#elvisbdoll

A father’s arms hold pure delight.

Lisa’s smile, so sweet, so bright,

A beacon of joy, a child’s birthright.

Dressed in polka dots, soft and blue,

Her laughter shines, tender and true.

Elvis cradles her, proud and warm,

A love that weathers every storm.

In her eyes, the spark of dreams,

A future bright, with boundless gleams.

Father and daughter, a timeless bond,

A snapshot of love that lingers on.”

Thinking of this beautiful souls today, I can’t believe it’s already 2 years since her passing, but I know that she’s happy now.. with her dad and her son

—“Tea party”—

Summery: It was a quiet afternoon in 1969, the kind of day where the world seemed to slow down just enough to breathe. Elvis, fresh off his comeback and riding high on success, found himself at home in Graceland, far from the flashing lights and roaring crowds. But today wasn’t about music or fame—it was about her. She’d been in her little space all morning, her soft voice and shy smiles tugging at his heart. When she asked him to join her for a tea party, complete with plushies and a handmade crown, Elvis couldn’t say no. After all, even a king deserves a day off to play.

Tw: age regression, nothing more really, FLUFF PURE FLUFF.

Words: 800

Ship: Elvis x black!oc, caregiver!elvis x little!reader

A/N: had been thinking about this a while now, please make sure to comment and tell me if you see any mistake or any warning that should be added. Thank you and enjoy your lecture!

The sun poured in golden through the windows of Graceland, casting a warm glow over the den where Elvis Presley lounged. It was 1969, and he was finally back in the spotlight, rejuvenated by his comeback special and the thrill of recording in Memphis. But today? Today wasn’t about the stage. It was about her.

“E-Elvis?” Your soft voice carried from the other room, tentative but hopeful.

He turned, his blue eyes lighting up at the sound of you. “What’s on your mind, darlin’?”

You peeked around the doorway, clutching your favorite stuffed bunny. The sight of you made his heart melt. You’d been in your little space all day, and he could see it in the way you shuffled, one sock falling down, hair slightly tousled. It was one of those moments where the world was too big, and you needed to retreat to a place that felt safe. With him, you always could.

“I wanna have a tea party,” you murmured, eyes darting away shyly.

Elvis grinned, setting aside the newspaper he’d been half-reading. “A tea party, huh? Well, I reckon I’ve got time for somethin’ like that. Where we settin’ up?”

Your face brightened instantly, and you grabbed his hand, leading him to the living room where a little blanket had been spread out. A collection of plushies—bears, bunnies, and even a lion—were carefully arranged in a semi-circle. At the center sat a tiny tea set, the kind with painted flowers that always made you smile.

“You’re the king,” you announced with a serious expression, handing him a paper crown you’d made earlier.

He chuckled, kneeling down on the blanket despite his usual sharp suit. “Well, darlin’, I’ve been called the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, but this here’s a new kinda royal honor.” He placed the crown on his head, tilting it slightly. “How do I look?”

“Perfect,” you giggled, sitting down beside him and picking up your stuffed bunny. “And I’m the princess. This is Bunny, and that’s Sir Teddy.” You pointed at the bear, then the lion. “Oh, and that’s Sir Roar-a-Lot.”

Elvis nodded solemnly, playing along. “Pleasure to meet y’all. Now, what’s a king gotta do to get a cup of tea ‘round here?”

You giggled again, carefully pouring pretend tea into a tiny cup and handing it to him. He took it with all the seriousness in the world, pinky finger out, and made an exaggerated slurping sound.

“Mm, now that’s the finest tea I’ve ever had,” he said, his Southern drawl making the words even sweeter. “You make this yourself, Princess?.

You nodded proudly. “With Bunny’s help.”

“Well, Bunny’s got a talent for tea, I’ll tell ya that.” He leaned forward, gently booping the bunny’s nose, which made you laugh so hard you almost spilled your next pour.

The two of you played for what felt like hours. Elvis complimented Sir Teddy’s bravery and asked Sir Roar-a-Lot about his adventures in the jungle. You pretended to bake cookies, offering one to Elvis, who mimed taking a bite and declared it “better than Mama’s cookin’,” which earned him a mock glare.

Finally, you stood up, hands on your hips. “Now, we have to dance!”

“Dance?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Well, now you’re speakin’ my language.”

You reached out your hands, and he took them, pulling you close. He twirled you gently around the blanket, humming a soft tune under his breath—something sweet and slow, like Can’t Help Falling in Love. You giggled as he spun you dramatically, your plushies cheering you on from their spots.

When the song ended, you both collapsed onto the blanket, laughing and out of breath. Elvis leaned on one elbow, looking down at you with the kind of affection that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling. “You’re the best king ever.”

“And you’re the sweetest princess I ever met,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting the room in shades of pink and orange, you rested your head on his shoulder, clutching Bunny tightly. Elvis wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

In that little space, surrounded by plushies and the remnants of a tea party, the world felt small and safe. And with Elvis by your side, you knew you’d always have a home in his heart.

First of all: hello! You can call me Novalie!, I’m from Dominican Republic and I’m 19 yrs old! So if any of you wants to make friends, feel free to text me! SHIFTING BLOG: @shiftwithnovalie

Interests: Elvis (of course) books, reading, spirituality, mythology, science, music (learning how to play the guitar), shifter and much more !!

Links!: Masterlist , requests rules and book reviews masterlist! Please don’t be shy and request some! Make sure to read my request rules thank you!

sadness, angst. fluff, cute, sfw. smuttttt, nsfw, normal? I guess, little space

𝗕𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗠𝗼𝗼𝗻 : 50!elvis x Black!OC

Emotions : 1968s!ElvisXAngela!Black!OC

One last dance: 1977s!ElvisXBlack!OC

Sharp Shooter: 70s!Elvis x Woman!OC

Honey, Honey: 70s!ElvisXBlack!OC

A night in Tupelo: 1950s!ElvisXBlack!OC

Ebb and flow: 70s!ElvisXBlack!OC

Wrapping gifts : 70!ElvisXBlack!OC

Happy birthday, Daddy! : 1977s!ElvisXBlack!OC

Be mine, always: 1977s!elvisxblack!reader

Sweet Little Love: 18yr!Elvisxblack!young!reader

tea party: 69s!ElvisXBlack!OC

REQUESTS

The One in the Polka-Dot Dress (50s!elvis)

Bridge Over Troubled Water (60s!Elvis)

Series:

Velvet chains Elvis Presley wasn’t just a man; he was a force—magnetic, unpredictable, and dangerous. Camille felt it the moment his piercing blue eyes landed on her, burning through the smoky room like a warning. His charm was intoxicating, but beneath it lay something darker: jealousy, obsession, and a temper fueled by the pills that kept him going. She knew she should walk away, but Elvis wasn’t the kind of man who let go of what he wanted. And he wanted her.

Finished

The Mystery in Memphis: 50s!elvis Elvis stumbles upon a hidden journal in a pawn shop. The journal contains cryptic entries from someone warning about an event that could change history. As he deciphers the clues, Elvis becomes embroiled in a web of secrets, danger, and a conspiracy threatening the people he loves.

Ultraviolence 70s Elvis

COMING SOON!

From Memphis to the Caribbean: In 1975, Elvis Presley meets Lena Rosario, a strong-willed Dominican woman, during his world tour. As they connect over music and their differences, an unexpected romance begins to blossom in the heart of Santo Domingo.

Chapter 3

Summary: Velvet Chains follows the intense and dangerous relationship between Camille, a confident and independent woman, and Elvis Presley, a charismatic yet troubled star of the 70s. When Camille enters Elvis’s world, she quickly becomes the object of his obsession. Despite his fame and charm, Elvis’s personality is darkened by mood swings and jealousy, fueled by his reliance on pills. As the two grow closer, Camille finds herself caught in the grip of his possessiveness, torn between her desire for freedom and the undeniable pull of Elvis’s passion.

Pairing: 70s!ElvisXBlack!Oc

Trigger Warnings Substance Abuse (pills, drugs), Jealousy/Obsessiveness, Emotional Abuse, Manipulative Behavior, Possessiveness, Mood Swings/Anger Issues, Toxic Relationships, Psychological Abuse, Dangerous Obsession, cursing, Elvis being an asshole sometimes, gun.

Monday, July 14, 1975

The upstairs bedroom at Graceland was dimly lit, a single lamp casting long shadows against the walls. Cigarette smoke curled in the air, thick and stagnant, mixing with the low hum of the TV playing in the background. The volume was down, just the glow of the screen flickering across Elvis’s face as he sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers tapping against his temple.

He barely blinked.

The girl—Camille—wasn’t just in his mind anymore. She was under his skin.

Elvis had spent the whole damn day thinking about her, churning over the fact that she had ignored him like he was just another man on the street. That wasn’t how things worked. Women didn’t walk past him like he was invisible. They stared, they giggled, they blushed. But Camille? She hadn’t even looked twice.

That did something to him. Something dark.

“E,” Joe Esposito’s voice broke through his thoughts, drawing him back to the room.

Elvis looked up, his eyes sharp and unreadable. The Memphis Mafia stood around, lounging in chairs or leaning against the furniture, waiting for orders. Red West sat near the doorway, arms crossed. Sonny West was on the couch, stretching out, his boots on the coffee table. Joe Esposito leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching Elvis closely. Lamar Fike, Marty Lacker, and Billy Smith were nearby, looking between each other, sensing the tension thickening in the room.

The mood was off. They all felt it.

“Elvis,” Joe started again, a little hesitant. “We found out a little more about her.”

Elvis straightened. “Yeah?” His voice was low, calm, but the way his jaw tightened told them how badly he wanted to know.

Joe glanced at Marty before continuing. “Her name’s Camille Hayes. Twenty-one. Born in Mississippi but grew up in Memphis. Works at some bookstore over on Main Street. Lives in a small apartment near Beale.”

Elvis let out a short breath, nodding, absorbing the information like it was the most important thing in the world.

“She got a man?” His voice was edged with something dangerous.

Joe shook his head. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

Elvis smirked a little. Good.

“She got family?”

“Just a grandma. Parents passed a while back. No siblings.”

Elvis stared at the floor, his fingers drumming against his knee, restless.

She was alone. No father, no brothers, no man. Nobody to stop him.

“She ain’t just some girl, E,” Red spoke up, his voice firm. “She’s a regular girl, not in this world. She don’t know you, don’t care to know you.”

Elvis lifted his head slowly, his expression blank, unreadable. But his eyes? Cold.

Red was pushing, and they all knew pushing Elvis never ended well.

“She will,” Elvis said, voice smooth, almost amused. “She will, Red.”

Sonny sat forward, sighing. “What’s the plan, boss?”

Elvis smirked, leaning back. “I wanna know more. Everything. What time she gets up, what she eats, who she talks to. I want to know when she’s alone.”

There was a pause. Nobody moved.

“Elvis…” Marty spoke carefully. “Ain’t this a little much?”

Elvis’s expression flickered, and for a second, his mood shifted violently.

His smirk disappeared. His nostrils flared. His hands clenched into fists.

“Did I ask for your damn opinion?”

The room tensed.

Marty shook his head quickly. “No, man. Just—”

Elvis cut him off with a sharp look.

“Then do what I said.” His voice was low and lethal.

Silence.

Joe exhaled through his nose and nodded. “Alright. We’ll keep an eye on her.”

Elvis’s mood flipped again, as fast as a light switch. He smiled like nothing had happened, reaching for a cigarette.

“Good,” he said smoothly, lighting up. He took a long drag, exhaling slow. “She don’t know it yet, but she’s mine.”

The men exchanged glances, but no one said a word.

The tension in the room sat thick and unmoving, the only sound was the soft crackle of Elvis’s cigarette as he took another slow drag. His mood had shifted back to something smooth, something easy, like the storm that had just flashed in his eyes had never been there at all.

But they all knew better.

“Tomorrow,” he said, exhaling smoke. “I wanna know everything. Where she goes. What time she leaves work. If she talks to any men.”

Joe and Sonny exchanged a look, silently agreeing not to push back. When Elvis got like this, there was no reasoning with him.

Elvis leaned forward suddenly, his eyes flickering with something sharp. “And I mean everything. If she so much as stops to tie her goddamn shoe, I wanna hear about it.”

The weight of his words settled in the air.

Red cleared his throat. “You want us to talk to her?”

Elvis paused, rolling his cigarette between his fingers.

“No,” he finally said, his voice soft but firm. “She ain’t ready for that yet.”

Yet.

That word sent a shiver through the men.

Elvis flicked ash into the tray beside him, stretching his legs. His mood had settled into something dangerously calm. “Go on, get outta here,” he muttered, waving them off.

One by one, they left, but Joe lingered.

“Elvis…” he started carefully, hands on his hips. “You sure about all this, man?”

Elvis’s eyes snapped to him. Dark. Unreadable.

Joe didn’t flinch, but he knew that look. It was the same look Elvis got when he had an idea stuck in his head, something twisted up deep inside him.

“She ain’t like the other girls,” Elvis muttered. His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “She don’t see me.” His lip curled slightly. “And I don’t like that.”

Joe sighed. “Maybe she just don’t care.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Elvis moved so fast, Joe barely had time to react. Before he could take a breath, Elvis had reached into the nightstand, pulling out one of his pistols.

In one fluid motion, he cocked the gun and aimed it right at Joe’s chest.

The air went dead.

Joe’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t move. This wasn’t the first time.

Elvis’s hand was steady, his breathing even. His eyes burned with something wild, something untouchable.

“Say that again.”

Joe held his gaze, his pulse slow and measured. He knew Elvis wouldn’t shoot—but he also knew that in this state, Elvis wanted him to believe he would.

After a long silence, Elvis smirked. He lowered the gun, tossing it onto the bed beside him like it was nothing.

Joe exhaled through his nose.

Elvis just chuckled. “She cares. She just don’t know it yet.”

Joe didn’t argue. He just gave a slow nod.

“Alright, boss. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Elvis smiled, picking up his cigarette again. “Good man.”

Joe left, shaking his head.

And Elvis sat there in the dim room, thinking about Camille.

She’d be his.

One way or another.

Summary: Velvet Chains follows the intense and dangerous relationship between Camille, a confident and independent woman, and Elvis Presley, a charismatic yet troubled star of the 70s. When Camille enters Elvis’s world, she quickly becomes the object of his obsession. Despite his fame and charm, Elvis’s personality is darkened by mood swings and jealousy, fueled by his reliance on pills. As the two grow closer, Camille finds herself caught in the grip of his possessiveness, torn between her desire for freedom and the undeniable pull of Elvis’s passion.

Pairing: 70s!ElvisXBlack!Oc

Trigger Warnings Substance Abuse (pills, drugs), Jealousy/Obsessiveness, Emotional Abuse, Manipulative Behavior, Possessiveness, Mood Swings/Anger Issues, Toxic Relationships, Psychological Abuse, Dangerous Obsession

Prologue

The club was buzzing, bodies swaying under dim, hazy lights, but Elvis Presley wasn’t interested in the music tonight. He sat in the corner booth, shadows pooling around him, his dark blue shirt unbuttoned at the top. A cigarette burned lazily between his fingers, but it was forgotten. His attention was elsewhere.

Her.

He didn’t know her name yet, but he didn’t need to. The way she moved through the crowd, gliding with a quiet confidence that made heads turn, told him all he needed to know—she wasn’t just beautiful. She was dangerous.

Her skin glowed under the lights, a rich, deep shade that seemed to catch every flicker of gold in the room. Her hair was pulled back, leaving her neck exposed, and Elvis’s fingers twitched at the thought of running his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

But it wasn’t just her beauty that got to him—it was the way she looked right through people. Like she wasn’t impressed by the glitz, the glamour, the desperation in the room. And when her eyes landed on him, briefly but deliberately, his breath caught.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t blush. She just looked at him, held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary, and then turned back to her drink.

Elvis leaned forward, crushing the cigarette into the ashtray. His knee bounced under the table, and his jaw tightened.

“Who is she?” he muttered.

Charlie, sitting beside him, followed his gaze. “Don’t know. She ain’t from around here, that’s for sure. You want me to find out?”

Elvis didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on her again, watching as she leaned in to say something to the bartender. The man laughed, and Elvis’s grip on the edge of the table tightened.

He hated this feeling—this heat crawling under his skin, twisting in his gut. Jealousy. He wasn’t the jealous type, not usually. Women threw themselves at him all the time, and he never gave them a second thought.

But she was different.

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Charlie gave him a cautious look.

“Elvis, maybe you oughta cool down—”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, his voice low but sharp.

He wasn’t fine. And he wouldn’t be until he got her attention.

Across the room, Camille felt his eyes on her again. She’d noticed him the second she walked in—how could she not? He had a presence that filled the entire room, even when he wasn’t saying a word.

But there was something about the way he looked at her that made her skin prickle. Like he wanted her, but also like he wanted to own her. It wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with men like that, but it was the first time one of them was him.

“Elvis Presley,” the bartender whispered, following her gaze. “Man’s a legend. You know him?”

Camille lifted her glass, her lips curving into a small, private smile. “Not yet.”

——————————————

Elvis crossed the room with slow, deliberate strides, the low hum of conversation fading into the background. His eyes never left her, not even for a second. People moved aside instinctively, parting for him like he was some untouchable force.

Camille pretended not to notice. She sipped her drink, her expression calm, though her pulse quickened as he approached.

“Mind tellin’ me your name, darlin’?” His voice was low, a velvet drawl, but there was an edge to it—like a warning wrapped in charm.

She turned slowly, meeting his gaze head-on. “Camille,” she said simply, her voice steady.

He tilted his head, studying her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. “Camille,” he repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue. “Pretty name for a pretty woman. You here with someone?”

“No,” she replied, setting her glass down. “Just myself.”

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—relief, maybe, or satisfaction. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something darker.

“Well now,” he said, leaning closer, “you’ve got all these fellas here fightin’ for your attention, but you’re sittin’ here all alone?”

“I’m not interested in them.”

His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “That so?”

Before she could answer, one of the musicians who had been lingering nearby approached. “Hey, Camille, we were just talkin’ about—”

Elvis turned his head sharply, his smile vanishing. “She’s busy.”

The man froze, glancing between them. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I said she’s busy,” Elvis repeated, his tone cold. His eyes flashed, and for a moment, Camille thought the other man might argue. But then he backed off, muttering an apology before disappearing into the crowd.

Elvis turned back to her, his expression softening, though there was still a fire in his eyes. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said, his voice low. “Walk in here, lookin’ like that, makin’ a man forget how to breathe.”

Camille raised an eyebrow. “You’re laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

His smile widened, but there was no humor in it. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t like sharin’ what’s mine.”

“Yours?” she echoed, her tone sharp.

Elvis’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought she’d gone too far. But then he laughed softly, though it sounded more like a growl. “Not yet,” he said, his eyes dark and possessive. “But you will be.”

Camille held his gaze, refusing to back down. She didn’t know whether to be scared or intrigued by the intensity in his eyes. Either way, she knew one thing for sure: Elvis Presley was trouble.