[REQUESTED VIA TUMBLR]
Request: Hello love,is it okay for me to call you that? Sorry if it isn't,I was wondering if you can write an Yandere!70s or late 60s Elvis where the reader is naive and is dragged to one of his shows by readers friend or anyone she knows,you can choose and he notices her from the crowd but doesn't get the chance to go talk to her and maybe 1 week later he still has her on his mind and luckily he finds her talking to Jerry or someone and maybe he traps her like Rapunzel? Sorry if I'm asking for too much,it's okay if you can't do it! Maybe Priscilla isn't in here because I love her too much to have her heartbroken or anything like that!
You and Elvis were like prey and predator, you were just too naive to see it. You were a lamb to his lion and the moment he laid eyes on you, he knew you were going to be his and only his.
Your older - and wiser - best friend, Betty, had taken you to one of his shows in Vegas, an experience like no other you'd ever had. The loud music, the bright lights, the screaming, was causing you to go into sensory overload and feel frightened and vulnerable. Elvis had noticed you as soon as he did his usual bit of turning the lights on the audience, he was practically bewitched by your beauty and the innocence that was positively radiating off you.
No girl had ever had that effect on Elvis, not in this way, not so instantly.
But Elvis wasn't to meet you that night. You took off like a little fairytale character, running out of the auditorium as Elvis' eyes followed you until you disappeared. You couldn't handle the intense Vegas scene, it was too much for you to cope with and you needed some air. Betty had gone after you, consoling you as you repeatedly apologised for ruining her night and taking off like that but Betty was nothing but supportive, knowing that you were probably not ready for a show as wild as Elvis Presley's.
Elvis couldn't get you off his mind, your face was stuck in his head at all times. When he left the stage he was thinking of you, when he cooled off he thought of you, when he jerked off on his trailer he pictured you and as he fell asleep he thought of you.
By the third day of you relentlessly occupying his mind, Elvis knew Jerry had to find you. Funnily enough, both Elvis and Jerry recognised your friend Betty as one of the waitresses from the front of house at the International and Jerry hotel and it didn't take long for Jerry to scout her out and enquire about you.
Blinded by the idea of getting close to Elvis, Betty gave up your location and contact details to Jerry in an instant and a day later, your phone rang furiously, again and again and again until you picked up.
"Is this Y/N Y/L/N?" A hoarse, deep Southern voice asked.
"Uh-huh! Speaking!" You said chirpily and Elvis melted at the sound of your voice. "Why? Who's askin'?" You asked, twisting the phone cord with your fingers.
"Elvis Presley." Elvis said as he heard a little, sweet gasp from the other end of the line, making him chuckle. "I hope you don't mind me callin', your lovely friend Betty passed on your number to me."
"How do I know you're really Elvis Presley and not Johnny from work because this could really be somethin' Johnny would do." You giggled adorably.
"You wore a white silk dress to my show, you ran out just as I began singin' Suspicious Minds, guessin' you ain't too keen on that song, eh?" Elvis said and your stomach dropped, realising it really was Elvis.
"Oh gee." You mumbled. "I, um, I love your songs mister, I just, um, m'not good with crowds, it's silly, I know," You told the man.
"I don't think it's silly, I don't like crowds neither," Elvis agreed. "It's flatterin' to perform to a crowd but I hate bein' in them, I try to avoid them too." Elvis said, making you feel a little validated.
"I betchu get a lotta crowds, mister." You mused softly as if you were chatting to an old friend.
A deep chuckle could be heard on the other end of the line. "You can say that again, darlin'. But I sure was sad t'see you go so soon." Elvis said.
"M'sorry Mr Presley, m'sure Betty probably told ya, but I really am a big fan, I was real excited to see ya and I even wrote about it in my diary and everythin', it's just, it's just that I find crowds and all the loud noises and everythin' all a bit scary sometimes, and a couple of ladies," You paused and chewed your lip. "Well, they were just real big fans of yours I s'pose, pushed me outta the way to try to get to you and it was all gettin' a little intense see, and I just, it got a bit too much, I wish I did stay though, I said that to Betty too, that I felt real bad, I think I ruined her night really, I wrote her a real big sorry note and she says its okay but I know she's just bein' nice. Y'know I wish I'd stayed because that song you sing, Love Me Tender, oh boy, that's one of my favourite songs ever and I was real upset I missed it, you sing that beautifully Mr Presley." You babbled sweetly. "M'sorry, I've been ramblin' on and on atchu. I know some of it sounds dumb, a lotta people have said I'm dumb for not likin' crowds and loud music and, I mean, I don't really like it when people call me dumb, but I guess, um, maybe it is sorta."
Everything in the way you spoke confirmed to Elvis exactly what he'd expected; you were sweet, kind, naive and nervous.
"Now, now. You are not dumb for that and anyone who calls you that is frankly, an idiot." Elvis said, making you giggle. "How's about you and Betty come along down to the hotel tomorrow evening? I'd sure like to meet you without any of those crowds, maybe I can show you how to play Love Me Tender on the piano, I love that song too, little one." Elvis proposed, the pet name making your tummy do somersaults with nervous excitement at the sweet attention you were receiving.
You agreed, almost a little too eagerly, making Elvis realise that you were just like an excitable puppy, and he adored it.
He told you that he'd send his friend Jerry in a car for you and you bid him goodbye, running straight to your bedroom to write down as much of the conversation as you could remember in your pink diary.
You didn't sleep that night with so much excitement bubbling up inside of you. But, before you knew it, you were in a car with Jerry Schilling, asking a million questions about Elvis, the International and about Jerry too. Jerry understood straight away why you were so appealing to Elvis, you were everything that Elvis looked for, but Jerry knew Elvis a little too well and Jerry knew that once you were in Elvis' grasp, he'd never let you go. Jerry almost felt bad as you both sat in the car as he knew this would be the last time you experienced life as you knew it, everything would change when you stepped into the International Hotel.
Weirdly enough, Betty was nowhere to be found as you were escorted to Elvis' dressing room. The nerves were growing inside of you as you smoothed out your lilac dress and made sure no strays of your long, flowing hair were out of place as Jerry knocked on the door. That familiar voice could be heard from the other side of the door, calling for you to enter.
When you walked in, Elvis rose from his seat to greet you. He dominated the space, his aura was powerful and magnetic and he practically towered over everyone. His presence was overwhelming and instantly alluring and addictive.
As he approached you, you couldn't help but panic a little, you so desperately wanted to impress him, yet you'd never been in such a position before. Elvis on the other hand, thought you were simply adorable. You were as beautiful as he'd remembered and you had a gentle and shy demeanour, although from his brief conversation with you, he could tell that you could probably be very stubborn too.
Elvis grabbed you a soft drink after you both greeted each other, letting you relax a little as you took in the atmosphere. You chatted for a little while before Elvis offered to take you on a tour the hotel and the little recording booth that had been installed too.
"Shouldn't we wait for Betty? She'd like to go on the tour too, Mr Presley. I don't know why she's not here yet, but I s'pose her job can make her kinda busy, but I know she'd really wanna be here so I don't know what's holdin' her up."
"Sweetheart, please call me Elvis, I know I'm an old man these days, but you don't have to address me like one." Elvis laughed, making you blush. "But I'm sorry darlin', I thought Jer told ya, Betty said she couldn't make it? She said she was awful sorry but her boss had sent her for some trainin' thing or somethin', I don't know, I'm sorry no-one told you, honey." Elvis said, making you look up with confusion.
"Oh." You said quietly. You knew how much of a fan Betty was of Elvis and that she'd waited for ages to be allowed by her boss to have the evening off to see his show. "She must be real upset, she really wanted to go to your show." You told him.
"You think she'd like a signed picture of me, honey? I'll get one sent over to her straight away." Elvis told you, making you smile.
"Oh gee, that would be real kind of you, Betty would love that! Y'know, I even think she'd put it in a frame and keep it on display!" You giggled adorably. You admired how down to earth and friendly Elvis was for a famous musician.
You followed Elvis around the hotel, in awe of everything he showed you and loving every second you spent by his side as you began to feel oddly attached to him.
Elvis even taught you to play the melody for Love Me Tender on the piano, not getting mad or angry at you for messing it up - even on the twelfth try. That's when you let slip about your upbringing and how your parents would berate you and emotionally abuse you for not being able to pick things up as quickly as they wanted you to. Elvis didn't pry, but he listened intently to what you were telling him and working out how it made you behave and react and how he could use it to keep you as his own.
But when the magical day finally came to and end, the communication didn't stop then. You and Elvis would call each other all the time and he became all you thought about, day in, day out.
You visited him at the hotel several more times, spending hours together, giggling, teasing each other, reading, relaxing and trying to perfect that piano melody.
It wasn't until your sixth visit that you finally bumped into Betty again, dashing away from Jerry who would always escort you to Elvis to go see her at her waitress' post.
"Betty! Betty!" You said with a beaming smile, dashing up to her, only to be met with a less than friendly reception. Your smile dropped a little, noticing the tense atmosphere. "I haven't seen you in ages!"
"I know. I've been tryna reach ya Y/N, but there are whisperin's that you're seein' Elvis Presley? Is that true?" Betty said with slight frustration in her tone.
"Uh-huh! He's one of my best friends now I think, just like you! I even made him a bracelet and he says he's gonna wear it on stage!" You giggled.
"Why didn't you tell me you were seeing Elvis Presley? I'm meant to be your best friend Y/N and I gotta hear from Darlene, the dishwasher that my best friend is bein' snuck in to meet the King? You know how much I loved Elvis, Y/N, you knew it would hurt me if you got together with him." Betty said, making you frown with worry.
You adored Betty, you always had and it was never your intention to ever hurt her - or anyone that matter.
"M'not together with Elvis in that way, he's just a friend and I tried to tell ya but when I tried t'ring ya back, I couldn't get through. But he gave you that signed picture of him as a sorry that you couldn't come to the tour with me, remember? He likes you, promise!" You said, trying your best to make her feel better.
"What are you talkin' about Y/N? What picture? What tour?" Betty said, bewildered and frustrated.
You chewed your lip as you began to feel a bit confused at everything, Elvis and Jerry had told you about how busy Betty and the rest of the staff at the International were.
"Y'know how you were doin' the training so you couldn't come with me on the tour and Elvis and Jerry sent you that signed autograph picture of Elvis remember? Elvis told me that you told Jerry you couldn't come? He said that you'd got the autograph?" You said softly, feeling confused and anxious.
Betty sighed, shaking her head as she looked at the floor, putting the together the pieces and realising what Elvis was doing to you.
"Jesus." Betty muttered. "I wasn't invited to any tour, Y/N, the only time I've talked to Jerry Schilling was when he promised I could meet Elvis with you and then I never heard from him again and now I realise why. I didn't get any goddamn autograph."
"It must've just got lost Betty, I swear, Elvis really wants to meet you." You insisted naively.
"He's just lying to you to get on your good side, he just wants to fuck you." Betty practically spat.
Your eyes widened at the cursing, you'd never experienced Betty like this before and you were beginning to feel upset over it all. Elvis had been nothing but sweet to you.
"No he doesn't, he's not like that. He wouldn't lie to me, Betty." You said defensively.
"God, you're so dumb sometimes, you know that? He's literally manipulating you, Y/N." Betty exclaimed, the words cutting deep, prompting tears to pool in your eyes.
Many people had called you dumb before, but Betty had never been one of them. She'd been the only person you were really friends with since you'd moved to Vegas and now you'd lost her.
"M'not dumb." You said quietly, your voice cracking at the end as you turned away from who you thought was your best friend, running straight past Jerry and through to where you knew Elvis would be.
When Elvis saw you in tears, he became protective immediately, cooing at you as you engulfed him in a hug, needing his love and his attention. He wrapped his big arms around you, rubbing soothing circles in your back, whispering sweet nothings about how he was here, you were safe and everything was going to be okay.
Once you'd calmed down, you finally managed to get your words out, explaining what had happened, telling Elvis that you knew he would send the autographs and that you trusted him. Little did you know, that Betty was right all along but she'd just pushed you straight into Elvis' trap.
"A-and t-then, she, she said I was d-dumb, m'not dumb, Elvis, m'not!" You said through little mewls and sobs, revealing your biggest insecurity to him.
"Oh sweet girl, you're not dumb, I know that, you're my clever girl." Elvis comforted.
Elvis continued to soothe you from your distress, helping to calm you down with soft, tender kisses to your cheeks and the top of your head. You agreed that maybe it was best if you don't see Betty anymore, Elvis didn't want to see you upset again and told you that Betty was just jealous of you now, that she wasn't someone that you needed in your life anymore.
That night, you stayed in Elvis' bed for the first time after he easily convinced you that you were in no fit state to be taken home and left on your own.
A few months had gone by since your first few encounters with Elvis and you were firmly his little girl now. Everyone knew it, his circle, the staff at the International and it hadn't taken long for it to reach the press that Elvis Presley had a shiny new toy locked away in the biggest suite in the International.
The Vegas scene was all a bit much for you, understandably so. You didn't understand how Elvis managed it all, it was a relentless routine of shows, press, crowds, parties and wild antics and you couldn't keep up. Elvis never pressured you to take part in anything you didn't want to, in fact, he encouraged you to stay in the suite, insisting upon it sometimes, for your own good, he would say.
And you trusted Elvis beyond belief. You knew that he wanted the best for you and you ended up being quite content spending your days in your gilded cage of a luxury hotel suite.
Sometimes you wanted to leave, Elvis would never stop you, but every time you went with Elvis elsewhere, things would get out of hand and you'd both be mobbed by fans to the point that you would send Elvis that knowing, pleading look that meant you wanted to go back to your peaceful palace and escape the madness of the lobby or street - and he'd take you back up in a heartbeat.
But right now, you were on the bathroom floor, panicking after reading a magazine that had been left on one of the coffee tables that featured you and Elvis in it. It talked about you suffering 'Stockholm Syndrome', something you'd never heard before and you were frantically trying to find any kind of medicine that would explain, and treat, whatever this syndrome just happened to be.
"Baby, what are ya doin'?" "M'tryna find the right medicine." You mumbled, your mind totally preoccupied on trying to find out whatever was wrong with you and what you needed to fix this so-called 'syndrome'.
Elvis crouched down to your level, his brow furrowed with concern as he watched you routinely pick up a bottle of pills or vitamins, hold it up to your face so you could inspect the label with knitted brows and a lot of concentration before casting it aside when you knew it wouldn't be what you needed.
"Are you sick, little?" Elvis asked gently, a little worried about you.
You huffed, feeling a little bratty and grumpy at the interruptions. You were feeling anxious about what you'd read and it wasn't helping that Elvis kept badgering you with questions - even if it was actually only two questions. "Well, I don't know." You muttered crankily, your bottom lip jutting out as you looked down at the mess around you.
If Elvis wasn't so concerned about you in this moment, he'd actually rather tell you how cute you looked, all mopey and bratty in the middle of the big bathroom floor, your nightgown pooling around you as you sat of the soft shower mat that you'd moved so the cold bathroom tile wouldn't touch your skin.
"You don't know if ya sick or not? Honey, I'm no doctor, but that don't sound right t'me." Elvis chuckled at you, making you get all worked up all over again - this was no laughing matter, apparently everyone that read that magazine in America knew you were sick and you were too stupid to even know it yourself.
"It's not funny!" You snapped, crossing your arms and glaring at Elvis.
"Oh darlin', I'm only playin' with my little girl, tell me what's goin' on in that pretty, lil head of yours hm? You don't seem like yourself." Elvis said soothingly.
"Apparently..." You started but you just felt too shy to even admit that people thought you were ill and you didn't even know it yourself. You felt like that silly little girl who got pushed around by the stage all over again.
"Apparently what, Y/N?" Elvis said, trying to read your face for any indication as to what was wrong.
"Don't wanna say." You mumbled, trying not to let any tears slip.
You were just overstimulated and overwhelmed and that was only natural. You stayed in Elvis' suite for most of your days, you liked it, it was comforting and safe and most importantly, far away from the dangers of your 'old life', but it also meant that if there was any change to your routine, it could take its toll on you very easily - and finding one of the biggest celebrity magazines writing about how you were sick and Elvis knew it, was a big change to your routine that you could never have prepared for.
"You're a big girl baby, use your words. I can't help you feel better if you don't tell me what's wrong, can I?" Elvis chided gently yet firmly.
"Apparently I'm sick and you know I'm sick and I don't know I'm sick." You said with a wobbly voice.
"Who told you that you were sick honey?" Elvis said, utterly confused and bewildered by what you were saying, but his concern was growing.
You rubbed your eyes, trying to stop any stray tears from slipping as you turned your body around a little to grab the magazine from behind you with your small hands. "It says in the magazine, I got a syndrome, it's named after a place in Europe, um, Sweden, no, um, Stockholm, I think?" You said softly, your sweet voice cracking at the admission, as he tentatively took the glossy magazine from your grip.
Elvis eyes scanned the page, and they grew darker when he read the headlines and the nasty, nasty things they had written about your relationship.
'Y/N Y/L/N, Presley's girl in the tower'
'Y/L/N is evidently showing classic signs of Stockholm Syndrome, there are never sightings of her unless she's glued to Presley's side and we all know what he's like when it comes to his women.'
'Maybe one day, Y/L/N will stop seeing her Vegas life through rose-tinted glasses that Elvis has forced upon her and realise just how bad she's got it.'
Elvis could feel his blood boiling and his temper rising. He knew better than to think the press was going to write nice things about him, but he couldn't fathom how the copy of the lurid magazine had found its way into your possession.
"How did you get this, doll?" Elvis said calmly, trying not to scare you.
"It was left on the coffee table, I thought you left it for me, it had a section on pretty dresses to wear to your favourite show so I thought you'd left it for me? Or maybe it was one of the guys?" You said with glossy eyes and a slightly wet, pink nose, from your little sniffles.
Now, Elvis never intended to keep you away in his lavish suite and he truly didn't see that what he was doing was actually harming you. No, Elvis believed he was just protecting you. After you'd opened up to him about your troubles, your anxieties and your intense reluctance to trust others due to PTSD from traumatic events you'd been through in the past, Elvis just wanted to make sure no one would ever hurt you or scare you again. That's just how Elvis viewed it, he didn't realise it was manipulative or detrimental, Elvis just loved you - perhaps a little too much.
Sure, Elvis knew that it was beneficial to him to keep you away from the gaze of other men, he knew how every man would look at you, like you were sent from heaven and as soon as you opened that pretty little mouth of yours and spoke in that pretty little voice, they'd realise you really were an angel. Elvis practically shuddered at the thought of any man having any kind of access to you, he was possessive, dangerously so.
Elvis knew you were a little behind everyone else in many ways, you were inexperienced emotionally, mentally and socially and Elvis simply figured that God, or some higher power, had put you in front of him so that he could be the one to take care of you and guide you and protect you.
It didn't take long for Elvis to gain your trust and manipulate it. He listened to you and cared for you, showering you in love and affection and attention that you were so desperate for.
Whenever you needed anything, Elvis would be right there to provide it, whether it was a band aid after you clumsily fell over and scuffed your knee, someone to hide behind when a scary scene came on during a movie or just someone to give you a safe space to be yourself without judgement, Elvis was the person to do it.
You eventually grew reliant on Elvis as he began to isolate you from the world, but you didn't mind. You began to feel anxious if you weren't around the big, powerful, man and you'd seek him out at every opportunity and Elvis picked up on it quickly. He knew that if he sent for you, he knew you'd come and if he called for you, you'd run to him.
"Am I sick, Elvis?" You whispered, your face painted with worry and panic.
Elvis cooed, pulling you into his embrace and wrapping his big arms around your little frame, rocking you gently as you both sat on the bathroom tile.
"No, little one. You're not sick, it's the journalists, they're being mean to you to try and get to me and to sell a quick buck. Don't you let your little head worry one bit, you're my happy, healthy baby, aren't you?" Elvis soothed, kissing the top of your head and stroking your hair, trying to quell your unease.
You nodded, wiping away a couple of hot tears that had fallen.
"I want to hear you say it, little one." Elvis encouraged gently.
"I'm your happy, healthy baby." You said softly, looking up at him with those big round eyes that made him melt.
"There we go, that's my girl." Elvis smiled warmly, squeezing you a little.
"Why do they gotta be so mean?" You asked, fiddling with the hem of your gown, a habit that you had when you felt a bit overwhelmed or overstimulated. Elvis could tell you were emotionally exhausted.
"They need to sell their stories baby, bad news always sells more so they want us to be unhappy so that they have more t'write about." Elvis told you and your eyebrows knitted together.
"I don't think I wanna read those magazines no more Elvis." You admitted and Elvis nodded.
"I think that's a good idea baby, a clever girl like you doesn't need t'be reading nonsense about herself. Their words don't matter, as long as you're happy, that's what matters to me, lil mama." Elvis said as he rocked you gently in his arms, the slow movements combined with your sheer exhaustion from the stress and anxiety of thinking you were sick, taking its toll as you let your head rest against Elvis' chest.
"M'happy. I don't like reporters no more, I don't wanna talk to them no more." You mumbled.
"That's my good girl." Elvis cooed, letting you drift off in his arms. "I think it's time for bed sweet thing, you've gotten yourself all worked up and you're exhausted, little one." Elvis said, easily scooping you up in his arms as he took you to bed.
He thought you looked awful cute, all clingy and needy and sleepy. Elvis knew that you needed a lot of care and attention and Elvis was certain that nobody was going to give you that apart from him. You were his little Rapunzel and Elvis wasn't planning on letting you out of your gilded cage anytime soon, and you didn't mind one bit.
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