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slushycoookie · 2 months

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My Husband Has a Symbiote! Pt.1

Pt.1 - Pt.2

Relationship: Symbiote! Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Word Count: 1956

Content: Smut, definitely smut, p in v, oral sex, overstimulation, belly bulge, breeding kink in FULL display, fertility issues, Minors DNI!!

Summary: You find out Miguel has a symbiote for the most unexpected reason.

A/N: I kept thinking about Symbiote! Miguel and I just had to do it. If yall saw that recent concept art of him, he looks fucking huge. So as a birthday present to myself, I wrote this. Something to get us by while I continue writing the Valentine's Day one.

Miguel had a symbiote.

You knew the first day he got it. He was acting strange. More aggressive, energetic, and driven to his Spider Society cause. Also rough. You knew it when he pulled you in for a passionate goodbye kiss.

Plus, he was huge. You didn't think it was possible for your husband to get a bigger size in his suit. It oozed a foreign entity. He was rougher with his enemies. Causing them to be bruised and bloody at the end of the battle. Your Miguel showed some restraint. You weren't sure what this Miguel was.

Jess told you at the end of the day, confirming your suspicions. “He has a symbiote.”

“I figured…” You played with the necklace that had your wedding band between your fingers. “How did he get it?”

“No clue. One day, he was his grouchy self. Next day, he was extra grouchy.”

“What can we do? We have ways to get rid of it.”

Jess gave you a knowing look, “You know it's not easy with symbiotes. The wearer has to get rid of it on their own. Part of the-”

“Canon event. I know…” You sighed. You weren't going to get scared. Be afraid for your husband's life. You would take the knowledge you knew now in stride, even if that meant dealing with the fact that your partner had an alien on his body.

You didn't confront him about the symbiote. You saw no need to. Ben and Jess were informed. You wanted them to watch him so he wouldn't go too far. But you didn’t like how he was acting. He never took it out on you, but everyone else was a different story. It was hard for you to sleep, knowing your husband was in control of an alien.

One night, he came home late. You were still awake, watching his hulking form linger throughout the house. If you were normal, you'd be terrified.

“Miguel?” You called from the hallway. He turned towards you. His mask was still up. The eyes were sharp, filled with an unknown emotion you couldn't grasp.

“Our wife.” His voice was deep, rumbling to your core. Sharp teeth and a long tongue caught your eye. He inched to you like a predator. You backed up, mind playing out hundreds of backup plans you had once you found out about his new form. You jumped when hitting a wall. Cornered as Miguel hovered above you. His head trailed up and down in fascination. “So pretty. To eat.”

“I said we're not eating her.” Half of Miguel's face appeared, causing you to relax a little. He was still in there. To a certain extent.

“Not the type of eating we were talking about.” The symbiote sized you up even more. You didn't know how to take that. Miguel entirely took over, his face in view.

“I'm sorry. I'm still getting the hang of this.”

“Why did you do this?” You motioned to all of him, “For a man who doesn't play when it comes to canon events, you go ahead and play around with an alien.”

Miguel sucked his teeth, “I had a good reason, baby.” You blinked, waiting for him to come up with a good explanation. He shifted, his large form shaking the photos on the wall. You couldn't see any reason for him to form with a symbiote.

“I thought…it would help in our process of trying to have a baby.”

You froze. The extensive trials you and Miguel went through in trying for a baby were unsuccessful. He knew about your fertility issues. He knew before you got married. You didn’t expect him to go and fuse with a symbiote to boost the rate of being able to have a baby.

“The symbiote enhances my body.” Miguel explained, “Maybe we could try to use it to help us conceive.”

“Won’t the symbiotes…genes get in…?” You placed a hand on your stomach, not believing that you were considering it.

“No. It won’t affect any of our genes. It just increases the output.”

You scoffed, “So you would have super sperm?”

“In a way.” Miguel shrugged, hovering over you. You noticed how small you were compared to him. Your thighs squeezed together at the sight. “We should try it. See what happens.”

Common sense was starting to leave the window. Just having Miguel’s hulking frame above you, his eyes lowered in lust, was not helping. You were curious yourself. Would the symbiote help you finally be able to conceive? So your family can get bigger?

“You want me to have sex with the symbiote?”

Miguel chuckled, face down to your neck, taking in your delicate scent. “It’s still me. I promise.”

You placed your hands on his shoulders. His suit was sticky and you felt restraint when tried to remove your hands. You had no idea what you were doing. But it was your husband. You trusted him, knowing he wouldn’t harm you. So you had to take a leap. Literally. Miguel was so large you had to jump to even kiss him.

Your body flushed against his own as his tongue dove into your mouth. You were so caught up in kissing him, absorbed in how his hands groped and felt you, to realize you were in your bedroom.

You yelped when landing on the bed. Miguel's form hit the ceiling, standing at the edge. Waiting.

“Strip.” The voice was back again. Low, deep, and commanding. You blushed at how much that turned you on. Even with the monstrous teeth and all. You weren't wearing much besides a t-shirt and shorts, tossing them into darkness. Only remaining in your panties.

Miguel cupped himself, eyes trained on the prize between your legs. “All of it.”

You slid down your underwear at a slow pace. Even if you were about to get bred by a symbiote, you knew Miguel would still go crazy over your teasing. Pride swelled in your chest as his breathing became ragged. Every ounce of resistance he had in fucking you into the ground was waning. It wasn't until your panties were thrown aside that he pounced on you.

The bed creaked at the extra size. Miguel's symbiote used its long tongue over your neck, tasting the slight sweat. Your breasts, twirling at one nipple while his fingers pinched the other. Before going down to your stomach and over what he wanted most.

“We deserve to know how you taste…”

If you could squeeze your thighs together right now, you would. But your partner kept them separated. Spread wide enough for him to get a full view of your dripping sex. The tongue was back as it was his turn to tease you. Gliding along your inner thighs, not touching an inch of your cunt. You whined at how close he was. You tried to move your thighs to get him where you wanted but to no avail.

“Please…” You swallowed, heaving at the lack of touch. “Don’t tease…”

A guttural growl resonated in the room, which made you quiver even more. “You're so pretty when you beg.”

His tongue was heaven. Taking turns licking at your sensitive bud, thrusting in and out of your hole. Slurping sounds letting you know how much he loved tasting your cunt. You weren't sure if digging your hands into his covered head was a good idea so your hands fisted the pillows. Head back and unable to control your sounds of pleasure.

“Miguel…oh my…” You felt that familiar sensation rise in your stomach. Not stopping as he continued to please you. And you accepted it, climaxing for him. This was different from your normal Miguel. While he did make you see stars, this one was determined to make you see God. The way he didn’t stop after you came for him, eating your pussy like a starved man. When you tried to have the strength to pull away, his hand placed flat on your stomach. Overstimulation crept in as you shook under his hold. Thank goodness he pulled away, showing you his mouth glistening in the moonlight.

“We need you. Now.”

Your eyes widened when seeing his cock on full display. Miguel was big. Very big. Cock enlarged, veiny, pre cum beading around the tip. He was going to kill you if he put that thing inside.

“Where?” You gulped, pushing back your rising fear.

Miguel sat back against the headboard and settled you into his lap. Your back lay against his chest, staring at the gigantic cock. He grabbed a hold of your thighs, lifting and spreading you as wide as he could. You bit your lip as his dick slid against your sex, coating himself in your arousal. You couldn't do much in this position. Besides lie back and take it.

You shook as he entered you. Arms around his neck and digging into them as you sank down. Your mouth gaped, but nothing came out.

“Come on.” Miguel pushed, his own voice coming out a little tense. “You can take more…”

You clawed at his neck, sinking down further. It was to the point where there was a slight bulge in your belly. Which has never happened before. Once he bottomed out, he gave you time to adjust. You knew Miguel was being gentle, his arm muscles tense as he didn’t want to hurt you. You nodded when you were ready and he took control. He slid you all the way up, only leaving the tip of his cock inside before thrusting up into you.

He was massive. Easily filling you up while he pumped inside. Tears brimmed in your eyes. There was no coherent thought in your mind. With each intoxicating thrust, you couldn’t think. All you wanted was for him to keep going. To use you like this as long as he wanted.

Your eyes rolled back when his cock hit a perfect spot. Not feeling any of your lower body. “M-Mig…”

“We have you. Pretty little thing…” His face snuggled against your head, still maintaining the hard and sharp thrusts. Miguel’s suit made a tendril, slithering over to you to give more attention to your aching clit. You gasped at the sudden sensation. The familiar burning of your release was quickly rising again into something more. You struggled in Miguel’s hold, wanting to move away and escape your impending doom.

“Don’t…You’re gonna make me…” You whined, frantic breaths escaping.

“We want you to do it.”

There was no room for negotiation. Between the exhilarating way his cock stretched you and the advance on your clit, you were going to explode. You cried for your husband while soaking his cock with your fluids. Tightening around him for his seed. Aching to have him breed you. Miguel’s grunts turned into growls. Grating noises that shook the entire room. His thrusts were rough as now he was chasing his original goal. To pump his cum into you.

You didn’t move, watching your husband desperately paint you inside. There were one, two, three more thrusts before he let out a roar. His seed filled you up perfectly. It was so much that it was leaking out, even as Miguel tried to thrust more in. You didn't know what else to do if you didn’t get pregnant by this.

Once Miguel had his fill, he slipped out, placing you to the side. His face was back as he peppered your own with soft kisses.

“You okay?” You hummed, your throat a little sore. He held you close in a protective way, not wanting to let go for a moment. “Hopefully this works.”

“If it doesn’t…” You struggled to say with your raspy voice, “you’re getting rid of that thing.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o hara x reader #slushycoookie writes

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starryschoolgirl · 6 months

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Family & Fame

An attempt at a Elvis x Reader drabble

Summary -> In private Elvis was your loving husband and you were his doting wife, but in public Elvis was Elvis Presley, and you were just the wife. Unfortunately, sometimes that public dynamic would follow the two of you home, making way for arguments.

Warnings -> Jealousy, marital dissatisfaction, arguments, very cute and domestic 1st scene though, if you only want some pure fluff read that first scene it's adorable, denial of sex, yelling, swearing, flirty fans, circa 1956, Elvis' confusion leads to anger, Elvis is such a cutie I can't even be mad at him in this. Elvis is also a dad in this because I felt like it.

WC -> 3.5k

Request -> "i was wondering if you could write something with elvis x reader where there's a little marital dissatisfaction? just like a little drabble, doesn't even need to be over 100 words"

"You look handsome, now stop fussing"

Elvis leaned into your hand that cupped his cheek which was smooth from being freshly shaved.

"Now,"

You reached down for the comb on the hotel suite's bathroom counter, holding it casually between two fingers. While you smiled up at him your thumb stroked his cheekbone gently as you asked,

"Would ya hold still so I can fix that mess of hair?"

Elvis laughed softly and turned his cheek slightly to press his lips on your palm, smirking sweetly as he murmured against the skin,

"Sure thing Mama…"

With a smile you stilled his head by keeping your hold on his cheek, tapping it lightly you signaled for him to get lower, which he complied with as he bent his knees slightly, lowering himself to a height that you could see the top of his hair better.

As you neatly combed the gelled mess back into place you mumbled fondly,

"See what happens when a man fusses over his appearance? Just makes it worse, you men, so reckless with your hands…"

He asked testily with a smirk,

"And when a woman fusses over her appearance?"

You simply responded with one last perfecting swoop of the comb,

"Women don't fuss."

He drawled out a sarcastic, "Mhm…"

To which he was answered with a pointed, "Mhm."

After feeling pleased with your work you placed the comb down and smiled up at him, "Perfect", you said just before kissing his cheek.

You then turned to the long bathroom mirror that covered the entire length of the long marble countertops, leaning over it ever so slightly to rub at the skin around your lipstick, making sure it wasn't off-kilter in any way.

He smoothly stepped behind you, the front of his body pressed against the back of yours as his spine bent with yours, leaning over you onto the bathroom counter as you eyed him through the mirror. His arms wrapped around your waist and his chin fell to your shoulder as he stared back at you through the mirror.

His voice was low and gruff as he suggested,

"We don't really gotta go to this little gatherin' tonight now do we? Couldn't we just enjoy the rest of our time in San Francisco? We got about 10 more hours."

Elvis punctuated each sentence with a kiss to your neck, right in that spot he knew you were ticklish. You laughed softly and gently batted him away with a few swipes of your hand which in turn made him laugh.

You spoke while trying (and failing) to keep a serious face,

"Elvis, t-the mayor-"

Your laughing made it hard to put together a proper sentence.

"He's holding this soirée tonight in honor of you coming to- Ack..!"

Elvis laughed and said sarcastically before biting your ear,

"Oh, a soirée? I'm sorry little Ms. French I didn't know it was such a big deal"

You tried your best to continue through the giggle-fest Elvis could pull from you.

"Don't you w-wanna show them all that Southern charm you used to get me to marry you?"

Elvis growled playfully as his hands wrapped around your waist tightened and he picked you up from behind, evoking a squeal of surprise from you as he mumbled into your ear,

"Ya make it sound as if I schemed on you with those charms"

You laughed loudly as he held you up and responded,

"You did scheme on me! Made me think I was marrying a John Wayne cowboy type, just to find out you're a Harpo Marx clownish type, but instead of playing a harp you play a guitar"

He growled into your ear "Oh you little-" before ravaging your neck with playful kisses.

A knock on the bathroom door interrupted your fun, the both of you turning to see it soon opening after Elvis', "Come in Roberta"

As the door opened you smiled to see Roberta, the sweet old lady who'd been working for you and Elvis since a month or two after he released his first RCA record which brought in the money needed to have a personal nanny for yours and Elvis' daughter, sweet little Charlotte, who she was holding as she stood in the doorway.

Roberta smiled as she saw her two employers as in love as ever in each other's arms, the both of you looking like a million bucks in your outfits for tonight.

"Well kids, I just wanted to let the two of ya know Charlotte is all dressed and ready to go, and that the bellboy said the car's out front and ready.

She was much older so even though you and Elvis were adults, she still referred to the both of you as kids, because the two of you in life experience were like kittens compared to a sweet old cat like her.

You smiled and quickly made your way to take your daughter out of her nanny's arms, cooing over how darling she looked in her little dress and coat before saying with a smile, "Thank you, Roberta."

You looked back at Elvis as you bounced Charlotte in your arms, asking with a soft smile,

"Could you grab my purse over by the sink Honey?"

-----

Sometimes you forget how Elvis' emotions could flip like a switch.

One moment before walking into the big building as Elvis held Charlotte and nervously stared at the doors, you'd cup his cheeks gently and whisper reassuringly, "Hey, everybody here is here for you, to just be around you. You're the man of the evening, they're the ones who should be nervous right now, and I bet you they are"

And then the next, you're holding your sweet daughter in your arms while Elvis is holding some random girls (who you're sure are somebody's sweet daughters) in his arms as he's telling them what "overcomes" him to make him move on stage.

You could vomit, you really could, at the way they all put their hands mindlessly on his chest, and 'ooh' and 'ah' over him explaining what it was like for him to film his upcoming debut film "Love Me Tender"

You got along well with the mayor's wife and a few of San Francisco's socialites who were older women which meant they weren't here for Elvis they were here because their husbands who were close friends of the mayor were here. Due to their disinterest in Elvis, they were easy to make casual conversation with.

The younger women, however, were a different matter. Most of them clung to Elvis or waited their turn to do so. And as you watched from afar you were well aware you could go over there to claim what was yours, but you didn't feel the need to. The ring was on your finger, and his child was in your arms. Sure, he didn't often make eye contact with you through the night like he always used to, but that was just because he was surrounded by so many fans. Right?

Sometimes through the night, he'd shifted through the room to you, with a group of girls in his arms, only now it was a different set, and of course, the merry mayor following him closely, buttering up to America's icon. You shifted Charlotte to your hip as Elvis introduced you to the short, tubby man.

"This is my wife, and right there is our little girl, Charlotte."

The mayor tipped his head to baby Charlotte in your arms, "It's nice to meet you little miss, and," he then turned his head to you and held his hand out, "It's nice to meet you as well Mrs. Presley"

You laughed softly at the title and politely urged him to just call you by your first name.

The night went on like that, now and then a new important man would shuffle his way into the circle of girls that surrounded Elvis and the two of you would do introductions, eventually, Elvis had offered to hold Charlotte for you, and as he picked her up he smiled at her saying, "There's my little girl", making those big fish eyes that often entertained the little girl.

The women that surrounded him would coo at how sweet of a father he seemed to be. You only watched with an unimpressed look as one of the girls chimed in,

"She's blonde? I thought you said under that mop of shoe polish dyed hair was a light brown color, or are you just trying to fool me, Mr. Presley?"

The girl giggled and obnoxiously leaned her head against Elvis' shoulder and made a playful face at your daughter as she did so, clearly infatuated by the adorable baby, but not as much as she was with the man who had fathered the baby.

Elvis laughed softly at her jest, and responded simply,

"Well Hon, it's true that I have light brown hair now, but when I was a baby I had blond hair, it just turned brown as I got older, happens with a lotta babies"

The girl giggled once more and took an almost mournful sigh as she stared up at Elvis through her batting eyelashes (you were surprised she didn't fly away with how fast those things were flapping), and crawled her hand that rested on his chest a little higher as she spoke,

"I think I'd have to see that to believe it…"

Oh, brother.

You sighed softly at the ridiculousness of these girls, and the added ridiculousness of Elvis actually laughing and smiling along. He would get a little bit of nagging later. Thankfully you didn't have to stomach the situation too much longer as Charlotte began to cry. As Elvis tried to hush her and bounce her in his arms you smiled politely at the girls and made your way closer to Elvis.

As you took Charlotte from his arms you spoke softly,

"I think she's just a bit tired Elvis, I'll calm her in the car for a bit"

Elvis mumbled a soft 'Alright Hon', and caressed Charlotte's cheek gently with his index finger before leaning your way to kiss you. But, feeling as annoyed as you felt now, at the last second you'd turned your head, his lips landing on your cheek rather than your lips, his original target.

But he couldn't say anything as you'd already begun to walk off.

As soon as you slid into the backseat of the car, the driver asked where Elvis was. You explained that you and the little one were just resting up for a bit and that you weren't sure when Elvis would be through. Charlotte had calmed down and quite quickly fell asleep in your arms, the closing of her pretty little eyelids had marked the end of the party for you. You wouldn't leave your baby to sleep in the car alone, and you wouldn't force her to be awake for the rest of the party.

You didn't mind though as you felt all partied out yourself. As much as you hated to admit it, you don't think you ever could get used to seeing Elvis surrounded by girls and entertaining girls the way he'd been since his launch to fame.

You didn't think it was unfair of you to feel this way. It wasn't as if this was something planned when the two of you got together a few years ago. It was only recently that you'd had to start enduring Elvis Presley, the rock and roll heartthrob, and not just Elvis, the dorky boy who drove a truck and had a hard time putting together a neighborhood team to play football with him.

You closed your eyes with a sigh, resting a gentle hand upon your daughter's hair. You leaned your head against the car window, it was cold as the nights were beginning to have a little chill to them. The seasons were changing, and with them, so was Elvis.

Oh well, such is life.

-----

"…Just to the hotel Frank…"

You hummed softly at the familiar voice, pressing your head impossibly closer to the window as you tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. Just as you had settled comfortably back into the window a warm weight in the form of a hand pulled your head elsewhere. You were too tired to care, so you let it, your head soon resting comfortably on familiar broad shoulders.

That voice spoke again, but it seemed that in your half-asleep state, his voice kept coming in and out.

"…took me awhile, but… sorry… gotta entertain the fans…"

You felt annoyed by the voice interrupting your slumber, but you tried your best to ignore it after letting out a disgruntled hum.

It felt as though only a minute had passed since you'd gotten peace again before you heard that familiar voice, your husband's voice, whisper as his hand gently kneaded your shoulder, only now it was coming from the other side.

As you opened your eyes you saw the soft lighting of the hotel's sign lights spilling into the open door of the car along with Elvis' figure outside the car. Now it seemed he was holding a sleeping Charlotte in one arm as his hand tried to soothe you awake.

"C'mon Honey, we gotta get some sleep 'fore the flight"

You hummed softly and after mumbling a 'thank you' to your driver you got out of the car with the help of Elvis' steadying hand which naturally shifted to your hip after you were standing upright.

Elvis unlocked the room and kissed your cheek, mumbling something about the baby and Roberta, you were too busy on a mission to get out of this uncomfortable dress and still miffed at him, to care to process what he was saying. Your mission was to get to the bathroom to get ready for bed, as you made your way there you stopped by your suitcase to grab a short silk nightgown and your robe.

As soon as you stepped into the hotel's bathroom, and Elvis disappeared off to who knows where you could finally let out a breath. You were exhausted but you couldn't go to sleep just yet in your state. You tiredly shuffled over to the sink and began to take apart your pretty party appearance piece by piece. The hair clips that tugged at your scalp now rested on the sink, and the makeup that caked your face now caked a rag.

You struggled to reach the zipper of your dress, and for a moment your body went limp and you debated just going to bed in it. With your head hung tiredly and your eyes closed, you could've fallen asleep standing there had a set of familiar hands not graced your bare shoulders. Elvis' voice close to your ear as he asked through a smirk,

"Ya need help?"

You opened your eyes and looked at him through the mirror, you finally got a good look at him, his hair had been fussed with, could've been from him carding his hands through it throughout the night, or from one of those girls carding their hands through it. You nodded with a sigh, upset with him, but definitely in need of assistance.

As his rough fingers glided along your bare back before working at the zipper, Elvis' lips quickly fell to your neck, placing soft little pecks along the skin. You stared at him through the mirror blankly, and shook your head as you mumbled,

"Not tonight Elvis, I'm too tired…"

He hummed softly as the sound of the undoing of the zipper and the feeling of the dress loosening around your body filled your tired senses.

"Who says ya gotta put in effort Honey? I can handle ya the way I always do,"

You felt his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he murmured,

"I know how ya like it when you're tired…"

You sighed and tried pulling your neck away but his lips followed, and his hands began to explore you thoroughly as the only thing holding that dress on your body was his pressed so close against yours. You quickly stepped to the side, leaving him to shuffle forward as you were no longer there for him to lean his body against.

You kept a hand on your dress to hold it up on your body as he watched with furrowed brows.

"Elvis, I'm not in the mood for it tonight alright? We have a flight in a few hours, I want to get some sleep."

"Baby-"

Elvis reached his hand out to you but you took a step back and shook your head, a firm, "No, Elvis." leaving your lips as you walked to where you placed your nightwear with a hand still holding up your dress. Just as you began to head for the closed bathroom door he followed and asked,

"What's wrong Hon? W-what did I do to ya?"

His voice got louder as the confusion he felt was beginning to get him worked up,

"Seriously Baby, I took ya out to this nice party or fuckin' soirée or whatever pretentious bullshit you called it and this is the thanks I get?!"

You shoved him by the chest as you whisper-yelled, "You're gonna wake the baby..!"

Elvis scoffed as he took a step closer to you, practically caging you against the bathroom's door, his teeth were grit as he stared at you incredulously,

"You've been in a bad mood with me all night, seems like ya haven't even been listening… I told ya I was puttin' her with Roberta tonight! You would know if ya didn't have a stick shoved so far up your ass."

You stared up at him, feeling a pang of hurt at his words. He continued,

"Actin' like you're too good to talk to any of the fans. Spendin' all ya time schmoozin' with the rich old hags who don't give a rat's ass about me or my music"

You abruptly yelled back at him, staring daggers up at him through your teary eyes,

"That's why I was with those women Elvis! Because when I'm hanging out with them I don't gotta watch as they make goo-goo eyes at my fucking husband! I don't need to watch them paw and grab at the father of my child!!"

Elvis shook his head with a scoff and looked away from you, still keeping his hands pressed against the door, caging you in one spot. He mumbled something along the lines of "naggin' me like a jealous old wife…", a term that had only become a thing said in your arguments since Elvis' rise to fame.

You cupped his cheeks in your hand and pulled him to look at you, your voice shook as you affirmed,

"That's cause I am a jealous old wife Elvis… And had I known I would've turned out this way when I married you a few years ago… I…"

Your voice had dissipated before you could finish your sentence. You stared down at the tiled floor of the bathroom. Elvis was still wearing his shoes, whereas yours had been off the moment you stepped into the room. You could see the creases in the shoe of the foot that he was tapping nervously, and you could see the way your toes scrunched tensely.

The bathroom was quiet, and Elvis' voice which was once full of defense was now softened as he spoke quietly,

"Now, ya don't mean that Baby. You're just tired is all…"

He looked down at his shoes nervously and then at himself through the mirror on the other side of the bathroom. His hands that once caged you in landed ever so gently on your arms, his words came out through nervous stutters,

"You were right, we-we gotta catch a-a flight. Better head to bed,"

There he goes. When things get just a little too real, when the words are just a little too honest, and when reality is a little too close to crashing into the both of you, he expertly redirects it all for another time. Wanting to keep his schoolboy fantasy of having a little family of his own intact.

The little fantasy that he would whisper in your ear late at night in high school as the two of you squeezed into his twin-size bed, knowing if he talked at a normal volume the very thin walls of his house would give way to his voice waking his parents in the small room on the other side of the wall.

The little fantasy that he assured your Daddy would come to fruition if he got your parent's blessing. And it seemed so as you soon gave birth to sweet Charlotte, but just months after she was born you saw the first few strands of that fantasy being shot to hell as Elvis' talent had started being recognized.

And though it had only been maybe a year or two since then, you felt as though the boy you married straight out of high school was becoming a man you didn't recognize. And while you could keep the fantasy with Elvis going when the two of you were alone such as during the time you spent getting ready with him, it all crumbled bit by bit as his love affair with the fans and the public would disrupt his love affair with his wife. And he would let it.

So, I meant it when I said it was supposed to be a drabble, less than 100 words, short and sweet, as requested by a lovely anon. Don't know what happened...

#elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fic #elvis x y/n #elvis fanfiction #elvis x you #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley fandom #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley angst #elvisaaronpresley #50s elvis #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis angst #elvis request

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thefeaturesof · 2 months

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Agatha Christie Books in Order.

Hercule Poirot Books

Hercule Poirot Collections

Miss Marple Books

Miss Marple Collections

Tommy and Tuppence Books

Tommy and Tuppence Collections

Superintendent Battle Books

Standalone Novels

Short Story Collections

Non-Fiction Books

Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot books in order

Here are the names of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot books in order. It will help you start with your reading while ensuring the best experience.

The Mysterious Affair at Styles (1920)

The Murder on the Links (1923)

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (1926)

The Big Four (1927)

The Mystery of the Blue Train (1928)

Peril at End House (1932)

Lord Edgware Dies (1933)

Murder on the Orient Express (1934)

Three Act Tragedy (1935)

Death in the Clouds (1935)

The A.B.C. Murders (1936)

Murder in Mesopotamia (1936)

Cards on the Table (1936)

Dumb Witness (1937)

Death on the Nile (1937)

Appointment with Death (1938)

Hercule Poirot’s Christmas (1938)

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe (1940)

Sad Cypress (1940)

Evil Under the Sun (1941)

Five Little Pigs (1942)

The Hollow (1946)

Taken at the Flood (1948)

Mrs. McGinty’s Dead (1952)

After the Funeral (1953)

Hickory Dickory Dock (1955)

Dead Man’s Folly (1956)

Cat Among the Pigeons (1959)

The Clocks (1963)

Third Girl (1966)

Hallowe’en Party (1969)

Elephants Can Remember (1972)

Curtain (1975)

The Monogram Murders (2014)

Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot Collections in Order

Poirot Investigates (1924)

Murder in the Mews (1937)

The Labours of Hercules (1947)

Poirot’s Early Cases (1974)

Agatha Christie Miss Marple Books in Order

Here is the list of Agatha Christie’s books in order based on their publication date.

The Murder at the Vicarage (1930)

The Body in the Library (1942)

The Moving Finger (1942)

A Murder is Announced (1950)

They Do It with Mirrors (1952)

A Pocket Full of Rye (1953)

4:50 From Paddington (1957)

The Mirror Crack’d (1962)

A Caribbean Mystery (1964)

At Bertram’s Hotel (1965)

Nemesis (1971)

Sleeping Murder (1976)

Agatha Christie Miss Marple Collection in Order

The Thirteen Problems (1932)

Miss Marple’s Final Cases (1979)

Agatha Christie’s Tommy and Tuppence Books in Order

Here’s the list of Agatha Christie Tommy and Tuppence Books in Order

The Secret Adversary (1922)

N or M? (1941)

By the Pricking of My Thumbs (1968)

Postern of Fate (1973)

Agatha Christie’s Tommy and Tuppence Collections in Order

Partners in Crime (1929)

Agatha Christie’s Superintendent Battle Books in Order

Here’s the list of Agatha Christie Superintendent Battle Books in Order

The Secret of Chimneys (1925)

The Seven Dials Mystery (1929)

Cards on the Table (1936)

Murder is Easy (1939)

Towards Zero (1944)

Agatha Christie’s Standalone Novels in Order

Here’s the list of Agatha Christie Standalone Novels in Order

The Man in the Brown Suit (1924)

Giant’s Bread (1930)

The Sittaford Mystery (1931)

Unfinished Portrait (1934)

Why Didn’t They Ask Evans? (1934)

And Then There Were None (1939)

Absent in the Spring (1944)

Death Comes as the End (1944)

Sparkling Cyanide (1945)

The Rose and the Yew Tree (1948)

Crooked House (1949)

They Came to Baghdad (1951)

A Daughter’s a Daughter (1952)

Destination Unknown (1954)

The Burden (1956)

Ordeal by Innocence (1958)

The Pale Horse (1961)

Endless Night (1967)

13 at Dinner (1969)

Passenger to Frankfurt (1970)

The Murder at Hazelmoor (1984)

Agatha Christie’s Short Story Collections in Order

Here’s the list of Agatha Christie Short Story Collections in Order

The Mysterious Mr. Quin (1930)

The Hound of Death (1933)

The Listerdale Mystery (1934)

Parker Pyne Investigates (1934)

The Regetta Mystery and Other Stories (1939)

The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories (1948)

Three Blind Mice and Other Stories (1950)

The Under Dog and Other Stories (1951)

The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding (1960)

Double Sin and Other Stories (1961)

Star Over Bethlehem and Other Stories (1965)

The Golden Ball and Other Stories (1974)

The problem at Pollensa Bay and Other Stories (1991)

The Harlequin Tea Set (1997)

While the Light Lasts and Other Stories (1997)

Agatha Christie’s Non-Fiction Books in Order

Here’s the list of Agatha Christie Non-Fiction Books in Order

Come, Tell Me How You Live (1946)

Agatha Christie: An Autobiography (1977)

Top 10 Agatha Christie Books to Read

Given the number of books in the Agatha Christie series, readers generally hesitate to begin. Further, to understand the series well, one needs to read Agatha Christie’s novels in order. To ease things, the readers generally look for the best novels or books to read them directly and avoid all the hassle. So here are the top 10 Agatha Christie novels that will offer you the best mystery story reading experience.

#agatha christie #poirot #hercule poirot #miss marple #tommy and tuppence #superintendent battle #literature #english literature #books #classics #crime novles #1920s #1930s #1940s #1950s #1960s #1970s #vintage

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dean-isms · 6 months

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dean’s ultimate nov. 5th watchlist: must-sees for your favorite angel

every reference (up through 13x11) that dean has made to or about castiel.

Partners in Crime (They’re Besties, Your Honor!):

The Suite Life of Zack and Cody (2005-2008)

Starsky and Hutch (1975-1979)*

Midnight Run (1988)

Every Which Way But Loose (1978)

Any Which Way You Can (1980)

Eric Clapton - Guitarist

Jimmy Page: Led Zeppelin*

Which Could Mean Nothing (Nice Try, Dean):

Sesame Street, Bert and Ernie (1969-Present)

Thelma and Louise (1991)

Titanic (1997)*

Saturday Night Fever (1977)

How Stella Got Her Groove Back (1998)

Angel Allegory:

Highway to Heaven (1984-1989)

The Ten Commandments (1956)

Back to the Future (1985)*

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1990)*

Fatal Attraction (1987)

Stairway To Heaven (Led Zeppelin, 1971)

He’s a Weird, Dorky Little Dude (Cas Comparisons):

The Hamburglar (Various Commercials)

Kojak (1963-1978)*

Perfect Strangers (1986-1993)

I Dream of Jeannie (1965-1970)*

Superman (1978)*

Sherlock Holmes (Multiple)

Stephen Stills: Crosby, Stills, and Nash*

Fantastic Four (2005, 2007)*

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)*

Scooby-Doo (Various Media, 1969)*

Unsuccessful Inside Jokes (Case Related Cracks):

Outbreak (1995)*

Zombieland (2009)

Pleasantville (1998)

Dr. No (1962)

The Wizard of Oz (1939)*

Soylent Green (1973)

Zero Dark Thirty (2012)*

Indiana Jones (1981, 1984, 1989, 2008, 2023)*

Breaking Bad (2008-2013)*

Three Men and a Baby (1987)*

I Shot The Sheriff (Bob Marley, 1973)*

Black Sabbath (1968-2017)

Gary Busey (Actor)

Mad Max (1979)

Rosemary’s Baby (1968)*

Date Night Ideas (Making Fun of Sam):

Terminator 2: Judgement Day (1991)*

Replicant (2001)

Blade Runner (1982)

Welcome to Humanity (Dean’s Recommendations):

The Wire (2002-2008)

Game of Thrones (2011-2019)*

Tombstone (1993)*

Castiel’s Choices:

Jenny Jones (1991-2003)

Dean’s Cowboy Fetish:

Dave Mather (Historical Figure)

Curly Bill Brocius (Historical Figure)

Wyatt Earp (Historical Figure)

Clay Allison (Historical Figure)

Kurt Russell (Actor)

Val Kilmer (Actor)

Tombstone (1993)*

Wild Bill (1995)

BONUS ENTRY COURTESY OF MEG MASTERS:

It’s A Wonderful Life (1946)

This is just updated through where I’m at on my rewatch, so I’m sure it’ll be getting some updates in the future! Unlike the Halloween watchlist, this also includes television shows and music, so have fun, maybe order a little pizza 😉, and happy November 5th!

*repeat mentions

#watchlists #from the dean isms spreadsheet #spn #destiel #long post

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chicinsilk · 2 months

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US Vogue March 1, 1956

Chanel Collection Haute Couture Printems/Été 1956. Dovima porte un tailleur chemisier en jersey de laine bleu marine, le blousing un simple flou de douceur au-dessus et en dessous une taille naturellement ceinturée. Le nouveau décolleté plongeant est exagéré par les revers classiques Chanel en piqué blanc. Plus de gilet en piqué blanc, poignets, béret en piqué blanc.

Photo Henry Clarke vogue archive

#us vogue #march 1956 #haute couture #fashion 50s #spring/summer #printemps/été #chanel #chanel suit #dovima #henry clarke #vintage fashion #vintage vogue

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hometoursandotherstuff · 5 months

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Are you kidding me? This amazing 1956 mid-century modern home in Leesburg, Florida is only $719,900K? 3bds, 3.5ba, and this place is completely renovated and gigantic. I can't believe it's under $1M.

Huge open concept living/dining/kitchen combo.

This is beautifully done.

Most of the house opens to this gorgeous covered pool area.

The primary bedroom is huge and even has a fireplace.

Closet/dressing room.

Very nice en-suite.

Office/den.

And, here's a beautiful shower room.

Check out the enclosed breezeway in the middle of the house.

Bedroom #2 is gorgeous, too. It even has a brick fireplace. It's across the breezeway from the primary bedroom.

It must be a guest room, b/c not only does it have an en-suite.

But, it also has a kitchenette.

On the side of the house is an outdoor patio.

The guest house in the yard can also be used as an in-law suite or rental.

It's a few blocks from Lake Harris and is on a 0.3 acre corner lot.

#mic century modern home #houses #house tours #home tour

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she-is-juniper · 2 years

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Only Ones Who Know — an Elvis Presley x Reader series (chapter one)

Pairing: Austin Butler!Elvis Presley x Reader

Type: series (chapter 1 / ?)

Warnings: fluff, some angst, pining, long lost lovers, slow burn

Prompt: You and Elvis grew up together; he was your best friend and first love, but he and his family moved away. Eight years later, Elvis walks into the diner where you work...and he doesn’t recognize you. But there’s an intense connection between the two of you. Should you let things between you play out organically, or should you tell him who you really are?

Word Count (by chapter): 5K

Rating (by chapter): M (mature)

A/N: This is the first chapter of my new series, Only Ones Who Know! ♡ It’ll be a slow burn but I hope you’ll stick around for the payoff!

I wrote this fic visualizing Austin!Elvis, but you could also read it with real!Elvis as well if you prefer. The events of this series are kind of a combination of real life events from Elvis’ life and the events of the film; thus, it may not follow the outline of events exactly as they appear the film. Inspiration for the plot more closely but loosely resembles real life documentations of Elvis’ life in 1956 (sources are here).

I’m really excited for this one! So please for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks if you want to see more of my writing—thank you in advance!

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July 4th, 1956

On a sleepy, sweltering hot July afternoon on the east side of Memphis, the newly-crowned King of Rock and Roll sauntered in the doors of the diner where I was working.

I was refilling a customer’s mug of coffee when I saw him walk in, and I didn’t realize I had overfilled it until the man exclaimed and jumped up from the table.

“Sorry, sir,” I said, frazzled, and hurried to soak up the overflow of coffee from the table with a handful of napkins. My knees threatened to give out as I snuck another glance at the newcomer at the door. It was him. It was really him. Elvis Presley. The King of Rock and Roll. Arguably the most famous—and most controversial—musician in the world right then.

My childhood best friend. The boy I hadn’t seen in eight years. My first kiss.

Elvis surveyed the room full of open diner seats with curious eyes, finally settling on a booth by the windows. He slid into the seat, continuing to scan the restaurant, until he met my gaze, and the world stopped—for me, at least. For him, though…there was no change to his face, no spark of recognition in his blue eyes. Simply a raise of the chin: an acknowledgement for waitressing service.

And it was in that moment that I realized that Elvis Presley had no idea who I was.

I rushed to finish cleaning the customer’s table. I felt Elvis’ eyes boring into the back of my head, waiting for me to come over there to take his order, and I cursed inwardly when I realized no one else was working today who could take his order instead. It was only me.

I could hide in the kitchen, I thought. But the route to the kitchen was right in his line of sight. There was a table toward the back that I hadn’t wiped down yet, I realized, so I avoided the musician’s gaze and took my sweet time spraying and wiping down the table.

A whistle got my attention. Elvis Presley was flagging me down. “What’s a man gotta do for a hot meal at this restaurant?” he said, flashing his white teeth at me.

My heart leapt into my throat. There was simply no way around it. I would have to go over there.

I took a steadying breath and pretended to busy myself in my order pad as I made my way over to the singer. Would he remember me at last once I was closer?

“Sorry for the wait, sir,” I quavered once I reached his booth. It took everything in my might for me to pry my eyes from my order pad and meet his eyes again. But I finally did.

Elvis Presley, there, in the flesh. With his clean suit and styled black hair, he looked like a movie star and exuded a larger-than-life aura. My cheeks felt hot as he gazed up at me with his familiar icy eyes and smiled warmly.

But not a glimmer of recognition.

“Was starting to think you folks might be closed here on the Fourth of July,” he drawled, “‘til I saw that other man sitting over there, the one you spilled coffee all over.”

His voice—his genuine voice, not distorted through my car radio, or through the tiny speakers of my television set—was exactly as I remembered it, albeit much lower in pitch. He was a man, now, after all. God, was he a man.

He leaned forward toward me expectantly, and I realized I had just been staring at him for far too long. I scrambled for any kind of intelligent response.

“We may be slow today, but we’re open,” I said as casually as possible while I handed him a menu.

“And that man’s coffee?” Elvis asked, smirking.

“Oh, you know. It’s our Fourth of July special. Everyone gets, uh, a little extra coffee today.”

The singer laughed, and I chewed on my cheek, mentally praising myself for being able to come up with a joke like that while serving Elvis Presley. I was still reeling at the fact that he didn’t remember me. Beneath the overwhelming feeling of surprise that he’d serendipitously come into the diner where I worked, I felt a twinge of hurt.

Who am I kidding? Of course he doesn’t remember me.

But I remembered him, vividly. Not the Elvis Presley whose crooning voice was currently sweeping the world’s radio stations with his latest single ‘Heartbreak Hotel’. Not the Elvis Presley who had just premiered on the Steve Allen Show a few days prior, wearing a ridiculous tuxedo and singing to a basset hound.

I remembered the Elvis Presley who lived in Tulepo, Mississippi. The boy next door.

The Presley family lived in the run-down house next to my family’s, almost a decade ago. Their only son Elvis and I essentially grew up together; he was like the brother I never had. A flash of memories came back to me…memories of running around the neighborhood with Elvis—all skin and bones back then—holding hands while we explored, because that was just what you did when you were kids. Our worn shoes perpetually dusty from the dirt roads. Our lives immersed in the sounds of rhythm and blues. For twelve years, long before he’d found fame as a musician, Elvis Presley was my best friend.

And now, he didn’t remember me.

If my face had contorted with the sudden onslaught of the memories, he didn’t seem to pick up on it. “Well, hon, forgive me if I order something other than the coffee, then,” he jested. Good natured as ever.

“What’ll you have?” I asked.

“A Coke, for now,” he replied. He was…staring at me, now. An inquisitive smile spread across his face. “Do you…?”

“I beg your pardon?” you asked.

“...Do you know who I am?” Elvis asked.

I gaped. Was he asking if I knew him?

Oh, that arrogant braggart.

“Do I know you?” I repeated with mock naivety. My initial shock reaction was burning into acerbity. “Hmm. Can’t say that I do.”

“That’s too bad,” Elvis remarked. He suddenly seemed as though he was infinitely more interested in me than before.

“Well?” I said haltingly. “Don’t you know me?”

Elvis’ flashed that irresistible grin. “Well, of course I do,” he said with complete seriousness. My heart stopped beating until he said, “You’re my waitress. And a pretty one, at that.”

My blood boiled—either with aggravation or with flattery, I wasn’t sure. It was at that moment that I recognized the unmistakable tension between our bodies, fueled by the flirtatious sparkle in his eyes. I hadn’t felt this way in a long, long time. Not since the last time I’d seen Elvis Presley, eight years ago.

“I’ll be back with your drink, then,” I bit out, but before I could turn away, he speaks again.

“What’s your name, darlin’? I don’t see a nametag on you.”

I touched my uniform where I usually pinned my nametag—the nametag I just so happened to have forgotten on my bathroom counter this morning of all mornings. My name.

This would be it…the moment he realized who I was.

“My name?” I repeated.

He just looked at me expectantly.

I gazed back for too long, praying for him to realize. I wanted to tell him, so badly. But even more, I wanted him to remember. I didn’t know what to do. But before I could decide, a voice thundered from the kitchen.

“Order up! Missy, where you at?” Ray, the diner’s grumpy head cook, tapped the order bell three times and scowled at me through the kitchen window. “Cut the gas and get back to work,” he barked.

“So, ‘Missy’?” Elvis asked.

I blinked. “Missy” was Ray’s nickname for every waitress at the diner, and not exactly a term of endearment seeing as he only said it when he was impatient with us. But Elvis didn’t need to know that.

“You can call me ‘Missy’ if you want,” I responded at last, the coyness in my voice easily mistaken for coquetry. Sure enough, Elvis’ face lit up like a light.

“Missy,” he repeated. “I won’t keep you.”

“I’ll be right back,” I said and smiled tightly as I skirted off to the kitchen.

I still couldn't believe my eyes. Elvis was here, really here. I shouldn’t have been surprised, seeing as he spent his teenage years in this city, and his parents still lived here. I had just moved to Memphis this year when I enrolled for the local women’s college, but I had yet to run into the newly-famous Elvis or his family. Until now.

He was so…different. So sure of himself, no longer the humble, awkward, shy, scrawny boy I’d once known. Perhaps that Elvis no longer existed. It had been almost eight years, I realized, since the last time I’d seen him in the flesh. Eight years since the Presleys loaded up their belongings in their 1939 Plymouth and left for Memphis.

I remembered that day like it was yesterday, although I’d spent the past eight years trying with all of my might to forget it. Trying to wish I could take back what I’d said on that day.

I had to remind myself that I, too, had changed. I had grown up, too. I probably looked completely different from the girl he knew from our modest Tulepo upbringing.

“How many times will I have to tell you to stop flirting with the customers?” Ray, the cook, grumbled as I grabbed a plate of food from the counter.

“I’m not flirting with nobody, Ray,” I said lightly, checking the burger on the plate. “You forgot the mustard.”

Ray snatched the plate back to fix the order. “Who is that kid anyhow? He ain’t from around these parts, is he?” Ray huffed.

“Not anymore,” I grumbled under my breath. But Ray was looking harder through the kitchen window toward where Elvis was seated. His eyes narrowed.

“That can’t be that clown from the Milton Berle show, can it? Vernon and Gladys’ son?”

I said nothing, just took the plate from Ray and poured a glass of Coca-Cola from the fountain. Ray was huffing to himself as I exited the kitchen; I made out the words “those obscene hips” and “corrupting the youth.” Like most of the country, the citizens of Memphis were split between lauding the King of Rock and despising him; Ray, I understood then, was among those who thought the latter. It was as much of a shock to see “The New Elvis Presley” on Steve Allen wearing a tuxedo as it had been to see him thrusting his hips on Milton Berle a few months ago. Maybe his management was pushing for a new image in response to the public backlash.

After delivering the hamburger to the man on whom I’d spilled coffee earlier, I returned to Elvis’ table with a pounding heart and gave him his drink.

“So, Missy,” Elvis drawled and took a drink. “You from around here?”

Hearing the strange nickname from his lips, directed at me, was like the nail on the coffin. I felt all at once hopeless and…well, curious. If he didn’t remember me, and yet he was flirting with me, how would this play out?

“I live here, in Memphis,” I told him.

“Truly?” Elvis toyed with the straw of his Coke between his teeth. “Never seen you around. I would have remembered a face like yours. You always lived here?”

This was becoming just unbearable.

“No, I moved here for the women’s college, about a year ago.”

“Ah. A college girl,” he remarked. “Must be as smart as you are pretty.”

“What about you?” I asked, playing dumb. “Where are you from?”

“Where am I from, or where’d I come from?”

“Well, you seem like you wanna talk about both, so I guess both.”

Elvis tilted his head to the side and continued looking directly into my eyes. “Where I’m from, you’ve probably never heard of it,” he said. You’d be surprised, I thought sullenly. “But where I’ve just come from, you’ve definitely heard of it.” He leaned closer to me, gazing at me through his thick lashes, a playful glint in his eyes. “The Big Apple”.

“New York City?” I gasped. “How do you get here?”

“By train. Twenty-seven hours. Just got off.”

“Well, you must be starving then.”

“Famished.”

I realized, despite how miffed I was about the whole situation, that I couldn’t resist from mirroring his smile and the way he leaned toward me while we talked.

“What’ll you have?” I asked. Elvis ordered the special of the day—country fried steak with cream gravy.

“So, New York City, then? Must be some kind of big hot shot then, huh?” I mused while I took down his order. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging I knew who he was.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” Elvis replied. “Just a boy come home to visit his mama.”

I thought about his mama. Back in Mississippi, Mrs. Presley used to always thump my head with a rolled-up newspaper for tracking my muddy feet through her kitchen. But she had a warmth about her, and she always cooked the best meals. I wondered if she would remember me, if she saw me now, or if—like her son—she wouldn’t recognize me at all anymore. When I first moved to Memphis, I used to think about going to visit her, but I never did. Never felt like it was my place to do so. The Presleys were the talk of the town now that their son was riding into stardom, and I was certain the last thing Mrs. Presley needed was another girl knocking on her door asking about her son.

“Actually, there’s another reason I’m here,” Elvis went on.

“Oh?” I said. “Got a girl back at home for you, then?” I watched him carefully, curious to see his reaction. It did not disappoint; Elvis’ back stiffened ever so slightly.

“Naw,” he responded. “Well, not anymore.” He flashed his teeth at me again. “That’s not the reason, anyway.”

“Pray tell, then.”

“Do you like rock n’ roll, Missy?”

I did. Like Elvis, I grew up immersed in rock n’ roll’s roots. Like him, the soul of the South’s music had been etched into my bones as I grew up.

When I nodded, Elvis reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a canary-colored ticket. He slid it across the table, and I picked it up to examine it. His name was printed elegantly across the top of the ticket—“Elvis Presley”.

“There’s a concert going on at Russwood Park this evening,” Elvis said.

“You came twenty-seven hours on a train from New York just for a concert?”

“And to visit my mama, of course.” He smiled again. “It’s a benefit concert. Last I’d heard, there’s gonna be ten thousand people in the stadium. And thousands are already waiting in line.”

“Wow,” I said, and bit back a smirk as I traced his name in bold letters. “Must be some big name headliner, then, this ‘Elvis’ guy.”

I couldn’t tell if he knew or not that I was joshing him. “Some people seem to think so,” he said. But his eyes grew hardened. “Other people seem to think he’d be better off in jail.”

“Jail?”

“Jail.” Elvis sighed deeply. “He’s expected to put on a ‘family-friendly’ show tonight,” he said, “but he’s torn. I would imagine,” he added, still putting up a front.

“Torn between what?”

“Between doing what he’s told, and doing what his heart says.”

“Well…” I made a bold move; I slid into the seat across from him and rested my chin on my hand. “You know what I say?“

He looked enraptured. “What say you, Missy?”

“When it comes to matters like this, this guy Elvis…I say, he’s gotta listen to his heart.”

Elvis’ smile grew like a flower blooming across his face. “That’s good advice,” he said. “Maybe you should tell him that some day.”

“Maybe you’ll tell him yourself, since you said you’d be there tonight,” I replied and batted my eyelashes, the pinnacle of naivety.

“Maybe I will,” he affirmed with a laugh.

“Well, you better take your ticket back, then, sir,” I said, handing him back the ticket. “Wouldn’t wanna lose this.”

But Elvis didn’t reach for it. “That’s for you,” he said. “If you want it.”

“For me?”

“You said you like rock n’ roll, didn’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then you’ll like it,” he promises.

“What about you?” I asked.

“Oh, you’ll find me there.”

“I don’t get off work until 8,” I realized.

“That’s alright.” He smirked. “The last band probably won’t start until 8:30. That’s the one you’ll wanna see.”

I didn’t know what to say. “What if I can’t get in?” I asked at last. “You said there were already thousands of people in line.”

Elvis cocked an eyebrow and reached for the ticket in my hands. His hand brushed conspicuously against mine as he flipped it over. There was an official looking stamp on the other side that read, “V.I.P. Backstage”.

“You’ll just show this to the usher,” Elvis said, his voice husky, his hand still touching mine. “And they’ll show you where to go. And if you run into any trouble, you just ask for a Colonel Tom Parker. Got it, darlin’?”

I was, for lack of a better word, dazzled. “Okay,” I quavered.

Elvis seemed enraptured by my sudden befuddlement. He took my hand and folded my fingers around the ticket. And he smiled—that same smile I knew from before, that smile I could never forget.

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Attending an outdoor concert with ten thousand other people in the heat of the Tennessee summer was not exactly my idea of a good time.

But there I was, walking up to the entrance of Russwood Park, clutching the V.I.P. ticket Elvis Presley had gifted me as if it contained my very soul. I could still scarcely believe I had run into him at the diner, and I still had yet to process everything that had happened. It felt as though I were existing in a dream, or some other state of unreality. I had taken the bus from the east side to downtown Memphis, in a daze the whole time.

When I finally reached the gates, the stadium ushers gawked at my ticket. After much debate amongst each other and after calling a manager, they were able to authenticate the stamp on the back of my ticket. As I was led through the crowd, surpassing the long line of disappointed-looking girls who would be inevitably sitting in the very back of the stadium at this point, I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

The other performers had already finished their sets. The only group left to perform was Elvis Presley’s.

Once we descended the stadium stairs and reached the floor level, the stadium usher traded me off with my own personal security guard. I raced to keep up with his huge strides. We shuffled through the crowd, which only grew denser as we neared the stage. There was a buzzing tension reverberating through the audience; it was almost time for the concert to start. Each concertgoer on the floor level had their own seat, but I knew from the rumors about Elvis Presley’s other shows that these seats would become all but obsolete the second he emerged on the stage.

All eyes seemed to be on me with envy as soon as the guard and I reached the stage, which was massive and must have taken hours if not days to construct in the center of the baseball field. He led me around to the side of it, where a small set of stairs led up to the grassy area behind the towering stage set. The security guard instructed me where to stand and left me there to my own devices.

It was a zoo. Stagehands and roadies, sweat dripping down their faces, scuttled about the backstage area, making last-minute adjustments to all kinds of cords and props. I spotted a group of musicians tuning their instruments, wearing suits and bowties—his backing band.

And then I saw him.

He stood with his back to me at the very back edge of the stage. He had changed into all-black attire that suited the color of his greased hair. that fit his body perfectly. His hands, I noticed, were clasped in front of him. He wasn’t moving, save for a nervous bounce of his left leg. I knew exactly why he was nervous tonight.

I moved a bit closer, circling so I could see his profile better. And I saw that his eyes were closed and his lips were moving ever so slightly.

He was praying.

Just as soon as I had caught him in the midst of this reverent moment, he had finished. He tilted his head back and gazed up at the orange evening sky.

Everything happened fast after that. He sauntered to his bandmates and clapped their backs with a nervous smile. I slinked back into the shadows, suddenly anxious about him spotting me. And then the stagehands were leading the boys to the side of the stage, where the stage lights had been dimmed down and thousands of people were already cheering. I trailed behind the line of musicians, shocked beyond belief when I saw the vantage point I would have for this concert. The sea of people looked unreal from up on the stage.

A blinding spotlight shone down on Elvis as he emerged from the stage. The sound that erupted from the audience was deafening.

He hadn’t even played yet, and already it was pandemonium among the crowd. I watched helplessly—and with gratitude for my V.I.P. access—as dozens and then hundreds of fans broke from their seats. In a tidal wave, they swept to the stage, screaming and crying. Security manning the barricades struggled to keep the girls from climbing over.

Elvis reached the microphone. He looked incredible—and I noticed for the first time, under the stage lights, that he was wearing splashes of red with his black suit. A red tie and red socks. Elvis’ voice boomed through the microphone as he greeted the crowd and asked them politely to return to their seats. I wouldn’t have been able to tell he was nervous if not for the tell of his bouncing leg.

But that leg did not stop bouncing. It only intensified.

“You know those people in New York aren’t going to change me none,” Elvis crooned to the screaming crowd. He regarded them heartily, his blue eyes sweeping through each and every person. And then his voice became powerful, wrought with passion. “I'm going to show you what the real Elvis is like tonight.”

He lifted a single finger and wiggled it. The crowd went beserk.

He launched into ‘Heartbreak Hotel.’ The bounce of his leg spread through his body as though he were possessed, but that was what everyone was here to see. I saw girls crying, raking their hands down their faces, trying to fling their bodies over the stage barricades. And he was a fireball of energy. I’d never seen anything like him, and I couldn’t believe this was the same Elvis I’d played street games with as kids.

The concert was a whirlwind. Song after song, Elvis’ hips swiveled dangerously with the rhythm. It was directly in contrast to the squareness of his television debut of “The New Elvis” that had premiered only a few days earlier on the Steve Allen show. No more white tail, no more singing to basset hounds. This was something different entirely, and he knew it. He wielded a strange power over his audience, like a magician casting a trance.

I wanted to see more. The stage view was phenomenal in its own rite, but I couldn’t see his face. I wanted to—needed to—see his face. And part of me longed for him to see mine.

My eyes caught a small space in the crowd right next to the stairs I’d come up to come backstage. The rush of the crowd in the initial excitement left a hole in the sea of people that hadn’t yet been filled again. I decided to go for it. I stepped down the sidestage stairs and was immediately enveloped by the crowd. No one seemed to notice; all eyes were locked on the King.

As Elvis belted out hit after hit— 'I Want You, I Need You, I Love You', 'Blue Suede Shoes', 'Long Tall Sally'—I worked myself closer and closer to the front of the stage I felt, yet again, as though I were in a dream. A part of me knew how absolutely foolish—and dangerous—it was to leave the comfort of my backstage access. A bigger part of me didn’t care. The energy of the crowd seemed to permeate Elvis’ very bones. He was a firestorm, and I was enraptured by him. I was a fish on a line, tethered to him, and he reeled me in closer and closer.

By the time they’d reached their last song, ‘Hound Dog’, I was right in front of the stage.

Elvis towered over me as he sang. I could see the sweat glisten off his handsome face, dripping off his unruly greased hair. People slammed into me from behind, but I couldn’t care less. I felt drunk with the sight of him, a god amongst men. A god who used to be my friend.

Elvis fell to his knees on the stage. Hands reached out to touch him. He leaned into the crowd—suddenly grasping the face of a girl standing a few people away from me. Her mouth was open in astonishment as he leaned in and smiled, just almost brushing his lips against hers but not quite. And then it was the next girl. And the next.

And then it was me.

Still singing in that sultry voice, Elvis’ gripped my chin with his hand like he’d done the others and his eyes locked on mine. And he froze, recognizing me all at once. It was only for half a second, but he’d stopped singing. His expression completely changed. He blinked, hesitating.

I just smiled up at him.

He tightened his grip on my face and kissed me.

His mouth tasted like sweat and an unmistakable sweetness. My knees threatened to give out; he could have held me up with just his hand on my chin. This was not just a light brush of his lips on mine, like it was for the other girls. This was a kiss, several seconds long, in front of the whole world. I melted into him. And as he pulled away, his prolonged gaze indicated clearly to me that if he had his way, he’d want to do much, much more than that.

It was our second kiss.

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I don’t know how, but I somehow made it backstage again as soon as the concert was over. I was still reeling from the kiss when I spotted him. He was being escorted by men in security uniforms through the bustle of stagehands. “You were warned, boy,” one of them growled at Elvis, but he was grinning like a naughty child.

“I didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” he said.

“Get in the car, Mr. Presley.”

But then Elvis spotted me. “Hold on just one second, boys,” Elvis said. He broke away and ran up to me. My heart hammered.

“Hey, Missy,” he said, calling me that stupid nickname again. “You made it.” He was absolutely drenched in sweat like he’d jumped in the Mississippi River. He was a mess, but he never looked better.

“Looks like that Elvis Presley really followed his heart tonight,” I grinned.

He smiled so big. “He got some advice from a real smart girl.”

We didn’t speak for a few moments, just gazing at each other and smiling, soaking each other in. I thought about our kiss in the crowd, thought about how much trouble he was about to be in for that performance. Thought about how his features still resembled the Elvis I used to know.

“Why were you in the crowd instead of up here?” he asked.

“I wanted to see your face while you sang,” I admitted in a rush.

He laughed, perplexed, still panting with the exertion of his performance. “I'm so glad you made it.” I thought he would be absolutely exhausted immediately after the show, but his eyes were slight with an infectious fire. He couldn’t take them off of me, and I couldn’t rip mine away. The connection between us was so intense it almost hurt.

“Elvis,” I said.

“Now you know who I am.”

“I always knew who you were.”

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he said, transfixed.

His words shook me to my core. These were words I could have only dreamed about him saying to me eight years ago. And now that he was saying them, here, after what he’d accomplished…

I wanted to tell him who I was. I wanted to, so badly. But the way he was looking at me now…he was looking at Missy, not Y/N. And I was scared of losing that.

Whatever old emotions about the past he’d inflicted upon me, I stifled away. It didn’t matter that he didn’t remember me. It didn’t matter who I was, or who he was, or who we used to be.

The only thing that mattered was right now.

“If that’s what you think,” I whispered, smirking shyly. “Kiss me again.”

Elvis didn’t waste a single second. He grabbed my face again, gently this time, cupping my cheeks in his hands like I was a fragile work of art, and he kissed me. I didn’t care that, to him, this was just a kiss for some random fan who he’d just met that day. Or that, if it wasn’t me, he’d have no problem finding someone else to kiss instead.

Because to me, it was everything.

Compared to his gentle hands, his mouth was rough, desperate. He pried my lips open with his, and I let him, just as eager. A voice came from behind him, one of the security guards: “Mr. Presley, it’s time to go.” He pulled away, eyes wide, and kissed me once more before breaking apart. “I have to go.”

“Alright,” I trembled.

“Beale Street,” he said as he backed away. “Meet me at Beale Street, tonight.”

“Where on Beale Street?”

Behind me, fireworks went off in the sky. His eyes were alighted with orange and red. “Club Handy,” was the last thing he said to me before the security guards dragged him off the stage into a cruiser and drove him away through the crowds.

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A/N: This is the end of Chapter 1 but I’ll be writing more!!! Any predictions?!? I apologize for any typos!! I’m really drunk as I type this so if thre are typos just lmk and I’ll fix it tomorrow! Also here’s my schpiel I copy and paste on the end of every fic haha please read it:

I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome!

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Much love ❤︎ from Juniper

Also I do have a taglist but I’m too drunk to tag anyone tonight so i’ll do it tomorrow but ya lmk via my ask box if you want me to ad d you to it@ !!

#Austin butler!elvis #elvis 2022 #Elvis x reader #Elvis Presley x Reader #austin butler #Elvis Presley fanfiction #elvis presley imagine #austin butler imagine

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