on hiatus.

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

a/n: the following are some songs i think they fit perfectly with their story, so i wanted to share them with you.

taylor swift - right where you left me | dido - thank you | iron & wine, fiona apple - all in good time | ariana grande - i wish i hated you | chappell roan - kaleidoscope | jesse - rainbow | finneas - break my heart again | tiny habits - people always change | taylor swift - dear reader | the cranberries - linger | bon iver - things behind things behind things | duran duran - come undone | cigarettes after sex - pistol | twenty one pilots - the run and go | taylor swift - my tears ricochet | david kushner - daylight | lana del rey - how to disappear | ashe - dear stranger, | lp - the one that you love | willow avalon - baby blue | role model - some protector | taylor swift - the great war | omega - pearls in her hair | lizzy mcalpine - ceilings | mark ronson ft. miley cyrus - nothing breaks like a heart | ashe - cherry trees | blossoms - what can i say after i'm sorry? | gracie abrams - i love you, i'm sorry | suki waterhouse - nostalgia | taylor swift - the bolter | ariana grande - we can’t be friends (wait for your love) | finneas - partners in crime | lana del rey ft. father john misty - let the light in | the script - the man who can’t be moved | brigitte calls me baby - eddie my love | harry styles - love of my life

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

Eddie is leaving in four days.

Sad eyes fight off a pout as he relays this information to you. The breakfast he’s just cooked for you softens the blow, but you still have to force yourself to seem unaffected by this news because Eddie doesn’t need another person in his life willing him in a separate direction. What the rockstar needs is someone who’ll support his decisions and no matter how much it bruises your heart, you aim to be that person for him.

You tell him that he’d better make the most of his time here and that he’s always welcome back. Things you’ve told him before, but this time around, they unintentionally hold a lot more weight. Blocks on a weighing scale. The number flickers up, up, and up, and you have to redirect the conversation before tears swell in your eyes under the load.

Yesterday afternoon, the two of you organised Messer’s clothes. Not the most entertaining activity, but Eddie’s the one who put this idea forward, so who were you to decline? You’ve been meaning to get around to this task anyway. An item on your never ending to-do list and you’re glad to have the help, while it’s still available. If sorting through jumpers, socks, and trousers, creating piles of keep or donate, is how Eddie wants to spend one of his last few days in Hawkins, let it be.

This morning, you catch the rockstar sorting through his own suitcase.

The office door is open. You don’t mean to peek, really. Hanging up Julie’s call, you want to make Messer some light breakfast and thought to also ask his dad. Eddie’s hands are on his hips as he analyses the clothes he’s brought, but he looks up almost immediately when he senses your presence lingering by the door.

“Packing already?” The question scrapes your throat, difficult to ask because you know his answer already — an inevitable yes.

“Trying to organise what I’ll need and what can stay,” he elaborates. “You know, for when I come back.”

You nod and even though your heart patters against your ribcage at the thought of Eddie returning to Hawkins more often than before, a lever pulls the notion through your insides, sinking the happy feeling since in order for him to come back, he first has to leave.

“How about something to eat?” You propose, hand on your hip. “Now, I’ll not be presenting you with some gourmet shit like a Croque Madame, but I can whip up scrambled eggs.”

Eddie laughs lightly. “Thanks, sugar. I’ll be right there.”

And so you cook, and the rockstar joins (as promised). He helps without being asked to, while the two of you talk about everything other than his impending departure. 

Wayne brings in Messer after you call for breakfast and the four of you sit at the table, the toddler opting for Eddie’s lap as if he knows more than he’s been told. You look at the young boy, then your gaze traces upwards, settling on the rockstar’s content expression, as he instinctively pulls Messer closer. 

It feels light, airy. Exactly like the last thirty days. 

Taking a sip of your coffee, a feeling of a profound sense of rightness settles over you. This quiet morning, this family you’ve found (and created).

Eddie’s got the same thing on his mind.

Experiencing this feeling of belonging is a kind of happiness he hadn't known he's been missing. Knowing this won’t last, well, it fucking sucks.

The eldest Munson glances between the other adults sitting at the table, then his gaze settles on the young boy currently comfortable in his nephew’s lap. His dinosaur pyjamas, the ruffles in his brown hair. He’s got boogers leaking out of his button nose, which Eddie wipes with a precision one could only describe as overly fatherly and Wayne’s heart aches a little too. Now that you all finally have each other… Well, let’s just say that no one here should be exiled from this family, even if it’s only temporary.

“What are you gonna do about your team, son?” Wayne asks Eddie, a forkful of scrambled eggs making way between his moustache.

Eddie sighs. “I’m not sure yet. I gotta confront them first, I think. Confirm if my suspicions are correct, you know? I don’t wanna act too harshly in case I’m wrong.”

“Your gut hasn’t failed you before,” Wayne points out, glancing in your direction, a sly smirk circling his mouth.

The rockstar follows his uncle’s gaze and his cheeks burn instantly at the wordless insinuation. Wayne’s grin grows, then the eldest Munson shakes his head, smiling into the mug of coffee in his grasp. Luckily, you’re oblivious of their silent exchange, buttering a piece of toast for your toddler.

“Small bites, please.” Messer requests and you nod, obliging.

Later that evening, after you put the snotty toddler to bed, you find Eddie on the sofa, scribbling in his notebook. He looks up when you walk in and slides to the side, making space.

“Wayne’s gone to the bar,” the rockstar informs as you make yourself comfortable, throwing a fleece blanket over your legs.

Eddie shuffles closer, one hand reaching for the material and lifting it over his own limbs. His socked feet brush against yours, accidentally on purpose, although he pretends it’s not the latter and focuses on the paper in front of him

“He should be back before midnight.”

“We should go out too,” you suggest, reaching for the television remote. “Not tonight, obviously. Before you have to leave.”

The screen flickers on. Mindlessly, you scroll through the channels as he continues to write something in secret.

“Yeah, that'd be nice.”

“Jeez.” You scoff lightheartedly, and shove into his shoulder. “Don’t sound too excited, B-lister. Are you scared to be seen with me now that I’ve been ousted as your baby mama?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and once again, looks up from his notebook to meet your happy expression.

“No,” he deadpans. “Aren’t you scared though? Of being blasted in the press for being seen with me? Your name is already being mentioned more than I’d like it to be. Have you seen what people are saying? Sugar, it’s not all roses out there. People are quite brutal.”

You shrug, even though you’re scared shitless.

Luckily, your socials are private, but that’s not stopped the crazy fans from trying to get to you. An influx of follower requests, comments under Julie’s public account because they have somehow figured out how the blonde fits into your life, along with increased activity on the yoga studio site.

‘Why her and not me’, seems to be the general trend. Followed by, of course, some depressing thoughts people have about your appearance. ‘You can do so much better, Eddie!’

Overall, even though it hurts to witness, you’ll take all the trash talk if it means Messer’s name is being kept out of it. Which — aside from the first round of stories — no one seems to care about the toddler. People are far more invested in the rockstar’s relationship with you.

Heck, if only you held the answers.

“I know leaving out of the blue is shit, but I’ll be back. I do plan to be back sooner, rather than later, and we can go out to the bar then. The noise of all this will have died down and no one will care.”

“Are you embarrassed by me?” You ask, sitting straighter and facing him fully. The thought has never crossed your mind before, but it’s not out of the ordinary to wonder.

“What? Fuck, no!” Eddie sits up too, dropping the writing items in his grasp. 

He shakes his head wildly and because his hair has grown over the last month, brown locks bounce around his face.

“I’d proudly parade you on my arm every damn day of the week,” he says with much conviction, then adds, “If you’d let me.”

And you want to believe him. You do believe him.

“I just don’t want your life to change too much because people are fucking nuts when it comes to me.”

You take his hand and squeeze earnestly, briefly looking at your interlocked fingers before your eyes catch his again.

This whole thing is so fucked. Back then, in New York, the two of you were riding a high of possibilities because you could afford to drop everything, fit into his crazy life. Now, there’s a kid you share, a life you’ve set up for yourself that’s far removed from his reality, and these facts alone prove he’s right. Being seen with Eddie Munson, even if only in a friendly setting, would do more harm than good.

“Steve will protect me,” you tease softly, hoping to ease the sudden tension.

For a split second, Eddie grips your fingers tighter, chocolate buttons staring you down, before he lets go and pinches the inside of your arm. You squeal at first, then after swatting his hand away, you lean forward in retaliation. He’s faster, dodges your attempt, and pulls you into him by the wrists. 

A strong arm lands around your shoulder, holding you close. You start to laugh against his chest. The rockstar joins, chuckles vibrating through the sofa.

When you eventually glance upwards, his eyes are already on you. They’re filled with a warmth that sends a shiver down your spine, a light that makes your heart skip a beat.

Eventually, you realise this position you’re in, so close to his face, is less than ideal. At any given moment, he could close the gap, mouth on yours. At any given moment, you could do the same. Which is exactly the opposite of what your current situation needs.

So, you push yourself off the man, albeit reluctantly, and sit back, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie over your now shaky hands. Eddie clears his throat, also adjusting himself and facing the flickering TV. He runs a hand through his messy hair, shaking it slightly, and with the willpower of a man who knows better than to fuck with a good (fragile) thing, he reaches for the remote.

T-minus THREE DAYS

“I wanna show you something.”

The request is simple and Eddie nods, quickly glancing at Messer. The colourful magnetic strips in his little hands form a roof, which he places carefully on top of a tower — finishing off a rainbow castle that’s taken the two Munson boys all morning to build.

“I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” The rockstar says.

“Okay.”

Standing, he playfully ruffles the toddler’s hair before turning to look at you. There’s an adoring smile on your face and his heart swells, as it always does when you’re sporting the beautiful expression.

“Hurry!” Messer calls out without looking away from the blocks in front of him and you stifle a giggle while Eddie turns his head back, saying he promises.

Out of earshot, he jokes about the kid getting his bossy attitude from you. In return, he gets a gentle elbow to the ribcage before you lead him away and into… your bedroom?

The rockstar straightens. What could you possibly want to show him in the privacy of your own room? The only four walls he’s not seen within this house he bought, out of respect for your privacy, and now you’re willingly opening the door, allowing safe passage.

His eyes bounce around the space. Wallpaper covers the walls, beige in colour with a pattern of various sized trees and tigers. There is a four poster bed in the middle, dark wood and matching bedside tables on each side — although, only one of them holds a lamp. Eddie assumes that’s your preferred spot. There’s a built-in wardrobe to the side (painted white to blend with the wallpaper), a tall gold mirror resting next to it, and a set of drawers in a shade not dissimilar to the bed frame but Eddie can tell it’s not part of the set. Because it’s his. From the trailer.

E.M. carved into the top drawer.

He stares at his initials, on top of which used to lay a set of DND player handbooks, random CD’s, his weed box, and a framed picture of his mom. He took the drugs and the photo when he left, the rest he instructed Wayne to pack up when this house was bought. Never did Eddie think his uncle would also take the dresser.

His gaze floats up, analysing. There’s only a collection of different coloured frames and your beloved Pentax. The pictures are mainly of Messer, at different stages of his young life, but they’re not what catch the rockstar’s attention.

Among the cluster is a loose photo. A printed mirror selfie. You, phone covering your face, white robe around your body. Standing closely behind, with a tight grip on your waist, is the rockstar himself, bare chest and boxer briefs. He’s looking into the lens through the glass, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips.

Eddie remembers this captured moment. Frozen in time, his memory, and here before his eyes, in picture. He had just suggested taking a shower together. You agreed without hesitation. Eager, happy. The bathroom was perfectly lit, as you pointed out, and without thinking much of it, the rockstar suggested taking a photo.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll leak it?” You asked, although you’d never do such a thing.

His hands travelled to your face, gently cupping your cheeks, and he said something he’s perhaps never said to anyone before (aside from Wayne): “I trust you, sugar.”

Eddie wants to know how long you’ve had this picture printed. From the beginning, or only recently, after he’s come knocking. He doesn’t get to ask, however. With a quiet, “Look at this,” you’re pulling his attention away from the selfie.

He quickly runs his fingers through his hair, trying to compose himself, before he turns fully and focuses on what you’re asking. There’s an A4 piece of paper in your grasp, a drawing of some sort. Eddie scans the stick figures, eyes widening, then looks up at you for confirmation.

“It’s you.”

Glancing back down at the scribbles, he’s even more overwhelmed than seconds prior. A finger lands in his field of vision and you begin to talk him through what he’s seeing.

“That’s you. That’s Messer. There’s our house and, what I can only assume, is a fire-breathing dragon from those stories you tell him.”

“When did he… How did you…” 

Words fail the brunette, but lucky for him, you somehow seem to be able to read his mind because you flip the page to reveal a note. The date in the corner suggests it was drawn on his last day in preschool, before all hell broke loose, and in the centre, bringing tears to his eyes, is a simple sentence in adult handwriting: Me and My Dad.

“I found it this morning, after I rang the preschool to let them know Messer will be staying home for a little while. Naturally, they were sympathetic to our situation and just asked for us to do the daily activities in his workbook, so he doesn’t fall overly behind.”

Eddie re-reads the note over and over. Eventually, he looks up at you, a deep sigh of disbelief escaping his mouth.

“This was in the workbook,” you say. “I usually check his stuff daily, but since he came home sick and then the news broke, it skipped my mind.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie exhales, because it’s all he can do.

“Yeah,” you agree in an equally hushed tone.

“Did you tell him?” The rockstar wonders, but you shake your head, only asking him the same question. He didn’t either, and he says so. Although, the drawing indicates that Messer knows the truth. How?

The two of you ask the toddler minutes later. 

Still engrossed in building, he doesn’t look away from the magnetic tiles in his little hands. He sticks, unsticks, attaches them to the castle. You sit on the floor next to him while Eddie takes the spot on the other side of the colourful construction, waiting patiently for Messer to answer the pending question.

“Sometimes, you cry.” Messer says. “Sad my dad isn’t here.”

“Lovey—” Instinctively, you want to protest.

He continues, “But now, you don’t cry. You’re happy.”

Tipping your head to the side, bringing your eyes to his level, you catch his youthful gaze and offer a kind smile. This fucking kid. Wise beyond his years and how lucky are you to get to be with him every damn day? Listen to his mind, his imagination. See him experience the world for the first time.

You remember the first time Messer asked where his dad was. The overwhelming grief that came after you did your best to explain around the situation. He’s working, he loves you. He’ll be back. You didn’t know if anything you told your kid would ring true, but you always had hope.

Gently, you reach out to cup his cheek. “That’s right, lovey. I am happy. I have a lot to be happy about,” you say, voice soft.

“Because my dad is here.”

The statement hangs in the air, simple and undoubtedly true. Exhaling slowly, a choked sound leaves your lips and you glance up from Messer to the man in question, his eyes already on you. There’s a thoughtful expression on the rockstar’s face and you feel your cheeks warm, even more when he averts his gaze, attention now on this whip-smart kid you share. 

“That’s right, bud.” Eddie says, tone thick with emotion as he reaches over the castle to ruffle the toddler’s already messy curls. “I’m here.”

Messer giggles, leaning into his dad’s touch. He looks between the two of you, smile growing, as if he’d figured out the greatest secret in the world (which he kind of did), until his face glows with unadulterated joy.

“I knew it.”

And with that, the toddler returns to playing, like nothing’s happened. As if he didn’t just glue your family back together with pure faith. He instructs you to pass him a yellow triangle, then asks his dad to start on another tower. The two of you oblige, eyes locking over the build. There’s a grin on Eddie’s face that’s grander than any you’ve ever seen him present and for a few solid seconds, you stare at one another, smiling.

The life Eddie always thought wasn’t for him tastes better than he ever could have imagined and he’d be damned to let it slip away in exchange for glory.

Fuck glory. Fuck fame. There is no doubt in the rockstar’s mind that this is exactly where he’s supposed to be. With his little boy. With the woman who created this home, his home.

The woman he’s falling in love with.

T-minus TWO DAYS

Smith Lyne (dickhead): Edward. Call me back. What do you mean you’re not going? Eddie: exactly what you think, man Eddie: staying here Smith Lyne (dickhead): The rest of the band is counting on you.  Eddie: the guys will understand Smith Lyne (dickhead): Edward. You have certain obligations to consider. Eddie: yeah, right here Eddie: the kid you didn’t tell me about Smith Lyne (dickhead): Is this really about the child, or about his mom?

The rockstar’s phone vibrates in his grasp, Smithie’s name gracing the screen once again. He lets out an exasperated sigh, trying to control the annoyance seething through his veins, and eventually slides the green tab.

“Edward,” his agent calls through the other line. “Even you’re not this guy. Selfish and stupid. What about the backstage staff, the venues? That's the jobs of average Americans you have to think about.”

“Smithie, man, I—”

“What about the fans, Edward?” Smithie interrupts. “They’ve been waiting long enough for the tour to pick back up. Your break was always going to be temporary. It’s time.”

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Eddie stands his ground, free hand rubbing into his temple. “And I’m also not taking any blame for this shit. You’re the one who kept me in the dark about the kid, then you’re the one who leaked the information.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Right, whatever.” Even though no one can see, the rockstar rolls his eyes. “You unleashed a fucking tornado on people that didn’t deserve it. My people. I won’t fuck off, leave them on their own to deal with shit they shouldn’t have to deal with.”

“Be serious for a minute. Nobody here sold the story to the press, okay?” Smithie’s tone is stern, but Eddie’s been working with the man long enough to detect the lie. “It’s unfortunate timing, but business is business and you, my friend, are needed in Los Angeles in two days. Where you should have been all along.”

Eddie freezes momentarily. “What are you sayin’?”

“I wouldn’t have ordered the break if I knew you’d go back to Slockens.”

“Hawkins,” the rockstar corrects (like he does every damn time his hometown is brought up).

“Yes, yes.” There’s shuffling on the other end of the line and Eddie can practically see his agent waving a hand around, dismissively. “I thought you’d stay in California.”

Eddie blinks, the realisation of what Smithie is admitting slowly settling in the air surrounding him.

“So, you knew he was here?”

“Who?”

“Fucking Bilbo Baggins,” the rockstar says, angry. “My fucking kid, Smithie! You knew, this entire time, that he’s been in Hawkins.”

Smithie sighs. “Well, it’s not like your uncle told you either.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Eddie is about to launch the phone across the room, then maybe yell at the top of his lungs to air out this frustration, when he hears a floorboard creak behind. Spinning on his heel, there you are. Half hidden by the office door, a tentative look on your face, and he can feel the calm wash over him in an instant.

“I’m gonna have to call you back, man.” Eddie says into the phone and before his agent can protest, the call ends.

Tentatively, you slide inside as he drops the device on top of the pull-out. You apologise for disturbing him, say you heard some yelling and wanted to make sure he was okay. That he didn’t feel alone.

His heart clenches in affection and pain, one as strong as the other. But he doesn’t want to talk about how he’s feeling, which he knows is the question playing on your lips. Frankly, he doesn’t want to talk at all.

So, Eddie crosses the small room with urgency. 

His fingers land on your face with a gentle kind of force, and he makes you hold his darkening gaze, albeit only for a moment. 

Words get caught in your throat because for a split-second, you think he’s going to kiss you. The notion passes when instead, Eddie’s hands adjust and he pulls you in for a hug. 

The room is silent. His breathing, your breathing. No other sounds. You let your arms wander up his back, holding him close, as he holds your neck with one hand and grips your waist with the other. When your eyes flutter close, you feel suspended in an intense moment of calm. As does he.

“They’re not gonna let me stay,” Eddie mutters into your crown. “I-I don’t want to go, but I have no other choice.”

You nod against his chest. “Then you go.”

Pulling back, his thumb lands on your chin. He angles your face, catching your gaze, and does his best to smile. Although, the expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What if you came with me?”

You balk and Eddie instantly sees the hesitation because he quickly continues, before you can officially deny.

“You and Messer, Wayne too if he wants. Travel and accommodation would be sorted, so you don’t have to worry financially. And, and, I’ll be close by in case the press gets out of hand, although we can put precautions in place with security. No one will have to know.”

Shaking your head, you free yourself from his grasp and take a few steps back.

“Eddie, I-I appreciate the gesture, but I have a job.”

“Yeah, one you can’t do now anyway because of me. Messer is home too since going to school is out of the question until this shit dies down. There’s nothing holding you here, for a little while, at least.”

You want to protest again, you really, really do, but he’s right. Everything the rockstar said rings true. 

Earlier today, a difficult decision was made to temporarily close the yoga studio. Even with Steve’s hired henchman, the crowd is uncontrollable. Hoping to catch a glimpse of you, of Eddie. Julie doesn't feel safe. 

Messer is being kept home, indefinitely, away from prying eyes because the preschool office called. There are concerns from other parents, fearing for their own kids being snapped in unwanted photos. Therefore, you spent the day trying to sort out a switch to home schooling.

Eddie is right, but that doesn’t mean taking him up on his sudden offer is a good idea.

“I can’t rip up Messer’s life anymore than it already is,” you say, and that’s also true. “He thought he’d get to go back to school, see his friends, whenever he fought off the flu. Now, God knows when he’ll be able to play with them again.”

Pausing, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth to stop the quaver from starting, as Eddie saunters towards you once more. Slower this time, a tilt to his head and sympathy in the mahogany of his gaze.

“He needs to be here with whatever shroud of normality we have left, and I can’t go without him.”

“I understand,” Eddie says, placing his hands on your shoulders because he’s unable to stop himself. He needs to touch you. “Don’t worry your pretty head, sugar. It’s just an idea.”

You nod, smiling softly. “Thank you.”

“I’ll go and I’ll come back,” he states, trying to be reassuring. Trying to keep calm.

“You’ll go and you’ll come back,” you repeat. “And we’ll be here, waiting.”

Bopping his head slowly in agreement, his fingers move to hold you by the chin one more. The tip of his thumb barely touches your bottom lip, but it still sends a shockwave through your system. The sensation, the memory of what it’s like to be kissed by him.

And it’s such a bad idea to be thinking about this now. It is such a bad idea to want to give into those urges, if only for a little bit. Timing couldn’t be worse, for one. People are already speculating there’s something still here, between you and the rockstar, and it would be smarter to leave the game in a purely speculative space.

Although, there’s a nagging feeling inside of you. A truth that wants to escape by any means necessary, and what better time than when you’re on the verge of goodbye.

“Eddie,” you begin in a quiet voice, pupils bouncing between his own. “I have to be honest with you.”

“Should I be worried?” The rockstar asks, tone teasing. However, when your expression stays serious, his smile fades and his grip on you tightens.

“I don’t want to mess with your head, you know? Add more shit to your overflowing plate.”

“Okay…” He stretches the syllable. “Now, I’m definitely worried.”

You clear your throat.

“I like you.”

Three simple words, which frankly, you feel quite pathetic saying aloud. This isn’t middle school. You’re not a couple of kids, chasing each other around the playground. You’re grown adults who share a three-year-old, yet those three simple words perfectly describe how you feel about the man.

“I uh… I like you, Eddie, and that’s kinda scary.”

His eyes search yours and you think that you’ve completely fucked this up. You’re about to throw an apology in his face, tell him how, even though you mean it, he doesn’t have to say anything because there’s enough going on. You’re about to cry, actually. Overwhelmed with emotions.

However, you don’t get to do any of that because the rockstar dips his head, and with a sharp inhale of breath, his lips are on yours.

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:

prologue (a blurb)

chapter one | aka the little mess you made

chapter two | aka nice to each other

chapter three | aka what did i miss?

chapter four | aka something has to change

chapter five | aka never felt better

chapter six | aka i won’t quit on you

chapter seven | aka the longest goodbye

chapter eight | aka times like these

a/n: the following are some songs i think they fit perfectly with their story, so i wanted to share them with you.

the favors - the little mess you made | willow avalon - honey ain't no sweeter | abba - i've been waiting for you | aly & aj - if you get lonely | kali uchis - it's just us | elbow - one day like this | hohnen ford - another lifetime | john denver - take me home, country roads | mumford & sons - truth | miley cyrus - more to lose | lana del rey - not all who wander are lost | laufey - tough luck | olivia dean - nice to each other | hozier - too sweet | the hollies - the air that i breathe | the killers - bright lights | brigitte calls me baby - impressively average | the cranberries - when you're gone | james bay - us | billie eilish - birds of a feather | t'pau - china in your hand | benson boone - reminds me of you | the lumineers - a song for you | damiano david ft. suki waterhouse - the bruise | lorde - current affairs | pale waves - she's my religion | david bowie - changes | lana del rey - thunder | mitski - my love is mine all mine | robbie williams - better man | fleetwood mac - coming home | taylor swift - peace

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

“Well, I don’t think it’s anythin’ to laugh about, Susan. It’s not funny.” You could hear Gladys’s voice all the way from the kitchen. You were still staring at the television in shock, eyes wide and mouth parted as you tried to fully grasp what the hell just happened. The volume had been turned down all the way, but another program had come on after Elvis’ special. The black and white screen flashed, announcing the kids variety show, “Howdy Doody”.You were wondering why Elvis had sounded so aggravated when he spoke to you from his hotel room last night, but you had brushed it off as simple exhaustion. Your fiance had been up for over twenty four hours by the time that he had performed, and all of the excitement must have done a number on his mood as well. The man was one hell of an insomniac, and after the plane ride to New York he was sure to be exhausted. 

“He didn’t tell me that he would be singin’ with a damn dog. I don’t even think he knew about it. Ya know. . . I’m gonna have to go. Yeah, yeah. I was eatin’ with my daughter in-law when you called.” You flinched as she slammed the phone back down on the receiver, walking back into the room before throwing her hands up. People from the south loved to talk. Church goers and nosy neighbors alike, they all loved calling Gladys the second anything new popped up about her son Elvis. Gossiping was just as much a part of church as the praising was, and good god almighty, those old betties could yap your head off. They feigned good natured worry, all while fishing for new tidbits of information. No one took kindly to the poor family up and moving, now living in the lap of luxury. Jealous is a hideous thing, after all. The Presley’s old neighbors and co-workers were ringing the phone off of the hook ever since Elvis got on stage. Almost as though they had been waiting by the phone, looking for something to poke fun about. 

“You didn’t know ‘bout this either, did you?” You were quick to shake your head, standing up and off of the couch. “He would have told me. . . at least I hope he would have. I-I mean. . . He sounded so upset on the phone last night. I wanted to believe that he was tired, is all. Now that I'm thinkin’ about it, he must have been upset about the performance.” Gladys ran her fingers through her short hair, groaning. “I was thinkin’ the same thing. We only spoke for a second last night, but somethin’ wasn’t right about his tone,” She stared pointedly down at her shoes for a few seconds before tapping her foot on the red carpeted floor. “We’re going to be the laughing stock of Memphis before the Colonel is through with my boy! Not to mention he had him all dressed up in a tailcoat!” 

You chewed on your bottom lip, pacing back and forth worriedly.  “That’s not Elvis. He never would have agreed to this if he had known. He was excited ‘bout the opportunity. I-I mean. . .who doesn’t know about The Steve Allen Show? Everybody and their mama has probably already seen it by now.” You heatedly agreed with her, watching as she nodded her head as you spoke. Elvis had stood there rimrod straight for just about the entire special. He looked completely blindsided, and it made you want to rip your hair out and scream. You could tell that he was embarrassed, even through the television screen. “If I had just been there, maybe I could have-” Gladys shook her head, quickly making her way into the living room before pulling you into a tight hug. “Don’t think like that, darlin’. You being there wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. If anythin’, he probably would have felt even more embarrassed. You’re the one person whose opinion matters most to him.” 

You had always had your suspicions about The Colonel. Something didn’t feel right about him, even from the beginning. You remembered the first time the two of you had ever met, and even back then you had a bad feeling. Something felt fake about his kindness. His words were honeyed, but they had a bitter center to them. Something about Tom Parker was off. Sure, Elvis had become an overnight sensation with his help, but he was trying to turn the poor man into someone that he wasn’t. Singing on national television in a tuxedo and forced to stand next to a dog? A dog wearing a hat, no less? Elvis never would have agreed, and if he had. . . well, he would have gone out of his way to make it funny. He had a boyish sense of humor, and made you laugh harder than most comedians. 

 Elvis couldn’t sing if he couldn’t move. His performance didn’t shine the way that it normally did because of that. You slowly untangled yourself from Gladys’s arms, moving over towards the living room window so that you could brush the curtains to the side. The usually packed street had been completely empty since lunch time, everyone at their houses to watch the special. Fans were already beginning to line up in front of the gates now, obviously upset by the declaration that there was going to be a “family friendly Elvis”. He didn’t need to be reinvented. Not when he was already perfect the way that he was. Gladys moved to sit down on the couch, right next to the cushion that you were currently leaning on to get a good look at the front of Graceland. “They’re already gatherin’, aren’t they?” You hummed your answer, ignoring the dramatic way she put her head in her hands. “Don’t worry, Gladys. We’ll talk to our boy once he gets home. Let him explain things, and then we can let sleepin’ dogs lie. . .” You shot her a quick wink at your play on words, and she cracked a small smile. “God, you’re just like him. You two have spent too much time together as youngins,” She shook her head in mock annoyance before straightening out her shoulders. “No, you’re right. We shouldn’t overreact when he gets here.” 

He should be coming up the drive any minute, having only gone to New York for the appearance. He had an upcoming show that the Colonel was all in a tizzy about, and you were sure that it was over his “new and improved personality”. Who had Tom Parker been meeting with in secret over this? There’s no way that he came up with this entire scheme on his own. Elvis Presley didn’t need any fixing. He was perfect just the way that he was. Love Me Tender and Jailhouse Rock had both been absolute hits, and it was because people loved Elvis the way that he was! Could the Colonel not see that? Screw the prissy folks from New York who didn’t think that the way he acted or the music he played was appropriate. They just didn’t understand him. “It’s that damn Tom Parker, Y/n,” That got your attention. You removed your hand from the curtain, letting it flutter back into place. “He’s trying to change our boy, and I’m not having it. I’ll talk to him myself if I have to. Vernon’s eatin’ out of his damn hand like a dog.” It wasn’t your place to agree, but you saw it too. You saw the way that Vernon did every little damn thing that the Colonel said. The only people that seemed to be in Elvis’s corner anymore were both you and his mother. “. . . So it’s not just me?” You asked, leaning in close to her so that you could keep your voice to a low whisper. A few of his cousins were running around the house somewhere, and you didn’t need anyone being nosy. Gladys was quick to shake her head, her blue eyes narrowing. “I’ve got the heebee jeebeez. Somethin’ just ain’t right about that man. I’ve felt that way since the beginning.” You would be lying if you said the Colonel hadn’t made Elvis’s career. He would still be singing at local fairs and begging to make local radio show appearances if it wasn’t for him. He had practically become an overnight sensation, and it was all thanks to the older man’s guidance and talent for show business. Something still seemed off. Not to mention that he seemed to be going out of his way to make sure that you didn’t tag along to Elvis’s more important appearances. That was new. 

Elvis had begged for you to be able to come to New York with him, but the Colonel downright refused, saying he would only be gone for one night and two days, and there was no use in buying an extra plane ticket. Now you are beginning to realize why. Everybody who knew you understood that you had a fiery personality. You wouldn’t take that kind of treatment lying down, and if Elvis hadn’t torn up his dressing room over an embarrassing stunt like that, then you would have done it for him. Just as you were about to open your mouth to add something else, the front door flew open, Elvis storming through. He tossed his overnight bag down onto the living room floor, Vernon following in close behind. “-wasn’t that bad, Elvis.” Vernon was already trying to reason with him. The dark haired boy was wearing a pair of black slacks, only a soft pink lace shirt tucked in- no blazer. The boy was a fan of layers, so you guessed that he had taken off his blazer up at some point during the drive from the airport. “That was the most humiliatin’ thing I’ve done in all my life.” He stalked his way over to the piano, pulling out the bench before sitting down. He was trying to calm himself down, you could tell. 

Elvis had a habit of playing the piano at all hours of the day, and even into the night. In the short amount of time that you had been living at Graceland, you couldn’t count on both hands how many times he had woken you up slipping out of bed, only to go downstairs to play the piano. His fingers gently tapped on the keys as he stared blankly down at his beloved white piano. He was trying to reason with himself as to why this was for the greater good. “Well you know that those television shows pay good money. If you’re banned from New York then you’ll probably be banned everywhere else too.” Vernon called out to him from the entryway. The simple song that Elvis had been playing was rudely interrupted by the loud cacophony that filled the room as Elvis slumped, putting his elbows down against the keys. The sudden sound was loud, causing you to jump a bit. “No, no. . . you’re totally right, daddy.” He spoke into his hands, his voice coming out muffled. “I just wish I would have known before goin’ out there. I looked like a fool.” Gladys started to open her mouth, but you were quick to reach over, giving her thigh a soft slap. She closed her mouth right away, shooting you a look. 

“Well you sounded good, baby.” You stood up and off of the couch, making your way over to him. He sat up as he saw you approaching, reaching his arms out so that he could hug you around your middle. “Do you really mean it?” He mumbled against your dress. You smiled softly, smoothing back his dark hair with your fingers. “I really do. You just looked surprised, is all. Your voice was as beautiful as ever.” He placed a gentle kiss against your ribs before letting go. “I’ve already gotten three calls about it.” Gladys finally spoke up, turning to look heatedly at Vernon before turning her gaze back on her son. “People already turn their noses up at us because of where we are from,” Elvis let out a deep sigh, already knowing where his mother was about to go with this. “We look like a bunch of rednecks, singin’ to dogs! I-I mean. . . what was that man thinkin’?” God, she had promised not to say anything like this. You should have known she would eventually open up her mouth and say something overly harsh, especially if you weren’t there to hold her hand and reign her in. You knew that his mother was doing it out of love, but god damn it- now wasn’t the time. Elvis slid down onto the piano bench, letting his arm hang off limply from the side. 

“Mama, how do you think that I can afford this great big house, hmm? I have to do those television appearances. The Colonel said that the folks from New York are already gunnin’ for me. They wanna ban me from all of television, and parents are quick to crucify me too. There’s been a whole mess of negative press the last few weeks. The Colonel was only doin’ what he felt was right ” You knew that parents were growing concerned about his jerky movements, but to ban him from television? You didn’t see the use in any of it. Was anything that he was saying or doing really that bad? You had read the newspaper articles; saying crazy things about Elvis smoking dope, or even worse- you’d read one just the other day that Elvis had shot his own mother. Those idiots were making up blatant lies about Elvis in the hopes of defaming him. Was it so shocking to everyone that Elvis had been raised in a good southern household? His mother used to spank him with a wooden spoon if he forgot to refer to his elders as “ma’am” or “sir”. He had strong values. Strong beliefs. 

“I’m just not happy about the way that these big wigs are tryin’ to paint you outta-” “You’re never happy!” Your jaw dropped as you heard Elvis raise his voice like that to his mother. He lifted a hand up to his face, rubbing at the bridge of his nose before sitting up, gesturing around wildly. The gold watch on his wrist jingled loudly at the movement. “I bought you a house and more kitchen appliances than you could ever use. I buy you clothes and jewelry. A car that you don’t even have a license to drive!” Gladys squared off her shoulders as he moved to stand up, his black trousers riding up a little to reveal his bubblegum pink socks. “I try my damndest to make you happy, mama. I really do, but I’m startin’ to think that nothin’ is ever gonna be good enough for you.” You weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t even sure if you should say anything. Even though you agreed with where Gladys was coming from, she hadn’t gone about it the right way at all. Elvis felt cornered and attacked, and the last thing you wanted to do was add fuel to the fire. You didn’t want your fiance to feel like you were against him too, because you sure as hell weren’t. You also loved Gladys just as much as you loved your own mother, and you could see the way that his words had affected her. “W-Why don’t we all just calm down for a minute, yeah? Elvis just got home.” You tried to reason with the both of them, standing up from the couch so that you could mediate. Elvis stalked across the living room, breezing past his mother so that he could roughly unzip his bag. He practically ripped his blazer out, shrugging it on and popping up the collar in a swift motion. “Are you goin’ somewhere, Elvis?” Gladys’s voice shook as she stood up from the couch, making her way through the entryway. “Come on baby, let’s get out of here.” Elvis spoke lowly, shoving one hand into his pocket, using the other to wave you over to him. His blue eyes pinned you down, but you could tell that he was pleading with you. He wasn’t about to leave without you, and he needed to escape for a little bit. 

You shot Gladys an apologetic look before taking his outstretched hand. Without saying a word he tore the door open, but stumbled back when two of his cousins burst through, their shoes dirt and grass stained. The boys cheered loudly at one another, moving in the direction of the jungle room downstairs. “Don’t tread mud in the house, Billy!” Elvis screamed after them, letting go of your hand so that he could grab the boys by the back of their shirts, shoving them both roughly out the door. “Get out! Get out of my goddamn house.” They turned to look at him from the porch, furrowing their brows and whispering to one another, probably marveling at his sour mood, before shrugging it off. They were quick to join up with the other cousins, waving them down on the golf carts so that they could hop in. “Trackin’ mud in my house and doin’ my goddamn head in. . .” He began pacing, rubbing at his face as he tried to find the right words to say in his anger. The blue eyed boy had one hell of a temper, but you’d never seen him turn against his mother before. Not in all of the years that you’d known him. “Mama, you’d ain’t never happy,” He motioned towards her, watching pointedly as she raised a glass to her lips. “No matter what I do, no matter how much I give ya- it’s never enough.” 

His grandma Minnie, who you both lovingly called Dodger, was sitting at the head of the long dinner table, her eyes softening as she watched the scene unfold before her. Though she’d never say it outloud in fear of provoking Gladys’s wrath, she was on Elvis’s side on this one. His mother had crossed a line when the boy was already upset enough over the entire situation. “And I wish you wouldn’t drink so goddamn much. It’s not good for you!” Gladys called out for the both of you, but it was too late. Elvis took your arm in his yet again, pulling you out the front door, and even though you thought that he was being a little too careless with your much smaller frame, you put up no resistance.  The door rattled as he slammed it behind him. You stumbled a bit as you tried to find your footing on the porch, and the second that the man saw how he had manhandled you, his eyes softened. 

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I-I didn’t mean it.” He was quick to say, holding his hands up in surrender. You stared at the sprawling drive in front of you for a few seconds, taking a deep breath in through your nose to calm your nerves. They had been shot ever since he left. You and his mother had been worried sick about his appearance on national television, and to see how visibly shaken up he was over the “surprise” that the Colonel had arranged for him? You had practically been inconsolable since noon. Gladys had done her best to talk to the family members and acquaintances that called. The phone had been ringing off the hook since the second he had stepped on stage. You had done your best to prepare yourself for his sour mood, knowing that your main purpose for the rest of the night was to brighten his spirits. Even so, you weren’t about to let him haul you all over god’s green earth as though you were nothing more than his ragdoll. You were a person, not his little plaything. 

In the distance you could see his cousins horsing around on the golf carts, tearing up the grass that had just been mowed the previous day. You squint your eyes as you follow their retreating forms, ignoring Elvis as he reached out for your hand. “Baby. . . I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Sometimes I don’t know my own strength when I’m around you. I didn’t mean to shove ya. Honest.” You could tell that he felt bad, so you decided to let it go. There was no use in yelling at him for something that was an accident. “Where are we goin’, Elvis?” You sighed out, motioning back towards the house. “Honestly. . . I know that your mama can be a bit overboard sometimes, but aren’t you goin’ to regret talkin’ to her like that?” He sucked at his teeth, deciding not to answer your question. The dark haired man reached out to help you down the stairs, shoving his other hand into his pocket to fish around for the keys of his new Cadillac. He had recently purchased the vehicle after what the two of you referred to as the “Arkansas debacle”. He had sworn up and down for days that he would never buy another Cadillac as long as he lived. That they had to be the most unsafe cars on the market. All it took was for the local Memphis dealership to reach out to him personally on the phone, offering to give him a car that was so new that no one else in the states owned one yet. His one request? “Can ya make it purple?” So purple it was. 

You climbed into the passenger seat, buckling yourself in tightly before turning to look at him. He seemed even more flustered than he was letting on in the house. Elvis was the type of person to put others' needs before his own, so it wasn’t shocking that his main priority had been to calm you and Gladys down. Just because he said that he had played along with the little skit to ensure future gigs, didn’t mean that he really meant it. Sure, it had been embarrassing for Gladys to talk to every nosy neighbor and old colleague on the phone today, but how did Elvis feel? Judging by the way his fingers shook as he reached out to turn the dial on the radio, you reckoned he wasn’t doing very well. His eyes flickered up to the road in front of him as he continued to rush towards the gate, in a hurry to put some distance between himself and the judgment his mother had tossed his way the second he had stepped foot into the house. “Elvis Presley has declared that he will be taking a more family friendly direct-” “And that was Hound Dog, sung by the newest sensation, Elvis P-” “Fans across the South, men and women alike, are already showing their alarm about the supposed ‘new Elvis’-” You watched as your boyfriend grit his teeth, his blue eyes narrowing as he tried to find at least one local radio station that wasn’t talking about him. Finally he found a Blues station, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of “Lonely Avenue”. You sucked in a breath as you neared the gates, watching as they slowly opened, screaming fans parting like the red sea in order to let the car through. 

You couldn’t help but bite on the tender skin of the inside of your cheek as you noticed the signs that some of the teens and young adults were waving around. It seems that his loved ones weren’t alone in their hesitance for forced change. The fans also seemed largely against censuring him. Because while his mother might have managed to say all of the wrong things during their “talk” earlier, she did have a point: how was anything that Elvis did wrong? His looks, his voice, and his bold personality were all god given talents. His quivering knees and undulating hips might be provocative, but he did what the music told him to do. He couldn’t move? Well then, he couldn’t sing either. He flashed the fans shaky smiles, trying hard to look each and every person in the eye as he slowly accelerated forward, making sure not to mow anybody down in his haste to be free of the Graceland estate. It wasn’t until he started heading down the road, right in the direction of Beale Street, that you finally understood just where you were going. The wind whipped back your hair as the two of you drove, but you paid no mind to it. Rather you licked your lips, looking worriedly at your reflection in the rearview mirror. You hadn’t applied any lipstick before leaving, and your nose was a bit shiny since you hadn’t applied any powder. Elvis noticed your fiddling and was quick to shoot you a look, his eyebrows furrowed. “What are you fussin’ over, darlin’?” He asked, gripping the wheel in one hand while his other moved up to thread his fingers through your hair. He scrubbed his nails against your scalp soothingly as he drove, using the palm of his hand to steer. Slowly you looked over at him, noticing the way he leaned back in his seat, his long legs spread wide as he used his right foot to operate the vehicle. His pinky ring glimmered in the dim afternoon light, and his blue eyes caught the fiery horizon just right. His slightly sunkissed skin looked gorgeous all lit up like that. All orange, gold, and red- he was either heaven or hell sent- you couldn’t be certain. You couldn’t care, either. 

Over the year that he spent working with Crown Electric, Elvis claims that he had driven just about every inch of Memphis. He knew every road like the back of his hand. He had made constant deliveries, going from one site to the other, even stopping in residential neighborhoods where the electricians were busy at work. He had driven a work truck for hours on end to help make ends meet, but you couldn’t help but find it undeniably attractive, what with the carelessly professional way he operated a vehicle. He was effortlessly good at it, like most other things. He seemed to notice the flush on your cheeks, because his lips were quick to quirk up into a little smile. He knew all the tell tale signs of your interest. He knew the difference between you looking at him because you loved him, and then when you looked at him because you wanted him. You were giving him one of those looks. He licked his lips, giving your hair a soft tug. It made you choke on a gasp. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that, darlin’?” Your eyelashes fluttered as you stared over at him. He found it impossible to deny you of anything when you looked at him like that. Your eyes felt heavy on him, your thick lashes brushing against your brow bone as you stared up at him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hesitantly letting go. “You’re makin’ me want to turn back around.” He mumbled under his breath, flashing you a nervous smile. No matter how famous, how rich, or how well loved your fiance was- only you could make him nervous like this. He had assured your parents that he only had eyes for you, and again and again he had proved that to be true. 

The two of you continued the rest of the drive to famous Beale Street in tense silence. Every once and a while you would look over at him, only to catch him staring at you out of his peripheral vision. His smile would widen, his blue eyes would sparkle with that oh so familiar sense of mischief, and he’d be quick to glue his eyes back on the road in front of him. It was rude to brag to others about your sex life, but it was wonderful enough to want to talk about it. The fact that you had gone a few days without giving into your more hedonistic needs made it hard for you to keep away from him. He was in the exact same boat, and though he’d like nothing more than to turn right back around so that he could shack up in bed with you, he was aggravated and had a lot on his mind. He wanted to be able to give you his full attention. 

The second that he had parked his car, a crowd had steadily gathered around the two of you, fans of his music quickly reaching out, trying to get an autograph or handshake. Unlike earlier at the gate, Elvis took his time signing as many pieces of paper as he could, going as far as to converse with a few people as the two of you walked. Being on Beale Street was second nature to you, as was hanging out around Club Handy. The two of you, back when you were nothing more than mischievous high school kids, used to dream of the day you’d turn twenty one so that you could frequent the club. The both of you had stars in your eyes when you thought of the wildly talented B.B King. You both would excitedly describe your weekend, bragging to your classmates about running into the musician, only to be met with judgment. Elvis, unlike other white artists, didn’t pretend to be blind of what was going on in the world around him. He didn’t pretend to like or even support the bigotted and unjust segregation laws. He had pushed the Colonel to allow him to play more shows at venues that people of color could attend without backlash, but the older man was strict on the fact that “Elvis wasn’t a politician. He was an entertainer.” You, however, felt like those two professions were one in the same. Elvis had a voice, and that voice meant something. People listened when Elvis spoke. 

 “E.P! Congratulations.” You blinked as you heard the voice by your ear, turning your gaze up towards the Balcony. The man leaned over the railing, lifting up his hand so that he could wiggle his ring finger. You and Elvis both beamed up at the man, your fiance taking your hand in his so that he could lift your arm up, flashing the ring. You and B.B laughed at Elvis’s overexcited response. You were quick to try and make your way towards the club entrance, gently pushing your way through the crowd that only continued to get larger and larger. The older man disappeared from his perch above you for a second, only to reappear as he popped his head out of the main entrance. 

You and your soon-to-be husband had been famous amongst the business owners when you were younger. You both marched to the beat of your own drums, and people learned to love and even appreciate you even back when you were kids. B.B had seen you two around from time to time, but it wasn’t until Elvis’ single “That’s All Right” made it big that he really took notice. He was a good friend to have in Elvis’ corner. He was quick to help you two through the door, pressing it closed and locking it behind himself. The last thing he needed was for his club to be flooded with underage teens, wanting to get a glimpse of the handsome young man. “I heard that you two got engaged.” He continued his earlier statement, motioning with his hand so that he could get a better look of the ring. You were quick to hold your hand out to him, allowing him to raise your dainty fingers up to his eye level. “That’s one hell of a rock, kid.” He shot Elvis a sly smile, who merely rubbed at the back of his neck timidly. “Well I felt like she deserved it for putting up with me for all of these years.” He teased softly, winking at you when your eyes briefly met. “So. . . what has you poppin’ by? I thought you would have still been up in New York.” You hadn’t turned to face Elvis in time to see his reaction to B.B King’s words, but it must have not been anything good. “You can talk to me, E.P. What’s got you lookin’ like this, kid?” He was quick to reach out for your fiance, wrapping his arm tightly around his shoulders before giving him a squeeze. 

The dark haired brunette tapped his knuckles against the wall of the entryway, sighing softly before finally letting loose his worries. “My mama won’t stop goin’ on about the hound dog, and the Colonel’s got me wearin’ tails. Everybody wants somethin’ different-” B.B lifted his chocolate brown gaze up at you, looking at you for confirmation. You pursed your lips, nodding quickly before turning your worried gaze on your love. “Listen- if you’re sad and you wanna be sad? You’re at the right place. If you’re happy and you wanna be happy. . . guess what? You’re at the right place.” Your friend was quick to offer support. Worrying over all of that nonsense wasn’t going to do him a lick of good. If he needed someone to talk to, the both of you were there for him. The tension in his shoulders visibly loosened. “So just do me a favor: let it all hang out,” Elvis’ sharp jaw worked as he chewed on his gum, his lips widening into a closed mouth smile. “Let it all hang out, E.P.” He gave your boyfriend’s chest a small pat before he opened up the doors, shooting you a smile of his own before stepping aside. 

The bar was bustling that night, per usual. You loved Club Handy not just for its cheap liquors, which had been a treasure for you and Elvis back in the days when the two of you were living paycheck to paycheck, but for the music. Your own hips began to sway as you watched the man on stage, singing his heart out into that mic. If people thought Elvis’ dance moves were outrageous, you wondered what they would say about the young man who was currently undressing up on the stage. The ebony haired man seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he was quick to crack a joke about it. After you and Elvis both had a glass of whiskey in your hands, B.B ushered you into a small booth in the corner. The two discussed things amongst themselves, but your focus was solely on the man dancing around the stage. He was climbing up on table tops, tossing his blazer into the small crowd of women that had gathered- he sure knew how to flaunt his talents. “I’m gonna join the crowd, baby.” You were quick to declare, not giving the two men a chance to reply before you were running up to the group of girls, linking arms with them so that you could sway your hips along to the beat. They giggled along with you, welcoming you into their circle as though you had always been there in the first place. “Who is he?” You whispered in one of the woman’s ears, catching a whiff of her gardenia scented perfume. “Little Richard,” She leaned in as she spoke to you, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him. “He’s amazing, isn’t he?” You were quick to nod, your smile widening. “He sure knows how to work a crowd! Look at him!” He moved back onto the stage, using one hand to unbutton his shirt, climbing up onto the piano. The man on the keys paid him no mind, laughing jovially at the display. You, along with the other girls, screamed as he finished the song, quick to drop your intertwined hands so that you could clap for him. 

The room was silent for a few moments, save for the conversations going on. You could hear your man’s deep voice, and you slowly looked over your shoulder at him. He must have felt your gaze on him, because he turned to face you, flashing you one of those sweet smiles of his that he reserved only for you. “That’s your man, right?” The woman nodded in his direction. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers as realization finally struck her. “T-That’s Elvis Presley. . .” She blinked a few times, her lips parting as she looked between the two of you. “Oh my god. You’re Y/n, right? I recognize you from the papers.” You shyly shrugged, looking down at your heels nervously. You weren’t nearly as bold as your fiance was, and you always got a little shaky when you were recognized out in public like this. “It must be impossible to go anywhere with him. I mean. . . everybody loves him.” You couldn’t help but smile widely, turning your head so that you could watch him. He was excitedly talking to B.B, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke. He always got passionate like this while speaking to someone about music- especially another musician. He looked up to B.B King more than he would ever willingly admit. The man was one of his heroes. “Elvis deserves all of this. He’s the best person I know.” And he was. The man shined so bright that he often left you blind. It was impossible to fall more in love with him than you already were, that you were certain of. 

After a few more glasses of whiskey, you and Elvis found yourselves sitting on a tabletop in the nearly empty bar, listening to Sister Rosetta Tharpe. B.B strummed on his guitar, and everyone else just stood and stared on, chiming in with quick calls of affirmation. Her voice was otherworldly. It was the kind of voice that you never forgot- that you only really got to experience once in a lifetime. Elvis seemed to think the same way, his grin ear splitting as he watched her, joining in to sing every once and a while, both of their angelic voices harmonizing beautifully. After a few hours of careless bliss, the boisterous owner of the club helped the two of you out onto the balcony. Elvis was quick to comment on how good it must feel for the owner to be able to do whatever he wanted. B.B was quick to turn the thoughtless comment into a good segway into the important conversation. “You should start your own label like me. If you don’t do the business, the business will do you.” Elvis leaned his elbows against the iron railing, popping a peanut or two into his mouth. His jaw flexed as he chewed, looking out at the now desolate streets. “I leave all that to the Colonel.” He said simply. You didn’t like his answer any more than B.B seemed to. The man sat down on the windowsill, looking down at his shoes for a moment before continuing. “So it’s. . . um. . . it’s his idea? The new Elvis.” Elvis simply nodded, a few strands of his dark hair falling into his face. You stayed silent, watching the two closely. 

“Listen, I don’t get it man. Cats buy your records because they like what you do. Not because you’re dressed up like some,” He shrugged, tossing the man an apologetic look before finishing. “Some butler.” You could see the realization in Elvis’s eyes. He had come to a crossroads in his career, and whatever path he chose would determine his destiny. Either he could follow his heart, or allow the change to happen so that he could monetize off of it. He could listen to the Colonel and continue singing to cats and dogs on family-friendly television shows, or he could stay true to himself. The choice was his to make, and despite how the heavy situation seemed to weigh him down like a ton of bricks, there really was no hesitation. He knew what he would choose all along. 

Himself. His family. And you. 

And in order to stay true to all of those things that made him Elvis Aaron Presley, he’d have to follow his heart and not his wallet. He was born in a tiny house, no bigger than a shoebox. He had moved from Tupelo, straight into budget friendly housing on the “not so good” side of town. He was used to people turning their noses up at him, so it wasn’t the fact that some people disliked him that had him all shook up- it was the fact that people wanted him to change. 

Unbeknownst to him or you, in a car just below the rickety balcony, two men were sticking their camera right where it doesn’t belong. The Colonel and the folks up in New York would soon find out about that night's rendezvous- and they wouldn’t be too pleased about it. 

Elvis had his eyes locked on the road, his hands fidgeting nervously as he played with your fingers. It was a nervous tick of his. He rubbed his thumb against your engagement ring, rolling the pads of your fingers in between his. He enjoyed marveling at the size difference between the two of you. Ever since the two of you had made things official, he went out of his way to touch you. Whether it was just a soft brush of his hand or lips, he liked to be near you at all times. The years that he couldn’t touch you intimately but wanted to were long. Loving you never lost its novelty. If anything, he had learned that your touch calmed him. He needed that right now more than ever. You stared up at him anxiously, watching his pulse pound away in his throat. His blue eyes looked glassy, his skin looked too pale to be healthy, and his tie looked like he had fastened it blindfolded. He was panicking, and it was clear to see. Vernon continued to drive in the direction of the venue without a care, Gladys talking to him loudly about everything and nothing, all at the same time. She was famous for doing that. The woman could talk the pants off of just about anybody. Elvis kept his voice low, finally turning to face you. His eyes searched yours wildly, his pupils dilating as he took you in. They always did that. 

“I don’t think you should leave the car.” He spoke in a rush. You didn’t say anything for a few moments, trying to process exactly what he had just told you. There hadn’t been a single time that you had missed one of his shows. 

Not. A. Single. One.

“What are you tryin’ to say to me?” You asked him, leaning in closer to him as he gripped at your hands. “The Colonel spoke to me a few hours ago. Let me know that people had taken pictures of us at Club Handy last night. If I don’t do as he says. . . this is gonna get real bad. They want to take me to jail.” Your jaw dropped. Jail?! For what? Singing? Hanging out with friends? Your heart began to pound loudly in your ears, and you were quick to pull your hands out of his, instead reaching out to grab at his shoulders. You didn’t want to alert his parents to your panic, but you felt like your lungs were about to collapse. You couldn’t be without him. Not to mention that it would probably ruin his career if they locked him up. Parents already felt iffy about letting their child idolize him because of his jerky movements and long hair. If he was carted off to jail, you weren’t sure who would still listen to his music. He wasn’t a criminal, and you refused to let anyone treat him like one. You weren’t going to allow him to do this alone. You had been there through thick and thin with his musical career so far. Even when you two were strictly platonic friends, you made sure never to miss a single performance. You remembered your high school graduation like it was yesterday. Elvis had played the guitar as one of the talents, and once he was finished you had screamed so loudly that you had startled some of the families who had attended the celebration. He never felt alone. Not with you around. No matter how nervous he was, his eyes would find yours in the crowd. He called you his good luck charm. 

Hell, they could drag your ass to jail too, because one thing was certain- “I’m not letting you do this alone.” You watched as his jaw ticked, his blue eyes searching your face wildly as he tried to come up with some excuse. You knew that he was just trying to keep you safe, and he couldn’t do that while performing. Leading up to today, you two had long since decided that this was going to be the most important performance of his career so far. Today was going to be the day that he made a lasting decision. This would shape both his musical and personal image for as long as he lived. This moment was everything he had worked so hard towards. The choice that he was making wasn’t the popular one though. Both Vernon and the Colonel had been assured that he wouldn’t be doing anything that he shouldn’t be doing, which had been an obvious fib on Elvis’s part. He was willing to say anything to keep the both of them off of his back though. 

If staying true to himself was so wrong, then Elvis didn’t want to be right. He wasn’t about to let a bunch of city folks dictate what he could and couldn’t do, or how he could dress, walk, and talk. The men who were trying to boss him around were the same sort of people that had looked down at him for all of his life. His parents were dirt poor, he wore hand-me-down clothes, and his thick southern accent made him sound “uncivilized”, apparently. The anger was building up inside of him, and he was planning to let it all out on that stage. He was going to use it as fuel in order to make this the best performance of his life. “Where you go, I follow. Okay? A couple of police officers aren’t going to make me change my mind. We’re gonna do this just like we always do things; together.” He seemed to calm down as he listened to your words, giving your hand a small squeeze. “Things might get out of hand. If it does, I want you to grab mama and take her to the car, okay?” You could definitely do that. You gave his lips a quick peck, and as you were about to pull away he wrapped his arms around your shoulders tightly, bringing you into his chest. He placed kiss after kiss onto the apples of your cheeks, causing you to let out a loud giggle. “You two aren’t foolin’ around back there, are ya?” Vernon grumbled, though you could tell he was simply teasing. Gladys was quick to give his arm a slap. “Let them be happy, would ya? My babies have been stressed out like crazy over the last few days.” 

The rest of the car ride felt better after that talk, the two of you were resigned to the fact that everything you two did, you would do it together. Elvis looked like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Perhaps he had thought that you might be mad at him for being willing to risk jail for all of this, but he should have known you better than that. If the white folks were mad at the two of you for hanging out with your good friends down on Beale Street solely because of the color of their skin, then you wanted him to sing louder than ever before. You wanted him to get on that stage and scream as loud as his lungs would allow him. Elvis helped you out of the car a few blocks away from the playing field, intertwining your fingers as he walked up to the waiting cop car. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you noticed the way that the officer was glaring at your fiance. The tall blue eyed boy at your side glared right back, looking more ferocious than you’d ever seen him before. He was big on respect. It was how he was raised. When people disrespected him, he didn’t stand for it. “She’s not riding with your parents, my boy?” You both turned towards the Colonel’s voice, your blood running cold as you noticed him hobbling towards the passenger side seat of the cop car. You were positive that he would have been taking his own vehicle into the venue. “We’re a package deal. You know that.” Elvis hugged you tighter into his side, and you allowed him to squeeze you a little harder than what was comfortable. “Right. . . of course. Well it’s time to show off the new and improved Elvis. You wouldn’t believe the amount of amazing feedback that you’ve already been getting.” You slid into the backseat, relaxing the best you could against the leather. Had the Colonel not been paying attention to the people that were currently protesting outside of the gates of Graceland? You’d caught wind of the fact that fans had sent hundreds of letters to RCA records, begging them to do something about his new image. 

The cop slammed the driver side door before starting up the vehicle, moving back onto the road so that he could begin to drive through the opening in the fence. The amount of fans that were piled outside of the arena was startling to say the least. Hundreds upon hundreds of screaming boys and girls, and the second that they saw the cop car, rather than making room for the vehicle to drive past, they all began to swarm it. People began pressing their faces against the glass to get a good look at him, pounding their hands against the glass in order to get his attention. Elvis’ lips twitched up into a halfhearted smile as he lifted his hand, giving a quick wave with his index, ring finger, and thumb. He was already in his own head, you could tell. He was worrying about the aftermath of his decision, not the decision itself. The further into the venue the car drove, the more of the field the both of you could see. It wasn’t just cops that he had to worry about, but the navy as well. They stood with their backs to the stage, their arms clasped at their hips as they all stood side by side, creating a defensive wall. Elvis was positive of what he was going to do. He had been sure of the direction he was going to take the second that B.B had put it into layman's terms for him.  “Listen boy,” The cop turned around to face the two of you, his eyes raking over your form for a split second before he turned his small, beady eyes on Elvis. “If you so much as wiggle your pinky, I’ve been instructed to take your ass straight to jail. Do you hear me?” The man at your side bristled at the clear challenge, and started to open his mouth to say something back- something snarky, no doubt. The Colonel spoke up in his stead, laughing jovially. “Of course! Of course our boy won’t be doing any of that wiggling. Rest assured, Elvis is well aware of the risks.” And he was. He just didn’t care. 

If you actually liked The Colonel, you might have felt bad for him. He had no idea what was about to happen. Granted, nobody could have anticipated how wild things were going to become. Never in their wildest dreams could anybody come up with the pure hellscape of the night.

The cop impatiently laid his hand on the horn, a few of the fans slowly removing themselves from the hood of the car so that he could ease his way through the crowd. You stared with wide eyes out the window as females continued to press their faces against the glass, staring at you both as though they were wild animals. You couldn’t blame them for loving him. You would never blame them for feeling so strongly about him. “That poor girl is about to have a heart attack. Wave at her, baby.” You nodded your head to the back window of the car, a girl that was no older than sixteen pressing her hands against the glass, her screams muffled by the loud sound of the car's motor. Elvis turned his head to face her, shooting her a small smile and a wave. She immediately burst into tears. “This is it. No turnin’ back.” Elvis whispered to you, leaning in to press a kiss against your cheek. “Don’t take your eyes off me, okay? Not even for a second.” He ordered you, his eyes dancing over your features. He had told you at least twenty times how good you looked tonight. You were as beautiful as a little china doll- those were his words, not yours. Soft, delicate and oh-so beautiful. “I wouldn’t dream of it. My eyes will be stuck to ya like glue.” He flashed you a smile, opening the car door so that he could quickly slip out and jog towards the stage. Scotty and Bill were already grabbing their instruments out of their own car, gearing up for the concert. They wrapped their arms around Elvis, excitedly giving his back a few pats as he began to help them. From where you sat, you could tell that they were whispering to one another, no doubt talking about what the plan for tonight was. Elvis had already called Scotty up last night before bed, letting them know that things were going to get rowdy, and it was up to them if they still wanted to play with him under those circumstances. The boys had been largely against the so-called “new elvis” anyway. They were just as hyped up as he was to excite the crowd, as well as anger those that were against them and the way that they chose to play their own music. 

The Colonel opened up his door to get out, but turned to face you before he did. You hated being alone with the man. It wasn’t like you were afraid that he was going to do anything inappropriate, but there was something severely off about him. You didn’t trust him as far as you could throw him, and given his weight and size. . . you wouldn’t even be able to pick the man up an inch off of the ground. “Everything is going to plan, right? My boy isn’t up to something, is he?” Your smile widened, sugar sweet and oh-so fake. “Everythin’ will go exactly to plan. My boy isn’t up to anythin’ at all.” And without saying another word you climbed out of the door that Elvis had left open for you, making your way over towards his parents. 

After talking with Gladys for a couple of minutes, you saw a few police officers open up the gates, fans pouring in to secure their spots in front of the stage. You were quick to excuse yourself from her side in order to find your own spot, right smack dab in the middle- right where Elvis would be. Girls started to push their way next to you, boxing you in on either side. You were used to the constant questioning. Girls had always been nosy about your relationship with the handsome singer, even before he had reached stardom. You had learned how to handle them years ago, calmly shaking people’s clammy hands and making nice. “We’ve known each other since we were kids, so him being so popular was quite the shock. He deserves it all though.” The original question hadn’t been very kind, but you knew that the girl didn’t mean anything by it. “You’re the luckiest girl in the world to have Elvis’ attention.” People could talk all they wanted- and they would. There was nothing you could do or say that would keep people from gossiping. The thing that you hated the most was when people tried to make it seem like you were one of those gold diggers. You wanted it to be clear that you had loved Elvis far before he had made a name for himself. Another girl reached her hand out for you to shake, and you had to stand up on your tiptoes to reach her. She turned your hand over in her grasp, your engagement ring shining in the light. A few girls, even in rows behind you, gasped loudly. “Y-You’re married?” You could feel people starting to get antsy, a few fans pressing into your back to get a better look. The Colonel had been against the two of you going public about your relationship, and it was because he wanted girls to think that they stood a chance with him. Elvis refused to keep you hidden, and thankfully it hadn’t dampered his popularity any. Your eyes widened a bit in panic as you realized that you probably shouldn’t have worn the ring tonight. Elvis hadn’t spoken to any newspapers or radio station about the engagement yet. Only close friends and family had been told. Sure, there had been rumors that the two of you were either already married or engaged to be, but up until two months ago, that was all they were: rumors. 

He had planned to go public about it during his next press conference, and had already planned out exactly what he would to properly express his excitement. You had made a big mistake. No one could blame you for forgetting to take off the ring. You wore it everywhere, even to bed and in the shower. You hadn’t taken it off of your finger, not even once since he had proposed. The two of you hadn’t been to an event this big in a while though, and you were used to sitting on the sidelines where people could barely see you. “It’s just a promise ring.” You excused, snatching your hand back so that you could tuck it up against your chest. “Well that’s quite the promise ring.” One girl rudely snorted behind you, a few other girls chiming in. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, your lips twitching up into a smile. “Elvis doesn’t do anything halfway.” You said simply, turning your eyes back onto the stage as the announcer walked up to the mic. Girls were quick to drop the subject, overcome with excitement as they waited for your beloved to walk up on stage. The crowd erupted in screams as he began to thank Elvis and the boys for their presence, drowning out the announcer's voice. 

Women pushed at your back, their hands reaching up and over your head as your familiar man walked up to the microphone, his guitar at his side. You couldn’t help but think he looked like a gladiator, set up to fight for the Roman’s pleasure. The guitar at his side might as well have been a sword, and his powerful voice his shield. You let your eyes flicker to the side of the stage, a few cops watching him intently with their arms crossed. The Colonel was trying his best to make small talk with them, kissing ass- which was what he was best at. Your nose wrinkled in disgust before you finally looked back up at your fiance. He was staring down at you, his lips already turned up into a smile. He gave you a small nod, which was his way of wordlessly saying ‘I’m okay. I’ve got this. Let me lead you, and I won’t let you down.’ You believed in him. His family believed in him. And his fans believed in him. It was almost like all the air had been sucked out of that confined space. Everybody held their breath as they waited for him to speak. “There’s been a lotta talk ‘bout the new Elvis,” The crowd was all quick to boo, screaming their frustrations. You took the time to turn your head, looking at everyone’s worried expressions. They didn’t want him to change. They wanted him to be himself. That was who they all loved, afterall. He grabbed the mic with both hands, his eyes sweeping along the crowd. “And of course that other guy. . . “ He muttered, and slowly he raised his hand. Your heart leaped up into your throat, and you couldn’t help but scream right along with the other girls as he began to tease the cops and the Colonel, singing “Hound Dog” into the mic that he had pressed against his plush lips. 

You watched on with wide eyes as he wiggled his pinky finger, his ring glittering in the harsh stage lights. “If you so much as wiggle your pinky finger-” No one else knew the context, but they could feel it. They could feel the rebellion. They could feel the bravery. They could feel Elvis’ heart. It was overwhelming. So much so that you found it nearly impossible to take in a breath. When he was up on the stage it didn’t feel like you were just looking at a man; you were looking at a God. No matter how many times you had heard him sing, most of the time it was just for you in the privacy of your home, it still swayed you. His voice moved you. Seeing him like this reminded you as to why you adored him so much. Everything about Elvis was otherworldly, he just didn’t realize it. He liked to ask the question “why” a lot. Why him? Why did God choose him to lead an entire generation? Why did folks like him so much? You knew the answer. It was because Elvis wasn’t just good, but great. He had a beautiful heart, a powerful soul, and a voice that made even the singing seraphs envious. The responsibility was all a heavy burden to bear, but God had blessed him with broad shoulders as well. Elvis could carry the weight. 

He felt the same way about you. He watched the way your eyes brimmed with tears of pride, your small hands clasped tightly against your chest. His engagement ring was on clear display, letting everyone know just who you belonged to. Seeing the adoration in your eyes every time he performed reminded Elvis that you were made just for him, and he for you. He laughed into the microphone before gripping it tightly in his hand, his smile faltering. “There’s a lotta people sayin’ a lotta things. Course you gotta listen to the people that you love,” He motioned towards you before turning his head, his eyes searching for his parents. Then he quickly looked over his shoulder at the Colonel, giving him a curt nod. “But in the end you gotta listen to yourself.” The crowd erupted once again, realizing exactly where he was going with his speech. They wouldn’t have to mourn the loss of the Elvis that they knew and loved, because he wouldn’t be going anywhere in the first place. “So I want you to know that those New York people ain’t gonna change me none!” You screamed right along with the crowd, the pride that bubbled up in your chest was so heavy that you felt like it might just crush you. He removed the guitar with one hand, placing it up on the piano. “I’m gonna show you what the real Elvis is like tonight!” 

In the blink of an eye he was in position, the boys playing the beginning notes of his song “Trouble”. A laugh of disbelief bubbled past your lips, and you were quick to press your chest up against the stage, ignoring the cops that tried to push you back. Elvis motioned them away from you with a flick of his wrist as he sang, and so they stepped back begrudgingly. Girls slipped right past the police and military officers right along with you, one girl even going as far as to lift her torso up on stage, trying desperately to grasp onto his legs, his foot- anything she could touch. His bright blue eyes swept along the crowd, searching for the disapproving faces of anyone in power as he sang the words of the song. “I don’t take no orders from no kinda man.” You laughed again, raising your hand up to your mouth so that you could call out to him. “Tell em’, baby!” And then it happened. It was as though some unseen force had cut him loose. His knees started moving, and his hips swayed right along with them. Girls and guys began hollering as loud as they could, and it nearly drowned out his voice over the big speakers. He rolled up onto the tips of his shoes, his back arching, the mic pressed up against his lips. It was electric. Everything about this moment was energetically charged. You could feel it rolling off of him in waves. He got down on his knees in front of you, leaning back, moving his hips towards you. Girls reached out, touching his knees and thighs. You didn’t bat their hands off like most women would have, rather you reached your own hand out, taking his tie in your hand and giving it a quick tug. He smiled against the mic, leaning in as he grabbed your cheeks in his hand. You were used to his eyes finding you in a busy crowd, or even him getting low onto the stage so that he could dance just for you. There were no boundaries between you here though, and he took full advantage of that. Your lips parted as you stared up at him, and you watched his jaw clench as he tried to digest the look in your eyes. 

Sex. You were giving him those bedroom eyes that he loved so much. Your eyes got all glassy, your thick lashes hanging low. You could have fucked him right there on that stage. You were past the point of caring who watched. His fingers brushed against your lips, pressing into the skin as he watched your expression with a heated one of his own. His thumb dipped past your lips, brushing against the tip of your tongue. The energy that he was getting from the crowd was firing him up. It made him push the boundaries. He was quick to press a kiss against your lips before releasing his grip on you. He stood up, making his way back to the center of the stage. The mic stand dragging behind him as he moved. “Well I’m evil-” He dropped the mic from one hand, catching it in the other. He bent down as he sang, hunching his lanky form. “So don’t you mess around with me.” All hell broke loose then. Teens continued to push their way to the front of the stage. Now that the cops and officers had moved their attention to trying to reign in the rowdy white kids, there was no one there to keep the concert segregated. And as they should, everyone began to dance with one another, cheering Elvis on. A beautiful girl danced her way up close to you, and you recognized her from Club Handy- Dahlia was her name. The both of you reached out for one another, your lips upturned into smiles. “Y/N!” She called your name out, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she slid in next to you. And just as the two of you had done a few nights back, you danced like no one was watching. You allowed yourselves to be moved by the music. By Elvis’s music. 

Behind you police officers began pushing, shoving, and even beating the teenagers that acted too out of line. You hugged Dahlia closer to your side, pushing her in front of you in order to shield her with your own body. Elvis was moved by the music, putting his all into performing, but you could tell that he was keeping a close eye on you, ready to pounce the second anyone touched you or your friend. He got down on his knees once again, straddling the microphone stand as he screamed out the lyrics of the song. His eyes were wide and wild, his face dripping with sweat. “I’m evil!” Kids pushed, screamed, and shoved their way towards the front. You could hear screams further behind you, the sound of something hard connecting with tender skin. You flinched, but couldn’t pull your eyes off of Elvis. You couldn’t look away, even if you tried. “I’m evil!” His body shook as he sang as loudly as he could, pressing his elbows against the stage as he gripped the mic so hard, his knuckles were beginning to turn white. You watched with lust blown eyes as your fiance rolled onto his back, writhing on the ground like a madman. “I’m evil- I’m evil.” He army crawled his way to the side of the stage, throwing his legs over the side. He walked out into the crowd. 

Hands pushed, pulled, and grabbed at him. He just opened his arms out wide allowing them to take what they wanted from him. “Those cats are gonna kill em’!” Dahlia screamed, pulling worriedly at your shoulders. You merely shook your head. “They won’t! I promise!” She laughed in disbelief at your nonchalance, shaking her head. You were used to behavior like this, just not to this magnitude. “The cops are getting closer to us. I-I gotta go. My parents are waitin’ up for me.” You turned your head to look at her, your eyes softening. “They can kiss my ass! L-Let me walk you outta here. I need to find his parents.” And so she snatched your hand up in hers, pulling you through the crowd. The two of you screamed as you watched a cop tackle a boy to the ground, skidding to a stop to watch with wide eyes. You both were quick to turn around and run in the opposite direction. “Call me when you get home!” You told her, letting her go so that she could run towards the side gate. Once you were sure that she was safe you let your eyes scan the crowd. The Colonel was already hobbling towards you, his eyes wide with fear, shock and anger. “Our friends at RCA are not going to like this.” He told you, gripping you by the arm so that he could pull you off in the direction where Elvis’s parents stood. You allowed him, your limbs feeling like jell-o after the stress and excitement of the night. 

You looked over your shoulder, back at the stage, watching him continue to scream into the mic. Now that he knew that you weren’t in the line of fire, he was able to fully give in to the performance. Cops were already making their way onto the stage, ready to drag him off. “W-Wait!” He shook the old man’s hand off of you, your jaw dropping in horror as you watched a cop yank Elvis up and off of the ground. “They’re gonna beat him!” You screamed. You could hear Gladys calling after you, but she stopped trying to get your attention when she noticed what was going on. You ran like your life depended on it, your heels sinking into the grass. You weren’t sure how you didn’t stumble- possibly the adrenaline- but you jumped up on the stage, not caring about wearing a dress. You could flash your underwear for the world to see- you didn’t care, so long as Elvis was okay. “Hey!” You screamed, quickly putting yourself between him and the cops. “Don’t you dare hurt him!” You spat out, pointing your finger at them.

The ebony haired boy wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his side, his eyes narrowed into slits.” Go to my mama. Now, baby. Go!” The cops weren’t afraid of beating you too if they had to. “I’ll be fine. The Colonel is gonna follow me, alright? I’ll see you back at Graceland.” Your lips parted in disbelief as you tossed a look over your shoulder at the cops. They were waiting to see if you were going to act up. One of them even had a baton in their hands, ready to jump into action if they needed to. “B-But Elvis-” He shook his head, gripping your arms harder. “Hey! “But” nothin’. If they touch you, I’m gonna go to jail for murder, ya hear? Go. To. My. Mama.” He pushed you gently off in the opposite direction, and as you turned around to face him one last time, you realized that he was right. About the fact that they would have jumped at the chance to hurt either one of you, but also the fact that he was ready to jump into action. The second that he saw you jump up onto that stage, he had readied himself. You hadn’t noticed until the very last second, but he was gripping a shard of glass from one of the broken lightbulbs from the stage. He had scrambled to pick up the sharpest thing he could find at a moment's notice. If somebody started to beat you, he was more than happy to slice their heads off. He loosened his hold on the sharp piece of glass the second you began to walk off, letting it clatter to the wooden flooring. 

Before you could overthink your decision to leave him alone, you began climbing down the side of the stage, walking off in the direction of Gladys, who was watching you with teary eyes and open arms. 

“The army?” Your voice cracked as you watched Elvis close the bedroom door behind himself, leaning his back against it so that he could aggravatedly begin rubbing at his face. You hadn’t said much of anything downstairs while the Colonel spoke. His mother was upset, and you had taken the time to try and comfort her. You had the ability to process things a lot better than Gladys could, so you allowed Elvis to comfort her rather than you- but that didn’t mean that you weren’t afraid. That you weren’t hurting. “I don’t wanna leave home either. Trust me. . . this is all ‘bout to make me sick.” He didn’t seem to like the idea any more than you did. Because while he was possibly sacrificing his career by taking such a long break, you were also going to have to say goodbye to your parents. He had already told the Colonel that he refused to record any songs while he was active duty. That was the last thing that he told his manager before the man could waddle his way out of the mansion. You were surprised that Gladys hadn’t chewed his head off. She probably would have if Vernon wasn’t there to stop her and keep her in line.

You began pacing the large room, running your fingers through your hair as you tried to wrap your brain around it all. From what you could tell, Elvis’s sketchy manager had everything all figured out. He would go down to the Reception Office in Arkansas after enlisting, and then from there the family would ship off to Texas. You could always stay back in Memphis and move in with your parents for the time being, but you knew that you’d just be miserable without him. It wasn’t that you couldn’t live without Elvis, just that you didn’t want to. The longest the two of you had been separated for since high school was two weeks, let alone years. You were an adult now, meaning that you were going to make your own decisions without your parent’s approval. Now that you and Elvis were engaged, they had allowed you to move to Graceland in order to be with him. You were sure that you would get an earful after they found out about you suddenly up and leaving your entire life behind to be with him, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. “I’ll go with you.” The decision wasn’t really a hard one to make, but it was a tough pill to swallow. He blinked a few times, turning to face you with wide eyes. “D-Do you mean it? Baby, you know I wouldn’t ask you to leave everythin’ behind. My feelin’s won’t be upset if you don’t want to come to Texas with me. I’ll buy you plane tickets every week for you to come down and see me-” He was talking a mile a minute, obviously more panicked than you had initially thought. You were quick to cut him off, placing a kiss on his lips. His words became muffled before he stopped talking completely so that he could properly kiss you. He cupped your cheeks in his hands, pressing his forehead against yours as he pulled away. 

“We’re engaged now, so my parents really can’t be upset about me wantin’ to be with you.” He seemed to melt into you, nodding his head slowly. “I don’t think they’ll like me too much after this.” He tried to make a joke out of it, but his smile faltered in a way that made you realize that he was genuinely shaken up over the situation. Elvis’ main priority, his entire life, had always been his family. If your mother and father ended up disliking him? He’d want to die. Even when you two were just friends, he made sure to always be respectful and build a good rapport with them. Sure, it was partially because he was waiting for the day that you would finally get the hint and give him a chance, but it was also majorly because Elvis was a very good natured person.

 The first thing he had done when he got home tonight was take a long shower. He came out of his bedroom in a fresh outfit, his eyes harder than they had been when he first walked through the front doors. He hadn’t stopped to talk to you or his parents, rather he charged straight up the stairs wordlessly. Once Elvis had taken a seat next to you on the couch, the Colonel finally began speaking. Your fiance’s sour mood made a whole lot more sense once the large man started talking about his “options”, which only consisted of time spent in jail or the military. He must have mentioned it to Elvis while you and his parents were waiting up home for the both of them. He tried to argue that it would be good for his image, but you and his mother weren’t too convinced. He could be a “sweet American boy” without serving time in the army, but it was obvious that the local law enforcement weren’t happy about tonight's display. 

“I saw those girls talkin’ to you before the show. You alright?” He asked, tugging you over towards the bed. He sat down on the edge, and you were quick to move so that you were standing in between his legs. He kept his hands on your hips as you furrowed your brows to try and remember just what had been discussed prior to the show. You had tunnel vision- it was hard to remember anything before he had walked out onto that stage. Most of the night was a complete blur to you. “Uh. . .” You licked your lips, turning your gaze up to the ceiling. “She was asking me questions about us. Our relationship.” Elvis tilted his head in confusion, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “What do you mean? Was she askin’ intrusive questions or. . . ?” You shook your head. “No, nothin’ weird. Just wanted to know what it was like, I guess. I told her that we’ve known each other since high school, so I’m not used to all the attention.” He nodded his head slowly, moving his hands down from your hips to your thighs, giving the tender skin there a small squeeze. “Then they noticed the engagement ring and started to go all crazy on me.” He froze, quickly looking up at you. “Did they hurt ya? Threaten ya? Baby. . . I should have known. Are you okay?” He started his intense line of questioning, and you were quick to brush it off with a small chuckle. “I told them it was just a promise ring. I’m sure you’ll eventually let it slip and they’ll know the truth, but the girls already seemed a bit rabid. The last thing I wanted to do was get mauled to death.” He let out a quick laugh, looking down at your ring. “Well that’s quite the promise ring.” He teased, his blue eyes tenderly exploring your face. Your lips turned up into a wide smile. “Well wouldn’t ya know. . . that’s exactly what one of those girls said.” He leaned forward as he laughed, burying his face into your stomach. You loved that sound. His laughter was always contagious. 

With his dark hair freshly washed and free of pomade, you were able to run your fingers through his locks. He hummed in content at the feeling, nuzzling his face even further into your stomach. “I’ve never seen anythin’ like that before,” You spoke in a hushed voice, gently pulling his head back so that he would look at you. “I mean. . . You made history, baby. I don’t know why, but I just have this feeling that what you did tonight is goin’ to change a lotta people’s lives.” Because if you were a musician yourself, you would have felt empowered after that amazing display. Boys and girls were going to see the photos and live video footage and feel moved by what he had done. You weren’t sure who it affected, or what they were going to do with the fire that Elvis had lit, but you knew that he had made a difference tonight. The consequences of his actions weighed heavily on him though, and you could tell by the solemn look in his eyes that he was thinking things over. “Do you regret it?” You spoke softly to him, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he stared up at you from his spot on the bed. “No,” He sounded sure of himself, and you relaxed. “No, I don’t regret it one bit. I just know that I’m dragging you into all of this mess, along with my parents. I don’t want you to get sick of me.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to understand what he meant by that. You? Get sick of him? Never. “How could I ever get sick of you, Elvis? You know how much I love you.” He shook his head, giving the back of your thighs another squeeze. “I know that you love me, but you didn’t exactly know what you’d be signing up for. Five years down the line, when we’re married. . . what if you snap out of it? What if you realize you made a mistake with me, and this wasn’t the life that you wanted for yourself? I-I mean. . . you wanted to go to college, Y/n. You can’t do that if you’re constantly flyin’ place to place in order to be with me.” 

You had wanted to get an education, but it was so that you could properly provide for your family. You were tired of your parents working their fingers to the bone in order to put food on the table. “I wanted to go to school so that I could find a higher payin’ job. You’re doin’ more for my parents than I ever would have been able to. Baby. . . All I’ve ever wanted to do when I got older was to marry you. To be your wife. No matter how hectic things get, just know that I won’t regret a single second of it. Don’t think like that.” Elvis sucked in a small breath before nodding his head. “You’re mine now. No going back.” You smiled, giving his dark locks a soft tug. “No going back.” You moved so that you were sitting in his lap, wrapping an arm around his neck. You brought him incredibly close to you, chest to chest. The ebony haired man loved the sweet sense of innocence about you. No matter how wrong it was, Elvis found it wildly attractive that he had been the first and only man to ever touch you. He thought about it each and every time he was inside of you- claiming you over and over again. 

How he had gone from following after you like a lost puppy to fucking you ever night, he had no clue. It was a mystery to him. He had himself convinced that all the two of you would ever be to one another was just friends. But then you kissed him that first night, silencing his overactive mind. You had given yourself to him without even a shred of doubt. You were his. “Why were you lookin’ at me like that? Earlier I mean. . . at the show.” His voice was thick, his eyes half lidded as his hands moved up from your waist, playing with the buttons on the front of your dress. You knew that he wanted to hear you say it. Your face felt hot as you licked your lips, your heart hammering against your chest as you noticed he was watching your mouth intently. “Because I thought you looked attractive tonight.” He shook his head, giving your breast a harsh flick. You let out a surprised yelp, jumping up in sudden surprise. “It wasn’t that, lil’ girl. Tell the truth.” You weren’t sure why, but your body began to grow flushed at his bossy tone. “Because I was thinking about how badly I wanted to fuck you.” He loved it when your innocent mouth spewed such lewd things. He loved it when you cursed- dirty just for him. Only for him, always. “You fuck me? Since when, baby? The last time I checked, I was the only one doin’ the fuckin’.” You licked your lips again, and he was quick to dip his head forward, swiping his own tongue along yours. You jerked forward yet again in surprise, the movement against his lap earning you a small groan. He was hard already. Just hearing you say that was enough to drive him up a wall. 

“When you look at me like that. . . I want to be so mean to you. It’s hard to think about anythin’ else, really.” His hands moved away from the buttons, his fingers brushing over your breasts instead. The leftover adrenaline from the show was returning in full force, causing his hands to shake and his heart to pound. He felt like he might die if he wasn’t inside of you soon. He remembered how you looked earlier that night, your face standing out amongst the crowd. He found you the second that he had walked out, finding it nearly painful to look anywhere else but your face. “What do you mean by that?” His fingers moved to the zipper on the back of your dress, taking it in between his fingers so that he could start to pull it down. “It’s hard for me to put it into words. . . but I want to make you feel so good that it hurts.” There had been times in the past where he had fucked you so hard that you had cried- a writhing, sniffling little thing underneath him. You’d grip onto him for dear life, nails biting into his skin. He could tell that you had half the mind to tell him to stop, and yet you never did. No, no- you took whatever he gave you willingly. So small and eager to please. He was right there with you, going out of his way to try and push you over the edge. He loved watching you fall apart beneath him. Lips parted and gasping for air, your cheeks flushed and pupils blown out wide. 

He pressed his lips against your chin, moving his way down your throat and to your neck. You could feel the cool air hitting your back as he finally unzipped your dress all the way. Your nipples hardened at his attention, his hands gripping your breasts- squeezing them. “I want to have you in any way that I can. It drives me crazy- really, it does. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help but to feel like I want to own you,” His hands moved up to your shoulders, slipping the dress off of your chest. It pooled at your waist, covering both of your laps. Elvis didn’t usually speak to you like this. The two of you weren’t as shy as you were before about sex. There was a point in time where it felt taboo, what with it being so fresh and new for the both of you. He had never been so honest about his feelings before this though. You weren’t sure why, but hearing him talk to you in such a way was turning you on to the point where it was hard to process a full thought. Suddenly nothing mattered except fucking him. Everything else just fell away.Your hands shook as you gripped onto his shoulders, moving your hips against his slowly. 

He could have died right there. You wanted to be claimed just as much as he wanted to be the one to claim you. He smiled softly, his hand moving to the base of your neck so that he could move your head so that your forehead was pressed against his. His eyes moved down to both of your waists, watching you grind against him through the tulle of your skirt. “You like that, don’t you?” All you could do was nod. You couldn’t find your voice- couldn’t remember how to speak. The friction against your core felt good, but it left you needy. You could feel him through his pants, and it was a constant reminder of how close you were to having him inside of you. You didn’t feel the need for any foreplay. No- the entire night had been more than enough foreplay for you. The second that the man had gripped your face, his eyes boring into yours as though he wanted to devour you when he was up on that stage, you were a goner. Your hands moved to his plain white shirt, tugging at it with needy hands. “Use your big girl words.” He mumbled through his smile. Now that he had discovered how much of an effect his words had on you, he couldn’t stop talking. Speaking like this to you only turned him on more too. It was a double edged sword. He didn’t seem to be in as much of a hurry as you were. He was painfully erect, and yet he just kept staring at you, his lips slightly parted, blue eyes dripping with lust. He enjoyed watching you struggle. 

“Please,” You breathed out, giving his shirt another tug. He lifted his arms up, helping you remove his shirt. You dropped it to the ground, quickly moving your hands up his bare chest. Seeing the girls fawn all over him earlier made you want to touch him that much more. You wanted him to prove that he was all yours, just as much as he wanted to claim you. You needed him to remind you just who you belonged to. “‘Please’ what, sugar. Beg me for it.” Did he want to kill you? You let out a small squeak as he moved his hands down, gripping your hips painfully hard so that he could drag your core right along the length of him. Letting you feel every inch. “Please fuck me.” You liked being a brat and putting up a fight, but you couldn’t do that right now. Not tonight. He reveled in your obedience, his eyes flashing as he gripped your rear end in his hand with one arm, holding you against him as he stood up and off of the edge of the bed, moving onto his knees so that he could crawl further up. Once your head was against the pillows, he removed the rest of your dress from your waist, tossing it off of the bed. 

His weight feels good against you, so when he lifts back up onto his knees so that he can undo his pants, you can’t help but whine, your hips moving up on their own. You weren’t sure how to explain the need that was currently clawing at you. It was driving you crazy. Seeing him tonight- seeing him like that. . . it was almost as though something inside of you had snapped. The shy, meek part of you had died off completely. “Do you not want me to take my pants off?” He raised an eyebrow at you, letting out a soft laugh as you nodded your head quickly, watching with wide eyes as his fingers unfastened the button on his trousers. He slid the waistband down slowly off of his legs, biting his lip as he watched you. Your eyes were locked on his waist, waiting impatiently for him to free himself. The second that his member sprung free from his pants you were a panting mess, fingers gripping at the sheets beneath you. 

Judging by how hard he was, his tip an angry pink, precum dripping down his shaft and the fingers that gripped himself, you were sure that he was torturing himself by teasing you for so long. If you could remember how to speak, you were sure that you would praise him for the level of self restraint he was showing. His eagerness was not lost on you though. You could see the way his body was practically vibrating with pent up sexual aggression. His chest was heaving as he watched you with hungry eyes, giving you a second to drink him in. You parted your legs, lifting yourself up so that you could slip your panties off of your waist. You didn’t feel like waiting for him to do it. Now it was his turn to stare at you. You arched your back, slipping your hand down your body all the way to your core, using your fingers to part your folds for him- letting him get a good look. He was scrambling to get on top of you, grabbing your wrists in his so that he could put them above your head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He was speaking so fast that it was hard to even tell what he was saying. The words melded into each other, sounding more like a chant than anything. 

He gripped himself with one hand, his tip sliding against your pussy as he tried to find your tight entrance. He usually gave you time to adjust to his length, but he didn’t tonight. He wanted you to feel all of it. A part of him wanted it to hurt. He couldn’t explain why it turned him on when you let out small yelps, your hips moving away from his when he slammed a little too hard and quickly into you- but lord have mercy, it did. Your little cunt got overstimulated so easily. He adored pushing you to the point of tears. He was planning on doing that tonight. His grip tightened on your wrists as you jerked against his hold, letting out a loud gasp as he set a dangerous pace. Your warmth swallowed him up completely, hugging him all the way up to the hilt. Your hips moved against his though, your legs wrapping around his waist tightly for leverage as he continued to piston into you. The motion drove him even deeper into you, earning yourself a loud moan from him. You knew that his parents were downstairs in the huge mansion, and the possibility that they could hear you was slim to none, but you still bit your lip in the hopes to keep yourself as silent as possible. Elvis didn’t like that one bit. He let go of your wrists so that he could roughly grab your cheeks in one hand, your lips slightly puckering as you stared up at him with glassy eyes. “Let me hear it.” 

For good measure the man used his other hand to grab your waist, positioning you in a way that had him pressing against your cervix with every thrust. You moaned loudly, squeezing your eyes shut at the sensation. He’s everywhere. You could feel his hand dancing on every inch of your skin, owning you. The scent of his cologne is in your nose, his lips against your throat and lips- even his tongue is pressing into your mouth, dancing with your own. It’s hard to breathe, but oxygen doesn’t even feel as necessary as the man above you. He could steal all of the breath from your lungs, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Elvis was a vocal lover, unafraid to moan and make noises of pleasure of his own. When he isn’t pressing heated kisses against your mouth, his lips are brushing against your ear, praising you. “Fuck, you’re doin’ so good for me.” And you are. You’re taking it like a champ, gripping onto him the same way that he is gripping onto you. It’s almost as though you think that the other might disappear. He’s not just making love to you tonight- it’s a reminder. He’s yours, just as much as you’re his. His rough thrusts ground you, wordlessly telling you that you belong to him. All the while, his lips tenderly press against your own, letting you know that this is only for you. 

Your legs are beginning to shake, and all you can do is wrap them around his waist even tighter. “I can feel your thighs quivering.” He breathes against your mouth. He loves that he has this kind of effect on you. Your nails dig even deeper into his back, causing him to groan out, eyes rolling back for a split second. He has to reign himself in. He doesn’t want to cum too quickly. He slowly loosens his hold on you, not wanting to let you go for even a second. Your chest cheeks so warm and soft against his own, your hard nipples pressing against his skin- heavenly. He wants you to come undone though- wants to watch your expression as you cum with him still deep inside of you. His fingers move down to your clit, gathering up your slick so that he could begin to rub you. His palm is against your abdomen, and he can feel himself moving inside of you. He lets out another deep groan, his eyes pinning you down, narrowing as he watches you. He can tell that you’re close. He’d long since memorized all the little signs. Your walls were fluttering around him, your moans growing higher in pitch. You looked desperate- felt desperate as you clung to him. 

“That’s it, baby. Just like that.” You shook your head, tearing up because it just felt too good. It was too much. It was overwhelming. He was everywhere and everything. “Yes, yes. You’re doin’ so good for me. Such a pretty baby.” He pressed a kiss against your parted lips, watching as you sucked in deep breaths. A certain need ripped through him, shocking him to the point that he lost his rhythm. You noticed him slow down a bit, opening your eyes to watch him curiously. You were wanting to see if he was close- but all you could see were his blown out eyes and kiss swollen lips. He looked like he wanted to say something, but was deciding whether or not he should. He kept one hand on your clit, massaging you into a damn near frenzy, the other one moving up to grip at your hair. He gave it a small tug, letting out an animalistic moan as your walls reflexively tightened around him at the sudden jolt of pain. “Let me put a baby in you. Please-” It was his turn to beg. He couldn’t silence his overactive brain. Couldn’t keep his mouth closed. He had always wanted children, but the idea of trying for one made him nearly burst at the seams. He had cum inside of you a handful of times, but you had always taken a morning after pill. He needed it- he needed to fuck a baby into you. 

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t find the image of you swollen with his child insanely attractive. You were too far gone to really understand what he was asking you, and perhaps he was as well. He wouldn’t regret it later though. Love drunk words speak sober thoughts, after all. It was his begging that sent you over the edge, that and the desperate way he rubbed at your clit, his thrusts still pressing against that special spot inside of you that he knew you loved so much. You weren’t sure why, but as you gripped onto him, you begged for him right back. Because you wanted it. You wanted for him to fill you up. You wanted everything that he had. Everything that he was. That was the confirmation that he needed. Elvis’s heart pounds loudly in his ears as he gives a few final thrusts, fucking you through your own orgasms. Your clamped around him so tightly, milking him through his own. He falls forward, pressing his hips into yours so that he can muffle his moans against your skin. His arms wrap tightly around you, and you can feel him twitch inside of you as he cums. Your head is swimming as you gulp in deep breath after deep breath, listening to his groaning, his fingers digging into your delicate skin. He stays inside of you for a minute or two, even after he’s finished. Every few seconds he’d lazily thrust forward, pushing his cum as deeply into you as he can manage. He presses warm kisses against your sweaty neck, nuzzling against your skin. He loves the way you smell- warm and sweet. It calms his pounding heart.

“I love you.” He mumbles, finally pulling out of you after what feels like hours. You feel light headed as you stare up at him, squinting against the harsh light from the bedside lamp. He leans over, clicking it off for the both of you before falling back against the mattress. 

He’s the first to mention what was said just a few minutes ago, turning to face you. You can barely make out his features in the darkness, but you can still tell how worried he is. Elvis had always mentioned children in passing to you, even when the two of you were friends. He’d see a little boy walking with his parents and his eyes would light up. He’d see a pair of baby shoes in the store and pick them up just to stare at them for a few seconds. You had known, even in the beginning, that he wanted a family of his own.“If you don’t want to, I completely understand. I know we haven’t exactly fully planned the weddin’ out yet, and if children aren’t on the table for you-” “I want a baby.” You spoke quickly, cutting him off. “Yeah?” His lips twitch up into a smile, his arms wrapping around your waist so that he can bring you closer to himself. “Yeah.”