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Yours Truly | Journal entry no. 1

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 491

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW.

・❥・ Author's Notes: So this is a peek into what Nova is thinking at this point. This is a supplemental material to the on-going series 'Yours Truly' therefore, DO NOT read this unless you have read the between chapters 1-6.

|chapter index |prev|next

--

AN ENTRY FROM NOVA'S JOURNAL 

November 22 , 2022

Dear Journal, 

I know that despite buying this journal a while ago, I have never really written an entry in it. I've written quotes that I found from books and maybe my favorite songs. But I've never written a proper entry. I like to think that people write in their journals when something interesting happens in their life, and honestly-speaking, my life is not very interesting. 

But something happened. Suddenly. And I guess this is the point where I think it's only right for me to make this my first journal entry. 

On my 21st birthday, I made a promise to myself that I will try to take more chances. Which I know it a big statement for me. But I will try to do this. Luke and Charlotte helped me make a list. So in some way there is still order amongst the point of being spontaneous. 

I've been having dreams recently. Not normal ones I believe. I've been having consecutive dreams for the past week now. In my dreams, this man appears. He first appeared in my dreams on the night of my 21st. It gets crazier. I know that people dream about celebrities all the time, even more-so when people have a crush on a celebrity. But this is when it gets strange.

Elvis Presley appeared in my dream. And people can say that dreams don't make any sense anyways. But I never really thought about Elvis Presley. I mean, sure I watched the biopic of him when it was released during the summer and that was the first time I really learned about him. But for him to suddenly appear in my dreams? Consecutively? 

It gets crazier. 

Each time I wake up from these dreams, I remember everything. Every detail. Every conversation that I have with him in the dream. I am usually a person that looks for logic and scans a situation to know what's going on, but this makes me dumbfounded. 

Our conversations - they sound normal. like a normal conversation you would have in real life. But there is something more, something that I don't know. It's strange because Elvis, the way he acts, it's like he knows me. Certain details about myself and the way he is around me - it is like he has known me for so long. And I know that can easily be explained by how there is a part of the human brain that subconsciously generates personal dreams. 

But I just have this doubt inside of me. Something is going on, and it frustrates me to no end that I don't know what that something is. 

He says that he'll help me experience the things on my list, the goal of living life to the fullest. To try new things. So I'll try and focus on that instead.  

After all, dreams are just dreams. . . right?

Till next time journal. 

Nova. 

next

Yours Truly - Chapter 7: Bird's Eye View

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 1.5k

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. heights.

|chapter index |prev | chapter 8

--

NOVA 

"Think about it like you are on a plane, just a little different." He spoke, as his eyes stayed on me. 

My back was firmly pressed against the wall of the space that we were enclosed in, as I sat with my knees bent, hugging them to my chest. There's a hush silence to it all, apart from the sound of the chirping of the birds and the flowing of the rivers - there was no overpowering noise that elicited a sign of danger. This is what I try to focus on, to remind myself - but of course, uncertainty has never been a best friend of mine. 

I shook my head at him and let out a nervous laugh, "Okay, sure. Apart from the fact that a plane has a pilot, therefore passengers know where they will land. Plus, the windows are mega tiny on a plane so you-" 

I close my eyes, and take a few deep breaths. Closing my eyes helps me to momentarily re-think the whole situation, to almost convince myself that the uncertainty it as a minimum. Of course I did tell Elvis that I was ready to just go for it, and try something from my list. To try and see what happens with me being a little less frightened with being spontaneous. With experiencing new things. But that does not mean I can just switch of this instinct of mine to control the narrative in my mind. 

"You can open your eyes, honey." Elvis says.

"Not yet, " I shake my head, "But what were you saying about a plane being just like this?" 

"Okay." Elvis interrupts me, "A hot air balloon looks different and travels differently. But there's something else."

Yes, I decided to try to go on a hot air balloon for the first time. Not the first thing on my list, but I thought by not going in order - it'll warm up my spontaneous spirit. I hope. 

I sighed, mustering a small smile at him, "And what is that?"

"Nova, how many plane rides have you been on?" He questions, I can hear the amusement in his voice. 

"A few, why?" I ask, trying to figure out where he is going with this question.

He nods at my response, and I hear him sit himself down beside me. I open my eyes briefly, and see that he has one  knee bent, while his other leg rests on the floor of the basket. I return back to closing my eyes.  I've found myself in a few instances where the proximity between us are almost nonexistent, but his effect never wavers. It's this overwhelming energy that seems to encapsulate whoever is in his presence. He is undeniably attractive, yes there is the physicality of him, but that charm of his - so effortless, but comforting. A mix of it all leaves me having to release a few breaths, as my mind momentarily forgets the newness of the situation before me. 

 He speaks after a few seconds  "You've been on some plane rides and it's no hot air balloon. Now you are here, with me. " 

I chuckle, "It appears so. What are you trying to get at, Elvis?" 

"Open your eyes." 

"Not yet." 

"Then I can't answer your question." 

I gasped dramatically, "You wouldn't dare!" 

Elvis lets out a laugh, and its so melodic and almost contagious - I feel my lips pulling into a smile, uncontrollably. 

"Come on, honey, open your eyes." He tries again, but this time I feel his hand intertwine with mine - stopping the nervous fiddling. His hold of my hand is warm, and this warmness makes a rapid shot of climbing into my heart. I breathe in and out - and I have this feeling that the hot air balloon is not the only reason for it. 

I slowly open my eyes, and take in his close proximity to me. The warm orange of the sun reflects on his tanned skin, highlighting his cheekbones as that familiar grin of his spreads across his lips. 

"Hi there." 

I feel my cheeks warm. 

The hot air balloon does not sway, there is quite a stillness to it that I haven't noticed before. A sense of security, somewhat. 

"Another thing that those plane rides don't have, that this has. . . is me." He points to himself and continues on, "I'm here with you, Nova.  I won't let you get hurt." He says softly. 

"Thank you, Elvis." I say, in almost a whisper. A whisper because sitting down, right here, in a hot air balloon with such a small space and hearing his words so carefully said - it seemed as if I spoke even a little louder, it would break the serenity of the moment. 

"You can't see much of the world from sitting down here, " He speaks up, smirking and stands up with my hand still in his. 

I stand up along with him and feel myself giggle, Elvis raises his eyebrows at me, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." I shook my head, "It's just. . .how tall are you?" 

We move to gaze at the scenery before us. Luscious green landscapes fill my vision; smooth hills and mountains with snow covering the tips. The water flowing from the rivers and waterfalls are crystal clear, and if we were close enough - I could almost believe we could see our reflection through it. Some may say it's boring, that there is nothing else but water and land - but that's nature. 

Elvis props his elbows on the edge of the basket, with his left hand holding onto my right hand still. 

"Six foot." He shrugs, "I should've modelled, right?" He smirks, striking a dramatic expression on his face. 

I laugh, "That was not what I was implying! You are full of yourself!" I hit him on the shoulder. 

"Then what were you implying, doll?" 

"I just found it funny how you were sat down in this small space of a basket, when like 80% of you is all legs." I gesture at him, giggling to myself, "It's just so cute." 

"Cute? Never been called that before. My, oh my, Miss Sinclair - aren't you something." He muses ,grinning at me with his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth, as his blue eyes gaze at me amusedly. 

I furrow my eyebrows, "You know my last name?" 

He shrugs casually, "Well, you know mine." and abruptly glances back at the scenery passing before us. 

"It's nice. " I say, feeling the slight breeze against my face as I study the scenery. 

"Us humans sometimes forget that there is more to things than what we see. This is a bird's eye view right here. But we are viewing it right now, as humans. If you don't try new things, you are not letting yourself see what could be." Elvis says, sighing as he closes his eyes for a moment. 

I am surprised by the sudden depth of his thoughts spoken out loud. Elvis is carefree and loves to joke, he definitely has that energy to him. But one thing I think I am slowly learning is that, not just his actions are unpredictable- so are his words. One second is light conversation, and the next it's  like he is ushering you to take a glance inside the inner corners of his mind. He loves spontaneity, that promise of new adventure, of just going for it. Which frightens the hell out of my overly-analytical mind, but there's that tug in my brain - A web of curiosity. About him.

A web of curiosity that begs to be acknowledged. And I just might unravel it.  

next chapter

Yours Truly - Chapter 8: The Great Gatsby

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 2.5k

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. none.

|chapter index| prev |chapter 9

--

NOVA 

". . .And then one fine morning- So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." Professor Lloyd dramatically reads out, as he closes the book in his hands and places it on the mahogany desk beside him. He removes the thin, framed glasses and hangs them on the collar of his dark blue shirt. 

Professor Lloyd refocuses his attention back on us, his eyes scanning the lecture hall full of students. I sat quite far in the back, which is my normal chosen seating distance. It's not because I found Professor Lloyd intimidating, because he was far from that in comparison to the others that I have encountered in this course. I just find it much more relaxing sitting in the far back, it gives me a clear view of everything and I am able to focus more because I'm not near those who mess around and chatter too much. 

"As I have already discussed with you all beforehand, I will not read any chapters from this book in class. Except for this one that I have just read to you all." Professor Lloyd's states, his tone of voice enthusiastic, but low in the sense that he is about to let you in on a secret. I suppose that is why his class is always full every semester, his voice is void of monotone and you can easily tell that he enjoys the subject that he is teaching; despite it being over thirty years since he started his career. 

His eyes dart around the room, "Why?" He simply asks. 

We all exchanged confused looks on his words, which I suppose he has easily caught on as he holds his hand up to stop the whispers of confusion that floated the lecture hall. 

"Why did I read this one chapter? And most importantly, it is the last chapter." He clarifies his question.

Silence. 

I don't think anyone really knows the answer, despite his clarification of his question. It is really odd. At the beginning of the fall semester, I remember him telling us that on the first book assignment that we will have - he will not read any chapters in class, as he expects us to do that all in our own time. To throw even more confusion, he decided to read the very last chapter? 

My brain cannot grasp the answer, I guess that's how much of us feel on Monday mornings. 

Someone from the front row raises their hand, catching Professor's attention, "Yes, Mr Lopez?" 

"Is it because it is one less chapter for us to worry about?" He said jokingly, earning a chorus of chuckles around the lecture hall.

Professor Lloyd shakes his head at this and smiles, "Incorrect, Mr Lopez. You will all need to reread this chapter, it is imperative for your grade in this assignment." 

"Any other guesses?" Professor Lloyd tries again, "No? Alright." 

Once he realises that there is no response, Professor Lloyd sighs and turns around to the blackboard behind him. He grabs a chalk from the side and begins to write something out on the  huge blackboard, the scraping of the chalk being the only sound that filled the lecture hall. He places it down, and turns around to face us. 

My eyes trace the words 'THE BEGINNING.' 

"The oldest rule for readers is to read a book in chronological order. From the first chapter to the final chapter. it is logical, yes?" Professor Lloyds pauses, earning a few nods from the class. 

He continues on, "However, some writers, such as F. Scott Fitzgerald - that may not be the case." 

Okay. . . what is he getting at? 

Professor Lloyd begins to pace back and forth slowly, "In the world of creative writing, it is whispered from one writer's ear to another that they must not give everything away. To be a storyteller is to deliver a message, but writers do not hand that message to readers on a silver platter. Readers have to work for it. Which is why they must read the book in order, and not jump to the final chapter. However, I argue that although Fitzgerald spreads his message gradually in The Great Gatsby. . . he does it very vaguely. " He stops pacing and pauses, and begins to walk backwards until he is right next to the words written on the blackboard. 

He leans against the blackboard, arms folded across his chest "A certain level of vagueness ends with readers potentially misunderstanding the meaning he is trying to convey. Therefore, Fitzgerald's only saving grace is the final chapter of the book, the chapter that will say everything as plain and as clear as possible." 

A hand from the middle shoots up, belonging from a girl with dark hair, "Yes?" Professor Lloyd nods. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Professor. But I think I'm a little lost on what you are trying to say. Do you mean to say that the main theme of the novel is really only told clearly at the end, and not throughout? Like all the themes are overcrowding what he is actually trying to say?" She questions, her voice quieter but gradually growing in volume as she went on with her question. 

Professor Lloyd kindly smiles and nods, "Precisely, Miss Fontaine. As you read The Great Gatsby, you must be able to filter through the overcrowding, as you describe. Another point is that Fitzgerald leaves a hint. The final line implies not only the cycle of attitude that affluent members of society display, but also to go back to beginning." He states, pointing to the written words of the blackboard. 

"I do not recommend Fitzgerald's technique of vaguely conveying his true message throughout, and only revealing it in the last chapter. If you write, you must reveal your message little by little. However, Fitzgerald cleverly made it work for the tale that he was trying to tell - the connection of the last and first chapter. " 

I purse my lips in wonder and confusion. I raise my hand up, Professor Lloyd's eyes focuses on mine as he nods for me to ask my question. 

"So, wealth and tragedy are not the main messages of the novel then?" I slowly ask, which receives a shake of a head from Professor Lloyd. 

"I'm afraid not, Miss Sinclair. And no, I will not tell you all what the main message is. You will all have to venture this journey on your own and write your assignments once you've reached the end of the book. " He explains, looking around once again. 

Oh, another thing about Professor Lloyd, his memory is insanely sharp. He remembers everyone's names in the class. Which is unbelievable, I didn't quite believe it as first to be honest. 

"Any other questions?" 

"Yes, Mr Noah." He nods at the guy sat right at the right side of the far back of the lecture hall. 

The guy scratches the back of his neck with his pencil, "Sorry if this is a stupid question, Professor. But. . . if Fitzgerald's true message is only in the last chapter and you've just read it out to us -  what is the point of us reading the entire novel?" He says in pure confusion. 

Professor Lloyd chuckles at this, "The first and last chapter hold that vital message. Everything in between may not hold to that degree of value, however, there's the wondrous element in storytelling where the reader begins to see the characters as a friend. Therefore, I want to test you all on not only your analysation of Fitzgerald's themes in The Great Gatsby, but to experience the emotional value of literature." 

He walks back to stand behind his desk and claps his hands, "That is all for today, class. I wish you good luck on your assignments, but before you leave I want you remember this; the premise of the novel is that Jay Gatsby has built his entire life around this longing desire to be reunited with Daisy Buchanan, the one love that he lost all those years ago. Keep that in mind." 

--

The cafeteria is bustling with excited students, as the line for the lunch grows longer and longer. I am smart enough to know the chaos of this, so I decided to make my own salad at home and brought this in with me for today. In the corner of my peripheral vision I can sense someone approaching the table, and soon enough Luke takes a seat across from me. 

His lunch tray plops down on the table, "Dude, I am telling you I thought I'd never make it out of there," He shakes his head, eyes indicating to the long line of people getting their lunches. 

I furrow my eyebrows and point to him with the fork that I'm holding, "Wait, I thought that you left class early?" 

He shakes his head and finishes swallowing his food before responding, "You and me both. But shit happens." He says, his gaze rapidly avoiding mine as he takes a bite out of his hamburger. 

"Luke," I urge, "What happened?" 

"Nothing. . ." He trails off, but eventually sighs in defeat when he sees that I'm not giving it up. 

"F.uck, okay, So I ran into Matt." He shuts his eyes, cringing at the memory.  

"Ah, shit."

"I was on my phone and wasn't looking where I was going, and bumped into him. Fucking fantastic." He explains, gesturing animately. 

"What happened after? Did you turn around or. . ." I trail off.

He nodded, "I bolted the other direction and he didn't follow me, thank you God. But it did mean I completely forgot why I decided to leave class early in the first place." Luke sighs, gesturing to his plate of food. 

"So you didn't go to the cafeteria?" 

"I ended up in the library, which I know is such a new setting for me. . .hmm." He says, floating easily back into his humorous self. A sign for me that he is ready to move the topic of conversation to something else. 

I cleared my throat, "I need your help." 

"As long as it's not advice on men or relationships, my track record is golden evidence that such topics are not my expertise." He takes another bite out of his hamburger and sips from his orange juice. 

I chuckle at this, "No. Of course not." 

"Ok, just checking. You can proceed."  He gestures dramatically to me. 

"Do you have any plans tonight?" I inquire, taking a sip out of my bottle of water. 

Luke pauses drinking and squints at me in curiosity, "Depends. . . will I be laughing my ass off at whatever you are planning or not?" 

I shrugged, "Maybe or maybe not." 

"I need more information. My brain is not braining today," Luke replies pointing to his head. 

I don't even think braining is a word?

I grab my bag from beside me and place it on the table, then I grab hold of the napkin with scribbled content on it. I zip the bag up, and return it beside me. I take the napkin and place it clearly on the table. 

I take a deep breath, "I want to tick something off." 

"Ah, yes, Nova's List. This is a work of art, right?" Luke excitedly takes the napkin and studies it, "Courtesy of your darling friend;  myself and Charlotte." He says in a formal, upper class British accent. 

Darling. His voice echoes suddenly in my head,  and I feel my chest tighten slightly.  I snap myself back to reality before I am zoned out too far. 

"What kind of accent was that?" I chuckle at him jokingly. 

Luke gasps dramatically, "You are insulting me before I provide my expertise? I request an immediate review of our friendship contract." 

"Oh, shut up, " I shake my head, laughing at his theatrical response. 

"What do you want to tick off?" Luke asks me, his eyes reading through the list we made. 

"Actually, don't answer that. Girl, close your eyes," He says, placing the napkin back down on the table. 

"Pick something randomly. This way you won't overthink it." Luke explains. 

I close my eyes and move my hand over the napkin, gulping nervously. A second later and I stop moving my hand. 

"Okay, Nova, open your eyes."

My mind reels back to being with Elvis on a hot air balloon. Come on, honey, open your eyes. Everything from that dream still feels so vivid. His voice and the words he let go, his laugh, the breeze of the wind, the warmth of the sunset - his hand in mine. 

I snap myself back to the present moment, and open my eyes slowly. I peer at which idea on the list my hand landed on, "Oh, here we go." I chuckle nervously. 

Luke claps his hands excitedly, "Let's do it!" 

I know that I have to do this. I have to. I need to keep the momentum going. After all, I've only really done one thing on my list. As I watch Luke call Charlotte on his phone, I can't help but think that I'll be a little late in my dreams tonight. 

That is, a particular someone will still be waiting for me when I shut my eyes to sleep. 

next chapter

Yours Truly - Chapter 9: So, this is Graceland?

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 2.8k

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. a kiss perhaps?, vague elvis (as always), OC is confused.

chapter index | prev | chapter 10

--

NOVA

I followed closely behind Luke and Charlotte, as we all held our phones with the flashlight mode on. Charlotte stops and flicks on a switch that is to her left, the room before us illuminates with light. We all turned the flashlight off on our phones. 

The room could be larger, however its purpose shrinks the size of it to a much smaller size. A tower of boxes were stacked one of the other in the corner of the room, and different sports equipment scattered to the side. A hundred or so numbers of books lying on old, wooden shelves - the dust collecting is quite prominent. Posters advertising football games and various student clubs adorned the brick walls. 

Luke throws his arms up dramatically, "Welcome!"

I reached the last step of the stairs, "I had no idea this place exists." 

Luke places the two large tote bags he is carrying down onto the cement floor and turns to me, "This is what happens when you avoid exams." 

I gasped, "You hide out here?! To avoi-"

He shoots me an incredulous look, "Me? No, I have other places."

Charlotte finishes placing the large canvas against a large board on the wall and turns to Luke, "But you just said-"

"Nah, my cousin Charlie was the original founder of this place. " Luke grins proudly.

I shake my head, chuckling and share a look with Charlotte. 

"So being a rebel is in your blood, then?" Charlotte said, shaking her head with a smile as she unloaded the balloons from the tote bags. 

Luke casually shrugs, as he places his goggles on. 

Charlotte claps her hand, "Ta-da!" She dramatically gestures to the large canvas that was pinned on the boards of the wall. It would just be a plain sight, of course, if it weren't for the various colored balloons attached to every inch of the canvas. 

She stands next to Luke and I, as we all place our goggles on. Luke steps forward and holds out the small container full of darts. He takes one and holds the container out to us, "Take one and throw. Ready?"

I take one and pause, "Wait, what if we get in trouble? Like what if-" 

"We won't." Luke interrupts. 

"You can't be sure of that. " My eyes flicker to the entrance that we just came from, "I really, really don't want to get into trouble-"

Charlotte turns her body to face me and places her hands on my shoulders, "I don't think anyone goes down here anymore. Besides, after we are done, we'll just. . .  I don't know. . . throw a sheet over it all." She grins, trying her best to reassure my nerves. 

"Bestie, we are not burning the place down, " Luke adds on, "We are literally just throwing a bunch of darts to paint-filled balloons. " He chuckles. 

"Nova, it's literally ten o'clock at night. No psychopath will be wandering down here." Charlotte gives me a look. 

I think for a moment. They both make very valid points. I need to do this. It could be worse, but we are literally just doing art in a different way, I guess? 

With a deep breath, I turn to both of them, "Okay. Let's do it." 

--

After drying my wet hair, I changed into a comfortable set of pyjamas and took a seat on my bed just processing what occurred an hour ago. I feel my face hurt from smiling and that bundle of anxiety on my chest has dissipated, replaced by relief and a sense of weird accomplishment? It's strange because I always considered academics to be the only time I'll ever feel like accomplishing something. But then there's this. I mean, dart painting is actually quite fun? 

The nerves I felt earlier wasn't really aimed at the activity itself, but the location and timing of it all. The sense of rebelliousness, a feeling and situation that I have never felt before. And strangely enough, I didn't get home until about an hour ago. The fun of it all made me lost track of time. 

A knock on my doors stops my trail of thoughts, I look up and see Luke with a grin on his face. 

"Knock-knock. I think the cops are outside our apartment? Something about paint-"

I stop him mid-sentence, "Shut up!" I laugh, shaking my head. 

Luke laughs and shrugs, "If one day when we are wrinkly and old and you can't stand my face - you will be reminiscing on times like these."

I shake my head at his dramatics, "Look at you sounding so wise, Lucas Fredrick Williams." 

His nose wrinkles as he frantically shakes his head, "Yuck. Don't say my full name I beg of you. "

I smirk, "What's wrong with it?"

"It makes me sound like I'm a founding father that graduated from an old boarding school and then became friends with someone like Mozart," Luke responds. 

I laugh out loud and clap my hands, "That is so specific. But Mozart is a genius though." 

"I'm serious!" He crossed his arms over his chest, "I don't know what the hell my parents were thinking, I might as well wear one of those wigs - hence the reference to Mozart."

We laugh out loud at our antics and I feel my eyes grow heavy, letting out a yawn. 

"I'll leave you to go sleep now, " 

"Good idea. Gosh, I'm so tired."  

"Same here. Goodnight, Nova. " Luke smiles and closes the door, but opens it not a second later. 

"What?"

"If the cops ever knock on the door asking for the girl who dart painted the university's basement, don't worry I'll cover for you." 

I chuckle at him, "Goodnight, Luke."

He finally shuts the door and yells, "Night, bestie! Have the sweetest dreams." 

I get under my covers and stare at the ceiling, patiently waiting for sleep to overtake me and already forming my apology to a certain someone that I will see soon. 

Not long after the blissful peace of the night overtakes my body, and I have fallen into a deep slumber. My consciousness is awoken by the faint sound of sizzling, it's sound rampantly filling my ears. My forehead knots in confusion, I try to make sense of it; my hands feel the two sides of where I am lying down. Soft material meet the palm of my hands, but it is not as soft as the covers of my bedding - so this couldn't be my bed, I conclude. 

I slowly opened my eyes and scan my surroundings. I quickly notice the pattern of stark white and blue accents that was consistent in the room. An archway is to my right, with two long mirrors lining up against the walls beside it. The archway gives me a glimpse of a grand piano and a chandelier. A white marble fireplace is directly a few feet opposite me, as I realised that I have woken up on a long, white couch. What seems to be around a 10-foot long coffee table is situated right in front of the white couch. A few other pieces are placed carefully in the end tables and shelves in the room, adding onto the classic look it seems to be displaying. 

I turn my body and slowly sit myself up, with my feet touching the soft carpet. 

Where am I? 

It seems to be that I'm in a living room, but where exactly? I push myself off the couch and start to walk to where I can hear the present sound of a voice singing. I instantly recognise the voice, and a smile finds its way to my lips. I have no idea where to go, trusting my feet to lead me where the voice is. Well, the owner of the voice. As I keep on walking, I pass by what looks like a foyer - I see the infamous staircase, with picture frames hanged up on the wall. 

Oh my god. Oh god. 

I know where I am now. It was so obvious, why didn't I recognise it immediately? I should've recognised it just from the interior design alone. I keep on walking and stop to what obviously seems to be the kitchen; it's layout and wooden furnishings giving it away. My attention is not focused on that though, I am more focused on the man who's back is facing me. He is wearing a mustard yellow shirt, with a short silk scarf wrapped around his neck and black slacks to complete the look. 

He seems to be humming a tune to himself. 

"Elvis?" 

He stops and turns around quickly, "Morning, doll." He says, and my breathe is caught in my throat for a moment as he flashes his infamous grin at me. 

"What. . . um. . . you," I fail to form a sentence and give up eventually. 

He chuckles amusedly at me, "Come here, I want you to try somethin.' " He beckons me to him with his hand, and I approach him where he is stood near the stove. 

He gestures to the plate in front of him, he takes a knife and cuts the sandwich in half; dividing it into two triangular pieces. 

"This is the best sandwich that you'll ever have. Go on, try it darl'. "

We both take a piece each. I take a bite of it and instantly feel my taste buds recognise the contents of the sandwich. I look to Elvis, his gaze is firm on mine, excitedly awaiting my reaction. 

I take another bite and swallow before speaking, "Peanut butter and banana? not bad."

Elvis nods in approval, "The best, right?" 

I chuckle at his enthusiasm, "I'll say that I've never had one before. But now-"

"Now, you'll thank me for changing your life forever." Elvis says dramatically, as he moves closer to me. His body is facing sideways, with his hip leaned against the kitchen counter as he rests his arms on the counter, his eye contact never faltering from mine. 

I suddenly feel a little warm. Oh god. 

I narrow my eyes at him, but I cannot help but smile. 

"Why, thank you Chef Presley." I play along with him. 

He laughs, "Anything for you, Miss Sinclair." 

"So, fried peanut butter and banana sandwich. Definitely new for me." 

"You see, I don't really cook. That's the only decent food I can do." He explains, shrugging casually but I can sense that hint of insecurity in his voice. 

"But you made this for me? Despite-"

"Like I said, anything for you Nova." His tone of voice filled with seriousness, filtering away from his normal playful manner of speaking. 

I hear a thump in my chest.

I have never been one to be good at holding eye contact, but my god, does he make it another level of challenging. There's an element of playfulness that you can see in his eyes, but also such intensity. My grandmother always told me that eyes are the windows to the soul, which is one of the most cliche phrases in the whole word, but I never really paid attention to that explanation until now. I feel that there is something in his eyes, more than what I just described - his gazing at me with a certain level of content and peace. A knowing gaze. 

 Those blue eyes of his piercing into mine,  as if to whisper 'I know you.'

His gaze flickers to my lips briefly, and I decide it's time to interrupt this because I feel my feet urging to step closer to him and I can't do that. 

I clear my throat and look away, in desperate hopes to grasp a new subject of conversation. I step away from him, and wander around the kitchen a little; creating distance from him. 

I look back at him, "So, this is Graceland. My first time here." I smile in wonder. 

"Right, many times. " He says, smiling only a little. 

I raised my eyebrow at him, "Huh?"

Elvis shakes his head and walks over to stand next to me, "Nothin.' I mean, with your list and all, I guess it's many first times." He avoids my gaze. 

I nod, "Oh, right. Well, actually. . . that's part of the reason why I was late." I say, looking back at him and he turns to me. 

"You've never been late," He nods, "I started to think that, man, I blew it with a girl I like." He whistles, looking down. 

I freeze at his words and feel my cheeks warm. 

he said what? Did I hear that right?  he must mean friends, right? Could I even label this thing we have as being friends? 

I choose to not read into what he said too much, and chuckle, "Such a charmer, just like Miss Esther said. But here I am."

He lifts his head back up, his gaze returning to me. He opens his mouth, but pauses - a noticeable brief hesitation. 

"There you are, like always, " He says, seemingly distant in his tone and shakes his head, "Not getting sick of me yet, are you?" He jokes, grinning at me. 

I quickly shake my head, "I never could. Mysterious stranger I met on a train." I reply, looking back on the first time he was in my dreams - the moving train and the relief in his eyes and his keen refusal in admitting that I was dreaming. 

"A good-looking, mysterious stranger. " He jokes. 

I roll my eyes at this and playfully hit his arm, "You really are something else." 

"Ouch, you wound me honey, " He dramatically clutches on his chest. 

I laugh, "Now, do you want to know why I was late or not?"

"Tell me on the way, doll," He muses. 

I furrow my eyebrows, "On the way to what?"

"To cross another one off your list."

His gaze briefly scans me from head to toe, and I subconsciously cross my arms over my chest.

"Elvis, just tell me." I plead, pouting my lips. 

"I'll tell ya after you get changed." He chuckles. 

I look down at what I'm wearing and blush in embarrassment to see that I am in fact, wearing the pyjamas that I went to bed in. 

I sigh in defeat, "Fine. But how will I know what to wear? and Where do I even get-"

He interrupts me mid-sentence, placing a finger over my lips, "Relax, darl.' I've got you something to wear, come with me, " He extends his hand out. 

I reach my hand out and he envelops it naturally. I expect him to turn around and start to lead me to where that piece of clothing is, but he doesn't yet. Instead, his thumb grazes over my hand and he bows his head down - placing a brief, delicate kiss on my hand. 

I gasp at this, his unpredictability is something I can never get used to. 

"You have smooth skin, honey." He says, his voice making me weak in my knees. 

"Uh. . . thanks." I awkwardly reply, completely thrown off by what he just did. 

thanks? really? that's what I have to say?

Elvis laughs out loud, his laugh contagious and beautifully melodic to the ears. He then lifts his head back up, and tugs me along with him.

"Elvis, not even one hint?" I try again. 

"Okay," He says, and I don't know why but the way he says that word - it's so satisfying and endearing. 

"The hint is this; you will be the prettiest one there, " He smirks. 

This seems to be the sixth or seventh time that Elvis is in my dreams. Consecutive nights. I remember each one so vividly, and the way he talks and looks at me - it still makes me wonder and question. Maybe not as overwhelming occupying my mind as before, but those question marks are still there. 

What and Why is this happening to me?

next chapter

Yours Truly - Chapter 10: Girlfriend?

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 2.9k

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. self-conscious OC, fluff, a kiss, adorably oblivious OC.

chapter index| prev | next

--

NOVA

"Did you choose this dress?" I asked over the locked door, as I studied my reflection in the floor-length mirror. It was a cream white dress, with wildflower patterns adorning its entirety, the straps were tie-straps and the dress reached just a little above my knees. It was beautiful, and elevated the remembrance of summer days. The dress hugged my figured surprisingly, and I can only logically say that in dreams, of course a dress would fit perfectly. It is my dream, after all. 

"Yes and no." 

I roll my eyes at his response, of course. I take one final glance at the mirror and sigh. It is only natural to feel insecure, but its very existence loomed over me for majority of my teenage years. Being not 'conventionally beautiful' in a high school setting really does something to a young girl's self-esteem. I know now that outer appearance is not all that makes up a person, but it still does hurt when harsh words aim at something you were born with, it eats your soul. So, I guess even at the age of 21, webs of insecurity are still something I battle with. 

"You never give simple answers, do you?" 

Elvis chuckles, "I don't know what you mean. Are you done?"

"Give me a sec." 

I turn around and check my reflection in the mirror one last time. What if the dress is beautiful, but me wearing it destroys it? I purse my lips at the thought, but I don't really want to go back to wearing my pyjamas. What to do? 

"I can almost hear your mind running wild, doll. " He muses, his voice was closer to the door. 

Ok, breathe, Nova. Just get out there and if you look atrocious in the dress, you can always just blink your eyes and wake up from this dream. I try hard to tell myself. 

I take a deep breath. 

"Darlin, do you need help? I wouldn't want to be the shitty guy who's out here waiting when you are out there struggling-" 

I swing the door open, which cuts off his sentence. Elvis is leaning against the wall of the hallway, but he straightens to stand up suddenly. His familiar blue eyes gazed at me, slack-jawed. I take my hand off the door handle and take a cautious step towards him, my hands fiddling. His eyes trail from my legs up to my head, holding my gaze for what seems like an eternity. I hug myself, rubbing my arms consciously. 

What is he thinking?

"I, um. . . sorry I took so long." I finally say, the words seem to get stuck in my throat. My voice was unfamiliar to me, there was shake to my tone. This much attention, coupled with strong silence - I never know how to act. I don't think anyone else has looked at me like that, except for- well, I can't think about him right now. 

"No, no, don't be sorry. " Elvis says, shaking his head. He steps forward and takes both my hands in his, removing them from my self-conscious guarding. 

He breaks out into a smile, "You look beautiful, Nova." 

There's that thump again in my chest. Whenever he is within this close proximity to me, his scent encompasses my senses - that familiar cologne. I honestly do not know how all those woman in the past managed to contain themselves being this close to him. It's like a magnetic pull, an invisible rope that I know I can't fight against, or that I don't want to.

"Thank you." I softly say and looked down at my feet, "But I don't suppose I go wherever we are going wearing these house slippers, right?" I question, in hopes to cut the prevalent tension. 

Elvis laughs at this, as he bites on his bottom lip, "Nah, I don't think it helps your height." 

I gasp and hit his arm playfully, "Rude! Bye now, Presley. I'm off." I dramatically walk past him, but I am not fast enough as he catches my arm quickly. I then feel both of his arms wrap around my waist rapidly, his chest pressed firmly against my back. 

"No, honey, I'm sorry. I was only joking." He laughs, and I can feel his smile against my cheek. 

Oh god. He has never done this before, and this is a different level of closeness. Something you do when you know someone so intimately, and that thump in my chest beats far rapidly. I can almost feel it about to leap out my chest. But nevertheless, I feel my lips stretch out Into a smile, as I feel my face heating up. 

Our laughter dies down and we are once again met with silence.

"Please, don't leave me, Nova." He says this time, in whispers of desperation. So quiet that I almost didn't catch it. 

Is he afraid that I'll end this dream sooner than he wanted, and then he'll have to wait for me again the next time I close my eyes. 

"I won't." I softly say, tilting my head a little to the left to turn to him. 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

I sit down in the passenger seat of his car, I am sat down sideways with the car door open and the right side of my body leaning against the back of the car seat. I glance down at him on his knees in front of me. 

"And you just so happen to have this in your car?" I asked him, referring to the pair of white heeled-sandals that are in his hands. 

"In case of emergency," He looks up at me and winks. 

"Elvis, you do know I can manage putting shoes on myself." I chuckle. 

"I know, darlin. But let me just do this for you, okay?" Elvis grins. 

I nod as I know there is no point in disagreeing, once he has his mind set on something he'll do it. 

His hands are soft and careful as he slips my feet into the pristine white heels. The contact of his hand against my skin doesn't go unnoticed by me, as I feel heat rush to my cheeks. He finishes putting the final strap on and suddenly leans down, planting a kiss on the area right next my ankle. 

I gasped, "Hey!" My cheeks are no doubt turning a bright shade of pink. 

"Sorry, couldn't help it." He looks up with that infamous smirk of his, not apologetic at all. 

"Well, thank you." 

"For the kiss?" He says mischievously. 

"No, not for the kiss, oh you are impossible." I roll my eyes, biting back a smile. 

I slip both my legs into the car into a comfortable position, as Elvis stands back up. He closes my car door and jogs around, quickly getting into the driver's seat. He starts up the car, and slips on his sunglasses. I stare in awe at the infamous musical gates of Graceland as we pass through them, "Who opened the gates?" I asked him, as he heads down the main road. 

"Consider it a magic trick," Elvis replies, briefly glancing at me before refocusing his eyes on the road. 

Both of the windows on either side are rolled down, perfectly welcoming the fresh breeze into the vehicle. The wind accompanied my hair, letting the strands dance wildly which I am sure I will have to fix later on. The sun hangs high in the dreamy blue sky, encapsulating scorching hot heat onto my skin.

"It's so warm for a December day, " I admit, it's definitely not the usual temperatures for a day in the supposedly Winter months. But I suppose in the land of dreams, nothing really Is logical. 

Elvis chuckles, "I ain't complaining, just embrace the change." 

"Neither am I. It's good." 

Although the gust of wind is continuous as Elvis speeds through the roads, the scorching heat of the sun still permeates my skin. I have the right clothing on and the right shoes, so it's just my thick, long hair not really helping the situation. 

"Damn it, why don't I have a hair tie?" I mutter to myself, instinctively looking down at my wrist as I pull my hair up in a ponytail. I purse my lips in thought, what can I use to tie my hair up? I pause on my train of thought as I feel his gaze on me in my peripheral vision. I turn my head to look at him, and see his eyes flicker briefly to my exposed neck - his sunglasses are half-tinted blue, making his gaze much more prevalent compared to normal fully-tinted ones. 

"Sorry, I was just looking for something to tie my hair." I find myself explaining, and he simply nods and refocuses his attention back on the road. His jaw is noticeably tensed, with his bottom lip between his teeth. I wonder if he's deep in thought about something. 

He mutters something under his breath, and I think it's along the lines of "Lord, have mercy." He pushes back his hair with his one hand that's not on the steering wheel.

"Elvis, are you okay?" I ask.

Elvis clears his throat, "Yeah, yeah. 'Course I'm good." 

"Okay, I just wanted to makes sure you weren't in pain or something." I chuckled, smiling at him. 

He shakes his head, "In pain? Now, why would I be in pain?" 

"Nothing." I shrugged, "It's just you looked a little tense there for a second."

He lets out a chuckle and gives me a wink, "There's nothing to worry about, darlin', trust me." 

Before I could spark a new subject of conversation, the car comes to halt as Elvis switches the engine off. I observe where he parked, which is in the middle of a vast landscape. He has basically parked on grass. 

"We are here." He states. 

"Um. . . this is the middle of nowhere." I say, as a matter-of-factly.

Elvis gets out of the car and quickly opens my car door for me, with his hand outstretched. I gratefully take it, "Thank you."

He shuts the car door, locks the car - all without letting go of my hand. 

"Are we going to have a picnic? Do you have a picnic basket? I mean, there's literally nothing here. But it is the perfect weather to have a picnic, for sure. Or are we going to play football? or any other sports? Elvis, I'm terrible at sports, I can't cop-"

He cuts off my nervous ramblings with a laugh as he turns his body to face me completely, "Breathe, baby. Breathe. I'm with you, okay?" His thumb gently grazes my cheek, before returning his hand into tightly intertwining with mine. 

baby. 

I feel my pulse quicken, my heart hammering ruthlessly against my chest. And something tells me it's not because of the unknown, but because of him. His way of being so affectionate, gentle, and- I should really stop thinking about it. I can't hold onto this thought any longer. Elvis is a charmer, I mean, I guess he is like that with everyone. It is only natural for him to be so, so. . . close. 

I slowly nod after taking a deep breath. His lips spread into a smile, as he tugs me along with him. We walk down hill a little and not long after, I hear the sound of excited chatter and music booming from speakers fill my ears. We keep on walking, until we find the source of all the sound. There, in the middle of the vast empty grass, was a walkway leading up what looked like two giant light tan-coloured tents that are combined together. As we walk closer, the tents seemed to be held up by numerous solid wooden poles. I immediately stop walking, as my eyes widen in realisation on where we are going, "A party?" I turned to Elvis to confirm my guess. 

"Hmm, not exactly." 

"What do you mean?" 

Elvis ignores my question and tugs me along with him. We keep on walking down the pathway until we are at the very opening in the middle of the two tents. The music and the chatter grow louder and louder, until we are right inside of the tent. Fairy lights dazzle my vision, framing the entirety of the main entrance and the large inner space. Numerous rustic tables adorned the space, with around eight or so people on each table. At the very middle of the it all is a mirrorball. A simple stage is at the very front of all the tables, and a bar to the far left. What seems to be hundreds and hundreds of people occupy the space, all adorned in such formal clothing. But what catches my eye is the three-layer cake on the long table beside the stage, "This is. . . stunning. It's a wedding reception."

Elvis nods. 

"This was not on my list." I say, challenging him. 

"Are you sure 'bout that, Nova?" He grins mischievously. 

Oh no. What now?

Suddenly, a man dressed in security uniform approaches us rapidly. His eyes are narrowed at us, with a clipboard in his hand. 

"I didn't see you both at the entrance. Names?" He questions, suspicion evident in his tone. 

Well, shit. Did I see Elvis take in invitations? I don't think he had any invitations in his hand when we left Graceland. 

"I'm Aaron and this is Katerina." Elvis confidently says, smirking at me. 

First off all, how does he know my middle name? Well, I mean, I know his but that's not the point. 

The guard flips through the pages of his clipboard and shakes his head, "Neither of you are on the list, which means you have both just broken into a private event." 

Oh shit. 

I pull Elvis' arm and frantically whisper into his ear in a panic, "Elvis, this is not good. This is really not good." 

"I've got this, doll." He whispers back calmly with a smirk. 

Elvis turns back to the man, "You see. . . Gregory is it?" He asks, briefly glancing at the name tag on the guard's uniform, in which the man firmly nods. 

"Gregory. Listen, pal, " He steps forward and places a hand on the man's shoulder, he then leans down and whispers something to him as he gestures to me. 

Damn it. What is he saying? 

The guard, Gregory, his face goes a deep shade of red as his eyes widen at me. Elvis leans back and returns to stand next to me, intertwining our fingers. 

"Now you see why, Gregory?" Elvis dramatically sighs, in fake sadness. 

The man nods his head and sputters out a string of apologies, "I-uh. . . of course! Silly me. I apologise to you and your girlfriend. I am so sorry for the trouble." 

"It's all good, man. " Elvis smiles brightly, as Gregory walks away very quickly. 

My mouth is hung wide open in shock and surprise, I turn to Elvis with my eyebrow arched at him in confusion. 

"Girlfriend?! What on earth did you tell the him? You frightened the poor guy to death." 

Elvis simply laughs at my reaction and tugs me along with him, "I'm afraid I can't spill my secrets, baby."

There he goes again with the pet names. 

"No, I want to know!" I pout at him. 

He hums, "Maybe another time. Let's crash a wedding first?" He questions, smirking at me.

I roll my eyes and chuckle, "Fine. But this is not the end, E.P." 

"Wouldn't dream of it, Nova."

next

Yours Truly - Journal entry no. 2

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 468

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. This is supplemental material to the on-going series 'Yours Truly' please DO NOT read this if you have not read the previous chapters 1 to 10.

chapter index | prev | chapter 11

--

AN ENTRY FROM NOVA'S JOURNAL 

December 9, 2022 

Dear journal, 

Well, I suppose here we are with the second entry. I thought it was about time I gather my thoughts somewhere, on what has happened in my life so far. 

First and foremost, he is still appearing in my dreams. There has never been one single night that he hasn't. Just last night. . . he helped me cross another item off my list - crashing a party. or a wedding reception, more like. I just can't explain how I can always remember every detail. It's not like a snapshot of a blur of photos. No it's more than that. 

I remember our conversations. every single word. And how each one is said. I remember how he smiles or gives me that mischievous grin of his. I remember the way the sun touches my skin and the chatter of people and the music and his sneaky kisses. 

All of it puzzles my mind. 

I do know that I can't tell Luke or Charlotte about any of this. They are my good friends, but this is beyond the level of being comprehensible. Heck, even I would give them a look if one of them told me something like this was happening to them. It does not sound remotely logical. It does not sound very. . .Nova. 

But there are a few things that I am sure, that I am certain of. I while ago I asked him if he was real and he nodded. There is a chance he's real. He mentioned at our first meeting on the train that he is aware that he died. Then that could only mean that he is a ghost appearing to me from the afterlife? That is the only logical answer I could pinpoint. Even coming to terms with that, it clutches at my heart, an indescribable feeling I can't quite comprehend. Overwhelmed and painful. I don't know. 

But if he is appearing to me from the afterlife. . . why won't he give me clear, straight answers? 

He even said that when his song came on the radio- that was his doing. But the one thing that nags at me a little is the band-aid on my knee, from when I fell off his motorcycle. . . in the dream. The dream. Last time I checked, whatever happens in dreams do not transfer to the real world. This one still really makes my head spin. 

I do enjoy his presence - it bewilders and excites me. 

But it still does leave me with the question. . .

Elvis why are you helping me? How do you know me?  Why and how do you know all these details about me?

Till next time journal. I do hope next time I'll have more answers. 

Nova. 

next

Yours Truly - Chapter 11: If I Whisper

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 7.5k (sorry!)

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. very angsty, but a lot of fluff too. But mostly angst.

chapter index | prev | chapter 12

--

"That guy with tears in his eyes and ghosts in his heart. He loved her, and you could see it." - Jamie Tworkowski 

--

NOVA

Our footsteps brushed against the sidewalk, effectively resounding into the quietness of the desolate street. Boutiques, stores, and diners all wore the similar 'WE ARE CLOSED' sign on their doors. Unattended vehicles were fairly scattered, sitting empty along the curb. The night sky was void of the earlier presence of the sun, and in its place was the glow of the moon accompanied by the blanket of what I could only guess was an infinite of stars. To aid in fighting the inevitable darkness of nature,  street lamps echoed circular bursts of light. One of which reflected perfectly on the man beside me, and I find myself gasping quietly. The blend of the natural and the artificial forms of light elevated his appearance. It may seem cliche to think, but I truly cannot believe how unreal he looks. 

No wonder all those people have emphasised how even more gorgeous he was in real life, and how photos simply did not do him justice. I understand the chaos now, a chaos with reason. It makes me want to snap a photo of him, a way to mark a moment forever before it slips through my fingers like leaves in the wind. Not only because of his outer beauty, but this odd setting he is in. Someone such as himself, you see him in many photos always surrounded by a mass crowd of people. Always. Even in photos when it's only him alone - no, this is different. The Elvis that I see beside me is in such an open space, walking freely  and it's so quiet, so unusual, so human. 

But snapping a photo only holds possible in the real world, not in the dream world. 

I attempt to shake myself out of my reverie, but it seems as if he has caught me and not even a second later, his lips quirk up into a smirk as he fully faces me now. 

"Doll?" He says, a petname that so effortlessly rolls off his tongue, and my mind openly welcomes. 

"I-I'm sorry. . .  what were you saying?" I sputter out, hardly saving myself from his inevitable teasing response that I know he is bound to say.

He chuckles and shakes his head, "Am I boring you already, honey?" He teases. 

In previous encounters with him, I would be apologising right away. But now I know him slightly better, I have become accustomed with Elvis' playful attitude. A direct contrast from the seriousness that I wear all the time. 

I choose to play along and frantically nod, "Oh no, you've caught me, Aaron." I say, purposely dramatising my tone. 

Elvis draws out a long, exaggerated sigh, "I guess I'll call a taxi and we say our farewells, Katerina."  He looks down, giving the performance of a lifetime. 

"Such a shame, the dance moves at the reception was a showstopper." I mused. 

He slowly lifts his head back up and gazes at me, those deep blue eyes never failing to make me loose my balance just the slightest bit. He mirrors the smile spreading across my lips and shakes his head again, an unmistakable shade of red coloring his face. I couldn't help myself, and laughter escapes me inevitably.

Elvis groans, as he closes his eyes in embarrassment, "Aw, hell. Don't remind me!"

"Why not? You looked so cute." 

As per any wedding reception, there is always the part where everyone stands up and go to the dance floor. Surprisingly, when others ushered Elvis to dance, I saw that hesitation in him and how quickly he declined the offer. Well, he couldn't entirely escape it and found himself joining in after all, but his body was almost awkward. I did find myself laughing at how adorable he looked, as he seemed to be mumbling something to himself the entire time - probably disbelief in himself that he is in that situation. 

He opens his eyes and gazes me for a second, and not long after releasing a laughter of his own. 

"I'm glad that you find joy in my misery," He says, the lightness in his tone proving that he is only joking. 

I shake my head with an involuntarily smile pulling on my lips, "Your words, not mine." I throw many hands up in defence. Although it is only lighthearted joking around, I cannot help but recall his initial reaction when I brought it up. I don't want to loose myself in another train of thoughts, another one in which that I know he'll surely snap me out of. I seem to always find myself zoning out, and I've done it an embarrassing number of times already - I don't want him to think that I'm not paying attention to him. Zoning out and being too in my head, it's such a bad habit of mine, one that I know I'll definitely need to break. 

So, I let my curiosity slip out my brain and into our topic of conversation.

"No, but really. I just didn't expect to see you like that at all." I admit, attempting to phrase my words out in a clear way, slightly hoping that he catches what I'm trying to say. 

Elvis tilts his head and glances briefly at me, "Like what, doll?" His voice purely confused at my words. 

"So hesitant to dance. I mean, from the videos I've seen of you performing. . . you always looked so confident and in your element. " I explain further, noticing myself use my hands to emphasise my words. Another habit of mine - I tend to talk with my hands, as if I'm in a theatrical piece, whereby every bit of dialogue involves gestures.

He sighs and for a moment I regret my words, but a small, shy smile appears on his face which eases my worries. 

"When I'm on stage as Elvis Presley, my body can feel the music and just move. B-But me just as me, getting up to dance . . . I-It ain't easy." He shakes his head, his words slow and a slight stutter that I've never heard before from him. His azure eyes look into me, as if silently searching for assurance that I'm listening, as if there is a time limit hanging above my head indicating my patience. A patience that I truly know is insurmountable when it comes to him. It's the veins of curiosity that twists itself so easily around the human nature of: yes, I am listening, and I want to hear more about you. Please keep talking. 

To my relief, he continues. 

"I-I was a pretty shy kid. . . never sang in front of an audience, or anyone before that day I decided to. Never the popular one in school." His forehead knots, and I can almost see his brain reaching through the files of memories past. I don't fail to notice that for each word that he utters out of his mouth, his eyes would flicker briefly to my face and then he would continue. 

I find myself gaping in disbelief as his confession, "Shy?" 

He nods and chuckles, as he scratches the nape of his neck. 

"That hard to believe, huh?" He says. 

I nod, "Honestly, yeah. At first glance of your performances, no one would think that you are a shy. How did you break out of your shell?"

"I did for my mama. She believe in my singing and I always believed her. I took my best shot with it, and found it helped with getting my family out of poverty. It was all for them." He says, his voice quieter now, a softer tone. A tone that was such a shift from the confident and playful man that shows himself to me these past few encounters. Instead, with Elvis' eyes casted off into a distance, his tone is a glimpse of that little boy who wanted to help his family. The little boy who found a passion in music. The little boy who dreamed. 

A pinch into my heart was evident. So selfless to take on such a huge responsibility at such a young age, and by his choice as well. He has always been a kind soul, and I'm grateful that the movie explored the humanity of him. . . but I wished they explored more of this. 

"I'm happy you took the step. Your voice. . . the world deserved to hear it, and I'm glad that in exchange, you've got to help your family have a better life." I say, and refrain myself from saying but you also deserved to live longer. 

Elvis faces me now, and I realise that we've stopped walking. We stand still, facing each other and the light from the street lamp reflects on his features so perfectly. His high cheekbones so prominent, along with the sharp jawline.  The Elvis before me is his appearance from the late '60s I would say. It's strange, in each dream that I have, he is there. But it's always different versions of him. So far, it's been mostly '50s Elvis and now lately, it's been '60s Elvis. But then again, why would I question this when the entire situation is even more of a question mark itself.  

Elvis smiles, "Yeah, It made me real happy to do that for them. Thank you for listening, Nova." He says softly, sincerity echoes through his face. Both of his hands reach out and clasped into mine. I smile at him, as I find myself gently squeezing his hands in reassurance. 

A strong gust of wind fills the surroundings, its effect not going unnoticed by my bare arms. I shiver instinctively. Elvis quickly notices this, and takes his suit jacket off without a moment's hesitation, carefully draping it around my shoulders. I loop my arms into the sleeves, although it probably looks a little big on me.I feel my cheeks heat up at his close proximity, the scent of his cologne evade my senses strongly. 

"Thanks." I manage to say, in a quiet voice. 

"What kind of guy would I be if I let my girl freeze in this cold?" He grinned. 

My girl. 

I hear a distant sound of chimming and it happens again. I furrow my eyebrows, racking my brain to decipher what that could be. I look around our surroundings quizzically. 

I know now. It's almost like a sound of a clock chime. 

"Did you hear that?" I ask him. 

Elvis' eyes widen slightly in what I can understand must be him thinking if there is any danger lurking by. He clears his throat and takes my right hand in his left, tucking both of our hands into his pocket. His body faces forward, the way it was when we were walking. 

"I-It's getting colder, let's go." He simply says, his eyes removed from my gaze. 

Before I could say anything else, he is hurried in his walking as he tugs me along with him. 

"It sounded like a clock chime," I say, as his walk picks up in speed and turns into a run. I try to keep up with him, his hand tightly holding onto mine. 

I'm unsure if he heard me. 

--

It seems I have been proven wrong. Every other building on the street is closed, except for one. It just happens to be Miss Esther's cafe. It doesn't go unnoticed by me that there is no one else in the cafe, and why would there be really? it seems so late into the night, which does beg the question on why keep a cafe open at this hour? Such an odd thing my brain is creating for this dream. 

Well, no one but Miss Esther herself who welcomed us with open arms. Literally. The friendly lady was quick on her feet to draw us both in a tight hug, and an enthusiastic smile upon seeing us both again. We both order hot cups of coffee, which brings us to the moment that we are right now. Elvis and I sat at a table right in the corner, which is safe to say the best choice as the warmth of the place quickly dissipated the cold temperatures of the outside. Unlike the previous time, the lights of the cafe were dimmed - a true indication that it is in fact the night hours. 

"Thank goodness for this place, it got so cold so quickly." I say, as I take a sip from the mug of the hot beverage in my hands. It's taste and warmth, perfectly melting into my throat. 

Elvis nods, "I second that."

Elvis places his coffee mug down and leans forward, "Another one crossed off your list? How are you feeling, baby?" He grins, that familiar southern drawl in his voice. 

baby. 

To save myself from dwelling on his close proximity, I attempt to subtly lean back against my chair to answer his question. Although the crashing of the wedding reception happened in my previous dream, it still astounds me to no end that I truly did that. At the start of this dream, I found myself walking with Elvis. Both of us still wearing the attire that we wore for the wedding reception. After waking up from the previous dream, my mind cannot help but replay how even in the crowded room full of people at the reception, his attention was on me and he kept asking me if I was okay. Yes, he pushes me to be braver, to try the unknown. But at the same time, he knows how set I am in my ways and reads me so well - easily seeing if I'm overwhelmed or not. 

"It said 'party' on my list. Not wedding." I smile playfully, "But either way, it was something I've never done before. It was fun. . . surprisingly." 

"See? It ain't so bad to cross the lines sometimes, Katerina." He muses, grinning at me. 

There he goes again with my middle name. 

"That's true. But I won't be crashing another wedding in the future." I chuckle with a shake of my head, as I prop my elbow on the table with my chin resting on my hand. 

"Fair enough, honey. Some things in life, you only need to do once. Just to make you feel. . . a little crazy. We all need that feeling sometimes." His voice is quieter now, almost to the level of a whisper, as he smiles at me. 

"Thank you for helping me." I say, almost feeling the words hard to get out of my mouth. It's strange, whenever he is so close to me and his voice is that gentle and quiet. It's so attentive and  I feel that he is looking through me, like a pristinely transparent glass. As if to silently say with his eyes: Of course, I'm listening to you too.

He takes my left hand and plants a kiss on the top, all the while maintaining his piercing eye contact with me. 

"I'll find a way. Always." 

Such a small sentence, not even ten words and yet, my brain desperately clutches onto his words. A brief string of words that feel like they are spinning around in a carousel in my mind, and ultimately melting into the depths of my heart. And I guess, for once in my life, I have a feeling that the latter wins the key of keeping it close. 

"Tell me something. . ." I begin after a while of silence. 

He nods. Elvis absentmindedly draws invisible circles around the palm of my left hand, which does tickle a little, and soothes me at the same time. 

"How do you know my middle name? It left me speechless when you dropped that out of nowhere." I chuckle. 

There is a twinkle in his eye as he chuckles, "Lucky guess." 

I roll my eyes as I shoot him a smile, "Of course. No one calls me by my middle name." 

"Did you know that my middle name is Aaron?" He asks, clearly rhetorically. 

"Yes. But that's not the same thing." I lean back against the chair again, feeling a little tired. But nonetheless, wanting to keep talking to him. 

"How is it not?" He muses, clearly enjoying this. 

"Everyone knows you. Well, knows your name." 

He ignores my response and simply says, "Katerina is a very sexy name, I'll say." 

Never have I ever heard my name pronounced like. . . that before. He said it a few times now, but this time, I feel he intentionally says it in such a. . .  certain way. The way that my name rolls of his tongue in such a way - it makes my cheeks heat up involuntarily. 

I clear my throat and try to avoid his eyes, "Thanks. Aaron is a cool name too."

He laughs at my flustered expression, clapping his hands. 

"Oh my, I hear a lot of laughter. I do hope that he is not annoying you, sweet Nova." Miss Esther appears, walking closer to us with her hands on her hips. 

"I haven't done nothing wrong, Ma'am. " Elvis shakes his head, joking along. 

Miss Esther narrows her eyes at him, but with a smile on her face, "Hmm. You better not do. I need your help, I can't seem to reach the box from the highest shelf in the kitchen. " She explains.

Elvis doesn't hesitate to stand up, "Okay." 

Miss Esther smiles and pats him on the shoulder, "Thank you, sweetheart. " 

Elvis turns back to me, "Honey, will you be alright here while I go help Miss Esther?" 

I nod, "I'll be fine, go." 

"Besides, you'll be doing all the work whilst I take a seat right here and hang out with Nova." Miss Esther chuckles at him, easily taking the seat across from me. 

"Alright, no bad tales about me Miss Esther." He jokes, and I feel that he wanted to say something more but he stops himself. Instead, he confirms to Miss Esther about which box it is, and makes his way into the kitchen. 

"It's nice to see hear him laugh and smile, dear." She says. 

"Yeah, he loves to joke a lot and teases me all the time. He's a complete contrast to how I am." I shake my head, chuckling.

"I'm afraid I haven't been clear with my words," Miss Esther replies, smiling apologetically at me. 

I tilt my head, "What do you mean, Miss Esther?"

She sighs,"Elvis is a nice boy. But from the moment I met him, the boy was anything but a jokester. Determined, yes. But very down. It made me worry an awful lot from time to time." 

Of course, from my knowledge from the movie, Elvis' life was filled with it's fair share of trails tribulations - but I thought that coming into the afterlife, a sense of peace would replace such a heartbreaking emotion. Well, that is if he is from the afterlife. If my theory is correct, then Elvis is from the afterlife and is visiting my dreams. This is the only plausible explanation. . . right?

"Down?" 

Miss Esther nods in confirmation, "Very. But ever since. . . you. . .  I have never seen him so much as frown no longer. It's a good change. You are good together. " Her voice is warm and sincere, a bright smile on her face. 

I offer her a kind smile back.

A thought enters my mind. Should I or should I not?

"Miss Esther, can I ask you something?" 

She nods, "Yes, of course."

"When we first met you told me something. You told me that Elvis was looking for me, and you thought that he told me about that. But he's difficult with answering questions. So secretive. I. .  I guess I just want to know what you meant by that?" I find myself lowering my voice, fiddling my  fingers nervously. 

I see a flash of hesitation in her eyes and she sighs deeply, "I'm afraid I can't help you with that, sweetheart. I'm sorry. My answers will not offer you anything helpful."

"Please, just anything." I plead, "I-I've been having these dreams back to back, every night. They continue on one after the other and I just want to know why."

She sighs,"Sometimes good things are not as simple. It is not the simple case of why and how, but trust me answers will come to you when the time is right. Okay?" She says, putting a delicate finger underneath my chin as she smiles. 

I feel defeated by her response, but I can feel that she is genuine with her words. 

Instead, I sigh and whisper back, "Okay."

Before any further conversation can continue, Elvis returns and tells Miss Esther that the box is now on the kitchen counter. He inquires on what our topic of conversation was, in which Miss Esther replies that we've been talking about her secret recipes. I am grateful that she didn't reveal our true conversation to Elvis. But her words will ring a little longer in my brain. She is essentially saying to just go with the flow of things. But the rational part of my being is desperately screaming out against such a relaxed perspective. I've never been rollerblading toward letting happenstance being what it is. There is always a reason for everything that happens, and if it can be helped - I'd like to know that reason. But I suppose this time around, life is closing its doors to my logical tendencies and throwing the key away. 

My eyes cannot help but glance at the black and white photographs of Hollywood actors, presumably from the '50s and '60s, adorning one wall of the cafe. A few I can easily recognised and others not so much. 

"I like what they did with the wall." I comment. 

Elvis smiles, "I do too. The best of the best on there."

"Who's your favorite?" I asked, nodding to the wall of photographs. 

I have a sense that I know his answer before he says it, well, in the movie Elvis mentions his admiration for James Dean a few times and how he wished to be as great as him in acting.

His eyes wander around and stay fixated to a photograph of James Dean, "A real great actor. It's shame he died so young. " Elvis shakes his head, "I remember starting out in Hollywood, wishing and hoping that I'd become a serious actor like him. I wanted to do good movies that told a really good story. Script after script, I-I knew then that my hope was impossible. I fell sick, mentally and violently ill from all that. . ." He looks at me now, shaking his head and blue eyes watery now. 

I frown, "Oh, Elvis." 

"Thirty-one movies later and I knew that this folks in town laughed at me. 'Course I knew. I-I just wanted to make one good picture I could be proud of, before I went." His words breathe harder into the air now, as he closes his eyes shut and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. 

It pains me to see that even now, those wounds still remain fresh to him. A whole decade of his life was dedicated to movies. It's such a shame that people did not see his passion, that did not help him reach his potential. It's that battle with creativity, a hunger to express himself and others around him did not see him like that. They made their decisions about him before they even knew him. It's a treacherous feeling that seeps into me, and I find myself biting down on my lip - feeling like tears might escape me. 

He opens his eyes and chuckles bitterly, "I was a joke." 

I find myself leaning forward and taking his hand into mine, "Hey, don't be saying that about yourself. I'm sorry that you didn't get what you deserve because you deserved so much more, Elvis. You had so much more to offer to the table and I wished people saw that. . . saw you."

He is silent for a moment and takes a deep breath, "Thank you, Nova. It matters a whole lot that you see me."

A smile slowly pulls on his lips as I smile at him, hoping to lift up the mood. 

"Why don't you ask me?" I say, arching a teasing eyebrow. 

"Ask about what?" He looks at me confused.

"Who my favorite actor is?" I muse. 

Elvis chuckles suddenly, as if I just dropped an inside joke.

"I don't need to, doll. I have a feeling that I already know." He smirks, confidence oozing from him. 

"Fine, go on then." I entertain his confidence.

"Grace Kelly." He replies casually, not a hint of doubt in his voice. 

I gasped in shock, "How'd you know that?" 

Another one of the many things that he knows about me. I should not be surprised anymore at this point, but I can't help but be every time he so casually slips information about me. Information that is so personal, that only my family and closest friends would know about. But I guess in dreams anything is possible, no matter how cliche it may sound. But then again, if he is visiting from the afterlife, then that means he is real which then furthers the question on how he knows all of this about me? 

Elvis casually shrugged with a smirk, "Lucky guess, honey." 

"Uh-huh, sure." I say, obviously unconvinced. 

Elvis is about to say something more, but he stops himself. He turns around and looks out the wide glass window of the cafe. I follow his gaze and it seems to the that the cold temperatures have now been accompanied by heavy showers. Droplets of water cascade rapidly down the glass, it's sound unmistakable. The clouds above seem to be releasing an increase of the torrent rain, as the violent downpour continues on - until you could quite literally hear it hitting the roof of the cafe. 

"Come on, let's go." Elvis says, turning back to me as he stands up. 

I find myself standing up, "Go where?" I ask, quite a rhetorical question I believe. 

Elvis only shoots me a mischievous grin, confirming my suspicion. 

My eyes go wide as I attempt to tug myself out of his hold, "Oh no. Nope. "

"Why not?"

I gestured at the outside, "Are you seriously asking me that? It's horrific." 

"It won't last long." 

"What if I get sick?" I reason out, panicking now. 

But of course my rational nature does not pair up with his way of spontaneity, "Then I guess I'll have to take of ya. You know, Dr. Presley." He winks. 

"Elvis, I'm seriou-"

"Remember your list?" He tries again, he takes off his suit jacket from around my shoulders and places it neatly on the table. 

And this time, I cannot counter back because I know he's right. I stupidly wrote on my list that I wanted to experience what it was like to just go crazy and have fun in the pouring rain. Like the ones you see in the movies, those cliche scenes. 

I sigh and finally nod, he grins in triumph and tugs me along with him as we rapidly run out of the cafe. The moment we step foot outside, the strong rainfall hits my bare arms and I see Elvis turn around to face me and lets go of my hand. He closes his eyes shut and spreads his arms wide, the rapid precipitation hitting his entire being and he looks perfectly blissful. His yellow button-up gets stuck to his tanned skin in a matter of seconds, and I look down to find my dress heavily sticking to my skin too. 

Elvis laughs out loud, his laugh encompassing the entire empty street.

"Ain't it incredible? Come here, darlin." He walks forward and grabs hold of my hand. 

"This is crazy!" I exclaim, but find my lips spreading into a huge smile. 

He suddenly grabs hold of my waist and spins me around, with him standing right behind me. I feel my chest thumping rapidly, and he levels his head close to mine - his lips almost touching my ear. I can feel his breath tickling my skin, as he whisper, "Don't think, Nova. Let yourself go." 

In dreams, anything can change in a split second. Who knows, this torrential rain might stop all of the sudden within the next few seconds. Nova, you promise to let yourself live. To just be. Stay true to that. And so with a deep breath and close my eyes, I find myself turning around out of his grasped and my legs run rapidly. I only run within the small space, and the water hits my face as I find myself spinning all of a sudden. Like a poorly, non-choreographed ballet recital. But I know that this is not a stage, this is just a dream. In this dream - no one else is here but me and him. No one else is watching. It's only me, him and the pouring rain. I find myself laughing and about nothing really, nothing in particular. But it's such an. . . elevated feeling. To laugh just because. With no particular reason to. 

It feels oddly. . . liberating. 

I try to open my eyes and see him right in front of me with the familiar grin on his lips, and he takes my hand this time - twilling me around before his right hand plants itself on my waist, and his left holds up mine. I naturally place my other hand on his shoulder. He takes another step forward, our noses almost touching, "Dance with me," He says, almost breathlessly. 

I am amused at his question, "Oh, really? I thought you didn't dance unless you were on stage." 

"I didn't. But I know that I am me right now. I'm me when I'm with you." He says softly. 

And my mind flickers back to our conversation earlier about how he hesitates to dance when he is not 'The Elvis Presley' because of embarrassment, but he is willing to dance with me. He's letting go. Just like me. For the brief moment of not thinking. 

"Okay." I respond, gladly accepting his request.

And so, we began to dance together. There was certainly no music, but that did not stop us to fall within each other's movements. I picture it like a normal dance of the waltz, expect this is anything but the appropriate setting and it's full of imperfect steps. But I pay no mind to that. Our feet shuffled in sync as we danced in a slow pace, as he spun in me in circles. But the downpour grew stronger, and with that, our dance quickened in its paced. His grip was firm on my hand, as well as on my waist. We both laughed at our imperfect version of the waltz.

"Do you trust me?" He asks, after a while of dancing. 

I nod. 

He then lifts me up slowly and I laugh, he sets me back down again. I find myself naturally looping my arms around his neck. Both of his hand are now on my waist, and I feel a little warm all of a sudden despite the cold temperatures. He pulls me closer to his body, and his height towers me a little. I take my time to study him in this happenstance. His dark hair sticks to his forehead now, droplets falling from strands. His eyes, piercing as ever and the grin on his lips releasing a melodic laugh. He is beautiful and it's suddenly hard to catch my breath. 

"I guess the rain is not stopping, I look like a mess." I shake my head, suddenly embarrassed on what I may look like. I know my hair is soaked and no doubt, there is no more makeup on my face. 

Elvis raises his hand, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"I doubt it." 

"I don't think so. A drowned rat might be a bette-" I attempt to joke. 

He cuts me off, "You are the most beautiful person I know." 

I narrow my eyes at him, "Really? I bet you tell all girls that."

"This is the only time I mean what I say." He explains, and I try to wait for him to break out into a chuckle to say he is joking. But nothing like that. Elvis presses his forehead against mine, and I breathe deeply.  Never in my life have I felt my heart thump so rapidly against my chest. I have felt all emotions most of my life: excitement and nervousness and anxiety. All of which result in my heart beating in an insane speed, as if it's about to leap out from my body. But this type of racing I feel cannot be categorised like those. The type of beating feels like it's running down to other parts of my being. It's an overwhelming feeling, a type of energy that feels like it's slipping through my hands and holding my face, and weakening my knees. It's fast and almost a slight pain. A feeling that drives me speechless and makes me welcome the rope of curiosity. 

Is this the feeling of just doing and not doing? The feeling of letting things flow? Of being. . . free from my mind?

"I-I feel my heart beating wildly," I admit to him, almost breathless. 

"That means it's working." Elvis smiles. 

"What is?"

"To be unexpected. To run into the unknown. That is how I want you to feel all the time." He emphasises, and he is so close to me. So incredibly close. 

"Thank you." 

Silence hits us again, the only sound is the rain around us. Rainfall that seems to have slowed down, but evidence of puddles created. 

I see his eyes flicker to my lips, as we both just look at each other. And you know how people say that if two people truly know each other, words won't be necessary at all. That sometimes, a single look is enough to convey a message. The eyes can often reflect the words unspoken. Or so I've been told by my grandmother. 

Elvis begins to lean in and I am not clueless, but to my surprise he leaves a brief kiss on the side on the very corner of my lips. Close, but not directly. It lingers there for a while, leading to blush creep into my cheeks. 

"You've been asking me questions, let's reverse the roles." He begins, in which I quirk an eyebrow at him. 

"You've seen both sides of me. Who do you see right now?" He asks, voice so soft and gentle. 

I know what he is asking. Earlier in our conversation, he revealed that the Elvis Presley on stage differs greatly from the actual person offstage. I cannot even imagine feeling almost like you are switching between two identities, two personas, two parts of you. But the other part seeming to encompass and overshadow the human being. I know that Elvis loves performing, and you can hear and see it in numerous videos. There is something so hypnotising and magnetic about seeing him in his element. But I have a feeling that it felt like a heavy weight on his shoulders at one point, as they said before, the brighter the light the darker the shadow. 

The one that is before me right now, I see him simply as. . . Elvis. 

"You. I see you." I say, and I know that he understands my words. 

Elvis smiles in relief and he begins to say something. 

"I-"

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

A buzzing sound screeches through my ears, rapidly leaving me no choice but to open my eyes. I scan my surroundings, and sigh in disappointment that I am in fact in my bedroom. Beams of sunlight pass through my bedroom window, signifying that morning is here. The buzzing sound continues, and I slam the alarm clock situated on my bedside table in annoyance. I hold my hand to my heart, frantically calming my heart. 

No. I can't be here right now. 

No. Not when I didn't hear what he had to say. 

But this is the reality. The reality of the vehicles outside on the streets and people chattering - not an empty and quiet street. The reality of favourable, warm weather seeping into my bedroom - not the gloomy, wet weather that I found myself enjoying and dancing in. The reality that here I am, alone, and there is no smiling raven-haired man beside me. 

There is a knock on my door. 

"Come in." 

"Good morning, my bestie!" Luke cheerfully greets me, all in what seems to be workout clothes. 

"Morning," I say, in contrast to his bright mood. 

"Listen, I know I'm no Beyonce, but at least be happy to see your best friend." He jokes, taking a drink out of the water bottle in his hand. 

"Sorry, I just don't feel like leaving my bed today." 

Which is not exactly a lie, just a half truth. 

"How the earth has shifted." He gasps dramatically, "Look at me now going for my second lap around the neighbourhood, and THEE Nova Katerina Sinclair slapping productivity in the face?" 

Katerina. Katerina is a very sexy name, I'll say. His voice echoes in my head.

I roll my eyes and playfully throw a pillow at Luke, "Oh, Shut up."

"Well, I'll leave you to role-play sleeping beauty for a day, while I go act like I have my life together." Luke says, exiting my room. 

"See you later!"

"Hey Google how do. . . " I hear him ask his phone, as his voice trails off into the distance. 

Wait. 

Why didn't I think of that before? 

I grab my phone from the bedside table and quickly type in my question onto the famous search engine. 

IS IT POSSIBLE TO RESUME A DREAM WHERE YOU PREVIOUSLY LEFT OFF?

-  Dreams can be so realistic that it can be hard to tell if we're awake or asleep. And sometimes, we wake up in the middle of a dream and wonder if it's possible to go back to sleep and pick up where we left off. It is possible to resume a dream, but it requires a certain focus and concentration. 

Hmm. . . not exactly what I'm looking for. Let me try again.

IS IT NORMAL TO REMEMBER A DREAM VERY VIVIDLY?

- It is widely common that 99.9% of us cannot remember our dreams the moment we wake up. However, scientists have concluded that there is a percentage of us that do remember our dreams. The few individuals that do (an estimated 2%) remember a maximum of two dreams a week. However, reportedly, only significant parts of their dreams are memorable and others fade along as dreams normally do. 

Shit. I'm way past that maximum of two dreams. 

WHY AM I AWARE WHEN I AM DREAMING? 

- This phenomenon has been classified as 'Lucid Dreaming.' This is whereby an individual becomes aware that they are in the dream world. The events that happen in their brain are merely figment of imaginations. The individual is aware of this the entire time they are in slumber. It is also important to note that some individuals who lucid dream, are able to control the events that unfold before them in the dream. 

Okay. This sounds half right. Every time that Elvis has been in my dream I have been extremely aware that none of it is real. But to control my dreams? That one I can't relate to. 

WHY DOES A CELEBRITY KEEP APPEARING IN MY DREAMS?

- Celebrities in dreams are not unusual. In fact, researchers evidenced that the appearance of a famous figure often indicates something the individual longs for. Some believe it's a human's soul craving for something they have not yet realised themselves. 

What does that even mean?

WHY DOES ONE PERSON CONSTANTLY APPEAR IN MY DREAMS?

-  Dreaming of a specific someone (friend, relative, ex) is your brains way of saying that you need to accept something related to that person. Maybe a misunderstanding or something they did that did not sit right with you. 

Ugh. This one is not very helpful, how does that even happen when I don't and have never known Elvis Presley personally? 

I continue to scroll down the page and click on an article. 

- Dreaming about the same person constantly can mean a multitude of things. 

1. Firstly, it may relate to unresolved issue. 

2. Your subconscious may be sending you a warning sign. 

3. You're trying to manifest something in real life. 

4. You feel guilty for a reason you can't explain. 

5. There's an energy imbalance between you. 

I sigh in defeat and close my phone. None of those listed make any sense. So much for Google having the answer to everything. But let's get some facts straight, from the very few I found relevant in my search: Remembering dreams is uncommon, but if you do, you only remember up to 2 dreams a week. I've dreamed of him six times already. Lucid dreaming is when you become aware that you are dreaming and whatever is happening is not real, okay so that is definitely relatable. When a celebrity keeps appearing in your dreams it means your soul is trying to tell you something. . .  but what could that possibly be? And lastly, the article - none of it seems relevant. 

Who do I even turn to for answers? Or even someone to just talk to about what's happening to me? There's no way I can tell Charlotte or Luke, they'll be worried. Even more of a no towards my parents. 

I shot of realisation hits me then and there. I get up and open my wardrobe, frantically finding the purse gifted to me years ago. A purse I used to use so often when I was a kid, the Disney characters perfectly stitched onto it. I open it and my hand grasped the small piece of paper, I dig it out of the purse and sit back down on my bed. 

I grab my phone and dial the number scribbled onto the paper, and patiently wait as the phone rings. 

"Hello, who am I speaking to?" Her voice travels through, and a smile pulls on my lips. 

"Great-Aunt Odette, hi. It's me, Nova." I reply, nervously fiddling with my fingers. 

"Oh, hello Nova!  Is everything alright? What made you call?" Her tone quickly concerned. 

"I'm fine, there's nothing wrong. I, just um. . .  well it's better if I see you. Is it ok if I visit?" 

She chuckles, "You don't even have to ask, dear. When?"

I took a deep breath, "Today." 

chapter 12

✰ Title: Yours Truly

✰ Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

✰ Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

✰ Status: ongoing

✰ Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

✰ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. Nothing much to warn about tbh, perhaps the occasional curse word every now and then. I do warn that the mystery in this is the central theme, so beware that you will become frustrated and confused 😂 um . . . what else? I suppose that's it. Oh, and a lot of angst eventually - so prepare your box of tissues for crying.

@literally-just-elvis-fics

Yours Truly| INDEX

A note from me to you- before we begin

Playlist

Epigraph

Prologue

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

Chapter 4:

Chapter 5:

Chapter 6:

Journal entry no. 1

Chapter 7:

Chapter 8:

Chapter 9:

Chapter 10:

Journal entry no. 2

Chapter 11:

Chapter 12:

Chapter 13:

Chapter 13.5:

Chapter 14:

Little Black Dress | one-shot

・❥・Pairing: 70s!e x reader

・❥・Genre: a pinch of angst, fluff, mature themes, 70s!Elvis, shy reader, insecure reader, jealous Elvis.

・❥・Ratings & Warnings: 18+ NSFW. MDNI.

・❥・WC: 5803 words

・❥・Summary: After being a devoted Elvis Presley fan for more than a decade, you and your best friend manage to miraculously score tickets for his Las Vegas show. You wear a classic little black dress, as your best friend decides it's the perfect opportunity to wear it for the first time. Unbeknownst to you, what you believed to be a 'plain' outfit choice seemed to have caught the eye of the King of Rock 'n Roll himself.

・❥ A/N: Hi my beautiful followers! I apologise for not posting for a while, life happens and well, you'll soon find out that I am quite the perfectionist when it comes to writing. This is unlike any other I have written before, my first attempt in writing NSFW content. Please be gentle with me, aha. Anyways, I hope you all like it! 💋

@literally-just-elvis-fics

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

“I think it’s too short,” You said, attempting to pull the dress down lower. 

“Girl, you look hot, don’t overthink it.” Your best friend, Annie, confidently replied in contrast to your self-doubt about your attire. 

Exactly a week ago, you managed to score some tickets to see Elvis Presley at the Las Vegas Hilton hotel. Even if the infamous singer has been playing numerous back-to-back shows at the infamous venue, the tickets remained challenging as ever to get a hold of. It seemed that even after the decade-long absence from the stage, his name never failed to lose its popularity and relevance. As a result, crowds upon crowds of people were lined up just outside the ballroom excitedly waiting to be let in. And for once, you and your best friend were one of them. 

You became an Elvis fan since you were a freshly-turned teenager, his charm and unique way of performing immediately captured your curosity.  Despite, of course, against your parents’ wishes. Like all the other parents in the country, they were determined in calling Elvis Presley “a rebellious boy” and how his scandalous movements are wrecking the minds of the youth. You laughed at that and simply ignored the “warning.” You were still fairly young back then, only really discovering him after he finished his military service. And so, ever since the start of teenagehood - you became a fan. 

Because here you are, all these years later and still an avid fan of him. Through the persuasive ways of your best friend, she has managed to convince you to finally wear the little black dress at the very back of your closet. You purchased it a while ago, with no specific intention on wearing it anywhere, as you didn’t perceive yourself as a wildly confident dresser. But as your best friend said, it seemed to be the perfect outfit to wear for your first Elvis Presley concenrt. 

And so, here you were. A tight little black dress that reached just a little above your mid thigh, paired with black boots and your hair in a half-updo. You thought it was basic and simple enough, but fitting enough for the event. But now, as you stood in the lobby - you began having second thoughts that the dress might be too short for the occasion. 

“Annie, does my underwear show through this?” You said, turning around, “I don’t want to be flashing anyone.” You worriedly say, knowing that the material of the dress is quite thin. 

Annie laughed, “You are absolutely fine, Y/N. “

You sighed in relief, “Ok, just double checking. “

“Besides, if you were to flash anyone, it’d be Elvis so-”

You gasped and hit her arm, “Annie! Oh my god, No!”

You shake your head horrified, face fully red in embarrassment at just the thought of such an incident. 

Annie simply smirked, “Why? It wouldn’t be so bad.”

You smile shyly, “Let’s just go before they close the doors.” You switch the subject immediately, keen to draw away from Annie teasing you. 

-

Excited chatter filled the ballroom, with not one single empty seat. You and your best friend were luckily seated only a few rows from the very front of the stage, but of course, found yourself rising from your seats and being as close to the front as possible. As close as possible to him. 

The moment you saw him appear on stage, it was surreal. He was one of the most photographed celebrities, but those photographs did not do him justice. It was true what others have said, how Elvis Presley’s looks were almost to the level of a greek god. A sharp jawline, beautiful tanned skin, high cheekbones, plump lips, and the most striking blue eyes that seem to pierce right through whoever he’s looking at. His black hair was messy, but fit him perfectly, falling over his eyes a little - with that boyish smile gleaming at everyone. It was such a stark contrast from the all clean-cut Ken doll throughout his Hollywood years. Even more so, his jumpsuit hugged his lean and tall figure, with the few buttons undone to reveal his chest. 

You were entranced. You spent your days endlessly playing his records in your bedroom at your parents house, and now more recently in your own apartment. But hearing him sing, right at this moment, in front of you - his talent never wavered. It astounds and shocks you at the same time, the familiarity of it and the newness of seeing him perform right in front of your eyes. He seemed to be more confident in his performing persona, knows how to command a stage and gone was the shy smile of his when he first started out. All throughout the concert, he would every now and again drop jokes and would constantly check if the audience is enjoying the show. 

It is almost the end now, and sweat trickles down his face and it doesn’t surprise you. The way that Elvis performs, it’s not a case of simply singing. No. It’s the vocals, along with his dances and karate movements mixed along that capture the eager-eyed audience. His immense energy surprises you, and you aren’t ashamed to admit that you are one of the girls in the audience screaming constantly in excitement. 

But then came the moment you’ve heard through hushed whispers, and that is how Elvis would kiss his fans at his concerts. You thought it was simply a rumour that spread like wildfire, as celebrity rumours do - but now you can definitely confirm it to be true. And that is because you are now on the receiving end of such a public display of affection. You barely registered the very brief encounter, but it happened. Elvis cupped your cheeks with his hands, and planted a brief soft kiss to your lips. He pulled away, but made sure to fixate his gaze on you with that smirk of his quirk in the corner of his lips. He was quick to be pulled into another kiss by another female audience member, but you were frozen. You touched your lips with your fingertips, the sensation still lingering as waves of bliss course through you. 

Of course, you were not naive to the fact that you are merely one of the many women that he would kiss that night. Afterall, the evidence was right in front of you - how Elvis walked away from the stage and made his way around, interacting with as many fans as possibe. This went on for a good while, before he returned to the stage and resumed performing a few more songs. 

After the final song, Elvis bids goodbye to the audience and gratefully thanks them before the curtains draw the show to a close. Your cheeks seem to be hurting, probably from all the smiling you’ve been doing so naturally. But you are back to reality now, the concert you’ve waited for what seems like your whole life - is now over. It felt like it was over in a blink of an eye, and you never fully understood that phrase when people say it - but you do now. Hours worth of performances were done in a single second it felt. 

But despite the shrinking feeling of dismay within you, the euphoric sensation coupled with pure adrenaline coursed fiercely through your veins. You linked arms with Annie, who herself shared the same expression - absolutely elated and sad it’s over. Everyone slowly dispersed the venue, excited chatters of memorable moments from the show filled the conversations. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Your best friend says, as she sighs while you are in the line of people exiting the venue. 

You shake your head, “Neither can I.”

“Well, now we can cross off two things from our bucket list.” Annie muses, as she smirks. 

“Finally going to an Elvis concert?” You ask, unsure of what the second one could be. 

“That and also kissing him.” Annie says, pure delight in her voice. 

You bite your bottom lip, unable to control a smile. 

“Gosh, did you see how that lady leaped over the tables just to get to him?” Annie asks, lowering her voice a little, “She’s my idol.”

You chuckle, “She definitely was determined.” 

“I’m surprised that his clothes didn’t rip to shreds, like back in the 50s?” Annie says, as you quickly recall the news articles of ‘rebellious Elvis’ performing and would often end with his clothes, quite literally - destroyed. There was a photograph of him walking backstage with no shirt on, and his pants that might as well be shorts. 

You shake your head, “Gosh, yeah. That was - people are strong, I’m telling you.” You chuckle. 

Annie nods and says, “I don’t know about you, but I am starving. Where do you want to go?”

You both were in the lobby of the hotel now, much of the crowd of people have exited the hotel and are most likely finding transportation to go home. 

Before you could even respond to the question, you hear a rush of footsteps that seem to be getting near you. 

“Excuse me!”

You both turn around and see a man who seems a little out of breath, “Hi, ladies. “ He offers a kind smile, and you instantly recognise him as part of Elvis Presley’s entourage. One of the men in his ‘Memphis Mafia.’ 

“I know you.” Annie furrows her eyebrows, seemingly taking longer to recognize the man. 

“Hi, I’m Jerry. I work for Elvis, and well he has invited you both  to his suite for dinner.” He says, as if it’s the most casual thing to say in the world. 

You freeze and exchange a look of shock with your best friend. 

“I-I’m sorry?” You stutter, not fully believing the words. 

“Us? He’s inviting us? To meet him?” Annie questions, tone in equal disbelief as you. 

Jerry nods, seemingly unfazed by your reactions. 

“Yes, that’s right.” He nods in certainty. 

You look at Annie again. 

“We’d love to!” Annie responds grinning excitedly, interrupting your thoughts from running into overthinking. 

As Jerry leads the way, Annie whispers to you, “Don’t overthink it, Y/N. This is once in a lifetime.”

On the way there, Jerry makes small talk with both of you. Just the usual case of introducing yourselves, how long you’ve been a fan and all that. All the while, trying to calm the fast thumping of your heart at the reality that not only will you be face to face with Elvis - but you’ll be talking to him. And also thinking about the wild thought that he has asked to meet you. 

There was not even one single point during the concert in which you’d thought he’d be fixated on you like that. 

-

You have been in his suite for an hour now, and overwhelmed is an understatement. The suite was filled with many other people; beautiful girls that could easily pass as models (perhaps they are), actors and actresses, and of course the Memphis Mafia. It still felt like an intimate affair though, with only around fifteen people in the room. You were sitting on the velvet couch, as you took gradual sips of your drink. Evidently, you were subtly people watching. Annie seemed to be caught up in a conversation with Jerry, as they both lingered near the pool table. Her laugh seemed endless, and you know from the look in her eyes and the gestures that she was definitely flirting with Jerry. 

You’ve met Elvis earlier, it was very briefly since he wanted to say hello to everyone. But in that split-second interaction, you cannot help but blush and stammer your name out as you introduce yourself. You were thankful that he was wrapped up in a conversation with someone else, as it decreased the chances of you absolutely making a fool of yourself in front of your celebrity crush. Right now, he seems to be in conversation with a comedian and his laugh echoes. You cannot help but smile at the sound. 

Annie seems to be nowhere in sight, but so does Jerry and you can only make assumptions of what that may mean. You sighed and stood up, refilling your glass of wine as you leaned against the corner of the wall - people watching. You don’t go unnoticed though, as a member of the Memphis Mafia approaches you - Red West. 

“Hi.” 

Your eyes refocus on the new face in front of you, he flashes a grin at you as he leaned the side of his body on the wall. 

You clear your throat, “Hi.”

“I’m Red.” He says, sticking his hand out. 

You shake it and kindly smile, “Nice to meet you, Red. I’m Y/N.” 

He repeats your name, an amused grin on his lips. 

“So, Y/N. . . avoiding humans then?” He jokes, as you are removed from all the conversations going on. Here you were, standing alone.

You chuckle, “Not exactly. I was part of the human chatter earlier.” 

Red nods with his arms crossed, “And now you’ve realised that humans are a pain in the ass.” 

You laugh, “I was going to say I just like people watching, but that too.” 

Red’s eyes flicker to your lips and you hardly notice it, completely oblivious that he is physically attracted to you. You yourself have never been experienced in the art of flirting nor romance, therefore you just deemed it to be a normal conversation. 

“Sounds like stalker territory, but okay.” Red says, dramatically putting his hands up.

You rolled your eyes but laughed, “You’ve never heard of that term before?”

He shakes his head, “Nope.” 

“It just means someone who is an observer of life. You know, how Shakespeare says that thing about how movies are ideas from what humans are like in real life. People get ideas from people, by people watching.” You explain. 

Red steps a little closer to you, and this you notice. But you don’t react because the conversation has been harmless so far. 

“Like Romeo and Juliet then, that’s Shakespeare right?” Red says.

That’s not exactly what you were saying, and you are pretty sure he just ignored the rest of what you were trying to say. But you are also aware of how some men just don’t use whatever brain cell they have. So, you are not surprised at his question. 

You smiled tightly, “Yeah.”

“You are very smart, you know. Very pretty just like Juliet.” Red says, a glint in his eye as he smirks. 

You laugh unsure of what to say, “Thanks, I guess.”

And still, you are oblivious as ever with his flirtatious tone. 

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of azure eyes gaze intently at you from across the room. Elvis has been socialising with everyone for an hour or so now, but in the corner of his eye he is still paying attention to you. Ever since his eyes met your face at the show earlier, he couldn’t help but immediately want to see you again. He has seen and been with many beautiful women in his life, the advantages of being who he is - the way women just flock to him without him even lifting a finger. But your beauty was not overdone, and your whole look was minimal. It was obvious that you were not dressed to impress, as they may say. You dressed as one would to attend a concert, but not with the intention of ever drawing his attention. Well, you did. But you had no idea. 

Of course, Elvis would invite a bunch of people to his suite for dinner after his shows. Aside from celebrity figures, Elvis would also invite people from the audience. Most of the fans invited immediately said yes, as you and Annie did as well. The hopeful women that clearly wanted and competed for Elvis’ undivided attention surrounded him, but his head snapped to you. You who was leaning so close to Red West, as you laughed in your fixated conversation with him. You both looked so in your own bubble, apart from everyone else. Apart from him. The women around him keep on talking, but Elvis is no longer listening. 

Elvis has thrown warnings to the MM before about his fans, if any of them were to try anything with any of the fans - he wouldn’t take it lightly. Of course, some fans that he would invite to his suite - Elvis had no intention of being intimate with. And so, Elvis wouldn't bat an eye if any of the MM were to flirt with them. 

But he clearly expressed his interest in you to the MM, and so rage fuelled his body at the sight of Red going against his words. Even worse, it looked like you were enjoying Red’s company with your cute laugh and  endless smile. 

Elvis has had enough. He excuses himself from the women around him and stands up, much to their dismay. But they quickly talk amongst themselves. Elvis strides over to you and Red, he takes his sunglasses off and folds it confidently - holding it in his hands. 

“Red.” One word and Red freezes. He turns around and there is Elvis with his jaw tightened and a tight smile on his lips. 

“Boss.”

“Heard you both laughing all the way there, wondered what the joke is.” Elvis says, though the intensity in his eyes mentally burning holds into Red’s head. 

You, of course, were frozen that Elvis decided to show up all of the sudden. Still not used to his effortless charm and handsome smile of his. 

“Um, i-it was n-nothing. “ You stutter, mentally hitting yourself at the sudden timidity of your voice. 

Elvis eyes are on you but he quickly looks back at Red, who seemed to have gotten more nervous than ever. He is scratching the back of his neck and is no longer leaning against the wall, but straightening his posture. 

“Honey, I doubt it. What do ya say, Red?” He says. 

Red immediately gets the hint and realises that he has fucked up. Here he was blatantly flirting with you, right in Elvis’ line of sight. 

“I’m saying. . .  I uh, Charlie needs my help on something. I better go.” He says, quickly excusing himself and briefly looking back at you. You frown, confused as his sudden change of mood. 

Elvis sighs and pats him on the back, “Good idea, man.”

“Bye, it was nice to meet you!” You call out and he shoots you a small smile before vanishing somewhere else. 

“You enjoying yourself, honey?” Elvis asks, the southern drawl so apparent in his tone. He casually takes the spot that Red was standing in, but Elvis is closer and he is leaning against the wall. 

You attempt to make eye contact with him, but his gaze is intense. Even more so without his sunglasses on. 

“Yeah, it’s nice. Thanks for , um, inviting me.” You say, twirling the empty glass of wine in your hands nervously. 

“Can I be honest with you, Y/N?” He asks.

“You remember my name.” You say before you can stop yourself. 

Elvis chuckles amusedly, “Why wouldn’t I? Miss Little Black Dress.”  He says, shamelessly trailing his gaze from your long legs up to the gaze in your eyes. 

You feel your cheeks heat up, “Not the most creative choice, I know.” You smile at him, trying to make yourself relax and appear more confident. 

Elvis shakes his head at your comment, “You look good, honey. Don’t count yourself out.” 

Although he has probably complimented many women, his words still make you naturally blush. You can’t help but look away and nervously say, “Thanks.”

The one chance that Elvis Presley is having a conversation to you and to you alone, and you are looking away? You mentally hit yourself and try to push out the shyness that seems to have taken over you since the start of this conversation. With Red, it was easy conversation, you weren’t rethinking each word that left your mouth. But he wasn’t Elvis. He wasn’t the celebrity crush that you’ve endlessly devoted yourself over for the past eleven years. Elvis found you adorably amusing, clearly hyper aware of the effect he has on you. 

You muster some courage of confidence and attempt to meet his eyes again, as you clear your throat. 

“Sorry, you were saying?” You ask. 

“Hmm?”

“Uh. . you said about being honest with me about something?” You explain, redirecting the topic of conversation. 

He snaps his fingers and chuckles, “Ah! Right. I, well, would you like to get out of here?” He asks, his hand lightly brushing your hand but not quite intertwining your fingers. 

You freeze, not being able to maintain the shock with your eyes. Although you were practically oblivious when a guy was flirting with you, the naivety did not extend to words such as the ones that Elvis just let go. You knew what he was implying, and you were quite certain that he was hinting to sleeping with you. But this is when you drew the line. Sure, it was nice to talk to your idol, but crossing over to that territory? You don’t think you are sure of yourself. Besides, you haven’t even crossed territory like that with any guy. 

“I-”

He interrupts you, as if reading your mind. 

“I won’t hurt you, Y/N. I promise. I just figured it’s easier to get to know each other without all this noise.” He explains, voice soft. 

Your best friend’s voice echoes in your mind at that very moment. 

‘Live a little, Y/N. When an opportunity presents itself, just jump. As long as it’s not harmful. Besides, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ 

You hesitate, unable to form words. 

Before you could even register what is happening, you find yourself smiling at Elvis and agreeing to his offer, “Okay.”

-

It has been a while now since Elvis whisked you away from all the ‘noise’ as he described it. You were sure that your heart was beating loud enough for anyone to hear, as he placed his arm lightly around your waist. You were now in his room, and it was as luxurious as you’d expect it to be - the interior exactly what you imagined his taste would be. You were unsure at first on what to do, as you stood there. But luckily, Elvis was careful and noticed your nervous energy - he offered you to take a seat at the very edge of his bed. 

“How old are you, darlin?” He questions, as he faces you fully. 

“Twenty-four.” You say, and your mind immediately runs wild at what he must think of you now. 

Here you were, at the adult age of twenty-four and yet your life experiences seemed to not suit that description of such an age. You struggled to even hold a conversation with Elvis without stuttering or looking overly timid. In this stage of a woman's life, aren’t they supposed to be confident in their desires and advances? Romantic and sexual experiences should be vast by now, right? That’s what you believed, and yet - here you were. An anomaly within that belief. Your shy nature upon initial conversation with him, made Elvis conclude that you were a precious jewel out of the many. But your naivety to such things made you embarrassed, as someone with overflowing sex appeal had his undivided attention on you. 

Oh shit. He’ll probably ask something and that’s that. He’ll find out how embarrassingly inexperienced I am, and I’ll have to make a run from it. That is humiliating. 

You thought to yourself. Although you cannot be one-hundred percent sure that the conversation would lead to that, you know in yourself there is a pretty solid chance that it will. After all, the environment you are in just screams it. Here you were, literally sitting on his bed, the door is closed and it ‘s just the two of you. Besides, you’ve heard the rumours - about his sexual appetite. Afterall, he was this rock ‘n roll singer who practically had women fawning all over him. Logically speaking, he had to do something with that adrenaline after walking off stage - right?

You were getting ahead of yourself again, your thoughts running rampant and Elvis clearly noticed this. He delicately placed his finger underneath your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, concern swimming in his blue eyes. 

You shake your head, “N-Nothing. I, um. . .”

“I meant what I said,  I won’t do anything you don’t want to do.” He says, placing his hand over yours as he squeezes it reassuringly. 

You sighed and nodded, trying to calm your nerves down. 

“Do you read?” Elvis asks suddenly. 

“I used to a lot, but not anymore.” You reply, managing to form a normal sentence without stuttering. You tilt your head in confusion as Elvis gets up, but shortly returns back to his spot next to you with a book in his hands.

“Why did you stop?” He asked, his genuine curiosity took you aback a little. 

You shrugged, “Life became busy and I don’t know, I eventually lost interest I guess.” 

You look at the title of the book that he’s holding, “The Impersonal Life by Joseph Benner.” 

Upon reading the title of the unknown book, Elvis delves into revealing that he is an avid reader and brings a suitcase full of books whenever he’s on the road. Surprise would be an understatement, you admitted to him that you never expected him to be a reader. As the conversation grows, you find yourself relaxing and all the nervous energy vanishes from you. You thought that when Elvis said that he wanted to get to know you, it was simply just a phrase. But he truly did evidently show that he was interested in what you had to say, you felt flattered. You would answer his questions, but then he would ask another one based on the answer you just gave him. And you knew that he was listening to you, as he stared intently and would nod encouragingly at you to continue. 

Initially stepping into the room, there was no clock in sight. You wished that you had your watch on, it would’ve helped to know what time it was. It felt like you’ve been talking to each other for a while now, you presume it has been hours. And yet, Elvis was true to his word - he hasn’t done anything that you didn’t like. 

You were in the middle of explaining to him the meaning behind your name, but you stopped mid-sentence.

“I’m sorry, I’m just rambling. Am I boring you?” You smile at him apologetically. 

Elvis grins amusedly at you and shook his head, “The opposite, honey.” 

He nods at your black boots, “Interesting choice.”

You chuckled, “Yeah, well, wearing heels makes my feet hurt. I mean, I have worn heels before because on some occasions, you just have to. But my black boots are my go-to, and coincidentally enough-”

You are looking down at your black boots, but stop yourself from continuing your sentence because you feel his focus has shifted. In the corner of your eye, you feel the heat of his gaze and this makes you naturally turn your head to face him. The pair of blue eyes flickered between your eyes, and your lips. Elvis sighed and it was obvious that he desperately wanted to lean in. All the while when you were talking, his mind kept directing him to stare at those lips of yours. So perfectly pink and inviting. But he held himself back, and didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. 

It was only this, in this moment did you realise how close together your bodies were. Your thighs were pressed up against each other and literally no space between you. It was silent for a while. You found yourself studying his face, and you still cannot believe how perfect he looks. It was so unlike the beauty of any other human being, you thought. You found yourself tracing his features with your finger, lastly touching his plump lips. Your motions were slow, and agonsing it seemed as Elvis' breathing increased. All the while you maintained your eye contact with him in good control. His eyes held pure fascination with your actions, a stark contrast from your shy nature. Your touch was delicate and careful, but he can tell that there is something more wanting to break out from you. 

It was in this very moment that you felt a hot sensation within you. You have hardly done anything, and Elvis is already feeling that familiar ache. His eyes intensified, as his tongue wetted his lips. 

Annie’s words echo through your brain again.

“I want to kiss you,” You finally admit, voice delicate but strong. You have never been this forward with a guy before, and so the words that leave your mouth surprise you.

“You don’t have to ask.”  He says, his tone of voice low.

You circle your arms around his neck, and finally - your lips meet his. The melding of your lips together, causes Elvis to let out a groan. The sound sparks the sensation in your lower body. The kiss was sweet and slow at first, but you felt yourself wanting more. An unfamiliar determination takes over you, as your hands thread through his hair - pulling it tightly. Elvis welcomes the pain, and tightly secures an arm around your waist - his touch searingingly  hot through your little black dress. The kiss is far from slow, as you both grow in need. His other hand grips your cheek as he deepens the kiss, recapturing your lips again, as he bites into your bottom lip. You let out a gasp, and swipe your tongue on his lips. The sweet sound of your gasps spurs something darker within Elvis, he needs more. But he can’t be selfish, and so he pulls back from the blissful touches.

Elvis is breathing hard, and you do too. Both trying to catch your breaths, as you try to comprehend what you just did. But a smile pulls on your lips, as does his. 

“Y/N, if we continue. . . I-I don’t think I can stop.” He warns, and your heart beats at how careful and honest he is. Staying true to his word. 

You lean forward once again and whisper, as you look him right in the eye, “Then don’t.” 

You gulp at the words you just let go, unaware where you found this confidence from. But you keep it going, not knowing when you’ll shrink back into your timid nature. 

Elvis’ movements are fast, as your lips meet together for the second time. This time, the kiss is not gentle anymore. It is filled with hunger and pure desire, a kiss that feels like the dichotomy of scorching desert sun and the icy glaciers that are surrounded by the Southern Ocean. A kiss that both felt like a crashing wave of relief, and an invisible rope tightly binding you and Elvis together. Your hands travelled through his back, his neck and his hair. Elvis’ hand trailed up your thigh and you felt your heart beating faster, as he slid the ends of your dress higher and higher. His other supported the back of your neck, as you naturally arched your back - displaying your neck invitingly to him. 

Elvis left a trail of strong kisses to your neck, “You have such soft skin, honey.” He hums, and you feel his teeth tug lightly at the skin of your neck. You moan at the feeling, knowing that you’ll have to find a way later on to hide the inevitable hickies that’ll be marked on your skin. You feel Elvis smirk at the sound, and this only encourages him to add more to the ones already forming prominently on your skin. 

“Elvis, I-I” You gasped. 

He pulls away, you frown confused at abruptly stopping his actions. Elvis finds this cute and chuckles at your expression, “Let’s take these off.” He removes both of your boots, and winks at you. 

He pulls you back into a kiss, and naturally brings you to his lap with your legs on either side of him, straddling his lap. Elvis groans at the contact of your thin underwear on his crotch, in this new position. His hand on the back of your neck finds its way to grip the butterfly clip that holds your hair together, he removes it letting your hair fall down and rest on your shoulders. 

Elvis looks at you in awe, “Beautiful.” 

Your cheeks heat up, only adding to the warmth that fiercely courses through your body. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the little black dress.” He says, and you feel breathless. 

“Oh do you now, Mr. Presley?” You muse, tilting your head at him as you bite your lip. 

Elvis places both of his hands on the ends of your dress and attempts to remove it smoothly, but grows frustrated at the strength of the material and you suddenly hear a sharp sound of tearing. Elvis pays it no mind and lets it fall to the floor. 

You laugh and shake your head at his frustration. Elvis laughs along with you and leaves kisses at the side of your face, as  you glance at the torn material on his velvet carpet. 

“But it’s time to say goodbye to it.” Elvis smirks. 

He flips you both over, so your back is on the soft sheets of the bed as he presses his body against you. Both of your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. You help him rid of his clothing, admiring in awe at his bare chest. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll buy you a new one.” He assures you, implying to the ripped up dress. 

“I have a better idea,” You say, tone sultry. 

Elvis smirks, his fingers circling your breasts, as his thumbs graze your perked nipples in repeated motions. You moan at the action, arching your back. At the sight of your eyes rolling to the back of your head, Elvis wishes to have the sight before him captured into his mind forever.

“Hmm? And what would that be?” His deep voice, sending you into limitless bliss.

You reach your hand out and grip the necklace dangling from his neck, using it as a way to pull his face towards you, as you clash your lips together and you feel him smirk through the kiss. He detaches himself from your lips, and descends down to kiss your jaw, your skin and now your chest. He is quick enveloping the hardened buds, wetting them with his tongue, as he repeats the action to your other breast. Your mind is in a frenzy, feeling your toes curl at the pure euphoria as you moan. 

Thank goodness for the Little Black Dress, you thought. 

‘Yours Truly’ aesthetic

The answer is dreams. Dreaming on and on. Entering the world of dreams and never coming out. Living in dreams for the rest of time.

The Palace Doors | WIP

Author's note: Well, hello! Apologies for the brief writing disappearance 😬. I will admit that I'm encountering a terrible, terrible case of writer's block. My prime priority right now is to post a new chapter of my ongoing fic 'yours truly', but it is proven a rather challenging chapter to write. So. . . with that confession, I have decided to open up my vault of WIPs (works in progress). So I present to you this random WIP that may or may not properly written in future. Hopefully this entertains you all, as you await the next chapter of 'yours truly.' 💗

@literally-just-elvis-fics

As this is a WIP, the pairings are undecided. Of course it is elvis, but idk if it is a reader or an OC.

̶̶̶̶  «̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ «̶ ̶̶̶ 　　　　 ̶ ̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ »̶ ̶̶̶  ̶̶̶̶  «̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ «̶ ̶̶̶ 　　　　 ̶ ̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ »̶ ̶̶̶  

There is a certain frenzy that encloses the space. A mass crowd of people filter through the gates, all huddling in groups with the finest attire hugging their bodies. The dark-blue canvas of the sky that blanketed its citizens, only lightly affected the joyous yells of the guests. Each tall corner piece of the vicinity held the torch, the source of fiery-orange light amidst the chaos that may unravel well into the evening.

Hundreds upon hundreds of people held the exact same expression, as they detach themselves from their carriages. Mouths hanging open in awe and fascination, as they slowly approach the architecture that is the optimal definition of elegance and opulence. Even more so, whispers of gossip exchanged through friendly acquaintances with only one question: Why are the Palace doors open, and why now?

As grandiose classical music played through the courtyard of the palace, the guests were quick to be opportune to the lavish ways of music and dancing. Unbeknownst to them, the host gazed from his window at the very top room of the palace. His sapphire-blue eyes were quickly darting through the faces of the women, not as an action of to pick and choose. But for the purpose of searching, a desperate search for one particular person.

She's not here. Elvis thought, frustration travelling through him faster than the darkness of the night encompassing the sky.

A knock resounds through the door.

"Come in, " He firmly says, still in his position.

The door swung open and was abruptly shut. Footsteps tapped on the wooden polished floors, drawing closer to him.

"Your Majesty." The familiar voice says. The voice belonging to a man with ashen-brown hair, and a firm square-shaped face. He was tall, but did not measure past the height of the King. He stood straight, facial expression neutral.

Elvis turns around, "Cornelius. Is there a problem?"

"I would not call it a problem, not necessarily Your Majesty. However, I believe that the guests are growing. . . impatient. There has been talks of desiring answers on the purpose of this event." Cornelius explained, straightforward and honest.

Elvis knew that this would be the case anytime soon. After all, it is midway through the beginning of the ball. He sighed at the report and crossed the room, to lean against the mahogany desk.

"I see." Elvis nods, "I will address the people, but not tonight. Not now."

Cornelius furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but no words escape his mouth.

Elvis' hands grab hold of the glass jar, effectively pouring the reddish-brown liquid into the empty glass that sat on the desk. For a moment, the only sound being this only. Cornelius watches his movements, unsure of the thoughts circling the King's mind.

As Elvis' fingers wrap around the glass of bourbon, he takes a sip from it. The taste burning his tongue, eliciting a slight grimace from his perfectly chiselled features. Despite the cold glass in contact with his skin, the events of the night propel emotions in the level of scorching fire onto him.

"She didn't come." Elvis says, to no one in particular. His voice almost to the level of a whisper. His eyes looking into nowhere in particular.

Cornelius pauses and says, "Your Majesty, what do you advise I tell the guests if they were to question-"

"Tell them that I am not well. Tell them that their questions will be answered in due time." His voice stern.

Cornelius bows, "Yes, Your Majesty." He leaves the room, leaving Elvis to battle with his thoughts in silence.

Elvis returns to the window, "Please, my darling. I am running out of time. Where are you?" He says, tears in his eyes in hope and desperation as he hears the fireworks shoot to the sky, as people cheered with glee.

The people may be joyous in celebration, but curiosity grows like a flower in the spring. For the answer to their question on why, why would His Majesty open the palace doors after a century of silence? The answer can only be found, if one were to change the course of the question. . .

not why, but whom?

Yours Truly - Chapter 12: A Curious Case

・❥・pairing: Elvis x original female character

・❥・genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・wc: 3774 words

・❥・summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ ratings & warnings: SFW. none.

chapter index | prev | chapter 13

・❥・a/n: hello all! I thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter. I apologise for the long wait, well life happens and things get busy sometimes. Also, I will admit that this is one of the significant chapters - so I had intense perfectionist tendencies for this one. I really hope you enjoy this chapter! This will be crossposted on Wattpad as well.

if you like this, please do share and comment - it would mean the world to me. Also, if you want to give me a tip - the icon should be at the end of this chapter and on my profile bio. This is not necessary at all, so absolutely do not feel the need to. All my fics are always free. ✨

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"My soul chose yours. And a soul just doesn't forget that." - Ben Maxfield.

NOVA

The semicircular structure surrounded us, the transparency of the walls and roof effectively providing it to be easier for beams of afternoon sun to slip through the glass. The sun being an object of deception, as if I were to step outside the conservatory - I know that the almost-winter breeze will latch onto my skin. Various plants were situated on each corner of the room, as well as the usual decorative pieces that sat on top of wooden shelves. 

I sat on a sofa, opposite to the two-seater that Great Aunt Odette was sitting on. The sofas were comfortable, and stylishly woven from rattan to perfectly match the atmosphere of the room. A coffee table was situated between us, books and our empty cups of coffee rested on it. It was typical of Great Aunt Odette to spend time in the indoor conservatory, despite its functionality being best used for the summer seasons. But I shouldn’t feign surprise, as she never was rigid about such and such rules. 

I arrived an hour ago, and after the usual conversation of updating her about the normal elements in my life over dinner - I know that there is no delaying no further. With my action of suddenly calling her, and the two hours drive to her house - it is now the time to actually explain to her the purpose of my visit. There is no more sugar coating with Great Aunt Odette, and I simply wouldn’t get away with it at all - she will see right through me. 

Great Aunt Odette squinted her brown eyes at me, and I knew straight away that a question would land on me within the next few seconds. I just hope that my racing heart would slow down, in time to catch it. 

“Now, tell me Nova. . . “ She begins, “What is it you want to talk about? You said it was imperative to discuss in person.” 

Great Aunt Odette lived far out in the countryside. It was a total of a two hour drive to get to her home. It’s only been a few months since i’ve seen her, the last time being her birthday. Now, due to life and the stages of adulthood quickly approaching me - it has become harder to visit her. Although I do apologise for rarely getting to visit her, Great Aunt Odette is always quick to wave my apologies away as she says that there is a reason she chose to live in the middle of nowhere. She valued the peace and that the time in her life of constantly chasing life and being surrounded by people - she was finished with that. And so, she enjoys very little social interactions. But she is a very extroverted person. 

She is my favorite person in the entire world. If I don’t address her by ‘Great Aunt Odette’, I call her ‘Auntie Dottie’ - which according to her, is a nickname that I invented when I was a kid. Apparently, I was frustrated in being unable to correctly pronounce her name so settled with ‘Auntie Dottie.’ 

Great Aunt Odette patiently awaits my answer. The record player helps the silence, as the room is filled with the sound of soft, classical music.

If there is one person in my life that would listen to me, and understand this it would be Great Aunt Odette. No matter how ridiculous it may sound, I know in my heart she will listen to me. 

I push myself to regain my eye contact with her, as I take a deep breath. 

“I- . . . there really is no easy way to explain what has happened, and has been continuing to happen to me. I haven’t told my parents or any of my friends this. . . it’s a lot.” I said, trying to read the expression on her face. 

Her eyebrows arch as her eyes widen, “You are not in some kind of trouble, are you?” She whispers. 

I frantically shake my head, “Oh god, no. I promise you that’s not the case. “

Great Aunt Odette breathes a sigh of relief, with her hand placed on her chest. 

“Oh, thank goodness!”

“I found myself presuming so because it is very unlike you to not confide in your parents, nor your friends. “ She admits, freely sharing her trail of thoughts. 

“I promise you, Auntie Dottie. I’m not in trouble, nothing illegal, and I’m not hurt.” I clarify, in an attempt to cure her worries a little.

She pauses for a second as if trying to think through her words. 

“Have you been to the Doctor recently?” She says, her voice slow and with fear coursing her eyes. 

I shake my head knowing exactly where she is going with the question. 

“No, I haven’t. I’m perfectly healthy, I’m okay. “ 

“Then what is it?” She is at a loss for words, her forehead knotted as she looks at me in desperation for answers. 

I get up from my seat and move to sit next to her on the sofa. I lean my body sideways on the back of the sofa, as I cross my legs. 

My hands take hers as I take a deep breath, “I’ve been having dreams, Auntie Dottie.” I lower my voice, my heart releasing a shot of nervous energy as this is the first time I would ever tell someone this. 

The fear of something extreme leaves her face, but the confusion remains. Throughout the two hour drive, I tried to desperately practise how I would reveal this all to her. There is no other way to ease the confusion, there is no shortcut - it really is the case of telling her everything. There is no way to sugarcoat it or a slow build up to, because one way or another it will sound unreal. So, here I am now, I can only guarantee explaining it all as clearly as possible - no matter how insane it might sound.

“Dreams?”

I nod, “Yeah.”

“Are they bad dreams?” She tilts her head with a frown, as she sends me a logical question. Of course that is the first thing one would think. If someone was concerned about their dreams, the first thing someone would think is that they are dreaming unpleasant things. But for my case, it’s not that simple. Mine is good, but full of intricacy. 

“No, no. They are um. . .  quite the opposite actually.” 

Great Aunt Odette slowly nods, but I know that I have rendered her more confused than ever. 

“Okay. Then what is it, dear?”

I  find myself subconsciously biting my bottom lip, here goes nothing.

“Um. . . the dreams aren’t normal. At least I don’t think they are.” I respond, looking at her to check that she is still with me. Great Aunt Odette is attentive, her gaze transfixed as she nods at me in encouragement. 

“How so?”

“Well. . .  for starters I just don't think it’s normal to be waking up each morning and remembering every detail of the dream I’ve just had. I remember each word that I have said, how I felt, and my surroundings.” I have let go of Great Aunt Odette’s hands now, as I can’t help, but talk with my hands as I explain. 

I stop myself from adding in the fact that he also appears in my dreams. I need to tell her the information little by little, saying that ‘oh btw Auntie Dottie, Elvis Presley is in my dreams every night.’ There is no way I can say it like that, I need to build it up first. 

She pauses for a moment before she speaks, “Have you ever heard of the term lucid dreaming, Nova?”

I nod, “Yes. Yes I have. But Aunt Dottie it can’t be that.”

Her eyebrows furrow, “Why not?”

“I don’t go to sleep with the intention of controlling what happens in my dreams. They just happen.” 

Great Aunt Odette hums in agreement to my reasoning. 

“But when you are dreaming are you aware that you are?” She asks.

“Yes.” 

“How long has this been happening? Such things can happen to us every now and again I suppose. “ 

I bite my bottom lip, “Almost two weeks now.” 

Her eyes widened at my response, “Weeks?” She repeats, her tone full of shock. 

I nod.

“How frequently have they been occurring within that time frame?” She questions, and I can practically visualise the wheels turning in her brain as she adds each piece to the puzzle. 

“Every night.” 

“Good heavens,” Great Aunt Odette mutters, “I have never heard anything like it.” 

I sighed as I found myself absentmindedly drawing circles on the cushion that sat on my lap. 

“I-I know. Believe me, Auntie Dottie. I have googled it and all results don’t even remotely hint that this is normal. “

“These dreams. . . “ She speaks slowly and carefully, “Do you remember each one?” 

“Yeah. I can tell you right now about every detail, and It’s not like I need to write it down at all to remember. It’s…” I run my fingers through my hair, trying to find the right words, “It’s well. . . I don’t know. . . almost like recalling a memory.” 

Everyone may remember their dreams every once a while, and remember certain details. But for me to describe my dreams to the level of like a memory? It’s not a mundane experience at all. And I can confirm that the degree of it is strange because Great Aunt Odette is speechless. The words I let go have rendered her without any words to say. 

She rests her chin on her hand, gazing thoughtfully at me. 

“Give me an example. “

“Well. . . I had a dream of going on a hot air balloon ride and there was one where I went to a wedding reception uninvited. On my 21st, I made myself a promise that I would be open to new experiences, to step outside my comfort zone more. Those dreams started happening after that.” All that I have said is true, and sounds pretty normal so far. But I haven’t even begun to talk about him. I’m still unsure of how Great Aunt Odette might react.

She hums with a smile spreading on her lips, “Perhaps Nova,  it may be your subconscious mind telling you that you are heading in the right direction. I know you and I know that this is a brave step for you.” She held onto my hands, and gave them a reassuring squeeze. 

I nod, “Maybe. But there is another thing, Auntie Dottie.”

Here I go. This conversation was already strange to begin with, but now with the addition of telling her about him - that’s a completely new level of weird territory. But I silently remind myself that this is Great Aunt Odette. If there is anyone I trust more in the entire world, who I could tell - it has to be her. 

She tilts her head, eyes filled with curiosity as she awaits me to continue. 

I take a deep breath, “I, um . . . someone appears in my dreams.” 

“Who? Someone you know?”

I shake my head, “No. Not personally, at least.” 

Great Aunt Odette raises an eyebrow at my words. 

“No?”

“It’s a famous person.” 

She chuckles, “Oh, don’t worry dear.” She waves her hand, as if to emphasise the point of such a thing not being something to be concerned about. 

“Nova,” She continues, “It’s perfectly normal for a celebrity crush to appear in your dreams. “

I sigh, “I know that. But he isn’t a celebrity crush. I was aware of him, but not to the extent of calling myself a fan. “ 

Great Aunt Odette pauses at my words, and I see her eyes find themselves lost in a maze once again. A moment ago, it seemed like she was content that she found the root of all of this. It seemed that she found that the answer was simply that the appearance of a celebrity crush isn’t abnormal. Almost false hope, as she is back to square one. My Great Aunt is quite expressive, with how people often say that if the competition is to hide your true feelings about something - she would certainly not win. Her face tells it all, and right now - she is almost bewildered and frustrated. 

I decide to continue, in hopes to offer her another piece to the puzzle. 

“I understand that when someone appears in your dreams, we assume that they are there to deliver a message. But I believe that’s only  to people we are close to, people that we know very deeply. “ I find myself fiddling with my fingers again, as I set my eyes on the record player in the corner of the room.

My voice is quieter now as I say, “Not a famous singer who has been gone for decades, “ I ran my hand through my hair, “It’s not- it’s not making sense to me at all.” 

“Gone. . . no longer alive, dear?” She asks carefully, as my gaze floats back to her line of sight. Her eyes are as wide as ever, wheels certainly turning in her head. 

I nod.

“I know that sounds crazy, Auntie Dottie. Believe me, I am not making this up. No matter how ridiculous it may sound, like a plot from a storybook or something - I am telling the truth.” I explain, my words rushing out of me faster and stronger  than the wind blowing against the windows from outside. There’s that striking fear at the pit of my stomach because this is the first time that I have verbally explained my situation to anyone. 

“Who is it, Nova?”

There. The one question that will definitely seal my insanity. If the entire conversation was not abnormal enough, this final question will definitely be the cherry on top. On the drive here, I have decided to tell her everything. But I stood uncertain on whether I should tell her that it’s him. 

In the brief moment that silence passed us, Great Aunt Odette definitely saw a flicker of hesitation in me. A smile splits into her cheeks, “On second thought, keep him as a secret. “ She winks. 

I feel a weight lift off my shoulders, as I sigh in relief. 

“Sorry, it’s just-”

Great Aunt Odette stops me mid-sentence. “I believe you. I can’t say that I have heard of anything like this before, because I certainly have not. However, you are the most intelligent, logical and rational human that I know. “ She says, holding my hands tightly, “For you to tell me this - something which is miles from your beliefs - it has to be the truth. It has to be.” 

I found myself smiling, the clouds of doubt fading away. 

“Thank you, Auntie Dottie. I-I was going mad, I just kept this all to myself. Look, I can even show you my recent search history. “ I pull my phone out, in which she laughs.

“Now, I presume that you were visiting me to talk to me about this. But not necessarily expecting an answer?” She asks, and I instantly recognise the tone of her voice. It’s the tone of voice she often uses when she has a surprise that I am unaware of. 

“Yeah. . . what are you thinking?” I reply, chuckling. 

“Hm, you know me too well Nova.” She laughs as she stands up, “Come with me, there is something I want you to see.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Great Aunt Odette leads me to my favorite place of her house. She throws me a smile over her shoulder, as we go inside. The room was the second most spacious room in her house, I would think. Towering shelves embedded into the walls, in a circular shape as hundreds and hundreds of pieces of literature rested upon them. A cathedral-like window took the centre of it all, but with absence of natural lighting. Instead, the place relied on the dim lightning which was suitable for the atmosphere of the room. Extensive ornate woodwork in the form of two rectangular tables in the middle. In the far right, a nicely lit fireplace was present, surrounded by dark wood mouldings. 

Overall, Great Aunt Odette’s home library is paradise. 

The soft, red carpet adorned the flooring as I followed her lead. She stops at a bookshelf on the left, with a ladder resting on it. 

“Gosh, this has always been my favorite spot.” I say, as my fingers trace the books on the shelves. 

Auntie Dottie displays a bright smile at me, “You are very right.”

I stop my actions and turn to face her, “What was it you wanted to show me?”

“You’ve always had such an appetite for reading. Always hungry for knowledge, and you have spent countless times here - your eyes engrossed in a book. You would be reading Greek mythology, history, ancient egypt. . .  I thought for a second if I should hire you as a librarian.” Auntie Dottie laughs.

“That can be arranged, right?” I play along, laughing. 

“Most certainly.”

“But there is a part of you that I think you have forgotten about, Nova.” She says, voice now serious as ever. 

My eyebrows furrow, “Hmm?”

“I know that you like facts. Facts provide comfort, it makes us feel certainty in our choices. But the discovery of those facts was born from people’s curiosity.” She gestures to the world map that is hung on one of the dark-colored walls, “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean. . . scholars and scientists had to do so much research to publish valid information for the public. It was all trial and error.” I shrugged, still unsure on where the conversation is leading to. 

“Precisely.” She muses, “Although you are no longer a child, there is one element you must carry throughout all stages of your life. The one aspect that will keep your life balanced - curiosity. “

I chuckle, “Great Aunt Odette, if that is what you are getting at then you shouldn’t worry. I’m still a very curious person. Like you said, I like to plan and assess before jumping into something.” 

She shakes her head and chuckles, “Oh, Nova.” She mutters. 

“I promise I am.” 

“I’m not doubting you, dear. “ She assures with a smile, “I am only saying that you are lacking a different sense of direction. The most curious people are the ones that don’t fret over details about something - they just jump.” 

I remain silent and wait for her to continue speaking. 

“When you were a child you loved reading storybooks. Yes, girls like to read fairy tales about princesses. “ She shakes her head, almost deep in thought before her eyes shift back to me. 

“Nova, do you remember your favorite book when you were a child?” Great Aunt Odette asks, almost in a quizzing manner. Her eyes squint, as she awaits my response. 

I’m at a loss for words. It is true that I used to read many storybooks when I was a kid, as a kid normally does. But the subject of my favorite book - my mind is actually blank at the question. 

“I. .  .  I actually can’t remember.” I say, my voice sounding quieter. 

A knowing grin shines on Great Aunt Odette’s face, as she slides the ladder to one of the shelves. It is a good thing that the ladder is one of those that have wheels at the end, so it prevents her from having to carry it from shelf to shelf. 

She starts to climb the ladder and I immediately reach my arms out in alert, “Auntie Dottie, I don’t think you should climb that.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I’m not going too far.” She replies, her back now facing me as her hand reach out and flips through the books on the shelf. She mutters to herself before an excited, “A-ha!” leaves her mouth. 

To my relief, she safely makes her way down the ladder and stands right in front of me. A dark blue hardbound book is in her hands, but the front cover is faced down. 

“Wherever you went as a child, you had this with you. Other kids would have a stuffed toy with them as a source of comfort. But you had this story, this book with you. It was only when you turned eight years old that it was put down. I know your parents don’t favour thoughts of adventure, of spontaneity, of the unknown. “ Auntie Dottie sighed heavily, “And I know that they only have your best interest at heart. But you're an adult now, Nova and you are young. You get to choose how to let that place of curiosity grow within you. “ 

Great Aunt Odette is my favorite human being on earth, but unfortunately she is not my parents’ favorite. They describe her as being too risky, too uncertain and ‘wild.’ Although she was the one who babysat me during numerous times of my childhood, those ended quite abruptly when I was around the age of eight years old. I remember asking my mom why Great Aunt Odette can’t babysit me anymore, and they simply said because I was “growing up.” and how Great Aunt Odette’s “foolish ideas” aren’t ideal for me. Great Aunt Odette was and is the polar opposite of my parents. Her perspective in life is, to say simply ‘live your life to the fullest’, and I suppose my parents won in that respect. I became exactly how they wanted me to be; safe, always within the lines, and never taking a risk. I do love my parents, I really do. But it is in this aspect that I start to wonder if I have gone too overboard, too safe. 

“You said that you wanted to show me something, after I told you about my dreams. Is this. . . ?” I trail off.

She smiles knowingly and nods, “Go on, turn the book over.” 

I follow her instructions and immediately gasped at the cover. The title is in cursive, with intricate illustrations on the outer aspects of the cover. 

It read: Peter Pan and Wendy by J.M Barrie 

“Oh my god, “ I shake my head, “How can I forget about this?”

Then I remember why Auntie Dottie is showing this to me, “Do you. . . is this why. . . “ 

She nodded, “There may be no scientific explanation for your dreams, Nova. But there doesn’t have to be. The universe has a way of guiding us, of pulling us towards something as a final push to where we are supposed to be. To better ourselves. “ Her eyes flicker briefly to the book, “That sometimes you need to be reminded of the beginning, in order to make some sense of the now.” 

chapter 13

Hello? Is anyone there?

Hi all. I know it has been. . . a while since I've last uploaded any new writings. I apologize for that, I have no other excuse aside from life happening and being accompanied by agonizing writer's block. Do not worry, I am still very much in the ep fandom. Well, I come bearing good news. . . my writing brain is back again, and I am working on posting a few things very, very soon.

I have edited my masterlist. I made it simpler, might help in navigating through it.

Whilst you wait for my writings, please do give my on-going series 'Yours Truly' a chance. I initially posted it on Wattpad, and brought it over here - but it has received a lack of feedback. I know that we write for the love of it, but also feedback is the lifeblood of writers. It would mean the world if y'all would give it a chance. I've changed the summary of it, I feel it now sounds more straight to the point:

"In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago."

*cue mysterious music*

Love, Rose

So this was kinda a flop lol. Reblogging this to see if it has more of a chance this time around *fingers crossed* 🥺

✰ Title: Yours Truly

✰ Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

✰ Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

✰ Status: ongoing

✰ Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

✰ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. Nothing much to warn about tbh, perhaps the occasional curse word every now and then. I do warn that the mystery in this is the central theme, so beware that you will become frustrated and confused 😂 um . . . what else? I suppose that's it. Oh, and a lot of angst eventually - so prepare your box of tissues for crying.

@literally-just-elvis-fics

Yours Truly| INDEX

A note from me to you- before we begin

Playlist

Epigraph

Prologue

Chapter 1: Make a Wish

Chapter 2: Mystery Train

Chapter 3: Hold My Hand

Chapter 4: How Do You Know?

Chapter 5: Questions, Questions, Questions

Chapter 6: The List

Journal entry no. 1

Chapter 7: Bird's Eye View

Chapter 8: The Great Gatsby

Chapter 9: So, this is Graceland?

Chapter 10: Girlfriend?

Journal entry no. 2

Chapter 11: If I Whisper

Chapter 12: A Curious Case

Hello!

First of all, thank you for the amazing stories, especially yours truly! I'm a fan of your creations and looking forward to reading a new one🫶🏻

Is it okay to ask a short fic or imagine for Elvis & female reader?

Elvis and reader are in the relationship and they're planning to celebrate their 1 year anniversary soon. They both think what would be the best gifts for each other for the anniversary and they are asking their friends for help😚

There are so many gift ideas like flowers, matching jewellery, new clothes, photo albums(including photos they took when they went out for fair/amusement park idk cute ones), etc.. You can think of anything really!

Then Elvis and reader are giving gifts to each other on their anniversary day. They enjoy their gifts but most importantly they're happy being together🥺 How about this idea in a fluff, cute fics? I don't have a particular favourite era of Elvis(love all eras!) so you can choose, bestie I want your ideas💗

A Year With You.

pairing: 70s!e x female reader genre: fluff, established relationship. warnings: strong language, brief hint to sexual allusions, mentions of nightmares. An insanely happy lovey-dovey couple (aha). wc: 1.8k notes: Hi bestie! This is a long-awaited request, I apologise for that. I am too much of a perfectionist, which is not a great combination with the world of writer's block. Nonetheless, I really did want to write this. I hope that it has met your expectations!

 You consider yourself a pretty humble person, but you do pride yourself as a great gift-giver. It is always such a wondrous feeling to see the smile of glee from your friends and family, as you gift them exactly what they wanted. Even if they don’t straight up tell you what they want, or they don’t know what they want - you somehow always ace it when it comes to gift giving. Whether that be Christmas or birthdays. . . 

But now, well, you are actually stuck. The gift-giving this time round is for neither occasion, and the receiver is not family or friends. Specifically, your boyfriend. 

“My brain is empty. Nothing.” You admit, with your elbow propped up on the table of the booth as you rested your chin in your palm. 

As per usual, at least once a week, you find yourself seated across from one of your close friends - Vivian. At your usual spot for lunch, which is the local diner in your small town. You’d normally 

catch up about anything and everything going on, and the subject of conversation this time round? Seeking advice from something you normally found relatively easy. 

Vivian takes a sip from her milkshake, “Oh, I don’t think so.” 

Your furrow your eyebrows, “No, Viv, I’m serious - I can’t think of anything.” 

“Well, what about… I dunno, a really nice scarf? With his initials embroidered?” She suggests, in obvious hopes to ease your worry, but the uncertainty in her voice is far too clear. 

You give her a look. 

“What?” Vivian questions, “It is practical! and sentimental.” She shrugs, as a matter of fact. 

Bless her heart, she’s only trying to help. But you can’t find yourself agreeing with that gift idea. It is practical, but still. . . It feels so random. There has to be something else out there. 

“I can’t just give him a scarf,” You sighed as you took a bite out of the fry. 

“Why not?” 

“It feels a little random. I don’t know.” 

Vivian tilts her head and gestures dramatically at the window beside the booth, “Y/N, I hardly believe it’d be random.” As a matter of fact, the outside was blanketed by pristine white snow, as people passed by clutching tightly onto their winter attires. 

You nod, “Yes. But it doesn’t really scream ‘Happy Anniversary’!” You emphasized. 

“I want it to be practical, definitely. Yeah. But I want it to be something memorable too.” You explain, letting out a heavy sigh, as you subconsciously tap your fingers on the table. 

Vivian clicks her fingers with a smirk on her face, “Aha!” 

“What?” 

“I know just thee perfect gift.” She boasts. 

She leans over and gestures for you to lean in, as she cups her hand to whisper. 

“Winter wear is not the only thing that can keep him warm this season.” She says, a smirk prominent on her face. 

Your eyes go wide at her words, as a gasp leaves you. You feel your face grow rapidly warm, no doubt the obvious blush taking space on your cheeks. 

“Viv!” 

She calmly leaned back on her seat and shrugged casually, “What? It fits the criteria of practical and memorable.” Vivian can’t help but let out a laugh at your reaction. 

You find yourself laughing, as you shake your head, “You are terrible. Oh my goodness.” 

You manage to calm yourself down, “In all seriousness though, what in the world do I get a guy who has everything?” 

“I doubt he has everything, Y/N.” 

“Well, you know what I mean. Majority of everything ever.” 

Your lunch meet-up with Vivian comes to a close after two hours of chatting, mostly about your current predicament. Unfortunately, the lunch concluded with you still not knowing what to give him. But Vivian is quick to assure that ‘the world’s best gift giver’ won’t back down for this one. 

You hope she’s right. 

--------------------------------------

“Whatcha’ think of a pair of earrings?” Elvis asks, as he leans against the wall of the living room, the sound of the faint crackling of the fireplace in the background. 

“I’d say that’s a great gift, E.” Charlie replies, as he scribbles down notes beside the list of songs on the paper Elvis handed him. 

Elvis sighs and shakes his head, “I-well, I-I dunno man.” 

“Sorry to interrupt, E. We doing Johnny B. Goode?” Charlie asks, looking up at him and awaiting his answer. 

“Yeah, yeah. Add it in.” 

Charlie swiftly nods and goes back to reviewing the list, “Alright, go on.” He encourages, despite his eyes being trained on the sheet of paper on the carpeted floor in front of him. 

“I- well, like I said… I dunno ‘bout getting her jewelry.” 

“Does she not like it? Girls are usually all over ‘em.” Charlie shrugs, not quite understanding Elvis’ dilemma. 

Elvis crosses his arms over his chest, “She likes it.  But I-I-I feel that’s what I always get her. And ya know me, man, I hate boring shit.” He sighs, shaking his head. 

Charlie looks up at his friend, after hearing the distressed tone in his voice. It was a strange situation, for he didn’t think he could recall a time that Elvis hit a brick wall when it came to gift ideas for a girlfriend. He sure did not have trouble in his previous relationships. 

“Hmm… I know!” Charlie muses, in Elvis eagerly awaits his answer. 

“Try not to get her boring shit, then.” Charlie laughs. 

Elvis’ face relaxes and breathes a laugh, “Oh, you unhelpful fucker! Shit friend you are.” He said, throwing a cushion, which Charlie catches in time. Both are laughing. 

Charlie puts both his hands up in mock defense, “I say this with all honesty; I don’t think Y/N cares much ‘bout what you give her, E. She sees you and that girl is as happy as Goddamn sunshine and rainbows. All there is to it.” He said, voice serious as he explained to his friend that finding material perfection isn’t the core of the anniversary. That, really, you already radiate happiness whenever you are close to him. Whenever Elvis is with you. 

It’s in this that Elvis finds himself breaking out into a smile. A smile so huge that he has to adjust the sunglasses framing his face, as they slip down just a little bit. 

--------------------------------------

“Happy Anniversary, baby.” You say, kissing him on the cheek, as you hand the carefully wrapped present to him. 

You find yourself biting on your bottom lip, nervous as hell. He unravels it quite quickly and his silence certainly doesn’t put your nerves at bay. 

“A journal.” He says, a voice in wonder and surprise. His fingers dance across the leather-bound, particularly his embroidered initials. 

“Yeah. It’s um, I know it’s a little random. But, I, just see you so lost in your mind sometimes. Many times. And I, uh, I know you talk to me. But sometimes when you don’t feel like talking to anyone, not even me- just write down what you feel. It might help. It’s not healthy to have a thousand thoughts running around in your head. I, um, like I don’t know if you like it. If you don’t that’s-“ Your nervous ramblings are cut off by his hand wrapped around your waist, pushing you forward to him as his lips meet yours. 

You are taken completely off guard by the unexpected kiss, but he is who he is, as unpredictable as ever. The kiss is passionate and soft, oh so soft that you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck. 

You break apart, in which he rests his forehead yours. 

“I love it, honey. I love it so damn much. You are so good to me, so good to me.” He says softly, eyes glassy with tears. 

Your thumb strokes his cheek, “Really?” Your heart sighs in relief. 

He nods his head, “Mm-hmm. It’s everything. You’re everything.” 

He pulls away a little and you mistake this for meaning you should pull away as well, but instead, Elvis is quick to wrap his arms around your waist. He then brings you forward more, till you are sitting in his lap with your legs on either side of him. 

“Where did ya think you were goin’ baby?” He grins, his bottom lip between his teeth. 

You find yourself chuckling at him, “Nowhere it seems.” 

“Good.”

Elvis smoothly reaches to the right side of where he’s sat, and hands you a nearly wrapped small box. You guess that it is jewelry, which wouldn’t be surprising considering the previous times Elvis bought you a gift. You know how generous he is with gifting you items of luxury, and you are grateful, but it is not something you necessarily need. Being with him is enough, in all honesty. 

You remove the wrapping, and you gasp in surprise at the contents of the box. 

“It’s a dreamcatcher.” It was a delicate dreamcatcher, a silver color, and was smaller than normal ones. You examine it further and see that there seem to be words engraved on it ‘For you, my heart. To always have good dreams only.’ E.P. 

“Whatcha’ think, honey? I-I-I know you have bad dreams sometimes, and I hate that I can’t control it. But they say a dreamcatcher helps with that. I don’t want you getting no nightmares again. Is it…is it what you-“

Tears stream down your face as you wrap your arms tightly around him, “Thank you, thank you.” You whisper, overcome with emotion. 

It’s true. You’ve been prone to getting bad dreams lately, and you’ve heard about dreamcatchers before. But you always forget to find one for yourself. 

“I’m happy you like it, Y/N.” 

You slowly pull away from him, “Of course I do. You are so so thoughtful, E. It’s just what I needed, really. “

“I love you, darlin.’.” Elvis says, looking at you in wonder as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I love you so much.” You say as you find yourself tracing his features with your finger delicately. 

“Are you happy, baby?” Elvis asks.

“I am. I don’t care much about what gift you give me, having you here is already so much for me.” You say, truthfully with a wide smile, “Are you happy, Elvis?”

“I have the most beautiful girl with me, and her heart is so big and true. I-I’m one lucky son of a bitch.” He grins, and you laugh at this. 

You pull each other into a kiss, which turns into one of the many kisses that you would share that night. It was an anniversary that exceeded everything you could have ever hoped for. You mentally slapped yourself on why you worried so much about what to get him when really, that was never the thing that mattered most. 

@literally-just-elvis-fics

Yours Truly - Chapter 13: People and Promises.

・❥・pairing: Elvis x original female character

・❥・genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・wc: 5.1k

・❥・summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ ratings & warnings: SFW. none.

chapter index | prev | chapter 13.5

-------------------

"For a long time, she held a special place in my heart. I kept this special place just for her, like a 'reserved' sign on a quiet corner table in a restaurant." - Haruki Murakami.

NOVA

THE HOURS PASSED by in fruitful conversation with Great Aunt Odette. It fluctuated between earnest expressions and sentences, to ignition of laughter that centered around silliness of memories past. I was grateful that after unearthing my secret to someone, to her, she did not push me further with questions. It didn't mean she brushed off my confession, nor showed any signs of dubiety towards it. It was like I kept a firm, tightly secured room and I let her inside. By opening the door for her, she encouraged a breath of fresh air to travel into the room of my mind. That is and always will be the magic of Auntie Dottie - you know she believes you, you just do, no matter how incredulous you may seem. And if she doesn't, you'll know too. But in the aftermath, she prevents your mind from racing into a spiral of thoughts - she is flitting in getting a burst of laughter or two out of you, smoothly transitioning both topic and mood to lighter subjects. 

"It's disgraceful that it's already half four." Auntie Dottie shakes her head, looking down at the watch wrapped around her pale wrist. 

"I know." I sigh, "Sorry that I've got to go." 

She chuckles, "Oh, hush child. This is the true antagonist of all, " She gestures at her watch, "Time."

And I know that she purposely used literature terminology. 

"The invisible enemy you can't defeat. " I chuckle.

She nods, "No, you cannot. . . but you can run against it." Her lips slide into a wide smile, the type of smile that evokes a sense of secrecy. This, paired with a twinkle in her eyes - a look that has surpassed my childhood. 

Auntie Dottie steps forward and wraps her arms around me, a bundle of warmth swims around my body. It's a while before she parts from the hug, and when she does, she remains in her place. Her hands cup my cheeks, amidst the rising coldness of the autumn wind. 

"You are always running, Nova. I do not think you have realized it, hm?" 

I say nothing, unable to detect what exactly she is saying. Instead, I shake my head. 

"When you stumble upon a question, don't you chase for those answers? I believe you do. I also believe. . . that is no different from searching and embracing the newness in life. You chase knowledge quite ardently, why not chase life? However, yes, certainty is sparse when you do that. But you'll know, that when the parallels of time and life do meet one day, you can be certain that you know you did all you can." 

I release a deep breath that I didn't acknowledge to be holding. Auntie Dottie releases her hold of my cheeks and takes a step back. She tilts her head at me with a knowing smile on her face. At that moment, my parents' words flood my mind, but the thought quickly speeds past me as Great Aunt Odette speaks again. 

"If you remain in the mundane, in the expected - it leaves no room for magic. " Her voice reduces to a whisper at the end, "And well, you and I both know that there is a part of you that still wants to chase a little bit of magic." 

Her eyes flit over to the hardbound cover of literature that I am holding in my right hand. 

Peter Pan and Wendy. 

The very book that was once forever lost in the corners of my childhood mind. 

I am at a loss for words, but I know myself well enough that her words will be circling my mind for a number of days. 

"Thank you, Auntie Dottie. " 

She nods and with another gust of wind, assembling the rustling of auburn leaves on the ground, Auntie Dottie's smile turns into a smirk. 

"Well, dear, you best go now. The clock is ticking." She says. 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

The journey back to the city was filled with the quick darkening of the sky, making me miss summer skies. I had my playlist playing quietly in the background as I drove, just enough to keep me company. But not at a volume that shuts out my thoughts. 

None of what I rehearsed to say actually made the cut. The drive to Great Aunt Odette this morning involved practicing the multiple ways in which I could tell her about the situation. Nonetheless, the fact still stands that I have finally revealed it to someone. Hearing your own thoughts in your head, and actually omitting them into sentences? Both are vastly different. I'm glad that I did, albeit how nervous I was, it gave me this immense relief. Of course, it wasn't surprising that Great Aunt Odette listened, but for her to wholeheartedly believe me? I guess, I wasn't quite ready for that and for the feeling of relief that it brought. 

Even more so, a walk down memory lane - the book. The book that she explained was basically my favorite thing in the world as a kid. That was an unexpected part of my visit, but then again, I should've seen it coming - seeing as Great Aunt Odette's forte is the unexpected. 

I suppose I can't quite believe that I didn't remember that book. Sure I was a kid, but It wasn't like I was three years old, making me inevitably forget about it. Why can't I recall it? I suppose I'll blame it on the ladder of growing up, and the stresses that slowly creep into one as one enters adulthood. To blame it on time. 

Time. 

Great Aunt Odette's words regarding it, and its correlation with life - I was at a loss for words. She knows me all too well. I knew that there was an inevitable end for everyone, but hearing how she explained it woke me up more. The realization that time will pass, this life will end before I know it and that will be it. A terrifying concept that makes me shake my head, as I grip the steering wheel. 

It lies in the question of; if it ends today, am I okay with that? Am I content with how I lived?

Not entirely. 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After two hours, the driving finally came to an end. I turn off the ignition, grab my small purse and the book, and walk up to the entrance of the building. I was in no mood to climb two flights of stairs, as my body craved the comfort of my bed after the hours-long drive. But with the building's elevator under maintenance, I had no choice. 

As I insert the key and swing the door open, I am immediately greeted by the exclamation of my roommate slash friend. He appears in the doorway at lightning speed it seems. 

"Oh my fucking God."

"Hey." I let out a yawn, "Oh gosh, I'm so tired." 

"No shit, Nova. You just drove for TWO hours? Well, actually FOUR hours. But still, holy shit?" He exclaims in disbelief, grinning brightly at me.

I walk to the living room and place my stuff on the table, as I flop my body onto the couch. 

"Yeah, I did."

"You hear that Lottie?" He says to the phone in his hand, as he faces the screen to me. 

"Oh! Hi, Lottie!" I say, waving at her despite the exhaustion slowly taking over me. 

"Nova Katerina Sinclair, I am in complete shock." She laughs. 

I look at both of them quizzically, "At my driving?"

"No, you idiot!" Charlotte replies, shaking her head at my confusion. 

"Then what?"

"When you texted me saying that you'll be visiting your Great Aunt, and won't be able to meet me for lunch. . . I shit you not, I thought your phone was stolen." Luke raises his hands in defense, emphasizing his points.

"What?" I let out a laugh, "What are you on about?"

"Then imagine my reaction when Luke told me about it." Charlotte chimes in. 

"Guys, I still don't get it."

"It's just- it's so unbelievable. When did you make the decision to go?"

I shrug, "This morning. Spur of the moment decision." 

Luke turns the phone screen to himself, eyes wide, and returns it back to face me. 

"It just sounded so un-Nova of you."

I had to laugh, "Un-Nova?"

"Yeah. You don't just go somewhere just because. You literally have a whole damn color-coded calendar for fuck's sake!" Luke says, dramatically. 

"Oh." The realization settles in me, they found that unusual. Was it really that out of character?

"Then I asked Luke to make sure it wasn't an emergency because that would explain your sudden spontaneity. But when he said that you messaged nothing of the sort, I was like, " Charlotte's eyes widen as she retells the situation, "Well, holy fucking shit."

"I didn't even. . . " I shrug, "I don't know, I just felt like it." 

"Are you sure you are Nova?" 

Luke looks up at the ceiling with his hands in the air, "Has the Earth just shifted its fucking axis?" 

I laugh at his dramatics, "Is it really that big of a deal guys?" 

"Yes!" They reply simultaneously. 

"Bad or good?"

"Definitely good."

"It's fucking fantastic, bestie."

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After much interrogation from Charlotte and Luke, I was finally able to settle down into my bed. Their shock at my actions didn't phase out quickly, even if I retold the entire ordeal in detail. Well, of course, leaving out the part about the actual reason I decided to visit Great Aunt Odette. I love them to death, but revealing that whole situation - revealing him - that's absolutely out of the question. 

I glance at the clock opposite my bed, reading the time : 8:45PM. 

Some say that is far too early to be going to sleep, which even I can agree with. I normally find myself drifting off to sleep at 10.30PM most nights, purely because of assignments and how I can't seem to completely escape my thoughts. It's like a thousand sealed vaults in my mind all suddenly opening at the same time, and endlessly overlapping one another. It's when I then tend to believe that the mind, and the brain are independent of each other. The brain generates knowledge and helps you process through the essential, practical things of life. The mind on the other hand, that's where all your deepest thoughts wander in. The mind houses the thoughts that is centred around yourself. Constantly editing and rewinding how you were before, right now, and in the future. It's the source of both reflection and destruction. 

The mind is a maze that you can so easily get yourself lost in, and I am all too familiar with that. Except for this time, where the fatigue of my physical body has fortunately pulled me into a slumber before any overthinking can generate. My eyes were heavy with tiredness, I felt this lift slowly as I shut them. 

"Woah, so pretty!"

"She's just like a princess!"

"Oh. I know! She's like snow white!"

"Shh. . . we might wake her up."

"But she's been asleep for so long-"

"What if you need to kiss her, Mister Elvis?"

Voices. I hear multiple voices, which only makes me open my eyes in curiosity. I seem to be lying down, with the blue sky right above me. My head turns in all directions, as I find the owners of the voices. A few children surround me, but their chatter seems to have come to a stop at the sight of my opened eyes. 

"Lookin' for me?" A familiar voice catches my senses, as I turn around to my right to see him a few feet away. He stands facing me, but the left side of his body leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. His foot so casually crossed over the other, as I saw that lopsided grin prominent on his face. 

I don't fail to notice that it's another version of himself that he's showing me. His hair was still stark black but with very noticeable sideburns accompanying it. Definitely 1970s. He wears a black shirt with a floral design, black pants, and boots. It's always interesting to see how he appears to me in each dream, but one thing I'm certain about - Elvis Presley was unapologetically fashionable. 

Elvis quirks an eyebrow at me, no doubt awaiting my response. I just hope he didn't notice that I stared for a while, well, only because I was curious about his attire. An attire that I am well aware of has a few buttons opened at the front, clearly exposing his tanned chest. 

I find myself clearing my throat. 

"And what if I wasn't?" I say jokingly, as I feel an uncontrollable smile pull at my lips. 

He chuckles quietly to himself and nods. Elvis takes a few steps before he is right beside me, as the children part to give him space. He takes a glance at the children and releases a dramatic sigh, "Well, kids, it looks like we have a liar among us." 

I gasp, "Elvis!" 

They giggle. 

Elvis laughs, "Yes, honey?" 

I push off my hands, sitting myself up. It appears that I am wearing a short, white summer dress with roses adorning the design. In my previous dream, it was the colder season, which is far from the outfit that I seem to be wearing at this moment. But then again, the sky is blue and clear, and the chilling bite of the cold appears to be absent. So, I guess it's summer now in this dream? 

"Oh, look! Miss Nova, you and Mister Elvis have flowers on your clothes!" One of the children, the girl with a beautiful, dark complexion alerts me in glee. Her finger pointed enthusiastically at my attire and Elvis.' 

My eyes cast over his shirt and my dress, and evidently, we seem to both be wearing a floral design. My cheeks heat up unexpectedly. 

I exchanged a look with him, which he returns with a proud smirk, "Why, I believe you're right, lil' Dorothy." 

"But mine looks better, right?" I ask, smiling at the girl, whose name I know now is Dorothy. 

She nods vigorously with a cheeky smile. 

"Ouch," Elvis says. 

"B-But yours looks nice too Mister Elvis!" Dorothy quickly sputters out.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"I think you look cool, Mister Elvis." One of the boys, with sandy blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, says encouragingly. 

"I appreciate it, Ollie." He smiles, patting the boy on the head. 

Elvis throws me a triumphant grin, "Oh, how the tables have turned." 

"You're unbelievable." 

Unbelievably gorgeous. 

My brain echoes a thought, in which I furiously shake my head noticing my cheeks heat up. 

Elvis swiftly pulls the conversation into properly introducing me to the children. There are four of them in total, two boys and two girls. I would guess they are around five or six years old, but that's just judging by their heights. Nonetheless, if I believe that Elvis is real and he's appearing from the afterlife, then that must only mean one thing - these children are those of the afterlife too. All of them died young. I feel my eyes water the slightest bit, which I quickly shake off. My sadness at the thought can't be displayed, not with the children's happy smiles as they chatter excitedly. 

"Dorothy, Ollie, Maisie, and Alfie!" I say, pointing at them one by one, learning their names. 

"Yay!" They cheer in glee. They run up to me and wrap their arms around me, well, more like my legs because of their height. I am taken aback and laugh, finding myself bending down a little to wrap my arms around them as best as I can. Not even a minute later, they are chattering amongst themselves, still not letting go of me though.

I look up, feeling his eyes on me. Elvis' eyes pierce through mine, his tongue smoothly swipes over his lips as he mouths words to me. 

I arch an eyebrow in confusion. 

He chuckles and mouths it again but with more exaggeration. 

"I've missed you." He mouths. 

Oh. Oh. 

Wait. . . did I interpret that correctly? 

It's really only been twenty-four hours. 

Suddenly, I feel the need to blame the sun for the sudden heat that I feel bleed on my skin. That would've been simple if it weren't for a slight skip that I feel in my chest. . . because that certainly cannot be the sun's doing. 

I tilt my head at him, "Really?" I mouth back, smiling. 

He doesn't say anything back like I thought he would. Instead, he strides forward until he's right behind me. Effectively finding a space, despite the bunch of kids that surround me. 

His chest is pressed to my back, a fact that only escalates the thump I feel in my heart. My breath seems to be trapped in my throat. His hands brush slightly against my shoulder, as he takes a lock of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. 

I feel his breath tickle my cheek as he leans in to whisper, "Always." 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

Not too long later, I found myself sitting down on a field of grass with the children in a circle. I sat with the girls and the boys sat with Elvis. So, technically, not a circle as they sat quite a few feet away from us. The children insisted on a girls versus boys team. Upon hearing this, I expected to be playing a sport. But instead, here we are, making friendship bracelets. 

"This is really fun, " I admit to them honestly, "I haven't done this in so long." 

A box full of a variety of beads, elastic bands, and sticker sheets sat on the grass. I smile at Dorothy and Maisie, as I loop some beads through the elastic band in my hand - starting a new bracelet. It reminded me so much of my childhood, how during breaks in elementary school, we'd all be crowding around the craft area to find ourselves what we needed to make DIY 'friendship' bracelets. 

"It's my favorite thing in the entire world, Miss Nova!" Maisie says enthusiastically, as she leans over to a few shiny beads from the box. 

I chuckle, "I see that. I'm guessing your favorite color is pink?" I gesture towards the three finished pink-colored bracelets, which mirror the same color as her dress and shoes. 

She nods, smiling widely "Yes. Yes."

So adorable and so young. They didn't deserve to leave the world so young, with so much joy and life they never got to live. 

I feel a tug on the skirt of my dress, I turn my head to see Dorothy. 

"You okay, sweetie?"

"What is your favorite color, Miss Nova?" She asks, her hazel eyes awaiting my response. 

"Hm. . . um, I guess red. Yeah, I like red." 

"Okay! I'll make you a red one!" Dorothy replies, taking a handful of red beads, stickers, and an elastic band from the box. 

It's quiet for a while, in which I find myself taking a curious glance at Elvis and the boys. It seems that each boy is holding each of his arms, as they fit the bracelets on his wrist. It also appears that he has several bracelets on either arm, which I couldn't help but chuckle at the boys' enthusiasm. 

"Can I tell you something, Miss Nova?" Maisie asks me, as I turn to face her finding her tilting her orange-braided hair at me. Adorable. 

"Of course." I smile. 

"It's nice to have another girl to make bracelets with us, " She then pauses to release a sad sigh, "Because it has only been me and Dorothy." 

"I am happy to be here, Maisie." 

"Maisie's right," Dorothy jumps into the conversation, "It's really nice. It was nice when it was me and Maisie, because we are best friends forever. Mister Elvis is nice and makes bracelets with us, b-but he's a boy." She sighs. 

The braided girl nods agreeing with her friend's words, "Yeah, he's on the boys' team. We needed one more girl." 

I chuckle at how adorable they are, "Here I am." 

"Thank you, Miss Nova. For being on our team and for Mister Elvis." 

They nodded to each other. 

"Mister Elvis?" I repeat, not quite understand what the kids meant in the latter of their sentence. 

"Yes, for making him happy," Maisie replies cheerfully, as she ties the end of the newly-finished bracelet in her hands. 

"Oh, well-"

"He's happy when me, Maisie, Ollie, and Alfie see him. But when he's not looking," Dorothy pauses and whispers, "You promise to keep a secret?"

I accept the pinky promise, "I promise."

Dorothy then continues, but making sure to keep her voice lowered. 

"Sometimes we spy on him. We find a wall or a tree or a bus stop, and we hide. And he's not smiling no more. He's crying a lot, Miss Nova. And if he's not crying, he looks very sad. But now you're here, he smiles," Dorothy explains. 

"All the time," Maisie adds. 

My heart simultaneously crashes and mends at their words. It reminds me of Miss Esther's words to me at the cafe. How she described Elvis being 'very down' before I appeared. Now that the same words have come from more than one person, it almost makes me want to ask him about it. Not too directly, because I fear it's not something he wants to talk about. But I just feel this need to know what was it that made his emotions blend so easily with the dark of the night sky. For his eyes to cascade with tears so endlessly like the rush of a waterfall. I didn't need to know, but I want to know. I want to know what so desperately what hurt him enough for his emotions to slip out of the confines of his heart, and out into the open. 

But I know that will be easier said than done. Answering serious questions isn't exactly something that Elvis is fond of. It reminds me of the time when I asked him a series of questions, and he responded with only one word. But that didn't end well, with him being in a flood of tears. I don't want to cause that. I'll ask him eventually, but not now. . . just not now. 

"That's seven, Dorothy!" Maisie's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. 

"Oh, I know!" Dorothy claps her hands excitedly.

I look down and sure enough, the girls have made seven friendship bracelets combined. 

"Wow, that's a lot. You girls work fast." I say, clapping for them as they grin proudly at my compliment. 

"Thanks, Miss Nova. But not as many bracelets as Mister Elvis." Dorothy admitted. 

I glance over to Elvis and sure enough, friendship bracelets take up the entirety of his right arm. His sleeves rolled up. Elvis must've felt my eyes on him, as he looked up with a mock defeated look in his eyes. Those boys are really on their way to decorating his arms like the lights on a Christmas tree, and I can't help but laugh at the expression on his face. 

"Yeah, I can't exactly argue with that." 

"Not those bracelets, Miss Nova."

I turn away and face the girls. 

"Oh, then which ones?" I furrow my eyebrows. 

"You don't know?" Dorothy questions with a frown. 

Well, isn't that a million-dollar question? Seriously. 

I shake my head. 

"The ones he made for you," Maisie says casually as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. 

"For me?"

They both nod, as they use their fingers to count. No doubt counting how many bracelets Elvis made. . . for me. 

"Twelve. I-I think?" Maisie says, nodding with Dorothy. 

"Wow, that's um, that's definitely a lot." I chuckle.

"That's what we said too. People make friendship bracelets for people they care about. " Dorothy shrugs, "Mister Elvis made twelve for you. He must care about you like, I don't know, like a trillion times more." She chuckles, holding her fingers up as if she lost count. 

Every time I'm with him, in these dreams - I can never predict what will happen. The spontaneity of his character blended with the reserved nature of mine. That is a stark contrast. Each dream that I spent with him so far, has been full of experiences that I've never had before. All quite. . . grand and eventful. But this one right here, this unknown discovery, this small surprise - renders me speechless just the same.

No matter how uncertain I am about many things related to my dreams, I am certain about one thing. Nobody makes a dozen bracelets for a random girl. For a stranger. It brings me back to the question I asked him, a while ago, but feeling so long ago now:

Who am I to you, Elvis?

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After what felt like an hour, we said our goodbyes to the children. The time with them wasn't only filled with making friendship bracelets, but also playing along with their games of hide and seek, and games at the park. They were an adorable bunch, but soon enough, daylight turned into night. In which, we found the children had lost their energy, and were ready to close their eyes into a slumber.

Now, Elvis and I walked down a long stretch of rural road. The gravel released a 'crunch' sound each time my feet met the ground. On either side of the road, a row of cypress trees accompanied the landscape. A picturesque atmosphere of solitude and beauty, with the blanket of the night sky overlaying everything around us. 

"Elvis, no! That's horrible!" I gasp, hitting his arm playfully. 

Elvis simply laughs. He laughs and even though, I've heard him laugh quite a few times before - but I notice something different this time. Well, not anything new, but just something I've never noticed before. He has a kind of hiccup to his laugh, it's just so distinctly him. It's melodious, as it always is. To the point where I semi-forget what he just told me, and end up laughing along with him. 

He points at me, "But you're laughing, honey!"

"No! It's just- it's horrible!" I try desperately reinstating my disagreed expression. 

We were talking about what more was on my list, and what was the next thing. This then went down the topic of conversation around theme parks. Now, I think theme parks are great, they are wonderful. But definitely not a fan of. . . rollercoasters. In this case, Elvis tells me he has a story about rollercoasters. He tells me how he'll get on a rollercoaster with a friend, or a date, and just before halfway - he jumps out. Logically, whoever he's with, ends up screaming and thinking the worst has happened to him. But there he was, on the sidelines, all safe and laughing his ass off at their reaction. 

"It was hellavu lot of fun," He defends, shaking his head as he grins at the memory. 

"Well, It's clear that you and I have different definitions of fun."

"Just try it, honey."

I squint my eyes at him, "I, well-"

He puts his hands up in defense, "I promise. . . no surprises." He says, with a smirk on his lips. Elvis sure does love the unpredictable, almost crazy things that he comes up with - it makes it impossible to believe him when he says this. 

"No jumping?" 

He shakes his head, "Nope."

"Here, gimme your hand," He urges, and I do so. 

He takes my hand in his and intertwines our pinkies, "What do ya want me to promise?" Elvis questions, a pure smile wrapped on his face, all void of playfulness. 

"That if. . . if I go on a rollercoaster with you, or that matter whenever you're with me - you won't do something batshit crazy. If you do, because I swear if you do, I-I'll never-"

He cuts me off, "Speak to me again?"

"Recover, " I say, my tone quiet as I look away from his gaze. I know this is all a dream, but I also have to face the possibility of things treading beyond what I think a dream is and what it is not. 

I am aware that Elvis does not. . . physically exist in the real world anymore. But here, right now, with me he's very real. And as far as I am concerned, if I can control one thing - in this mayhem of dreams - it's his safety. 

I swallow as I try to find my voice again, "I don't want to see you hurt." 

I gain the strength to face his way again, and his mouth begins to form words - seems like he's figuring out how to say something. But he holds himself back, resulting in a simple nod, "Okay, I promise." He whispers, intertwining our pinkies together. 

I clear my throat, in an attempt to dissipate the tense atmosphere. Elvis doesn't let go of my hand, instead effectively intertwining our hands together. The warm press of his palm on mine, as he squeezes my hand in reassurance. He has held my hand before, but this time - it doesn't fall loosely. It's tighter, but not heavy and unbearable. There's more urgency and a sense of security in this one, like an invisible armor separating us from whatever treacherous obstacles we might encounter. 

The purest message of a promise. 

His gaze joins mine, as I look down at our joined hands. 

"I'll be right beside ya. No one's gonna be hurt. " Elvis says, softly. 

I nod. 

I clear my throat, "Right then, where are you taking me?" I smile curiously at him. 

And just like that, in a flash, his cool laid-back demeanor returns. 

Elvis bites down his bottom lip, as he slowly tugs onto my hand - walking a few steps before me, but nevertheless, still facing me. 

"Just one question, darlin'." 

"Which is?" 

"Do you trust me?" He asks, with a mischievous grin along with that beautiful twinkle in his blue eyes. 

"Always." I breathe out in reply, without a second of hesitation. And perhaps, it's a word that is so easy for me to slip out of my mouth - so easy to say to him. Almost as automatic as breathing in air. 

Elvis chuckles, swiftly planting a kiss on my knuckles and tugging me forward until my chest is pressed against his. I squeal at the action. 

"Let's go."

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

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Yours Truly - Chapter 13.5: Soon.

・❥・pairing: Elvis x original female character

・❥・genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・wc: 645 words

・❥・summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ ratings & warnings: SFW. none.

❥・a/n: This is written from a different point of view. And yes, it it mostly a back-and-forth dialogue, which lacks description and detail. But all is intentional. You should zoom in, analyze, and put the puzzle pieces together yourself. This chapter was posted on wattpad months ago, I thought I already posted it on here at the same time. Sorry about that.

It is a short, but highly important chapter. 

chapter index | prev | chapter 14

------------------------------------

"When someone loves you, the way they talk about you is different. You feel safe and comfortable." - Jess C. Scott 

-------------------------------------

NARRATOR'S VOICE 

[24 HOURS PRIOR. . .]

IT WOULD BE untrue if one were to say that the world is only full of purity, hope, and overwhelming happiness. However, it would also not be deemed proper to agree that only all dark madness and misery roam the earth. One cannot exist without the other. A saying that has been echoed from one ear to another. A saying that can account for a plethora of statements; you can never truly have it all. No one ever can. Furthermore, human beings have a forceful tendency to prolong what is simply out of their grasp. It is admirably optimistic, however, once again only prolonging the sheer inevitably of it all. 

How human. Hm. 

For one to voluntarily exhaust themselves for the silver of nonsensical hope? How foolish one would be to disregard the oldest rule of nature. 

Therefore, Dear readers, it would only be appropriate to simply from time to time - remind ourselves not to fall into our own warps of idealistic reverie. But of course, as it has been said many times before, humans are not known for being exceptional listeners. 

The rigorous downpour continued, and the dark-haired man could not care less - his blue eyes fixated on the spot in front of him with his right hand grasping into the air, then dropping it to his side momentarily. For just a few moments prior a woman was in front of him, her hazel eyes and radiant smile aimed at him. Not to mention, her arms around him as they danced despite the unconventional conditions, despite the water cascading down her dress and sticking to her skin. Now, at this moment, the man stands alone - the woman? vanished in a second, without the man completing his sentence. Slipping through his fingers just like that. 

The man slowly notices the umbrella hovering over him, the act of the figure beside him. He lets out a heavy sigh. 

"No- not yet." The man says, despite the person beside him not uttering a single word. 

"You are only exhausting yourself." 

"'Am not. " The man replies, shaking his head.

"It all has been more than enough." 

 "No," The man rejects, "Not even close."

"Yes, yes it it is. It has been. Listen to me-"

"No! I-I-I can't. Please, not now."

"Need I remind you that there is a limit." 

Silence.

"It is not wise of you to take hold, to attach yourself like this. You know the inevitable. For your sake, I am to warn you - be done with it."

"Be done with it?! " The man scoffs, "The fuck is she? A toy? No. I-I-I have chosen this, this was my choice. Don't you dare rip this off me. You know how it's been for me. I don't give a damn about your warning, keep 'em to yourself. She needs me. I-I-I have to be there. For her. All for her. I don't give a damn how tired ya say I am, I will do everything I can. I-I-I know, I know that it will happen. But not today. Not now. I-I can't let go. I- I-I need her. It's not possible to just 'be done with it' nah. Not with her. " The man furiously shakes his head, his eyes swollen with tears. 

"Let go."

"No."

"I shall see you soon then, Elvis." 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

chapter 14

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WIP: A little something that has made it’s way into my brain. A specific scene of 1970s E looking out from a rooftop in Las Vegas, having quite a revealing conversation with someone. This is only a lil’ something, so may or may not be turned into a whole something.

warning: mentions of a scar.

-———————————————

“Ask it.”

“I wasn’t-“

“I heard you.” My heartbeat- he meant. It would be foolish of me to ignore his request, after all it was very limpid that he sensed a question, before the words even stepped out of my lips.

I found my fingernails gripping the edge of the metal railing as I leaned against it, as if calling out for support. My eyes casted downwards on the vibrant city below us, “Your lower back. I, uhm…I saw a scar on your lower back. I was passing through to find my way to a restroom, your door was left a little ajar. “ I wasn’t looking at him, but I could practically feel his gaze burning into me, which is why I found myself breathing out a sigh - forming a halo shape into the wintery air.

“Elvis, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to Iook in, and I should’ve kept walking-“

A beat of silence. What could he be thinking?

“What did ya think of it?” He asked, voice controlled but there is a quietness to it.

I whirled around to face him, “I-I just feel terrible for looking into it when it was your privacy-“

His azure blue eyes were firm on me, “That’s not what I’m asking you.”

“What?” I managed to breathe out.

He steps closer, “You keep saying you don’t feel right and wanted to run off. I wanna know. . . why? Did it disgust you? Made you wanna hurl your guts out? Made you wanna remember it, so you could sell off your new discovery to the press-“

I was lost for a second, lost on why the city was suddenly blurry in my vision - my eyes were burning with tears.

“No.” I say, my voice firm. He’s at a pause, eyebrows knotted and that fire in his eyes that was once set ablazed - now showed blue like ripples in spring lake.

“No?” He questions, eyes wide.

“A scar isn’t something that was born from pleasant happenstance. It’s not something a lot of people show off to the world, and get applause from. It’s not like a performance on stage. It’s that darkness after the lights are off, behind the stage curtains. Evidence that you were hurt before and it’s forever there. To remember it. I ran not because I thought it was hideous of whatever incredulous thing you said. I ran because I wouldn’t want a stranger to see that part of me. . . the part behind the curtain.” I looked away, not waiting for his response.

Before there could be any response, a rush of footsteps and the quick opening of the door caught both of our attention. There stood Jerry Schilling, sweating and a rush of relief as his eyes meet ours, “Thank fuck. E, we’ve looked everywhere. The colonel wants to speak to you.”

Elvis simply nods and his friend walks off.

He looks at me, “You’re no stranger to me.” He says softly, as he walks away - leaving me with my thoughts and the bustling life of the city before me.

Kismet, Kismet✨🤍| Part 1

pairing : 1970s!e x Asian!OC summary : Angel Song grew up in a strict, Korean household. Molding her into the perfect 'good girl.' Through a strange case of serendipity, she finds herself face to face with Elvis Presley, the one person who just might threaten to shatter the glass of her good girl act. chapter warnings: age gap, profanity. genre: fluff, angst, (future smut)

author's note : hi! this was originally a one-shot in my mind, but when I started writing I realized the story is longer than that. So, a full-length fic. I noticed the lack of Asian-centred characters in the fandom, so here we go. I have so much planned for this, already daydreaming about future scenes. Each part will have warnings, so please refer to those before reading. This series will contain 18+ and mature themes, even if this part one does not. So, please be wary of that if you are a minor, do not interact. enjoy reading! - Rose 💋

Las Vegas, 1972

She shouldn't be here tonight.

The piles upon piles of paper that occupied back at her dorm room would agree. A rather stark contrast to the blinding lights, numerous glamoured clothing, and excited chatter that filled the spacious room she was currently in. Two different ways one could spend their Thursday night. Not even the carefree reputation of a weekend could ease the guilt of temporarily abandoning academic commitments.

My goodness, it's Thursday night Angel thought to herself, as she couldn't help but fiddle with her fingers, trying and failing desperately to relax in the seat. An action that does not go unnoticed by Felicity, her carefree roommate.

"Are you on your period?" Felicity asked her, nonchalantly. Thankfully, she says this in a quieter voice. Angel knows that there is no embarrassment in the natural cycle of womanhood. But it is still a topic that can only be discussed in hushed whispers between women.

Angel shook her head, "No. Why?"

"It's just, you keep fidgeting in your seat." Felicity pointed out.

"I can't help thinking about that paper for-"

Felicity quickly shushed her and took hold of her arms, "Oh my god, Angel. No. No talk about assignments, essays, or professors. We are sat front row about to see thee Elvis Presley in front of our very eyes!" She said, in a matter-of-fact, way and gesturing her hands dramatically to the stage.

"I know, but-"

"No buts! Our boring life as college students can wait, but this is once in a blue moon." Felicity persisted, her voice drifting off into a dreamy sigh.

Although, Angel instinctively was about to reply back something along the lines of academic responsibility needing to triumph seeing a star's live performance - her roommate's words processed longer in her mind. Felicity tends to be bolder and acts quickly without thinking most of the time. A habit that doesn't exactly align with safety, but does very much so with trouble. Angel was quite the opposite and is the one who persistently cautions her roommate's spontaneous pursuits.

But Angel does know that spontaneity can result in good things. She can act at least recognize that. Which is why, she held back her tongue before replying to Felicity, because well - this is one of those good things.

Very good things. Angel's thoughts echoed.

A reminder more so. A reminder of the time when she first heard him sing and see him perform. Just one year before her senior year of high school, she stumbled upon his performance on the television screen in her parents' living room. The '68 comeback special. His all-black leather outfit, tanned skin, jet-black hair, and not to mention the crooked grin that he so consistently displayed to his audience. His voice - a beautiful, rich, and deep timbre that captured anyone who listened. Angel did. Certainly. Not to mention the way he moved on stage - he was practically swimming with charisma and sexual appeal.

But of course, her eyes were only captivated by his performance for a short while before her mother waltzed in and abruptly turned the television set off. Hands-on her hips, a deep set frown on her lips, as she looked at her teenage daughter in bewilderment. A type of bewilderment that made whatever magical word Angel was so captured in - burst and disappear. Her mother wasted no time in questioning her, heck, Angel could still remember the words to this very day: 'What on earth do you think you are doing watching such vulgar movements? You are poisoning your mind!' Her mother's words half English, and half in Korean.

In which, Angel remembers replying back, in defense 'But Eomma (Mom) it's only dancing!' A reply that ended up with a lecture from her mother about the dangers of viewing such a performance. The dangers of Elvis Presley, and how he corrupts their generation to pursue wrongful actions. Angel could not simply understand the issue in the matter, but she knew better than to say more.

So, that was that. Her father caught the news from her mother, which turned into another discussion. But despite all of that, Angel desperately, found herself wishing to hear his voice again. There was something naturally comforting, and something true when he sang. So she bought his records, in secret, and played them whenever her parents were not in the house.

But thinking back to that day that she first saw his performance, as she lay back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling - there was one word that jumped from the confines of Angel's mind.

Daring.

Elvis Presley was absolutely daring.

Angel found herself shaking her head, and a smile pulling on her lips at the memory of her past self. And so, although college is important, she knew Felicity had a point. It would be foolish to brush past an opportunity to see him perform live. To satisfy the part of her that became a fan on that day years ago. After all, college is every day, but Elvis Presley? it would only be once. She will see him perform once, and go home, and she knows that her future self would be glad that she created such a memory. A memory that she will surely cherish forever.

So, without that in mind, she looks to Felicity, "Okay. You do have a point."

Felicity claps excitedly and smiles in triumph, "Oh, this will change our lives forever. I just know."

The showroom was quickly filled with hundreds upon hundreds of excited audience members. It ranged from regular, avid fans to top A-list actors and actresses occupying the seats of the spacious area. Angel couldn't help but sneak a glance at the clock that was just to the right wall. ten minutes. Elvis Presley will be out on stage in just ten minutes.

The actual realisation finally hit her. Earlier all that occupied her mind were her worries between the battle of having fun, or turning back and burying her nose in the papers at her desk. But now, now that she has accepted that it did not hurt to let this opportunity happen, the wave of what will actually happen any moment now gripped her mind.

Elvis Presley will perform and he will be right in front of me. Her heartbeat couldn't help but quicken at the thought of it - the pure excitement and rush, hitting her all at once.

Being overwhelmed by listening to his records was one thing. But seeing him right in front of her? In, what, she glanced at the time - eight minutes - overwhelmed wouldn't even begin to describe what she would feel. Felicity chatted away with her prediction on what songs he would play and apparent rumours about potential medleys. But Angel was drowning out the words, not quite hearing it, her excitement was filling up her body quicker and quicker. Shit.

She needed a drink, and she needed one fast. Luckily, servers were plentiful, walking around with circular trays as they placed various beverages and food onto tables. She managed to get a glass of water, muttered a thanks, and drank it. Felt the cool liquid against her tongue. Better. She's calmer now.

But heard her stomach rumbling, her cheeks hot in embarrassment. Right. She didn't eat before they left the dorms, because well, her cheerful red-headed roommate thought it was the best to surprise her with tickets at the last minute. Angel simply didn't have time to process everything, before she found herself walking into the infamous International Hotel.

"- I still think Gregory Peck is leagues better than Cary Grant," Felicity said, drifting the conversation to some Hollywood actors who were rumored to be attending tonight.

Now that her body is much more relaxed, Angel felt good that she was able to properly engage in a conversation with her roommate. But yes. she was still hungry.

Angel shrugged, "Both are good. But I can't say that I've seen all the pictures that Cary Grant was in, so I couldn't make a fair judgment." She replied, every assessor and the analytical tendency jumping out of her, all second nature.

Felicity simply shook her head, "Very well, then, Attorney Song." She teased, as she smirked.

Angel laughed, "Oh, shut it."

At the corner of her eye, she saw a server that was about to pass their table. Angel quickly planned that she would stand up, which she did, and turn around and browse the food options that the server held. The turning around and standing did certainly go to plan, however, the latter most certainly did not.

In fact, what did end up happening is the abrupt movement from Angel caused the glass of beverage on the tray to lose balance and slam right into her. Spilling her dress. The server's eyes widened, as he profusely apologized, Angel was quick to tell him that it was not his fault and most certainly hers due to her clumsiness. Felicity gasped and handed Angel the few paper towels that were on their table, but despite this, the stain was still very noticeable.

"Oh, great," Angel groaned.

Then she remembered. She remembered how she always brought spare clothes with her in case of anything. A situation precisely like this. With that, she bids Felicity a temporary goodbye, in which the redhead reminds her to hurry as the show is about to start.

five minutes. The clock read as she ran past it, through the doors, and into the hallway of the first floor of the hotel.

Angel sighed in relief at the sight of the female restrooms and was about to push the door open when she noticed a sign - 'out of order, please use the next available restroom. we are sorry for the inconvenience.' Shit.

"Hi, excuse me," She said at the receptionist sat behind the desk.

The lady nodded for her to continue, "Yes, Ma'am. How can I help?"

"I saw the restroom is out of service. Are there other restrooms located on this floor?"

The lady sighed, "There are no other restrooms on this floor, Ma'am. The next one is located on the third floor."

Third floor. She glanced at the clock - three minutes.

Shit. There is no way that she will make it, well at least not to see Elvis' first walk onto the stage.

She nodded, "Alright, thank you for your help."

Angel then makes a run for it to the elevators. She pressed a button and well, it is definitely taking its time, as she found herself tapping her feet impatiently on the carpeted flooring.

She surveys her surroundings, there is the option of taking the stairs, but that will just make her sweaty. An image that Angel definitely does not want to add to the already spilled drink on her dress. She bites her lip anxiously and stops her eyes at a door in a corner. There is no room number, only the sign saying 'supply closet.'

Aha, perfect.

She quickly looks around, making sure that no one is around to see her. Once she is satisfied that the coast is clear, Angel quickly runs to the supply closet, swings the door open and locks the door. She breathes out a sigh of relief and mutters to herself, "Thank the Lord."

She mentally thanks her past self for choosing a dress that was easy to remove, as she begins to pull down the sleeves of her dress, and pull down the top part.

The supply closet was exactly what is sounded like - towels and various cleaning supplies filled four shelves. The space was tiny, but that didn't matter, just enough space for one person to quickly change into clean clothes and make a swift exit. A good plan before any member of the cleaning staff encounters her.

Because yes, this is most definitely not a changing room.

But then again, nothing is quite going to plan this evening. So, well, it should not be a surprise for Angel to discover that yet another part of her plans has been thrown out of the window.

A clearing of a throat made her jump, Angel's eyes widened as she quickly grabbed onto the top of her dress to cover herself, and pulled her sleeves back up. She turned around, "What th-"

Her words get caught in her throat, she spun around expecting a complete stranger and was ready to hit them with her bag. But she paused her movements, for it was not a stranger that was before her. Yes, she did not know him personally, but my goodness she knew him in a way. Tanned skin, effortlessly cool black hair, fancy jumpsuit adorned with glittering stones, and the few rings that occupied his fingers.

Elvis Presley.

He was sat down with his back against the wall.

His azure blue eyes held contact with her brown ones, with both of his hands up as if in surrender. He vigorously shook his head, "I-I-I. . .honey, I swear to ya. I-I wasn't," He stammered. A bright bloom in his cheeks.

She immediately knew what he was trying to say, albeit a stuttering explanation from him.

"I didn't look at nothin', " Elvis ran a hand through his hair, seemingly stressed out about the situation.

Angel raised an eyebrow and Elvis nodded.

She then most certainly realized that he was waiting for her to say something. Anything.

Angel took a deep breath and tried to find the words herself, "You. . how. . . but it's just. . . fuck." She ended up cursing under her breath, completely mentally kicking herself for not being able to articulate one simple sentence.

cute. Elvis thought.

Elvis felt himself smile but fortunately controlled himself enough not to continue to do so. Thinking to himself that a smile won't help her right now.

Angel held her head in her hands, muttered a few words to herself that Elvis realized must be in a different language, and then looked back at him.

"Okay. I- uhm, I believe you. It's just. . . what is actually happening?" Angel asked, seemingly been able to calm down her racing heartbeat but her brain not yet fully comprehending the situation.

The complete impossibility of it.

Elvis nodded and gestured to the floor, "Why don't ya sit down, honey. I'll tell ya."

There. That southern drawl, a tone that sent a shiver down her spine. But she was quick to snap herself out of it.

"I uhm, I need to change." She gestured to the spill on her dress.

" I won't look. " Elvis held his hands up in defense and immediately turned around to face the wall. Angel bit her lip a little apprehensively, but then thought to herself that there is quite literally no other way around this. So, she turned around and began to change. The space in the closet was not very generous, if Angel were to step backward just a step - the back of her legs would surely be hitting Elvis' head.

Angel tried to calm her breathing.

I am getting changed when Elvis Presley is right behind me. What in the world.

She changed into a regular mod dress and turned back around. Just in time to see that there was a clock on the wall, right above where Elvis sat. The countdown is over. It was done approximately ten minutes ago, but there were two things that Angel was certain of;

One; the countdown for Elvis to appear on stage has long been finished.

Two; Although the countdown was over, the one that it was for was not present on stage and instead he was - right here. Sat down, turned around, in a cleaning supply closet and Angel is about to find out why.

A story by presleyhearted - chapter masterlist

✰ Title: Kismet, Kismet

✰ Pairing: 1970s!e x asian female OC

✰ Genre: angst, smut, fluff. The cliche but trying not to be cliche typa fic. It's pretty clear in the title, but fair warning - i do love writing angst a lot.

✰ Status: ongoing

✰ Summary: Angel Song grew up in a strict, Korean household. Molding her into the perfect 'good girl.' Through a strange case of serendipity, she finds herself face to face with Elvis Presley, the one person who just might threaten to shatter the glass of her good girl act.

✰ Ratings & Warnings: NSFW. Although this may not be the case for each part, I will still say this is more of a NSFW category. Please read warning on each part before proceeding. I'm sure all of you know and are very familiar with the good girl meets bad boy cliche story, right? Well, sometimes we all need a bit of a cliche every now and then. Another important note - this story will contain - mature themes, strong language, discussions and topics of racial discrimination. So please do read warnings.

taglist: @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a @obsessedwithurlove

Kismet, Kismet ✨🤍 | INDEX

Part 1

Part 2