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mooodyblue · 5 months

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hi lovely! it’s calla from @bellanotchewrites . i was wondering if you could write a lil sumn-sumn about a reader who has a crappy living situation (maybe their parents are verbally abusive or something along those lines?) what elvis would do to help them get through it, if he would stand up to their parents, if he would get them out, etc. thank you so much, and i’m sorry if this is too heavy (feel free to ignore if so)!!

-all my love, calla xx

ty for the request! hope this is okay 🫶🏼 i wrote this with a platonic relationship between the two in mind, but whatever floats your boat!

just good friends

pairing: elvis x gn!reader

wc: 1.5k

warnings: light cursing, verbally abusive parents

➸ masterlist

you were always weary of growing close to people. it was one thing hanging out during school and at school, but hanging out outside of school? a nightmare. their parents would have to meet yours, yours would come back to you immediately feeling the need to judge you, saying you weren't good enough to be friends with people like their kids.

but that's just how it was in your world. you weren't good enough for anything or anyone. even the best grades weren't good enough for your parents. you'd be lucky enough even to be let out of the house if it wasn't for something school-related. everyone was going out, driving around, and going to the movies every weekend while you had to sit at home and read or study.

then came along the new kid, elvis presley. you were caught off guard by him, how he was neatly dressed and had his hair all done up. he certainly didn't look like any of the other boys, not that you were judging of course.

he seemed to be the odd one out. he had made a few friends, but was soft-spoken and always tried keeping to himself. after some time, he finally approached you, noticing how you'd always sit alone for lunch. he stood in front of you, his lunch in his hands. “can i sit here?” he asked.

you looked up from your book, “okay.” you pushed your things closer to you and let him sit across from you.

the two of you didn't say much, he didn't seem to want to make an effort to speak to you. you were too focused on your book to really care anyway.

“i-i like comic books.” elvis blurted out suddenly, causing you to look up again. “like..u-um…c-captain marvel jr…you know. h-he's my favorite.” he added, his cheeks pink.

“oh.” you muttered. “i’ve…i’ve never read–”

“sorry.” he accidentally interrupted. “i-i mean….” he let out a frustrated sigh, looking down and shaking his head.

his awkwardness made you giggle, and immediately became friends in no time.

just like everyone else, you only hung out with him during school hours. you had lunch together and always partnered up during class, getting closer and closer each day. it wasn't until he asked about seeing a movie together, wanting to hang out outside of school hours. you explained that you had to ask your parents first, which he completely understood and left it at that.

your parents bombarded you with questions; asking who he was, where he was from, how you knew him, what was he like….it almost felt like a game of twenty questions except the questions continued to go on forever and ever. “how did you manage to make a friend like him? who knew you could actually make friends? are you good enough for him?” your dad spat, questions that made you rethink your entire friendship with elvis.

when elvis finally approached you and asked about hanging out again, you explained that your parents wouldn't allow it—it wasn't until he asked why not when you really…didn't know why. you felt silly replying with “i just can't.”, but that was the best you could do.

elvis didn't want to give up that fast. part of him felt like you were lying.

he tried asking you again to hang out, only for you to shut him down again. over and over again you begged and pleaded with your parents to give you permission, eventually agreeing to let elvis come over as long as the two of you stayed in the living room where they could see you. he didn’t judge you for having strict parents, he understood how some parents could get sometimes. his parents weren’t as strict, but his momma was always on his case about being careful just for crossing the street.

he quickly learned to realize your parents were beyond strict. they were kind to him once he had come over, but after hanging out for awhile—he felt odd about being around your parents.

anytime you had gone into another room, he could hear the whispers and judgemental remarks towards you for no reason. it was as if they were trying to make you feel undeserving of a friend like elvis. they had no issue bringing up your grades in front of him. you’d nervously handed them your report card, having all A+’s except for one subject.

he felt so awkward sitting there. it was like they were doing it on purpose.

“you’ve got time to make friends, but no time to focus on algebra? what is this?” your mom asked, pointing at the marks on the piece of paper.

“momma, i—” you started.

“we did not raise a child to be as dumb as you.” she spat, tossing the paper back at you. “i better see you both working on algebra. no child of mine gets embarrassing grades like that!”

elvis’s mouth hung low as she walked out of the room, looking at you and how flushed you were, clearly humiliated. “hey—”

“you should just go.” you interrupted.

“what?” his eyes widened, “i ain't leavin’. y-you gonna let her talk to you like that?”

you sighed, shaking your head. “it’s nothing.” you pulled a textbook out from your bag, curling up on the sofa and opening it to a page you'd been struggling on. “it’s fine, i just need to work harder.”

“the hell you do!” he nearly yelled out. “they don't even let you leave the house. you sit at school readin’ borin’ ol’ textbooks and dictionaries—you don't deserve to be talked down like that.”

“elvis, just drop it. okay? please?” you begged.

you made peace with your living situation. you made peace with being trapped inside your home constantly, harassed and judged for the littlest things by your family. it wasn't worth fighting back, it never was.

you saw the sad look in elvis’s eyes when you admitted defeat, just letting it go and staring at a textbook with you.

to your surprise, your parents let him come over again. this time, he had brought a few comic books over—hoping to introduce you to his favorites and to introduce you to something that isn't a boring textbook. you enjoyed hearing elvis ramble about his interests, how he stuttered his way through the plot of some of the comics and series he read.

oh, but you weren't allowed to have fun.

you were giggling along with him, a bit too close together as you read along with him—gasping and aw’ing at some of the different parts. your father walked in furious, trying to see what you were giggling about, his eyes red as he saw what you were reading.

he pushed the two of you away from each other and ripped the comic book from your lap. “reading this junk when your grades aren't the way they should be?” he said snarkily.

elvis looked up at him, almost in disbelief that he did that to him too and not just you. “sir, t-that's mine.”

“don't be bringing this garbage into my home.” he shot back, pointing the crumbled-up comic at him. he looked back at you, “is this why you've gone stupid? because you're hangin’ out with squrriels like him?”

instead of fighting back, you looked down ashamed. it was always better to keep your mouth shut.

“answer me!” he smacked your arm with the comic book. “you deaf now? huh? speak to your father when he's talking to you!” his voice raised higher, his eyes angry as he got closer to you.

elvis couldn't take it anymore, standing up. “that's enough, sir!” he got back in his face—blocking him from getting closer to you. “n-now maybe i ain't the smartest kid in school, but y/n sure is. a-and…w-well—goddammit, y/n is tryin’ their best!” he stomped his foot, grabbing your hand.

“elvis, don't—”

he shushed you, looking back at your father. “w-what kinda parent talks to their own child in that way?! m-maybe you're the stupid one!”

you stifled back a giggle, covering your mouth as you looked away.

your father was raging, looking at elvis in pure disgust. “how dare you speak to an adult in that way!” he growled.

“and how dare you speak to your child in that way?!” elvis spat back. “y/n is one of–if not the smartest kid i know. you–you lock ‘em up in this house all damn weekend, givin’ 'em no independence—who does that someone?! huh?!”

he opened his mouth to fire back, just shaking his head and pointing at the front door. “get the hell outta my house.”

“gladly. c'mon, y/n.” elvis muttered angrily, taking your hand to drag you out of the house.

“now, where do you think you're goin’ with my kid?!” he asked quickly, getting ready to grab at your arm.

“gettin' ‘em the hell out of here. that's what i’m doin’!” he quickly ushered you out the front door, nearly shoving you into his truck and driving off before your father could get a chance to catch up with you.

you turned around, looked out the back window with your eyes widened as your father looked as if he didn't know what to do. “elvis…i….jesus. what did you just do?!” you asked frantically, turning to look at him in the drivers seat as he drove down the street.

“what did i do?” he repeated back, scoffing and shaking his head before nudging your shoulder. “i ain't got no damn clue, honey.”

#divider by benkeibear #elvis x reader #me vs looking through my playlists for fic titles

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