I took my medicine... I 'preciate it. More'n you know."

Clementine felt a sudden lump in her throat. "Of course, Elvis. There wasn't anywhere else I would've been. I couldn't have bared it if... if we'd lost you. Windy Creek just wouldn't be the same without you."

Elvis looked at her intently, something flickering in his gaze that made her heart skip. "That so?"

"It is," Clementine whispered, feeling pulled in by some invisible force between them.

Elvis reached out, tenderly brushing a stray curl behind her ear. His fingertips lingered on her cheek and Clementine's breath hitched. "Clem, I..."

Just then, the sound of raucous laughter erupted from inside the house, breaking the spell. Elvis dropped his hand and they both took an unconscious step back, the air suddenly thick with words unsaid.

Clementine cleared her throat, trying to calm the riot of butterflies in her stomach. "We should probably head back in soon. Wouldn't want Bonnie to commandeer the whole evening."

"Heaven forbid," Elvis agreed, the corner of his mouth quirking up. 

But neither of them actually moved. Clementine and Elvis lingered on the porch for a moment longer, not quite ready to rejoin the clamor inside. The night air was cool and sweet, the distant sounds of crickets and lowing cattle a soothing backdrop to their companionable silence.

Elvis fished in his pocket for a moment before withdrawing a battered harmonica. At Clementine's curious look, he just grinned and brought it to his full lips, blowing a few soft, experimental notes.

"Huh, I didn't know you played," Clementine said, pleasantly surprised.

Elvis shrugged, his eyes twinkling in the low light. "There's a lot you don't know about me, darlin'. I'm a man of many talents."

"Is that so?" Clementine arched a brow, fighting back a smile. "And here I thought I had you all figured out. The strong, silent type with a heart of gold."

"Aw shucks, you'll make me blush," Elvis teased. He leaned back against the porch rail, cradling the harmonica loosely in his hands. "Nah, I ain't nothin' special. Just a cowpoke who likes a good tune now and then."

"I don't believe that for a second," Clementine said softly. "I think you're a lot more than you let on, Elvis Presley."

He looked at her then, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. "Maybe so. But I could say the same about you. When you first blew into town with your fancy city clothes and your high-falutin' ideas, I reckoned you wouldn't last a month out here."

Clementine huffed out a laugh. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Lemme finish," Elvis chided gently. "What I'm tryin' to say is you surprised me, Clem. You're tougher than you look. Stronger. You've taken to this life like you were born to it, and you ain't afraid to get your hands dirty or speak your mind. It's a rare thing, and I admire it. Admire... you."

Clementine felt a flush creep up her neck at his words, her heart suddenly racing. "I... I don't know what to say. Thank you, Elvis. That means a lot, coming from you."

He ducked his head, suddenly bashful. "Ain't nothin' but the truth. Windy Creek's lucky to have you."

"I think I'm the lucky one," Clementine said softly. "I never knew how much I needed this place, these people, until I found myself here. It's like... like I finally found where I belong." She laughed self-consciously. "Listen to me, getting all sentimental. Bonnie would never let me hear the end of it."

"Secret's safe with me," Elvis promised with a wink. "But I know what you mean. This ranch... it has a way of gettin' under your skin, makin' you feel like a part of somethin' bigger. It ain't always easy, but it's a good life. An honest one." He raised the harmonica to his lips again, blowing a few mournful notes that seemed to hang in the night air.

Clementine closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. When it faded away, she opened them again to find Elvis watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. "That was beautiful," she said honestly. "Will you teach me to play like that?"

Elvis's face split into a delighted grin. "You want to learn? Well alright then, c'mere." He beckoned her closer until they were standing side by side, shoulders almost brushing. He handed her the harmonica, arranging her fingers on the holes. "Now, purse your lips like you're gonna whistle, and blow real gentle-like."

Clementine did as instructed, letting out a breathy, off-key squeak. She dissolved into laughter. "I sound like a dying cow!"

Elvis chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, that was good for a first try. You just gotta adjust your embouchure a little, like this—" 

“Embou-what?”

“Embouchure. What, you don’t speak Eye-talian?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s French.”

“Oh.” The two erupted into laughter, a deep belly ache that had them soon doubled over the porch railing and wiping tears from their eyes. 

“Your mouth position, silly girl. Look at me, teachin’ a fancy New York City girl something!” 

Clem playfully slapped him on the arm. “I am not fancy!” She bent her leg to show him her well-worn, mud-covered boot. “See?” 

Elvis laughed and brought his own hands up to cup hers, guiding the harmonica back to her mouth. This close, she could feel the heat of him, could catch the faint scent of leather and soap and something uniquely Elvis. It made her head swim pleasantly.

Under his careful tutelage, Clementine managed to produce a passable chord. She beamed up at him, giddy with the small success. "I did it!"

"Sure did," Elvis praised, his eyes warm and proud. "Stick with me, kid, and you'll be a regular vir-tu-o-so in no time. Or... is that another word I gotta teach ya?”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

They stayed like that for a while, huddled together in the pool of lantern light, trading the harmonica back and forth as Elvis taught her a simple melody. It was a rare moment of peace, a stolen pocket of time where the rest of the world and all its troubles fell away. 

As the moon climbed higher in the star-strewn sky, Clementine finally straightened up with a sigh. "I suppose we really should head back in. Bonnie's liable to send out a search party if we stay out here much longer."

Elvis huffed out a laugh. "Lord have mercy. I don't think I'm ready for another interrogation quite yet." He hesitated for a beat, then reached out to take Clementine's hand in his. "Clem, I... I just wanted to say..."

But before he could finish the thought, the porch door banged open and Bonnie's vibrant red head poked out. "There you are! I was starting to think you two had run off together." Her green eyes sparkled with mischief as she took in their linked hands and close proximity.

Clementine felt a blush stain her cheeks and she stepped back self-consciously, dropping Elvis's hand. "Bonnie! We were just... Elvis was showing me how to play the harmonica."

"Uh huh," Bonnie teased, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Well, hell, don't let me interrupt. I just came to tell you that apparently Ida's famous peach pie is being served, and if you don't get in there soon, Slim's liable to eat the whole thing himself."

"We'll be right there," Clementine promised. Bonnie flashed them a knowing grin and a jaunty salute before disappearing back inside, leaving them alone once more.

Clementine turned back to Elvis, an apology on her lips, but he just shook his head with a rueful smile. "Never a dull moment with that one around, is there?"

"Welcome to my world," Clementine said dryly. "I love that girl to pieces, but subtlety's never been her strong suit."

"Seems to me she's just lookin' out for her best friend," Elvis mused. "Can't fault her for that. You're lucky to have someone who cares about you so much. Hell, we all care about you."

For a suspended moment, they just stared at each other, the air heavy with unspoken longing. Elvis's gaze dropped to her mouth, his thumbs sweeping over the delicate arch of her cheekbones. Clementine's lips parted on a shallow inhale, her body thrumming with anticipation.

But before either of them could close that final distance, a sudden crash sounded from inside the house, followed by a peal of laughter and Red's booming voice calling out an apology.

The spell was broken. Elvis released her and stepped back, clearing his throat roughly. "We should, uh... we should probably get in there. Before they tear the place down around Miss Ida's ears."

"Right," Clementine agreed, trying to calm the riot of her pulse. "We wouldn't want that."

Elvis held out his arm to her, a small, crooked smile on his lips. "Shall we, boss lady?"

As the evening wound down, Katie stood up, smoothing her skirts. "Well, I should be getting back to Big Sky. Early morning tomorrow." She turned to Elvis, a soft smile on her face. "Walk me out?"

Elvis hesitated, glancing at Clementine. But then he nodded, pushing back his chair. "Of course."

Clementine watched them go, her heart sinking. She knew it was foolish to read too much into a simple gesture of courtesy. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, that Katie's return had stirred up old feelings best left buried.

Bonnie, sensing her friend's distress, reached over to squeeze her hand. "Don't worry, Clemmie. He'll come around. He just needs time to sort through his feelings."

Clementine nodded, trying to take comfort in her friend's words. But the doubt lingered, a small, insistent voice in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, well, maybe by then I’ll already have moved on.”

*

Clementine sat at the card table, trying to focus on the game of poker in front of her. But her attention kept drifting to the table across the room, where Elvis and Katie sat huddled together, laughing and whispering like old friends.

She couldn't help but compare their easy intimacy to the tender moment she and Elvis had shared on the porch just a few nights ago. The way he had looked at her, the gentle brush of his fingers against her cheek... it had felt so real, so meaningful.

But now, watching him with Katie, Clementine couldn't help but wonder if she had been reading too much into it. If the connection she thought they shared was nothing more than wishful thinking on her part.

"Clemmie? It's your turn, darling." Bonnie's voice snapped her out of her reverie, and Clementine blinked, realizing she had been staring off into space.

"Oh, right. Sorry." She studied her cards, trying to remember what game they were even playing. Across from her, Red and Lyle exchanged knowing glances, their eyes flickering between her and the other table.

Clementine felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and frustration. Was she really so transparent? Did everyone on the ranch know about her foolish, unrequited feelings for Elvis?

She was just about to make a halfhearted bet when the door to the bunkhouse swung open and Ida bustled in, a letter clutched in her hand.

"Miss Clementine, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I completely forgot to give you this earlier. It arrived with the afternoon post." She held out the envelope, her face creased with a smile.

Clementine took the letter, recognizing Joseph's familiar handwriting. She had been corresponding with her old friend for weeks, sharing stories about life on the ranch and seeking his advice when things with Elvis got complicated. It had become a comforting routine, a way to stay connected to her old life while embracing her new one.

She opened the envelope, expecting to find another friendly, chatty letter full of news from home and words of encouragement. But as her eyes scanned the first few lines, Clementine felt her stomach drop.

"Oh no," she muttered under her breath. "Oh no, no, no. I’ve really made a mess now."

"Clemmie? What is it? What's wrong?" Bonnie leaned in close, her voice low and concerned.

Clementine looked up, her face pale. "It's Joseph. He's... he's coming to Windy Creek. Says he's booked a ticket and everything."

Bonnie's eyes widened. "Joseph? As in, your Joseph?"

Clementine nodded miserably. "I've been writing to him, just as a friend. I never thought he'd actually come out here. Oh, Bonnie, what am I going to do?"

Bonnie reached out, squeezing Clementine's hand. "Don't panic, Clemmie. We'll figure this out. It's not like you invited him, right?"

Clementine shook her head. "No, of course not. But... what if Elvis finds out? What if he thinks..." She trailed off, her gaze drifting back to the other table where Elvis and Katie sat, still deep in conversation.

Bonnie followed her gaze, her expression thoughtful. Even she had to admit it: "Clementine, honey, I don't think you have anything to worry about on that front. Elvis is clearly still hung up on Little Miss Perfect over there."

Clementine sighed, her heart sinking. Bonnie was right. Elvis had made his feelings for Katie abundantly clear. What right did she have to be upset about Joseph's visit when Elvis was practically fawning over his ex-fiancée right in front of her?

Still, the thought of her former beau showing up unannounced, stirring up old memories and complications... it was enough to make Clementine's head spin.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. "Okay," she said, more to herself than to Bonnie. "Okay. I can handle this. It's just a friendly visit from an old friend, right? No big deal."

Bonnie nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Exactly. And who knows? Maybe a little competition is just what Mr. Stubborn over there needs to pull his head out of his rear and realize what he's got right in front of him."

Clementine couldn't help but laugh at that, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Trust Bonnie to find the silver lining in even the most awkward of situations.

Across the room, Elvis glanced over at the sound of Clementine's laughter, his brow furrowing slightly. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that the letter Ida had delivered had upset Clementine in some way.

But before he could dwell on it further, Katie was leaning in close again, her hair brushing against his cheek as she whispered something in his ear. Elvis forced a smile, trying to focus on the conversation at hand, but Katie’s perfume smelled so good.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit  @ellie-24  @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain  @be-my-ally  @vintageshanny  @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @atleastpleasetelephone @sloppiest-of-jos

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fic #elvis x oc #elvis au #alternate universe #alternate universe fanfic #wild west fanfic

[memphisflash]

“The great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.”

─ Revelation 12:9

A little moodboard for an upcoming fic... 🪽

@notstefaniepresley @powerofelvis @peaceloveelvis @atleastpleasetelephone @ccab

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis au #elvis presley au #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #elvis presley smut #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #fallen angel au #tamwrites #moodboard

[aliypop]

Stranger In The Crowd: Chapter 1

Chapter:2

Word Count: 2,133

Writers Note: An AU Series that I thought of when I was visiting Tupelo

Warning: Historic language

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: The summer of 1946 in Tupelo Mississippi, where barely much happens for anyone including the Presleys but that all changes on a stormy summer night when the infamous Valmos duo Denise and Alfonso and their daughter Cecelia need a place to stay, will they be brought back to the reality that fame and fortune ain't always what it's cracked up to be, and will Elvis and Cecelia discover a thing called puppy love?

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@sissylittlefeather

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

Mississippi June of 1946

The night sky was as dark as the roads, not a star in sight. The moon jaded by fog from the hot summer nights in the delta. Cicadas and crickets played their melodies, and in the still of the night was a 1946 Cadillac convertible cruising down the highway. The radio played some jazz tunes, then blues, then back to jazz, the couple in the front seat arguing just by their glares at each other. "Stop changing the station..." Denise said, letting out an exhausting sigh of disgust. She was looking out the window. Her victory red lips turned into a snarl, green eyes as piercing as a snake, "Don't you go pinning the blame on me." Alfonso said, eyes focused on the road, "Seems that's all you ever do now." He mumbled under his breath. His foot tapping in anger, "Seems all you ever do is cheat..." Denise spat back her venom at him,

"Just ain't gone let that go!" his southern accent as poisonous as her northern accent, "least I ain't creeping round with Sinatra!" Alfonso threw that at her as she was fuming hot.

"At least he knows a good thing when he sees it." She mumbled, 

"Just like Cab, right..." Alfonso kept driving, "Exposin our daughter to all these menfolk, an not her pa." He kept laughing. He could see his wife getting madder by the minute. "I should've never married a country bumkin like you," Denise said. He felt his heart shatter, "Hate the country anyways. It's got nothing but grass and trees and cows." she spat. All Alfonso could do was laugh, "You know our daughters a country bumpkin too," turning to look back at their eleven-year-old daughter who was wearing a pink belted dress and a ribbon in her hair to match.

"Not if I can help it." Denise rolled her eyes,

"Right." He sighed, "Cause you city women gotta have it your way or no way." He nodded as Denise nodded in agreement,

"Are you all fighting again..." Cecelia asked, 

"No, little pumpkin, we're just talkin." Alfonso said as Cecelia sighed, "Sounds like fighting to me." she mumbled, turning over and trying to get comfortable. 

"Sounds like you need to go to sleep, princess," Denise added as Cecelia smiled and drifted off. 

"God, how did we end up like this..." Denise whispered, a tear down her face, now matching the rain on her window.

The strong gust of wind nearly shook the white shotgun house as the rain began to pour down harder. There was a word in town that a nasty storm was brewing in the delta, but that didn't stop the Presley family. Sitting around the table were Vernon and Elvis. They didn't have much when it came to dinner, but it was enough for them, and that enough was a blessing, "You excited for summer?" Vernon asked Elvis as he was reading a comic book at the table. "Elvis, what have I told you about readin' at the table," Gladys asked as he blushed. Elvis didn't mean any harm. He was excited to get his hands on his favorite superhero. "Sorry, mama." Elvis said, "I can finally ride my bike a bit!" He smiled. Until the lightning struck, which seemed to dampen the plan of any fun for tomorrow. 

"Maybe when the storm lets up booby." Gladys winked, sitting at the table. With dinner, it had been vegetables, but food was food. The family had taken each other's hands as they began to pray over their dinner, another peaceful night at the Presley household.

KNOCK!

             KNOCK!

KNOCK!

"Who could that be at this hour." Vernon groaned, looking at the car parked at their front door. It was a shining red Cadillac and a man dressed in an expensive suit was knocking on the door. Alfonso stood, getting drenched, as he waited for someone to answer. He didn't care whose door he knocked on. He prayed that they wouldn't kill him regardless. "Can I help you..." Vernon opened the door, his mouth nearly opened. Alfonso Reed was at their quaint home. The infamous blues player with a godsent guitar rhythm was here, 

"Vernon, is everything okay?"Gladys asked. Alfonso gulped, knowing that he may have knocked on the wrong door, but he didn't care, 

"Sorry to bother you all, but my family and I got caught in the rain and..." 

"We need a place to stay," Denise said, standing beside Alfonso as Gladys was shocked, 

"Well, Vernon, don't just stand there, let 'em in." Gladys ushered Denise in as Alfonso went to pick up Cecelia.  

"Where are we..."

"In shelter, little pumpkin," Alfonso said, carrying her through the rain, 

"A porch swing..." Cecelia mumbled. There wasn't much room, but the love inside made it feel like a mansion. Standing in awe at the pair was Elivs, his blue eyes in awe that the greatest musicians would be staying the night and possibly going tomorrow before he could even ask him questions about how to play the guitar he had gotten. 

"We've got a double if you want, it ain't much, but-" 

"More than what I had growin up," Alfonso said to Vernon as both men laughed, 

"Would you like anything to eat?" Gladys asked, "We hadn't finished dinner yet."

"I think we'll head off to bed. Our little pumpkin here is drifting like a rock."Denise smiled. Pretty blue eyes followed the frame of the other child. She had to be the same age as Elvis, but he'd figure all that out in the morning. 

"Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Valmos!" Vernon waved off as Gladys nudged him, "Sorry, we're fans."

"Nice to meet a fan," Alfonso said as Denise tried not to shutter at the labels given, "We'll see you lovely folks in the morning. Mr. and Mrs. uh?"

"Presley, I'm Gladys, and this is Vernon, my husband, and our son Elvis."Gladys smiled as Denise nodded. Were they such an odd couple? 

"Don't expect me to be here in the morning," Denise said, undressing herself. "And where are you going," Alfonso asked. Denise gave him the cold shoulder, "Out." she rolled her eyes, placing her hat in her suitcase as she groaned. Denise never wanted to be back in a place like this, but here Denise was, and Denise felt disappointed for the family. They deserved more, and Denise wanted to help for as long as they'd be here. The sounds of rain soothed the morning sun as the front door closed slowly. Denise had walked to the grocery store and brought breakfast. It was the least she could do to say thank you to the family, as this would be their last day in the small town, or so she thought. "Need any help?"Elvis asked. He'd been trying to play his guitar as Denise giggled a little, 

"No, I've got it, but you get washed up for breakfast." Denise had begun making sausage patties and many other fine breakfast treats as Gladys walked in,

 "You didn't have to do that!"

"I wanted to say thank you." Denise smiled.

"You know, I thought famous people had cooks," Gladys said as Denise chuckled, "They do, but I get joy out of cooking for my family, "Denise mentioned, and Gladys pitched in to help make biscuits. 

"I heard that!" Gladys smiled, "Been kinda tough, though, between picking up jobs an our eleven-year-old son getting sick from time to time," She huffed, "It's rough."

"I understand. I've got an Eleven-year-old girl who likes climbing trees. And gets pneumonia every winter." Denise chuckled,

"The joys of motherhood huh," Gladys chuckled,

Outside, Vernon and Alfonso were packing up the little he took out until Alfonso noticed a hole in the tire of his car, by hole a rip, 

"Seems you drove over a screw..."

"You don't say." He glared, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and handing one to Vernon, "Mechanic ain't in town til Monday..." he took a drag as Alfonso groaned, "Think we can fix it ourselves?"

"We can try Fons. Can I call you Fons?"

"Sure, Pres." Vernon had begun to pat him on the back, the two becoming good friends already. 

Cecelia took a deep breath as she was finally up. Dressed in overalls and a white blouse shirt, she tied her saddle shoes and kept walking into she bumped into someone, 

"Ouch!"

"You okay?" Cecelia looked up as she saw a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes bending over to help her up, 

"Yeah, I'm okay." taking his hand as she blushed a little, "Thanks."

"I-I-I'm Elvis." a blush crept on his face as he rubbed the back of his pretty blonde hair, 

"Cecelia Shanel Valmos, nice to meet ya!" shaking his hand, his heart began to beat like he was running around with his friends, "Y-You too, uh, say you like comics?" He asked as she turned around, 

"Probably not cause you're a girl, an girls don't like comics an-"

"I love comics. My favorite is the Flash." Cecelia grinned, running around as he laughed. She had energy, and she seemed fun. She'd make a good friend, was what he thought. "Oh, do you like music!" she asked as his face beamed, 

"I love music. What about you?" What about you... He thought to himself. She was the daughter of two singers and a guitar player. Of course, she loved music. 

"I like blues, anything with a guitar," Cecelia said,

"So...do you play guitar?" He asked as Cecelia saw the one in the corner,

"May I?"

"Sure, I'm kinda bad at it anyway." 

Cecelia began to strum the guitar as she played a song that was her favorite, Milkcow Blues Boogie. She had sung a little, and Elvis thought it was neat. 

"Can you teach me?"

"Guitar?"

"Yeah..."

"Of course!" Cecelia grinned, 

"Kids breakfast!" Denise shouted as Cecelia and Elvis looked at each other and ran off to the smell of a home-cooked meal. 

"Seems someone made a friend," Denise mumbled as Gladys agreed,

 "You know, I have some friends, an we run down to the creek sometimes an play around. Wanna come if the rain stops!" 

"Mother, may I!" Cecelia asked, her southern accent that he had just heard had disappeared almost, 

"Cece... you'll get hurt, and besides we'll be leaving soon and-"

"Turns out we're staying..." Alfonso smiled, "There's a rip in the tire, and the mechanic shop ain't open til Monday." He shrugged, 

"We tried fixing it but made it worse," Vernon added as the two sat down, covered in oil and debris. Gladys and Denise rolled their eyes. 

"Can I play with my new friend?" Cecelia asked,

"Cece..."Denise said, making her plate. 

"Oh hell, Denise, let her have a childhood. She ain't got but too many friends back home." 

"I don't like that Rosa girl..." Denise huffed, "And don't start now! Fine, go play!" Denise sighed, looking at Cecelia as she finished eating and took Elvis by the hand. It was sunny outside, a bit hot, but she didn't mind. It felt like her true home, North Carolina, and not Georgia, which felt stuffy and weird. Running down toward the creek were a few other boys, who she assumed were his friends.

 "EP!" They shouted at him, waving.

"Awe, man, you brought a girl with you. They have cooties!" one boy said as Cecelia growled, 

"Nu-Uh, she's different. She likes comics and playin' guitar!" Elvis smirked, defending his new friend, 

"You like climbin' trees?" another boy asked,

"I'm a tree climbin' champion!" Cecelia smirked, her hands on her hips, 

"Prove it!"  

"Watch this!" Cecelia ran up to the nearest tree and she began to climb, leaving all the boys to watch her climb. They were truly impressed as she kept going, though Elvis was a bit worried. What if she fell or worse? 

"See told ya!" hanging upside down from the branch as she giggled, 

"Whose next, or are all you boys chicken?"

"She's brave." 

"She still got cooties..." 

"Does not!" Elvis shouted as he went up to climb next to her. When he did, he tagged her on the shoulder and said,

 "You're it!" Running around the creek the kids had all begun to run away from Cecelia as they now were playing tag. Denise and Gladys watched from the windows. They both were wondering what exactly God had in store and why this family. 

"Tag, you're it, El!" Cecelia giggled, running. Elvis began to run as he started getting a bit out of breath, he was trying his best to keep up, but one of his many illnesses was catching up to him, Cecelia stopped and ran over to him, 

"El! Are you okay!" he was breathing harder as if he were having an attack. "MAMA!!!!" Cecelia shouted, "SOMETHINGS WRONG!"

#oc #fanfiction #new stuff #new #romance #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #new series #elvis x oc #elvis the pelvis #childhood au #au #elvis au #elvis fanfic #elvis fic #elvis x poc oc #poc oc x elvis #poc oc x canon #cecelia valmos #cecelia #1940s #SoundCloud

[melancholicbutterflies]

heads up

a quick FYI i will be traveling over the next week and a half or so both overseas and to the west coast, so I will unfortunately not be posting as often as I normally would. the good news is that I have ANOTHER fic in the works (thinking a miniseries three-parter, ~5K per part) that will be an elvis au with a crime drama serial murder vibe culminating in some nasty smut. as always, there will also be our naive!reader, LOL. poor thing. 

anywho, hope y’all stay thirsty, and will catch you back sometime the last week of June/early July. :)

#travel #fyi #standby #elvis fanfic #in the works #elvis au #elvis presley #elvis #elvis fans

[marvelobsessed134]

Love me tender part three: moving in

Series masterlist

Pairings: 60s!rockstar!bucky x innocent!fem!reader

Warnings: smut, guided masturbation, innocent!reader, Bucky refuses to look at readers pussy until their wedding night, Bucky refers to reader as a little girl once, expectations from the time period, age gap (Bucky is 24 and reader is 18), Bucky denies reader of sex till marriage

With a lot of convincing from Bucky, your father allowed you to move into his house in the countryside of California. It is absolutely beautiful and huge. You’re so overwhelmed by all of the rooms and things inside of it. Even though your father’s house is a very decent size, you’ve never seen one like this before.

You packed all of your things you needed before heading out front. Bucky waited leaning against his black Cadillac in a perfect buttoned up shirt tucked into pants. He had a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he watched you make your way towards him.

The singer threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it before quickly helping you get your suitcases in the trunk. Once that was done, he stepped close to you and looks down at you before pressing a kiss to your lips.

He loved the way you looked in your pastel pink dress and soft white cardigan with your big hair.

“So beautiful.” He murmured before kissing you again making you giggle, “Bucky let’s hurry up before my father changes his mind.”

“Your wish is my command darlin’.”

He opened the passenger door to you and let you inside before shutting it and running to the drivers side.

When you got to his house you were in utter awe. As you drove through the iron gates and saw the fountain in the middle of the curved driveway and the beautiful huge grassy lawn you felt like you were in a whole other dimension.

As soon as Bucky pulled up to the from numerous assistants emerged from the front doors and got your suitcases out for you. Bucky helped you out of the car and gently held your hand as he led you through the grand front doors.

“Why don’t I show you the living room first sweetheart?” He asked and you nodded with a smile. You followed him into the beautiful living room with a gorgeous fire place and comfy couches. A tv set sat on an angle towards the couches. There were potted palm plants in the corners of the room.

“It’s so beautiful in here.” You gushed.

“Well you oughta get used to it honey it’s yours now too.” His words made your heart flip flop. He lead you throughout other parts of the house-more like mansion-before he had one id his assistants tell him he had someone waiting on the phone for him.

“I have to take care of some business but you keep explorin’.” The rockstar gave you a quick kiss before leaving you in the hallway upstairs. You slowly continued to walk till you reached two double doors at the end which was clearly Bucky’s bedroom. You knew you shouldn’t intrude on his private space and how wrong it was for unmarried people to share a bedroom but you just wanted to know what it looked like so bad.

So without any maid or assistant seeing you, you quickly slipped into the room. You closed the door and leaned against it after taking a deep breath. You looked around the room and slowly stepped further. A huge king sized bed was up against the wall in the middle of the room with two nightstands on either side. A another television set was across from the bed. Two doors were inside the room assumably to the bathroom and a walk in closet. The view from the large windows overlooked the backyard with its green lawn and large pool and beautiful landscaping.

Bucky has very good taste, you thought to yourself. There was also a loveseat at the foot of the bed. You walked towards the bed and slowly and carefully sat down on the plush mattress. It was softer than anything you’ve felt before.

Suddenly you felt this wave of tiredness wash over you. You couldn’t sleep last night since you were both so nervous and excited about the big move. And you woke up extra early today. So you found yourself kicking off your heels and lying back on the bed to drift off to sleep.

~Time Skip~

“Y/n, wake up baby.” A familiar baritone voice spoke softly as you slowly opened your eyes. You looked up to see your fiancé-he immediately proposed after the third date which isn’t as insane for this time period-sitting next to your small frame staring down at your fondly. You slowly sat up and yawned, “I’m sorry Bucky. I know I shouldn’t even be in here in the first place but I was just so curious and then I got tired and fell asleep.” You tried to explain yourself the best you could in hopes not to get into too much trouble.

“That’s alright, darlin’. You’ve had a big day today little girls like you can get easily tired.”

“M’not a little girl Bucky.” You laughed softly. The singer leaned down and kissed you.

“You’re precious just like one.” You blushed at that.

Later on as the days went by you got quite used to living with Bucky. The two of you spent time together all the time but when he wasn’t around you occupied yourself by going out to the pool, reading in the home library, watching movies and going shopping.

There were times where you’d get that sensation between your legs and god, you’d do anything for Bucky to take care of it. Too nervous and scared to touch yourself, you needed him badly.

One night you began to kiss him with more passion and started to grind against him. You felt his growing bulge under his satin pajamas but before you two could go any further he put a stop to it, “This is something that’s very special to me and I want to experience it after we’re married.” You pouted at his words, “but this feeling I have-“

“Let me teach you how to touch yourself okay honey? And you won’t have to do it much longer we’re gettin’ married real soon.” He soothed you and you nodded.

So, Bucky sat behind you in front of the floor length mirror and asked you to spread your legs. You were in a short babydoll nightgown. “Now take your panties off. Don’t worry I won’t look.” You took off your panties and he had his eyes closed. “I don’t want to see that pretty pussy of yours till our weddin’ night but I’m gonna do the best I can to show you how to play with it okay?” He opened his eyes but only paid attention to your face in the mirror and not your naked lower body.

“Okay Bucky.” Your soft, sweet voice responded.

“Run a finger up between those folds.” You did as he said, and hissed at the friction. “Good girl now continue to rub those wet lips and try and stick a finger inside.”

You rubbed your wet folds, getting your fingers wet as well before slowly entering yourself using one slender finger. You moaned softly at the feeling. “God if only I could see that pussy right now. Okay now, you know that little button at the top, go ahead and rub that with your thumb, princess.”

You rubbed your clit with your thumb and squealed at the feeling of slight overstimulation before going back in and rubbing your thumb. “Thrust that finger in and out, maybe add a second one too.” Your fiancé suggested and you obeyed him, adding a second finger and fucking yourself while rubbing your clit.

Bucky admired your beautiful face as you relished in the newly found pleasure. “Mmm Bucky I feel so…good. I feel like I’m going to pee!” You cried.

“Don’t stop baby, you’re about to cum and it’s gonna feel so good I promise baby keep goin’.”

You did as he said and finally you experienced your first ever orgasm, you saw stars as you came all over your fingers. You caught your breath and leaned helplessly against Bucky’s chest.

“You did so good Y/n. Such a good girl.” He smiled at you through the mirror and kissed you on the cheek making you blush and giggle.

#marvel rockstar au #marvel x reader #marvel smut #marvel fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #rockstar!bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #60s au #elvis presley #elvis and priscilla

[headfullofpresley]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 3,8K

Series summary: Elvis has worked hard to become the successful adult movie director that he is today and all that hard work is paying off by how well the public reacts to his work and how much money is coming into his bank account, despite the fact that porn is still very much illegal. Working in the adult industry is not something you saw yourself doing despite coming from a place where it always has been out in the open, but you soon find yourself swept up and away by a certain American director and right into the heart of the porn industry. The only question that remains is... will you sink, or will you swim?

Chapter summary: Working on his newest and what he believes his biggest project yet, Elvis flies to Amsterdam to shoot most of it. Everything is going well until he's forced to fire his leading actress on the spot and there's a stop being put to his work. But as he wanders into a cafe for a much needed drink in the bustling city, faith seems to be on his side.

Warnings: porn director!Elvis, European!reader, set in the year 1970 (so some details may be a little off?), obvious mentions of sex/porn etc, mentions of prostitution, Elvis giving reader a lowkey foot rub in public (honestly, he's going to be into feet in this series bc i'm feral), mentions of soft drugs, alcohol consumption.

A/N: hi! this idea was born from an ai but mostly from The Deuce (definitely watch it!), where i took most inspiration from. i'm super excited about this series, and honestly it's giving me a lot of inspiration to write in general again! this is going to be a short series- i'm thinking around 5 parts, but we shall see, hm? no smut in this part, but obvi there will be in future parts, as well as some darker topics. hope y'all enjoy! ❤

masterlist | want to be added to the taglist? just ask!

Who ever said Hollywood was a jungle has obviously never set foot in New York City.

They’ve obviously never experienced what a real concrete jungle is like and they definitely don’t know that the Golden Age of Hollywood has seen its best days. Directors were feeling pressures from the outside – from the public that wanted something different, something more than those cringy movie kisses. The smaller movie theaters were starting to ID their customers because their movies weren’t so family friendly anymore. Establishments that specialized in peep shows were popping out of the ground like weeds. Burlesque clubs were turning into proper stripclubs and people would rather spend their money on naked girls dancing in their faces than on overpriced cocktails at supper clubs.

They didn’t know that the world was changing.

They didn’t know that even though adult entertainment was far from legal, it was one of the most produced and exported and imported products in the country.

They didn’t know. But Elvis Presley did.

Having made his start as a director ten years ago when he was in his early twenties and was nothing but a naive Southern boy from Memphis, he crawled and clawed his way through shitty jobs in New York. From parking cars, to serving drinks in sketchy bars to being a bodyguard at a massage parlor and driving around hookers to their appointments… He’s seen it all, and he’s done it all.

He worked hard to get where he currently was – being one of the most famous porn directors in New York. Everyone knew who he was and everyone respected him. Times Square was home to countless of peep shows, stripclubs and whatnot and you’ll bump into a prostitute every five steps. Elvis never used their services but he was friendly with them, greeting them as if he had known them forever. Which in some girls’ cases, was true.

Most of those girls were looking for a way out, wanting to get off the streets and into the safety of a movie studio, but Elvis has learned from a previous mistake where he hired a girl who had a pimp and the leech tried to get him to pay them more than the other actors. Since then, Elvis stuck to actors and actors only.

The director was doing good for himself, owning his own studio and brand under the name of “Presley Productions”, and living in a spacious apartment in the city, yet he still wanted more.

He wanted to make a movie so good, it would get international attention. He wanted it to be so good that theaters wouldn’t stop showing it and he wanted it to be so damn good that it would get him a shiny, gold award on his shelf.

And whenever Elvis had his mind set on something, he made sure to accomplish whatever it was that he wanted to accomplish.

It would only be a matter of time before Hollywood would get whiff of his work, and who he was, and for him to open up a second studio there. Elvis didn’t believe in “Hollywood first, the world later” though – he was going to knock everyone off their feet, from the housewives in California to the business men in Hong Kong, all at the same time.

 

The script he had written for his newest movie had been done for months now and all there was left to do was the casting. The process went fairly simple and easy – his main actress was Annette Haven and she was a gorgeous brown eyed brunette, but for some reason he couldn’t get used to her.

Granted, he wasn’t the one playing in the movie and her co-star seemed to have no issues with her, so perhaps he figured he was just being too picky because he was so passionate about this project. Annette was friendly during the first few weeks of filming but as they got to Amsterdam, the sex capital of the world, to shoot most of the movie, her behavior started to change.

She was cranky on set, pranced around like she was the Queen and was late for filming almost every single day. To put it mildly, she was getting on Elvis’s nerves and when she showed up high as a kite one afternoon, the director was done with this girl.

He never was a tiran on set and always made sure everyone was doing okay, but right now it was like a bomb exploded and everyone watched and were awkwardly rooted to their places as Elvis had a go at the main actress and fired her on the spot.

“Take the rest of the day off. We’ll figure things out tomorrow,” he announced to the other actors and the crew. He gave them a bitter smile before he turned around and walked out of the studio they rented, angry and annoyed at the fact he lost a full day of filming, his leading actress and money.

He needed a goddamn drink.

 

Amsterdam was a crowded, bustling city and in some ways, it was much like New York but it was different in so many ways too. People were a little more laid back here (and he figured the many coffee shops where one definitely was not drinking coffee but getting high at instead had something to do with that) and instead of running into a lady of the night on a street corner, they were placed behind windows in certain areas. The Red Light District, for example. It was crowded with tourists and while there was a long canal outstretched in the middle of the district, there were shops, bars, coffee shops and sexual tinted business lined up on the sides, drawing people’s attention left and right. The infamous windows were located in the alley ways, the red lights that were on indicating a girl was working at the time. While he was definitely no stranger to sex workers and what the normal citizen would call “wildness of it all”, it was like he had stepped into a different world, yet it felt a little bit like home too.

Spotting a typical Dutch brown cafe on a corner, he stepped inside and was welcomed by the loud rumbles of laughter of men shooting pool and sitting at the tables and the bar and the smell of cigarette smoke and beer. Nobody aside from the waitress even spared him a glance as he sat at a table near the window and the second he looked at the girl that came up to him to take his order, a smirk spread across his face. In the middle of August, it was only natural for the girl to be wearing a pair of shorts and he was glad this place didn’t set any strict dress codes for their employees, because Good Lord, those legs looked like they went on for days. He noticed the red heeled sandals she wore on her feet and her fresh pedicure on her toes, drawing him in even more. The way that black little apron was tied around her waist did things to him and as his eyes shamelessly moved further up and noticed the size of her breasts that were filling up the tight top she was wearing, he could only think two things – first, he needed to get his hands on those things. And second, she would be perfect for the movie he was shooting out here.

Annette Haven who?

“Hallo?!” You spoke again, waving your hand in front of the dark haired man that just sat down by the window when he didn’t respond to you the first time. Instead, he was shamelessly checking you out from head to toe and working in a bar in the Red Light District, you were used to it but it still got you a little annoyed at times. At least some men tried to hide it and most men actually spoke, with actual words. As he excused himself in English and scanned the crowd for a second, you realised he wasn’t Dutch and decided to cut him some slack.

Perhaps he really was a creep, but your boss wouldn’t be too happy if a customer walked out without being served.

Happened before, because while other waitresses accepted the bold and creepy men that came to drink almost every single day, your mother had always taught you to stand up for yourself and to not take any shit from anyone.

Besides, this was 1970. What did men expect? For you to drape yourself over their laps and beg them to take you? Absolutely not.

“A beer’s just fine, honey,”

You bit your tongue to ignore the pet name and flashed the American a smile, looking him in the eye. “Anything else? Something to eat maybe?”

Elvis grinned and shook his head, watching you walk away to get his drink. You were a very pretty girl with a very pretty body and he realised he was going to amp up his charm if he wanted to see what was underneath.

And he definitely wanted to see what was underneath.

 

“There you go,” you said as you came back over to his table and put his beer down in front of him. Before you could make your escape once more, Elvis spoke up.

“You know, your English is pretty good,”

At this, you almost scoffed as you stood up straight and looked at him with a hand on your hip. These Americans were always so full of themselves.

“Thanks. It’s only a language spoken in countries all over the world,” you smiled sarcastically and Elvis grinned in amusement as he leaned his arms on the edge of the table, quirking an eyebrow.

Feisty. He was intrigued.

“I been to Germany back in the day and believe me, they definitely didn’t sound as pretty as you,”

You raised your eyebrows a little at the odd compliment. Didn’t sound as pretty? That was the first time you ever heard something like that. This guy looked exactly what you imagined a pimp to look like – gold rings adorning his fingers, dressed up nicely in a velvet crushed jacket despite the heat outside – yet he used the word “pretty”, instead of something vulgar like most customers did when they’d try to flirt with you.

You knew you had probably judged him too quickly and although you were intrigued by him the same way he was by you, you weren’t going to make it easy on him.

“Let me tell you a secret,” you whispered as you leaned down and closer to him a little, looking straight into his eyes, which you noticed were very blue and very pretty. “You’re not in Germany anymore, sir,”

Elvis let out a laugh as you gave his shoulder a playful pat and raised his glass, a sly smirk settling on his features.

“You got that right, honey,”

As you walked away, he didn’t fail to notice the playful smile you threw his way as you looked over your shoulder.

 

Elvis wasn’t planning on spending half the day in this particular cafe, but for some reason, he was already on his third beer and he just couldn’t leave.

He could say it was because he needed to clear his mind and think of a solution to fix the problem about not having a lead actress anymore, but the little voice in his head told him he was looking right at that exact solution.

You.

He knew it would be risky – you were just a waitress and you probably had never set foot on a movie set in your entire life, let alone an adult movie set, but he couldn’t stop imagining you in front of the camera, in all kinds of positions.

As he watched you move around the place, serving customers, it was almost like he was watching a movie right now. The way you moved so effortlessly on those little heels, the way you avoided customers that were a little too handsy and the way you were laughing with local customers who you’d probably served many times before.

The sound of your laugh was like music to his ears and he wondered how you’d sound while you were being fucked with those gorgeous long legs dangling in the air. Just imagining you moaning in pleasure had a shiver run down his spine.

And while you had pretended you didn’t like Elvis at all and he was just another annoying American tourist, you couldn’t help yourself from glancing into his direction every so often and making your way to his table to ask if he needed anything else.

When you did just that after talking to some locals at the bar, he looked at you and smiled.

“Sit down,” he told you as he nodded to the empty seat across from him as he leaned back in his seat. “Doesn’t the old man give you a break?”

You chuckled softly as he nodded to an older looking, grumpy man in the corner behind the bar. Your boss. He barely did any of the work and just sipped on his beer, watching his waitresses work their asses off.

For a shitty pay, too.

“Hardly,” you admitted honestly with a soft chuckle, noticing that your boss wasn’t paying any attention to you so you sat down opposite the dark haired man that had his eye on you the entire time. “So, what brought you to Amsterdam?”

Elvis was pleasantly surprised as you asked him that. Not only would it give him the chance to keep you at his table longer, but now was also the moment where he would have to tell you what he did. And find out your reaction to it.

So, he just came clean right away. In one way, it was a good test to see how open-minded the Europeans really were.

And if you were a full blown, crazed feminist.

God… please don’t be a fullblown crazed feminist, he prayed mentally.

“I’m here to make a porno.”

A silence lingered between you two, but it only lasted for about three seconds. You nodded your head and chuckled in an amused but friendly manner.

“Are you an actor?”

Thank God.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head a little as he took a sip of his beer, licking his lips. “I’m the director of the movie,”

You leaned your arms on the table and sat on the edge of your seat, crossing your legs under the table as you swung your foot back and forth a little. Elvis looked at the way your breasts were pressed against your arms for a second before looking back at your face, an excited twinkle in his eyes.

“And why are you not directing your movie right now?” You wondered aloud, tilting your head a little.

“Well,” he let out a laugh as he tapped one of his rings against his glass for a second, looking at you. “My leading actress wasn’t as fit for the role as I thought.”

“Or maybe you aren’t as good as a director as you think you are,” you teased with a grin on your face.

At that, Elvis just looked at you with a raised eyebrow. He could tell you were pulling his tail, but perhaps far in the back of his mind… he wondered if that could be the truth. He decided not to let his insecurities get to him though, not right now, and when he felt your swaying foot hit his leg under the table, he reached a hand down and grabbed your ankle. You widened your eyes a little and stared at him as he gave you a cocky grin and removed your shoe, dropping the red heel to the floor before he put your foot in his lap.

You looked around nervously to see if your boss caught onto you slacking yet, but he was still busy with the locals at the bar. Elvis ran his hand down from your ankle to your foot and pressed his thumb against your sole, making you turn back to him and bite your tongue to hold back a small gasp.

While you certainly never let customers touch you, right now you weren’t trying to get away. Nor could you muster up a smart remark to throw at his head. You’d been on your feet all day, wearing those heels, and the little massage he suddenly decided to give you wasn’t entirely unwelcomed.

“I am a great director, sweetheart, trust me..” he grinned as he looked you in the eye, a kind but mischievous gleam in his blue orbs. This man definitely was bold and for the first time in your waitressing “career”, you were enjoying the attention of a customer. And a tourist, at that. “Some people just can’t resist the many coffee shops in the city,”

You chuckled, nodding your head as you tried to focus on the conversation and not his large hand rubbing your foot under the table.

“Ha! Bet she was A-American,” you mentally slapped yourself for the stutter (and the lame reply) but if he noticed it, he didn’t mention it. Instead he just grinned and caressed his short nails across the arch of your foot a little.

“Who said she was American?”

“Well, if she was Dutch, she could’ve.. resisted the tempting clouds of weed,” you countered back with a small, playful grin on your face.

He laughed as he cocked his eyebrow, his eyes staring intently into yours as he found your pressure point and pushed his thumb into it, making you nearly moan out loud right there in the middle of your work place.

You managed to save yourself with a small groan.

“Think you can do better?”

At this point, your face was flushed and he realised he was slowly breaking through that sarcastic façade of yours. Then again, he wasn’t exactly playing fair with the way he was shamelessly giving you a foot rub and while you had genuinely peaked his interest, he was a little desperate too.

He wanted to finish his movie and make sure it was good. It had to be perfect. And he didn’t want to get a professional actress now that he had laid eyes on you.

Porn wasn’t a strange concept to you despite never having been in a porno yourself. You lived in a city where sex was out in the open for everyone to see and consume and while porn was illegal here as much as it was in the States, it was tolerated. Perhaps it wasn’t such a strange idea for you to dip your toes into the world of adult entertainment.

“I know I can do better,” you said confidently, looking over at your boss who looked your way and you quickly pulled your foot out of Elvis’ grip, slipping it back into your heel. “Just tell me when and where,”

Elvis let out a hearty laugh as he widened his eyes at you a little. This had been easier than he expected – you were offering yourself for the job and while that was certainly surprising, he wasn’t complaining at all. You were perfect for this movie and the fact that you were inexperienced in the industry might even be better for the storyline.

After all, the lead girl was supposed to be a little naive and a whole lot of innocent.

You quickly urged him for a phone number and address when you noticed the sour face of your boss staring at you from behind the bar and Elvis quickly scribbled his contact information down on the back of a paper coaster as he realised he didn’t have any business cards on him at the moment. You grasped it from the table and shoved it in your pocket, getting up from your seat.

“Hold up,” he said after he paid for his drinks and you were about to walk off to the bar to get back to work. You felt him grabbing your wrist and you turned around, looking at him as your heartbeat sped up a little. “I didn’t get your name..”

“It’s Y/N,” You told him, gently pulling your arm out of his grip. You wouldn’t mind holding onto him a little longer but you felt your boss’ eyes burning in the back of your head.

“I’m Elvis. Elvis Presley.”

You nodded and flashed him a smile, tapping the back pocket of your shorts where you had put the coaster in. He grinned and nodded, slowly leaving the cafe, hoping you’d call him and go through with this.

A pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to work in a shitty place like this.

 

You watched him go and the entire time your boss was giving you an earful about work ethics as you stood behind the bar, you barely heard the words coming out of his mouth. Quite frankly, you just weren’t paid enough to deal with this. You liked your co-workers but that’s all they were – co-workers. They didn’t pay your bills and neither did your shitty monthly pay that your boss gave you.

You wanted a change. No, you needed a change.

And maybe it was a naive and stupid thing to do, but for some reason, you had trusted that stupid American tourist.

Maybe he wasn’t even a director at all, but the longer your boss went on and on about your behavior, you decided it was worth the risk.

“You know what,” you interrupted him loudly, pulling your apron off and throwing it at his face. “I quit!”

Your boss threw a string of profanities to your head as you opened the cash register and grasped the amount of money he still owed you. He was too slow, and too fat, to stop you and before he could get to you, you were already halfway out the door. Though ofcourse, you didn’t leave without theatrically flipping him off.

 

You ran down the street, squirming your way through the crowd, and into a phone booth. Closing the door behind you, you fished the coaster out of your pocket and rang the number. You were connected to Elvis’ hotel and then put through to his room after several minutes. As soon as you heard his voice on the other side of the line, you inhaled a sharp breath of air and clenched the phone against your ear.

How bad could the porn industry really be?

The fact that you were a virgin didn’t strike you as a problem. Nobody had to know, did they? You were sure you’d be able to mask it.

Even from the director.

You stared at the people walking by the phone booth and leaned against the glass wall, your next words rolling off your tongue determinedly.

“When do I start?”

taglist: @powerofelvis @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @notstefaniepresley @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley @ccab @whatstruthgottodowithit @dkayfixates

#elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #elvis presley smut #elvis au #elvis presley au #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #elvis #elvis presley #elvis series #elvis presley series #tamwrites #the curious female

[starryschoolgirl]

A Soldier's Song Masterlist

You couldn't be more grateful when your husband returns home, and while he insists that he's alright and just wants things to get back to normal, you can't help but notice the changes of war on your man. You soon come to realize that just because the scars on his body have long faded, doesn't mean the scars in his mind are healed the same.

Warning: This universe series explores struggles with religion, violence of war, death, mental health, and family issues, it will also feature heavy smut that may fence along the line of dubious at times, and more to come that I will throw back in here when the time is right.

PSA: Set in the 40s. This is all from 2nd person point of view (you/your type reading), but the name used instead of y/n will be Genevieve Presley. Truthfully I don't plan to write it all in order I'm just exploring right now.

A Soldier's Song Installments Circa 1942 November: Just A Man More to come!

#elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x reader #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis x you #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x you #elvis au #elvis series #elvis fic #elvis fandom

[precious-little-scoundrel]

A Whole Man is Hard to Find | masterlist

Warnings: This story takes place on a floating casino during the reconstruction period of the post Civil War South… so, there’s a boatload of potentially offensive content here. Such as, mentions of buying human beings, murder, tragic backstories, casual mentions of prostitution, references to abuse during prostitution male and female, the existence of Colonel Parker, racism, period typical use of laudanum, attempts to entrap a man through sex and using virginity as a commodity. And chief among them: past sexual abuse and mental manipulation of the male main character. All or most of this is peripheral or off camera to the story itself which focuses on love and camaraderie -however, consider yourself warned. I’ve tried to remain as respectful as possible while retaining the feel of the era and the fascinating shift in the culture. It is however quite mature. 18+ only, read at your own risk. And hush. Don’t worry, there are heroes in this story who will rise to the challenge of all of this. There will also be smut, this is one big excuse to write period piece Elvis smut, after all. And there will be fluff, true fluff, eventually -I swear it. Enjoy.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen (coming soon)

#fixed links #elvis presley #a whole man #a whole man is hard to find #elvis fanfiction #Elvis Au #mine #archive #masterlist #Elvis #elvis fan fic #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis austin butler

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1

Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.

Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George

Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary

Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.

It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.

A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.

Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.

Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.

Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.

Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.

Forever, my ass.

Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.

The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.

Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.

He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.

That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.

Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.

The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.

Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.

Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.

As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.

Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.

This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.

Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.

“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”

It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.

“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”

Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.

Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.

Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”

Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,

“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.

“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.

He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.

He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.

The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.

There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.

Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.

Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,

“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”

sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.

Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.

Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.

Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.

She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.

Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.

It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.

She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.

Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”

Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.

“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.

“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”

He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.

“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.

Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.

“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”

She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.

“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.

Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.

“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.

“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.

One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.

Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.

“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.

“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.

“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.

“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.

“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.

“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“

Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.

“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.

If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.

Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?

“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.

The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.

“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.

Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.

Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”

Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.

“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”

She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”

Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.

“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.

One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.

Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.

It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.

She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.

Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.

“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.

To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.

“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”

That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?

“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.

“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.

“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.

“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.

“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.

“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.

“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.

“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.

“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.

“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.

The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.

“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“

Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.

“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”

“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”

“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.

“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.

“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”

When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.

Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.

“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.

Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.

And maybe dread.

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sky high lovin #Prima Nocta #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis au #70s elvis #elvis the king #elvis film #elvis aaron presley #austin elvis #elvis x you #Elvis #elvis movie #elvis photos

[sissylittlefeather]

Viva Las Vegas

A mafia!Elvis AU Story

A/N: This was a request that threw me for a loop. I didn't know anything about the mafia. But after watching Casino and talking to my husband, I think I did this one okay and I had an absolute blast writing it! Hopefully it's exactly what it's supposed to be and you all enjoy it!

Warnings: SO MUCH SMUT AND VIOLENCE 18+ NO MINORS, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, swallowing, ejaculation, creampie, ALSO GUN VIOLENCE

Word count: ~6.2k (it takes a lot of storytelling)

In 1973 after the Aloha Special, Elvis decided he had had enough of the colonel and his life in Vegas. He didn't want to leave Vegas per se, but he wanted to try something different.

Thats when he bought a casino and entered the world you'd been trying to get out of for a decade: the world of corrupt casino bosses and the mafia back east.

You hate your father. He owns one of the casinos in Vegas, which means he's in neck deep with the mafia. All of the casinos are tied up with the mob somewhere. Some are from New York, some in Chicago, and a few in other cities around the Midwest.

The casino Elvis buys is New York mafia and it doesn't take him long to get wrapped in their web. Despite his rock star status, he loves it and is eager to do odd jobs for the bosses here and there and earn their trust. Before too long, he's one of their most trusted lieutenants. And by 75, he's his own kind of boss in Las Vegas. The mafia game is new in Vegas, but Elvis is on the forefront, creating his own family of Memphis guys to help him enforce the dealings of his casino.

Your father owns a Chicago mafia casino. And although there's not really beef between the two in their individual cities, the battle over who reigns supreme in Vegas rages. Elvis dives headfirst into this feud and is quick to figure out who the enemy is: your father.

This is not a problem in the beginning. You've sworn up and down that you'll marry a nice man and get out of this bullshit. You're tired of people you know ending up buried in the desert. You'll never get involved with a mafia boss. It's just not in the cards for you.

And then 1975 rolls around and you attend an event put on by the gaming commission to thank the casino owners for their contribution to the city of Las Vegas. You wonder if they have any idea how dangerous it is to have all these men in one room together. Still, you're not there with any of them. You're there on the arm of a senator. He's sweet and naive, and a little bit dumb, but at least he doesn't kill people in his spare time. Your father is disappointed, but the work you're doing with the senator might pay off, so he doesn't try to stop you.

That's when you meet Elvis. You catch his eye across the room and hold his gaze for a few seconds. You know who he is, but you're not eager to know him any better than you already do, so you look away. Still, you feel eyes on you and you look back in his direction to find that he's still staring at you. You look away again to try to convey your disinterest, but when you look back a third time, he's left his date and is walking towards you.

"Oh fuck." You whisper under your breath and roll your eyes. You walk away from the senator toward the bar in an effort to dodge Elvis. But somehow he catches up to you.

"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but you already have one." When you turn to face him, he's taller than you expect.

"Also they're free."

"True. Can I offer you something in gold and diamonds instead?" He smirks and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes again.

"I only wear white gold."

"Noted. What's your name."

"I'm y/n. Y/f/n y/l/n."

"Y/l/n? Any relation to Marco y/l/n?"

"He's my father."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so I suggest you move along, soldier. I know who you work for."

"Now hold on, I'm not a soldier. I own my own outfit these days."

"Good for you. I'm still not interested." You go to walk away from him and he grabs your arm and pulls you close to him.

"Oh, I think you are, doll. You wouldn't be so keen on runnin' away if you weren't." Your proximity to him allows you to notice the scent of him. He's all cologne, cigarillos, and peppermint. It's an intoxicating blend and there's something about the way his eyes sparkle that draws you in.

You were a fan of him when you were younger and he was still starring in movies. He's 40 now and he's grown into his maturity in a way no one expected. He carries more weight than he has before, but somehow that makes him more attractive. Like he's a whole man now and he knows what a woman wants.

"Say I was interested. It's not like you'd be allowed anywhere near me. If you don't want to end up in a hole in the desert, I suggest you go back to your date."

"Your father doesn't scare me, honey. All I heard was that you're interested." In a move bold enough to shock you, he leans in and kisses your cheek.

"I can't believe you just did that."

"You're a beautiful girl. Might be worth a hole in the desert." No one has ever pursued you with such fervor. You hate to admit it, but it's turning you on quite a bit.

"Okay, I'm interested. What's your plan now?" He smiles and wraps his hand around your waist.

"Come with me, sugar."

He leads you through the party back to the door that goes into the kitchen.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

He takes you into the pantry where they store the dry goods. It's bigger than a closet, so there's space for both of you. As soon as the door closes, he kisses you, one hand on the back of your head and the other on your lower back, pulling your body in close to his. You kiss him back and melt into his embrace. You know you should stop him, but you don't. He pulls back and looks into your eyes.

"Just how interested are you?" His hand moves to your breast, where he squeezes gently and then slides down to your core, easily finding your clit through your dress.

"I'm interested, daddy. But you better make it worthwhile."

"Mmmm sugar, don't you worry about that. Daddy'll take good care of ya." He gets on his knees and pushes your dress up to your hips. Sliding your panties down your legs, he moves back up to your center, pressing his mouth to you. You gasp a little at the sensation. He slides two fingers inside you to pump in and out while he licks your clit. He makes circles over and around it with his tongue and you moan and put your fingers in his hair. He continues to lap at you as he fucks you with his hand. You feel your orgasm coming to slam into you and your walls tighten around his fingers.

"Let go, baby. Cum for daddy." As soon as he says it, your climax hits and the pleasure washes over you like waves crashing on a beach. He licks you through your orgasm and then backs away slowly. He stands back up and turns you to face away from him. Whispering in your ear, he unbuckles his belt and drops his pants just enough for his cock to bounce free.

"You want daddy to fuck you, sugar?

"Mmmhmmm yes please daddy." You whimper and moan as he lines himself up with your entrance from behind. Then, he holds your hips as he slides into you and picks up a steady rhythm of pounding you. He's balls deep inside you when someone opens the door. He slams it shut with his hand and hollers, "Occupied!"

You giggle a little and he laughs too. Through the whole episode, though, he doesn't stop fucking you. He holds your hips and slams into you over and over again until it feels like you just can't stand it anymore. You cum hard on his dick and he pulls out just in time and pumps his cock a few times to shoot his seed all over your ass.

"Fuck yes, sugar, fuck!"

When he's finished, he finds a napkin to clean you up and then pulls your panties back to where they belong. He slaps your ass before he pulls your dress back down. "Mmm. I want you to belong to me."

"I'm not sure that's possible. You know who my father is."

"I don't give a damn who your father is."

"Well, I don't want you dead. This was fun, but that's all it was."

"We'll see, sugar." He leans in and kisses you deeply one last time. Then, you both make your way out of the closet and back to your respective dates at the party.

But for the rest of the night, you catch him looking at you from across the room.

You've never hated your father more.

******

Three days later a box arrives at your suite. Your parents have the penthouse, but your living area is nothing to sneeze at. You've got three full bedrooms, a kitchen, two bathrooms, and a large space for entertaining complete with a bar. You're no stranger to luxury.

So when you open the box and even you are shocked, you know this is an impressive gift. You lift out a large, ornate jewelry box and open it carefully. The whole thing is packed to the brim with white gold and diamonds. Necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and rings you suspect to the tune of roughly a million dollars. There's a card inside as well, so you open the envelope and pull it out gently. A necklace falls into your lap when you go to read it. The card is blank except for a single line:

"This one makes you mine. -EP"

You hold it up to examine it. It's smaller than some of the others, but the whole thing is coated in little diamonds. The letters "TLC" surround a lightning bolt and hang on a white gold chain. You look back down at the box of jewelry on the table in front of you. If you accept this gift, you're opening the door to a dangerous situation for both of you. Is he worth it? There's a part of you screaming yes, but you also swore to never get involved with a mob boss. And now you're considering your father's biggest rival? No. You decide to call him and thank him, but graciously tell him no.

"Hello?" Of course he doesn't answer the phone. It's obviously one of his guys.

"I need to speak to Elvis please."

"I'm sure you do. You and every other broad in this town."

"Tell him it's Sugar and I just want to thank him for the gift." You can tell he sets down the receiver and you hear mumbling in the background. After a few more seconds, the phone is picked up again.

"Hi, Sugar. Sounds like you got my present?" His voice is warm and sensual and you're almost hypnotized by it. You shake your head a little to bring yourself back down to earth.

"I did. And it's very sweet, thank you. But-"

"No."

"No?"

"You're not sending it back. It's yours."

"Elvis, I can't keep this."

"You will. And you'll have dinner with me tonight."

"Elvis, no I-"

"I'll pick you up at 8."

"You can't come here."

"So meet me on the corner outside. Wear something pretty and don't forget your necklace. I'll see you at 8." There's a click and the line goes dead. You look at the receiver and slam it down on the dialer. He's impossible.

******

At 7:30, you sit on your bed staring at the dress you picked out. It's tight and short and covered with black rhinestones. Are you actually going to do this? You'd be lying if you said you didn't want to see him again, but there's so much at risk. Your hair and makeup are done and all you need to do is get dressed and put on your jewelry. You look at the clock again and bite the inside of your cheek.

"Fuck it."

You stand up and slide the dress on. It fits you like a glove and won't do much to keep him from liking you. Neither will the black strappy heels you pull on. You go to the jewelry box and put on a pair of large diamond earrings, a bracelet, and several rings. You stand there holding the TLC necklace and stare at yourself in the mirror. Going to dinner with him is one thing. Wearing the necklace that claims you as his own is totally different. But you're not sure what he might do if you show up without it. At 7:53, you throw the necklace around your neck, grab your purse, and head for the door. You stand on the corner for less than thirty seconds before a long black limousine pulls up and the window rolls down.

"You waitin' for someone?" Elvis gives you a mischievous smile.

"Maybe."

"Hi Sugar. Come on." A guy pops out of the car and opens the door for you to slide in next to Elvis. As you settle on the seat, Elvis reaches across and fondles the necklace where it sits on your chest.

"It looks good on ya." You feel your cheeks get warm.

"I wasn't sure I wanted to wear it."

"And yet, here you are. You're in love with me, Sugar."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself."

"Because I'm in love with you."

"You literally met me once."

"That's all it takes when your souls are aligned like ours are." He leans forward and captures your lips in a deep kiss. You begin to make out heavily. As your tongues move against each other, the passion overwhelms you and you crawl on top of him to straddle him. You continue to kiss and his hands run over your body hungrily. Eventually, he grabs your ass with both hands and pulls you in against him, his hardness pressing into you between your legs.

"How far is the restaurant?" You whisper breathily.

"Far enough." He lets you unbuckle his belt and get his pants open enough to pull his cock out. You hike your skirt up to reveal that you aren't wearing panties.

"Sugar, you're gonna kill me." He holds your hips, lining you up with him, and then drops you down on his dick. You roll your hips against him and fuck him deeply. He grunts and grabs your neck to pull you into a kiss. You both know that you don't have much time, so you move on him quickly. He lifts his hips a little and his cock rubs perfectly against your g-spot. Without warning, you cum hard on him and the intense pleasure runs through you like fire.

"Mmm." He grunts and you know he's getting close too, so you back up off of him and drop to your knees on the floor of the limo. You put your hands on his thighs and pull his cock deep into your throat. "Dear god, woman."

You bounce up and down on him for a few more seconds before his hips buck and he fills your throat with his warm release. You swallow it all down and then run your tongue around his uncut tip. When you pull back off of him and sit on his lap, he grabs your chin and kisses your lips gently.

"Sugar, you're mine and you know it."

"I am." He kisses you again.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

The car stops and you both make yourselves presentable before the door opens. You head into the restaurant together and never look back.

******

You spend the next few weeks together pretty much 24/7. Periodically, he disappears to take care of business, but for the most part you're either talking, sleeping, or fucking. You really hope that your parents don't notice that you haven't been home except to grab a suitcase since you left for dinner that night. This is the happiest you've ever been in your life and at the beginning of the fourth week Elvis walks into his suite after some business and asks you to come sit with him on the couch. You do as he asks, but you're starting to get a little worried because he seems really serious.

"What is it, baby?" You settle in close to him but he moves away from you to look into your face.

"Sugar, I've never felt like this about a woman. I truly believe our souls were meant to be together. I want you to marry me." He pulls a box from his pocket and opens it to reveal an enormous emerald-cut three-stone diamond ring of no less than 14 carats.

"Wow. Elvis, I- wow."

"What do ya say, Sugar?"

"Elvis, I want nothing more than to marry you. But I don't think I can. The only reason we've made it this long is because my father doesn't know."

He slams the box down on the coffee table and stands up, pacing.

"Damn it, Sugar, I told you I don't give a fuck about your father! Let him find out!" You stand up too and raise your voice to match his.

"Do you think I want him to kill you?!"

"You don't believe I can defend myself?! Is that what you think of me?!" He kicks over an end table, sending the things on it flying. "I'm a man, y/n! This is what I do!" He puts his foot on the coffee table and pulls the gun from his boot, dropping it on the table with a thud. He rips his jacket off and pulls the two guns out of his shoulder holster, tossing them on the table too. He pulls the guns from his waistband holsters and adds them to the pile.

You watch as he does all of this. You've seen your father do almost the same exact thing at the end of a long day. You feel the tears well up in your eyes and you want to scream. How did you end up here, so in love with a man who is in this world? If you marry him, you'll never escape. You'll get married in the mafia, raise your kids in the mafia, and watch your husband die in the mafia. It's all too much and the tears start pouring down your cheeks.

He realizes you're crying and puts his hands on his hips, trying to avoid softening, but he can't.

"Now, Sugar, what's all that about?"

"N-nothing." You sob and he walks over to you and wraps you in his arms. He strokes your hair and you cry on him.

"Come on, out with it." You burrow your face into his chest and yell.

"I don't want you to die!" He looks up at the ceiling and sighs deeply.

"Sugar, I don't have any plans on dyin' any time soon." You look up into his face and he uses his thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"You don't know that."

"No. I guess I don't. But I know this. I love you right now and I want to marry you right now. And if I die, then I die, but I'm alive now and I want you to be my wife while I am." He leans down to kiss you softly on the cheek. You push away from him and he sighs again deeply. "Sugar, please."

You turn and look at him. Then, you snatch the ring box off of the table. He's afraid you're going to throw it at him, but you don't. Instead, you open it and take the ring out. You jam it onto your ring finger and purse your lips.

"Okay. Yes."

"Yes?" A smile spreads across his face.

"Yes." You walk over to him and jump on him and he catches you, spinning you around. He kisses you deeply and then carries you into the bedroom. You both laugh as he takes your clothes off and you fall into each other again.

******

What you don't know is that your father has noticed your absence. He sent out some of his favorite soldiers to locate you and they did. They call him to let him know where you are.

"She's with Elvis?"

"Yeah, boss. Looks like she's been there a while."

"I guess we have some business to take care of. Bring her back here."

"Understood."

Your father hangs up the phone after hearing about your location. Then he turns and throws the phone at the wall.

******

You're lying naked in Elvis's arms when there's a loud knock on the front door. He immediately gets up and dresses quickly. One of the things he's learned is how to assess a threat and this feels like something bad.

"Stay here, Sugar." He goes in the living room and puts all his guns back where they belong on his person. There's another loud knock.

"We know she's in there! Open the fucking door!" He looks at you standing in the doorway in one of his shirts. He walks over to you and hands you one of his pistols. Then, he kisses your forehead and cups your cheek in his hand.

"Stay in here. This might get ugly."

"Those men are my cousins. Maybe I should just go with them."

"Is that what you want? They won't let you come back to me." Your eyes flick between his while you think. The decision you make right now will define your future. Do you stay with the man you love? Or do you go with your family and forfeit your chance at happiness with him but make sure he stays alive? You know which one he would want you to choose. The cold metal of your engagement ring becomes heavy on your finger. You can't live without him.

"Donny got in a fight when he was younger and doesn't see very well out of his left eye. Use that if you can. I love you." You kiss him deeply on the lips and then take the pistol in the room and shut the door. You find some pants and put on your shoes in case you have to make a run for it. Then you sit on the bed with the pistol in your hand and listen.

Elvis opens the door carefully. He's got a loaded gun in his hand behind his back. The two men saunter into the room.

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"You know who. Marco sent us to get her."

"You can give her to us the easy way or we can take her. It's up to you."

The sound of your cousins' voices is not hard to hear. Donny is the big booming one. The higher-pitched whiny one is Nick. They're both a little older than you, but you try very hard not to remember them as kids.

"You're not taking her." Elvis looks toward the door. They must've already dispensed of the guards he keeps out there day and night.

"Hard way it is, then." You hear the sounds of a scuffle as Donny lunges toward Elvis. You open the door silently and peek into the room. Elvis fires a shot at Donny, but he's a moving target, so he misses. Donny wrestles the gun away from him and gets him on his knees with his hands behind his back. Nicky stands in front of him with a gun pointed in his face.

"Tell us where she is and we'll take her and go. We're not lookin' to start a war over this bitch. Her daddy just wants her back."

"Fuck you and her daddy."

As the conversation happens, you slip off your shoes and walk silently into the room with the pistol in your hand. It takes Donny a minute to register that you're there, so his warning comes too late.

"Look out Nick!"

When he turns to face you, you have the pistol cocked and pointed at his head.

"Oh, come on now, y/n. You're not gonna shoot me."

"You know I know how to." It's true. Your father had a gun in your hand as soon as you were old enough to hold it. Your marksmanship is solid.

"Just come home with us. You don't need this fucker."

"Don't talk about him like that." You shake your head and then Donny chimes in from across the room.

"Just grab her, Nick. We don't have time for this." Nick nods and makes like he's going to grab you. Without thinking, you pull the trigger. Again, your marksmanship is spot on.

Once you shoot Nick, Donny is so caught off guard that Elvis is able to slip away from him. He grabs his loaded gun from the floor where he dropped it earlier, turns, and shoots Donny in the head.

Your gun falls to the floor and you drop to your knees shaking. You've never shot a person before, much less a family member. Elvis rushes to you and catches you just before you pass out.

******

When you come to, you're in a car. You turn and see Elvis in the drivers seat.

"You alright, Sugar?"

"Yeah. Did I really shoot Nick?"

"You did."

"Fuck." You're overcome with nausea and you start to shake again. Elvis notices how pale you are and pulls the car over on the side of the deserted highway you're on. You stumble out of the car and vomit in the dirt. It doesn't take long for him to be by your side, holding your hair back and humming a soothing melody. When he can tell that you're finished, he scoops you up like a baby and carries you to the backseat of the car. He slides in next to you and holds you close to his chest. You're too shocked to even cry. That'll come later.

"Nicky was a real asshole. He shot my first boyfriend- buried him in the desert- because he took my virginity. Pretty sure my father just wanted him beat up, but Nicky was always taking things too far. He would've killed you too."

"I believe you, Sugar. You did what you had to do."

"I did. And I'm not sorry. I probably should be, but I'm not." He lifts your chin and looks into your eyes.

"Welcome to the mafia, Sugar." You nod slowly and lean back into his chest. You sit like this for another half hour, with him still stroking your hair and humming. Eventually, you sit up.

"Okay. I think I'm okay. Where are we going?"

"One of my guys owns a motel out here. It's safe. We'll stay there until I can figure out the next step. I have an idea, but I'll need to do some business to work it out."

"I trust you." He kisses your forehead and then you both get out and get back in the front of the car. Once you're settled, he grabs your hand and holds it in his lap. The future is cloudy for both of you, but at least you're together.

******

You're at the motel for three weeks in the desert. Overall, you're doing okay except for the nightmares. But Elvis is always there to take care of you, whether you're screaming, crying, or throwing punches. It doesn't take long for you to sink back into your routine of talking, sleeping, and fucking.

Elvis makes business calls and even goes to a couple of meetings in town. Every time he leaves, you're a basket case until he returns. You sit in the bed with a loaded pistol in your lap just waiting. But every time he comes back unscathed. It helps that his men are all over the motel and they accompany him any time he goes into Vegas. The only thing you argue about is who needs the most protection when you're apart. He wants you to have the bulk of the security and you argue that he's in much more danger in the city. He always wins, though, and you end up with a better protection detail than the president.

At the end of the three weeks, Elvis comes to you with an assignment.

"I need you to get dressed. We're going into Vegas."

"For what?! How should I dress?"

"Well, I've got a little business deal to solidify and then we're celebrating. So wear something nice. Maybe something white."

"White?"

"Yeah. Just in case." You have no idea what he could possibly be talking about, but you follow instructions and pick out the only white dress in your bag. It's a long-sleeved mini dress with a deep v-neck that shows off your cleavage nicely. You put it on with your white patent leather boots. When he sees you, he looks you up and down and whistles.

"Will this work?"

"Sugar, it's already working." He grabs you and pulls you to him, kissing your neck down to your breasts.

"Mmm you want to take it off of me?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. But we have somewhere to be soon. Later I'll rip it off with my teeth." He nibbles your breast a little and growls. Then he turns and grabs a briefcase, puts his jacket on over his guns, and walks you to the door.

You settle in the back of the limousine with him and giggle a little. He looks at you with an incredulous look.

"Sugar, what's got you tickled?"

"I was thinking about the first time we were in the limo together."

"And you didn't have any panties on?" He turns to look at you, his eyes darkened with lust.

"I'm not wearing any tonight either."

"Mmmm." He shakes his head and grunts. Then he runs his hand up your thigh to your center to verify what you've said. It's true. "Sugar, you sure know what daddy likes."

He gets on his knees in front of you on the floor of the limo and yanks you to the edge of the seat. He spreads your legs and pushes your dress up over your hips. Dragging his tongue up your thigh, he presses one finger into you.

"Mmmm yes daddy." You moan as he works his hand on you.

"You want daddy to eat this pussy?"

"Yes please." You answer breathlessly and put your fingers in his hair. He smiles at how eager you are and moves his mouth to your center. His tongue begins its familiar pattern over and around your clit. He's learned your body and knows exactly what you like. He knows how you squirm when he runs his tongue directly over you hard and how you moan when he pushes his tongue into your slit. He knows when to flatten his tongue and move his head side to side and when to tighten his tongue to a point and lick up either side. He does all of those things and more and it's only a little while before you cum hard in his mouth and he licks you through it, the electricity of your orgasm running through you to your fingertips and back again. He kisses your clit one last time, pulls your skirt down, and then sits up next to you on the seat, wiping his mouth with his hand. You're just about to crawl on top of him when the car pulls to a stop. He leans over and kisses you.

"I can wait, Sugar." He pats your knee and the door opens for you to get out. Your breath catches.

You're at your father's casino.

"Elvis! What are we doing here?! He will kill you!"

"No, he won't. I've arranged a business meeting through both of our lawyers. And his board of directors."

"How did you work that out?"

"It's a long story. Come on." In a gesture bold enough to make your heart jump, he pats your bottom to encourage you to walk. When you get inside, you head to a meeting room. Your father is seated at the head of the table with several men around him. They're in boring, relatively cheap suits, though, so you suspect they're truly businessmen and not mobsters. You notice your father's mouth pop open a little when he sees you and Elvis walk into the room, but he quickly rearranges his face. His jaw flexes, but that's the only indicator of his feelings. Elvis shakes his hand and smiles warmly and then takes the seat at the other end of the table. The meeting begins with the discussion of business. As it turns out, Elvis has opened a shell corporation and then used it to negotiate a purchase of your father's casino. Now you see why he's so angry. Without knowing it, your father has allowed his biggest rival to buy his prized casino. He made a pretty good chunk of change in the meantime, but now Elvis and his connections to the New York mob will run Vegas.

After the business is settled, Elvis dismisses the business men so that it's just you, him, and your father in the room.

Your father glares at him.

"I should kill you for this disrespect."

"I wouldn't try it. I have more men in this town now than anyone else. You wouldn't make it to the sidewalk." Your father swallows deeply. He knows he's beaten, so he turns to you.

"I'm going home to Chicago. You're coming with me. Your mother misses you." There's a small pang in your heart at the thought of your mother. Elvis puts his arm around your waist and pulls you to him protectively. His grip steadies you and you feel more confident than you have since you walked into the casino.

"No, I'm not. I'm sorry about mother, but I'm not going back to Chicago." Your father's anger flares up again and he reaches for one of his guns. But Elvis beats him to the punch.

"Here's the deal, Mr. Y/l/n. I bought your casino. And I'm gonna marry your daughter. You can accept that and leave, or I can shoot you right here, right now. It's up to you." Your father looks between the two of you and then down at the gun Elvis has pointed at him. He spits at you and throws his gun on the table. Then, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room. Elvis turns to you and pulls you into a passionate kiss.

"I can't believe that just happened." You shake your head incredulously.

"It did, Sugar. Now. I already asked the question and you already said yes. All that's left to decide is when and I say tonight is as good a night as any."

"That's why I'm wearing white!"

"What do you say, Sugar?" You nod your head excitedly and throw your arms around his neck.

You manage to make it in and out of a chapel without anyone noticing who you are. And you've got a slew of bodyguards with you anyway.

You barely make it the short ride to the casino before you've got your hands in his pants. Instead, you make it to the elevator and he hits the stop button while you yank his pants down and drop to your knees in front of him. You hold the base of his cock with one hand and lick a slow circle around the tip. Then you run your tongue along the bottom of the shaft and tease him a little.

"Goddamn, Sugar." He weaves his fingers into your hair as you pull him deep into your throat. He holds your head still and begins to thrust into your mouth, making your eyes water. Suddenly, he stops and tries to pull away from you. "Mmmm. Daddy wants to fuck you, Sugar, and if you don't stop I won't be able to."

You back off of him and stand up. He pushes your back against the wall and lines his cock up with your entrance. Then, he bends his knees a little and pushes into you like he's done so many times before. But this time, he's your husband.

"Hey." You grab his face and look into his eyes. "Don't pull out this time."

"You sure, Sugar?"

"We're married, aren't we?" He kisses your mouth, your cheek, your neck, and then your mouth again. You didn't know he would be so excited, but he is. The prospect of another child is something that's excited him since he met you. He begins to pump in and out of you deeply.

"God, I love you, Sugar."

He pounds into you rhythmically for a few more minutes before you feel him shudder into you.

"Oh fuckkk yes." He yells as he fills you with his warmth for the first time, but certainly not the last. He stays inside you for a while, kissing your neck. Then, he slowly pulls out and starts the elevator again as you adjust your skirt and he puts himself away. When the doors slide open, the men posted there nod to him. One of them says, "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Presley." And you giggle. You're Mrs. Presley.

He scoops you into his arms and carries you across the threshold. You've finally accepted that the mafia will be your life forever. But as long as it's a life with him, you couldn't care less.

******

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[mothmanavenue]

In my mind, I hear it and I know nothing's changed, in my mind, we share earphones on a midnight train

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