#first multi chapter elvis fic lets go | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

star-shard · 2 years

Text

Different Kind of Love (Chapter 1)

Cult Leader!Elvis x Y/N

Premise: AU, what if Elvis chose alternative spirituality over Hollywood.

Y/N is new to California and still finding herself, you’d only every known Elvis Presley to be a rocker, you had no idea what he’d become after finding a whole new way of thinking.

Warning: mild religious themes

Note: 1,900+ k words, Takes place in the mid 1960s

Summer time in California. Your first time here but, you’d heard so much about the scene. Something special was going on. New music, new ideas, it was enough to get any young person to make a little pilgrimage. How could you stay away? Yes your family threw their worries. They said you’d turn into a useless druggie out there on your own. But you knew it was worth the hitchhiking that got you here.

The breeze, the sky, the beach, it all made sense why they called it paradise. You had plans to do some waitressing to pay rent to get you by but work wasn’t really on your mind. While you still had some cash in your pocket you found a couch half good enough to call home to tide you over.

You met beatniks, artists, every type of cat that hung around a club or two. But what made you feel most alive was a breeze in the dead of night that made everything go away.

“You haven’t heard of Elvis?” A voice suddenly brought you back to the present moment. Her hand had slapped the table in such a way that it was hard to ignore her. You shook yourself out of your passing thoughts. “Elvis. Come on now.” The woman across from you in this little coffee house not far from Hollywood had a face like a rat and a smile like a princess. She called herself Daisy. Sometimes Lavender, or Rose. As she put it ‘my flowers depend on the day’.

“Oh… yeah, of course I remember him. Still got a couple of his records,” you made a slight expression, “yeah, shame he never made any more music, don’t you think?” You pondered as you lifted a cup of coffee with too much sugar to your lips. You couldn’t help it, it’s how you liked it. Dark and sweet.

The woman across from you laughed right back, “oh, he still makes music alright,” she had a coy look on her face now, like she knew something you didn’t. Oh, she savored that too, you saw it on her lips.

“Don’t fool with me now,” you quipped back, “Elvis hasn’t laid down a track in years. He split with his manager and everything, it was big news.” You recalled the newspaper article clear as day, it was a big ruckus. Elvis Presley, rock superstar stepping back from the business, turning down a renewed contract.

“Go down Orchard Avenue sometime, hm? Sunday night, you might just hear something you like.” the flower girl sipped her black coffee as if she was in on a joke you wouldn’t get. People like her were the sort that knew everything. Also the type that made you feel like you knew nothing.

And if she claimed Elvis Presley still made music? That was enough to get you heading out to Orchard Avenue on a Sunday night.

It was a time of night when things cooled down, where you could really smell the air. Daisy, Posey, Marigold, whatever her name was right now, she told you all about how to find this street. It wasn’t too far out from LA, closer to the canyons. You hitched a ride like always and found yourself walking down the road, halfway wondering if she was fooling with you. Just picking on the new girl for a laugh.

You were this close to turning back when you heard it.

A beat rocking, a guitar jumping. It sounded like gospel.

And attached was a voice you couldn’t forget even if you tried. From crickets populating the night to nothing but jive grabbing the night around you. It dragged you down from the well kept picket fences one block back to the wire fences with colorful fabric and prayers tied around the outside.

And the lyrics beckoned.

You got to sing you children sing

Sing you children sing

I only know one thing, hey! hey! hey!

Sing you children sing, everybody

Sing you children sing

Sing your troubles away

It came from a good house, one bought with good money. You didn’t know a thing about real estate, but this place cost at some point in time. Though some of the foliage had been allowed to climb the walls up to the balcony. Like arms outstretched.

The lights shown out from every window like it was a party. But it didn’t sound like one, there weren’t any fights or random shouts leaking out from the window sills. Just something like harmony.

You weren’t invited. But, you found for parties like this, less than half the people there were ‘invited’. The door was half open, they were in full swing. That was more than an invitation right? Surely they wouldn’t mind one more? That seemed the vibe you’d come across lately after all.

As you found your way through the well kept garden, down to the door, getting in was a little hard than you thought. Not because anyone was keeping you out, no. But because people were in such a frenzy. Praising and calling.

From the inside you saw some pictures hung of various religious figures, but too hard to make out to place any names. But then, your local preacher had something similar on his walls. Nothing wrong with that.

The parties you’d been to, involved people slumped over themselves doing cocaine and shots. But here, everyone seemed high on something else. Managing to get inside you saw the center of it all. All type of people your age, were hanging around, all hip and colorful. There was a man just by the wall, beating his guitar strings and singing out like it was a church service, right in the middle of the night.

It couldn’t be him… could it? There were too many jumping bodies near you, it was hard to get a look, you had to jostle and stumble to get a close enough look to the point where you tripped on someone’s jutted out leg and there you were landed just right at his feet of a man wearing a pair of perfect brown leather boots and a tall white suit.

You wondered if you ruined the night, if people would cast an ugly look… but the music didn’t stop. The only change was his now direct eye contact on you.

The last time you saw him was in a blurry picture in a newspaper article, a muddy sort of picture where you couldn’t make out a cheek bone from lips. But right here, right now. You saw it all. His black hair was just as tossed and falling down his forehead, his blue eyes just as twinkling like he stepped off an album cover.

God, his smile, a joyous smile as he ramped into another chorus. His hand reached out and helped you up. Like you had been here in the crew all along. His hips jiving and shoulders grooving, it was infectious.

You couldn’t help your own little smile and shake and response. He laughed for half a moment, enjoying your response to his call.

By the time it ended, you couldn’t help but give a semi curtsey to the clapping crowd as Elvis himself held your hand. “Ain’t she a natural, then?” He chuckled, “where’d you trip in from, honey?”

Usually you’d expect folk to get on with their own conversations, and a few did, but those closest to him stayed just as keyed in. You didn’t suspect anything for now, after all it was The Elvis Presley. Couldn’t blame them after a song like that.

“From the East coast… A girl named after flowers told me about all this, a real peach. Or, a peach blossom,” you pointed out, which got a big laugh from those around you. You’d never thought yourself to be funny. You’d never met a happier bunch. “I… Your’e really… Elvis Presley?”

For a moment the vibe around you shifted, as if you’d said something in another language that didn’t sit quite right with the locals. But when Elvis’s kind expression didn’t falter, the moment passed. “You’re a fan of my early work then, darling?”

“Ha, I, guess I am,” you admitted, “but this was, I tell you what, you were better than any pastor I heard in church.” This one got a better reaction from those around you.

One of the girls shouted out, “better than any radio!” With another, “better than any school teacher!” Thrown in by another in the crowd. They sure were enthusiastic at this time of night, you wondered how they did it.

“Better than god?” Elvis added on, which got a big laugh and a few whoops. Alright, flower girl had completely turned you in the right way, this was the best Sunday night since you got here.

You’d always hoped Elvis Presley had kept on with music, you knew that gospel had been a big part of his sound. So seeing him rocking out with a bunch of young people, doing some worship songs? Wasn’t that just about the best thing? And without the confines of a church it all felt so much more relaxed. It was a real scene to be in, that kinda space.

It was well worth staying for a while. Not that you could leave. It’s not like anyone was keeping you from going. But it felt like very step you took, someone else got to chatting with you. Or asking about your life, or what you enjoyed. At some point you thought you’d want to talk with Elvis again, who’d gotten to strumming his guitar for the delight of those closest to him.

Every now and then he shot a grin your way. But it seemed every one else was just too chatty to let you linger back to him.

By now a handful of people had headed out, the group had dwindled. You wondered, did they live here?

By the time sunrise was coming, you couldn’t believe it. That everyone was still just as energetic. Clearly you had a lot to learn about California. “Hey now,” Elvis truly was a savior right now, putting an arm around the nosey guy that had been chatting with you for too long. “Let her breathe, man, let her breathe.” He leaned his head towards you, “why don’t you catch a bit of sleep here, darlin’… we got the room, hm?” To which clear agreement was shown.

“Oh, I couldn’t, I’m supposed to go job hunting tomorrow, I gotta get myself going,” you tired to say, but clearly no one here would have it. Especially Elvis.

“Can’t go looking when your eyes are dark, can you?” The words got some snaps from the lingering folks in the room, a couple had passed out. You wondered if they had taken drugs or if they’d been awake for days. Either way, the fact that you’d only had coffee and a few bites today was hitting you and your knees were getting weak. Elvis must have noticed because he caught you before you could fall. “Come on now let me help you lay down…”

Your eyes went to the door. It was incredible to be near a celebrity but, shouldn’t you be heading out on your own? They must have known everything about you but, what did you know about them?

Elvis must have got your look because he turned your gaze from the exit and back to the hallway he was leading you down.

“Let me help you get some sleep…”

#elvis #elvis fanfiction #first multi chapter elvis fic lets go #cult au #(partially inspired by that one scene in Easy Come Easy Go)

90 notes · View notes

dilfelvis · 1 year

Text

Cotton Candy Land (Ch.1)

summary: on top of elvis’s already-packed performance schedule, he had been receiving all kinds of violent threats. it had started when they were out of town, in houston, but they seemed to follow him. the first threat had been harmless enough– a shoddy note with chicken-scratch writing that said “i am going to kill you”, but now they were becoming physical– and taking a toll on elvis.

word count: 3496

warnings: age regression, crying, death threats, panic attacks, tantrums

notes: hi! this is my third attempt at a multi-chapter fic, and i hope that it goes well! elvis's age regression has always been a fascinating topic to me, so i wanted to write a fanfiction based on it and how it affected him. i'm including jerry and steve because i like them. we may get smut in the future, as well as some fluff/crushes, but who knows! i'm just really excited to get this first chapter up. shoutout to bee (dontbeecruel) for beta reading!

enjoy!

dim moonlight shone through the thin, white curtains of the work suite, illuminating the room in a pale aura. a heavy, dense silence hung in the air as binder and schilling stood on opposite sides of their paperwork-littered desk, their expressions exasperated.

tonight had been stressful.

on top of elvis’s already-packed performance schedule, he had been receiving all kinds of violent threats. it had started when they were out of town, in houston, but they seemed to follow him. the first threat had been harmless enough– a shoddy note with chicken-scratch writing that said “i am going to kill you”, but now they were becoming physical– and taking a toll on elvis.

in the middle of his performance tonight, two men from the front row hopped up onstage and rushed towards elvis, and things went south. colonel rushed from his seat in the crowd, while jerry, red, and elvis attempted to draw their guns.

the men were quickly subdued, and elvis was dragged off the stage, yelling and screaming that he would kill whoever just charged him. he was furious. the colonel met up with him backstage, and it was suggested to him that the show be stopped due to safety concerns– but elvis insisted he continue. he refused to be pushed off of the stage.

binder pressed his fingers under his aviators, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and squeezed his eyes shut. he was developing quite the migraine trying to figure out how to deal with all of this. he thought he had security all under control– but knowing the colonel, he had probably done something dumb behind his back to compromise that.

schilling was just as stressed. serving as elvis’s bodyguard, close friend, and public relations– he had a whole myriad of issues to worry about– but the most daunting was the press. he knew those newspaper writers would be on him as soon as they could, asking for any behind the scenes details of the attacks. then there was the problem of elvis’s mental state. even though he insisted he was fine, both binder and schilling knew that the man was growing more and more paranoid with each passing hour. he had barely slept since the first threat. there’s no way he would just shake off this much more jarring one.

“we should…” jerry started, hesitantly. “we should find ep. talk to him. check up on him.”

binder let his sunglasses fall back into place on the bridge of his nose, sighing as he ran a hand through his brunette locks. “will he even let us in his room?” he asks, affixing his wary eyes on schilling. “he's been pretty shaken up lately. he’s not letting anyone in. not even vernon.”

“i know.” jerry sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “i mean, he might let me in, but…”

“over his own father?”

“hey man, vernon and e have a bit of a… rocky relationship.” jerry says, shrugging. “i’m just saying, i might have better chances to be let in.”

binder fell silent, pursing his lips in thought. “it's worth a shot,” he admits, before sighing. “christ– we should really get to all this paperwork though.”

“later.” schilling mutters. “i’m worried about elvis.”

binder gave a curt nod, and followed after the taller man as he stepped out from their workspace. truth be told, he was worried about elvis too– terribly worried– but he just didn't need another earful from the colonel about his ‘hippie work ethic’, and how he was always falling behind on important matters.

sometimes it was maddening how much the colonel was on him. he wanted to walk away at times, but he reminded himself that he took this job for elvis. the colonel was annoying to deal with, of course, but binder needed to stick around to make elvis's job a little more bearable. binder always fought that old toad tooth and nail for ep to have more creative freedoms, but the colonel just had this aura to him. it's like he knew how to twist your words and thoughts just perfectly enough to make you reword yourself until you agreed with him. most of the time, steve opted for pointedly ignoring the man, but sometimes he couldn't help but snap back at him.

jerry was much more skilled at dealing with the colonel. mainly because– for some odd reason– he got along with him. schilling was just that type of guy. he got along with everyone, no matter how unlikeable the other person seemed. maybe it was his good looks, or his southern charm– but whatever it was, the colonel took a liking to him. jerry didn't necessarily see parker as a friend, but he didn't see him as an enemy either. when binder asked about it, schilling said that him and the colonel were a “strictly business” arrangement, and that they just happened to agree in those terms.

hell, maybe jerry should take his job. they’d be a lot more productive without parker poking his nose into everything binder did, and then purposely doing something to render his plans useless.

the two men stepped into the elevator, pressing the button that would take them directly up to elvis’s private room. it wasn't that far of a ride, as the work suite was in pretty close quarters with elvis– in case he needed to speak to binder or schilling about anything. it felt like forever, though– thanks to the tense situation at hand. usually when they visited elvis, it was under a much more light-hearted guise– like for a game of cards, or to see if they could sneak out on the town without getting recognized.

but nothing like this had ever occurred before. who knows how elvis would be feeling? he was so hard to predict sometimes– you’d think he'd be feeling one way after a certain event, only to find him feeling the complete and exact opposite.

the elevator halted, the doors slowly opened and let them onto their desired floor. it was quiet– almost eerily so– as they approached the large, intricately decorated double doors, steeling themselves with a deep breath.

schilling knocked tentatively, holding his breath as he waited for a response.

nothing.

he didn't seem phased. he just knocked again, a bit firmer this time, and spoke loudly enough so whoever was inside could hear.

“ep? it's…it’s jerry ‘n steve,” he said softly, biting his lip. “we uh– wanted to check on ya.”

silence.

binder was starting to get worried at this point– and it's obvious that schilling was as well. the way his brows furrowed together tightly told steve everything he needed to know.

“try the doorknob.” binder said, nodding towards one of the shiny, golden knobs. schilling hummed and tentatively gripped one of them, attempting to turn it and stiffening when it obliged, allowing one of the large doors to open.

steve swallowed heavily. elvis’s doors were almost never unlocked.

he looked over to see jerry borderline panicking. his eyes were wide, and he seemed to be frozen on the spot as he stared into the darkness of the room before him. binder placed a hand on his shoulder lowering his voice a fraction.

“hey– don't panic,” he muttered, giving the younger man’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “we haven't gone in yet. don't assume the worst.”

“okay.” schilling gulped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to steel himself. “okay. yeah.”

they walked into the room slowly. it was cold and dark– almost pitch black, save for a small bit of moonlight peeking through a crack in the curtains. steve stumbled over his feet a few times, but jerry seemed to know the room like the back of his hand. he swiftly made his way over to the right-hand side of the room, calling out anxiously.

“elvis? it's us, man!”

there was still no response, but binder became aware of a soft, barely-present noise coming from the bed tucked away in the corner. he strained to listen out, trying to figure out what the source of the noise was, only to get thrown off by schilling yelling out again, panicked.

“elvis–!”

“shh!” binder hushed, making jerry's head whip around to face him, half-curious, half-pissed. before he could snap at steve for shushing him in a moment of panic, he seemingly heard the noise as well.

steve held a hand out, blindly feeling for the edge of the mattress. he sat himself down, leaning forward until the noise grew into a more distinctive sound.

someone was crying.

“elvis…?” steve murmured, blinking in attempt to adjust to the dark of the room. “is that you?”

only then, he spotted a lump under the blankets of the bed, quivering and jumping with each harsh noise that left it. instinctively, steve reached out and pulled the blankets away, revealing a red-faced, trembling, crying elvis.

he was curled up into a ball, sniffling gently into the synthetic fur of a small plush bear that was clutched to his chest. his tears glittered in the faint light, illuminating his flushed cheeks– the small bit of his face that they could actually somewhat see.

he looked so small, like a little boy.

“g’way,” elvis sniffled, trying to hide his face behind the now soaked stuffed animal. “leave me ‘lone.”

no one spoke for a brief moment– just out of pure shock. out of all the possible things they could have discovered, this wasn't even a possibility for them– but here they were.

in reality, maybe they should have seen a sort of breakdown coming. the death threats weren't the only thing bothering elvis. the cancellation of his overseas tour had kickstarted this whole series of events. after that, he started his american tour, which was a whole other stressor for him– then the colonel was still so adamant about him performing at the goddamn international twice a day. in other words, elvis was at his limit– and while he had the temper of a thousand suns… he was most likely just exhausted rather than angry.

still…to see him crying, cuddled up to a plush toy was far from expected. though, now that binder pondered on it, it did make a bit of sense. elvis didn't have the easiest of childhoods– growing up dirt poor with only his momma and his love of comic books to skirt him by. maybe what they were seeing was elvis’s way of trying to relive that childhood.

jerry spoke first. it felt appropriate, seeing as he had a closer relationship with elvis. with a curious expression, he knelt down by the bed until he was eye level with the sniffling, trembling elvis.

“hey, you okay, ep?” he asks lowly, his voice gentle and laced with concern. “It’s jerry. a-and steve. we came to check on you, ‘cuz we were worried ‘bout ya after what happened on stage–”

“no!” the raven haired man cried out, harshly jerking his body so that he was facing the wall opposed to schilling. “no no no! don’ talk about that!” he cried out, his voice broken and utterly distraught at the reminder of what went down on stage. he was being absolutely petulant, the tears streaming down his face becoming fatter. jerry cursed under his breath as elvis continued his tantrum. “d-d-don’ wanna think ‘bout it! j-jus wanna go home!”

“alright, alright,” jerry muttered lowly, his expression grew more concerned as elvis went on, his grip on the stuffed bear tightened significantly as he thrashed around. steve felt absolutely helpless as he watched the other man try to calm elvis down, only for the dark haired man to thrash around more wildly in frustration.

binder felt horrible for his boss. seeing him so clearly distraught made his heart clench in a painful way. he could have done a better job to prevent this pain. maybe if he had pushed back against the colonel more– elvis wouldn't be in such a pained mindset.

spurred on by his guilt, he slowly extended a hand towards his boss, laying it on his shin gently. elvis slowed in his thrashing for a moment, thrown off by the touch. he stared at steve, who was just giving him a patient, understanding look. schilling set his jaw, taking the momentary calm as an opportunity to speak once more.

“we’re here, elvis. we just want you to be okay.” he murmured.

the man stilled, his chest heaving as the tears continued to roll down his cheeks hotly, staining the satin of his top with little wet blotches. his wailing slowly turned into sporadic whimpers, his shaky hands reaching out for either of the two men beside him for comfort. they obliged him, scooting closer to elvis and allowing him to cling onto them as tightly as he needed to. he pressed his tear-stained face into the crook of binder’s neck, making the man jolt in surprise. elvis continued sniffling, his plush bear now dangling in his grasp as he weakly sobbed into steve’s warm skin.

the men shared a look, a mix of bewilderment, relief, and slight fear. how long would elvis be like…this?

“what's the matter, elvis?” schilling asked, rubbing a large hand up and down his back. when all he got in response was a series of harsh, hiccupy breaths, jerry hushed him and pat him on the back firmly. “hey, c’mon. it's alright. no more tears, you're alright.”

“take a deep breath.” binder said softly, his voice laced with an unsure, wavering tone that he inwardly cursed at himself for. “just breathe.”

the dark-haired man took a series of deep, shaky breaths, before he lifted his head from the damp crevice of binder’s skin. his eyes were red and glassy, his face shiny with his tears. his lip was trembling– giving him the look of a lost little boy. binder felt an overwhelming urge to protect him.

“...’m sorry,” elvis muttered, his voice soft and hoarse from his earlier crying. “d-didn't mean ‘t yell.” he sniffles, his face flushed with shame as he avoided eye contact with either man. “‘m a bad boy.”

“no, no,” jerry said softly, shaking his head. “you're not bad.”

“yeah.” binder agreed softly, moving a stray piece of hair from elvis’s eyes. “you’ve had a rough day. you're allowed to be upset.”

“b-but i yelled,” he murmured. “i-i yelled at you….’n…i-i-i was bein’ mean.”

“that’s okay. we don't care about that now. we just wanna be sure that you're alright.” steve explained, watching as elvis pawed at his eyes feverishly. “are you alright?”

“mhm.” elvis answered with a pitiful little sniffle, leaning into binder once more. “i’m jus’ tired…’n scared…lonely,” he admitted, pulling the tear stained bear close to his chest. “wan’ go home.”

“i know,” schilling piped up. “we just got a little while longer, and we’ll be back at graceland, playin’ football in the yard. how's that sound?”

“wanna go home to all ‘m stuffies,” he mumbled, rocking back and forth gently. “a-all them in my room, up in ‘m closet…” elvis said softly, smiling gently to himself.

“s…stuffies?” steve asked, curious.

elvis wipes at his nose with his sleeve. “l-like this guy..!” he said, holding up the brown bear in his arms. “e-e-except at home, i-i got lions, ‘n tigers, a-and even little b-b-bunnies….”

“is that right?” schilling asked, a small smile on his lips. “do they all have names?”

“mhm,” his boss muttered, shy as he idly played with his stuffed animal's arms. “all of ‘em.”

“maybe when we get back, you can give us a little tour.” jerry mused, giving elvis a patient little smile.

elvis stared at schilling owlishly, before looking away and flushing a light pink high on his cheekbones. he pressed his face into the fur of his bear once more. “okay,”

steve felt the clenching in his heart be replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling. seeing him calm, and somewhat demure made him flood with relief– elvis truly seemed happy when he was like this.

was it odd? maybe a little. steve had never seen anything like it where he was from, but in this line of work, he learned to be open-minded. he was just glad it was him and schilling, one of elvis’s closest friends, that happened to stumble upon him in this state of mind, and not someone that might have set him off more– like the colonel, or maybe even vernon.

with a little hum, steve stood. “well, we need to get going. we got a lot of work to get to.”

elvis’s face fell. he looked disappointed. “oh. okay.”

jerry cocked his head to the side at his reaction, leaning down so that he was eye-level with him. “...what's wrong?”

elvis averted his gaze from the two men shyly, swaying back and forth lazily as he muttered softly into the soft, synthetic fur of his teddy bear.

“wan’ you to stay,”

“me?” jerry asked. “or steve?”

“both,” elvis sniffled. “don' wanna be alone.”

jerry and steve shared a curious look, before looking back at the small, frail looking elvis.

“you want us to stay with you?” steve asked, to which elvis nodded in response meekly, wiping at his eyes. his movements were growing more and more sluggish, his eyes becoming droopy and lidded as he spoke again.

“mhm. need…what if someone tries ‘t attack me ‘gain? you’ll stop ‘em, right?” he mumbled, eyes beginning to flutter shut as he slurred out his words. “you’ll protect yittle elvie..?”

steve watched as the man dozed off, the ear of his stuffie between his lips as his breath began to even out. jerry pressed a hand to his lower back, guiding him to lay down fully in the soft, plush pillows.

“i’ll protect you, bud.” schilling muttered, his expression fond as he watched the man nuzzle his nose into his stuffed animal, a small, content smile on his lips.

binder blinked up at schilling, who was already kicking off his shoes and making himself comfortable in the bed beside elvis. he sat up, his eyebrows furrowed.

“are we actually gonna sleep in here with him?”

“i am.” jerry answered simply, settling on his side. “he asked me to, so i’m gonna stay. he needs me.”

“but our work–”

“christ man, if you're so worried about that you don't gotta stay!” schilling whispered, annoyed. “y’can leave if you want, but i’m staying here– where it matters.”

binder felt his face flush with shame under schilling's scornful gaze. he hadn't meant to come off like he didn’t care about elvis, but he just didn't want to have to deal with another long, boring lecture from the colonel because they were behind again. all of this stuff was kind of starting to get to him as well. all he wanted was to get his work done in peace– without hearing the colonel butcher his name and call him a hippie.

“no, i…i’m sorry,” steve muttered, fidgeting with his ascot idly. “i’ll stay. i just– ugh, i don’t wanna hear his mouth in the morning.” binder sighed, undoing the fabric around his neck.

schilling's expression softened slightly in understanding. “yeah, i hear ya. i know he never yells at me directly– but man, i hate hearin’ him yell period.” he murmured, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. steve huffed warily in amusement, before silence fell over the both of them.

“...y’shouldn’t let him talk to you like that.”

“i don't…uh, really have a choice.” steve admitted. “i’m not…the confrontational kind. i prefer to push back in a much less direct way. he just…he just keeps approaching me, though, like he knows how uncomfortable he makes me.”

“he prolly does,” jerry hummed, his voice growing tired. “wouldn't put it past ‘im.”

binder smirked crookedly. “you getting tired on me, schilling?”

“hell yeah,” he mumbled, his eyes halfway closed. “been a long day. we all need some sleep.” he yawned, finally shutting his eyes.

“fine. goodnight.” steve hummed, laying his head down. he didn't get a response– just snoring.

he laughed to himself, studying the two men in front of him. elvis was fast asleep, clutching onto that same little bear for dear life as he chewed on it's ear, mumbling incoherently in his sleep. it made binder think. he mentioned his collection of plushies at home… so how long has this been a thing?

taking elvis’s past into account, and his relationship with his mother, binder suspected that this was more that a quirk or a hobby of his. he seemed like he was genuinely a little boy. like he couldn't control his emotions. that pitiful, petulant look in his eyes, those tears rolling down his flushed cheeks, the worn stuffed bear he clutched onto like a lifeline– maybe it was a lot deeper than just another thing he did.

steve could only wonder on the specifics as he dozed off, the soft snores of the other two men lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

#elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #austin!elvis x y/n #austin!elvis x reader #jerry schilling x reader #steve binder x reader #elvis presley #jerry schilling #steve binder #elvis 2022 #agere #age regression

64 notes · View notes