𝐄𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭/ 𝐄𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 & 𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐬

August - Elvis Presley

requested: N/A

A/N from tumblr: so I watched Elvis again last night with the discord and was incredibly sad and cried (again) so I had to let out my feelings with some angst. I hope ya'll enjoy this and don't cry like I almost did a few times while writing this lol

A/N for this book: hellooo I decided to post all of the blurbs, imagines, mini fanfics that I've already posted on tumblr and ao3 to here as well! I hope everyone who reads enjoys <3 if you have requests please send them to my asks on floralcyanide on tumblr.

pairing: Elvis Presley x reader (mentioned)

warnings: angst, so much angst, anger, shouting, cursing, descriptions of major character death

word count: 1087

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You don't remember August ever feeling this cold and rainy.

Graceland didn't have the spark anymore. To you, it is just a house now. A house full of memories of all kinds, good, bad, and ugly; a house full of ghosts. You're sitting on the front steps, curled into yourself as the rain continues to pour. Every time you remember why you were here, you'd start crying again. The tears felt like they would never stop as they fell. They burned hot on your now cool face. You knew you probably looked god-awful right now with eyeliner running down your face in large amounts. But you didn't care. You didn't care about anything. How could you when he's gone? He's gone.

You bury your face in your hands pitifully, sobbing into them as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the family and friends in the house. You jolt up when you feel a hand placed on your shoulder. It's Steve. His face held so much turmoil within it that it almost made you start crying again. He was one of the few people who had been there and had tried. He tried so hard to help, but it was almost hopeless. The feeling of that hopelessness crosses Steve's face as tears begin to well in his eyes at the sight of you. God, if he had only tried a little harder, he thought, and neither of you would be here right now. But there was nothing he could do but be there for you, just as he had been there for him.

Steve is consoling you without a word when the familiar sound of a cane echoes in the bleak silence. You freeze, knowing exactly who it is. Anger toils inside of you, rising up in the form of a scream.

"Get the fuck out!" you snarl, your face in your hands.

Steve stiffens beside you, unsure of what to do and astonished that you had shouted. You're always to yourself and never show any negative emotion. But that had all changed the day Elvis died. And he died because of the man standing behind you. You weren't born yesterday, and you weren't stupid- you knew exactly what Colonel Parker had done. Whether he accepts that or not, and whether others accept it or not, you accepted it because it was true. You had seen it for yourself, even. Steve had too.

"Now listen to me-"

"I said," you say through gritted teeth, "Get out. You don't belong here. You killed him."

A look of shock crosses Colonel Parker's face at your behavior. A few people start coming out of the house at the sound of shouting.

"I didn't kill him, sweetheart. It was his time," Parker says calmly, acting as if he had done nothing wrong.

You begin to get up from your spot on the stairs, but Steve grabs both of your shoulders, trying his hardest to prevent you from attacking the sick man in front of you.

"It was not his time," you say coldly, still fighting against Steve, "He was only forty-two."

You jerk your shoulder from Steve's grip, walking right up to Colonel Parker and looking directly at him. You wanted to give him what he deserved so badly, but words would have to do for now.

"I want you away from this house and don't ever come back. You may have fooled these people, but not me. Elvis would still be here right now if it weren't for you," tears well back up in your eyes at the thought of him alive.

You turn on your heel and sit back down where you were previously on the steps. Steve is still standing in front of Colonel Parker, and the family members and friends who began gathering outside begin to disperse, mumbling about what just happened. You are sure you wouldn't hear the end of it from Vernon, but you didn't care.

"They're right. You should probably go," Steve shakes his head, offering to help the older man down the stairs.

Without a word, Steve leads Colonel Parker away from the house, much to your relief.

You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding. Someone, whether it was you or not, had to say something. Someone had to stand up for the man you loved even though it was too late. You watch silently as Steve guides the Colonel into his car, Colonel saying something to Steve only for him to give him a look of distaste. You focus on calming down your breathing, wiping the black makeup off your face the best you can. Steve makes his way back up the stairs and next to you.

"That was... something," he says, resting his forearms on his knees, hands clasped together.

"It had to be said," you say meekly, all of your energy depleted from the blinding anger.

There was silence for a few minutes before Steve broke it, "He loved you, you know."

You turn your head to look at him, and he continues, "He loved you more than you'll ever know. He still does, I'm certain."

This time, tears don't well up in your eyes, but rather a comforting warmth fills your chest. He did love you, even if those last few years were hell for both of you. You aren't sure if he knew you were there even half the time, but at least someone was. You had been married since you were kids, and you always held your vows dear to you. In sickness and in health. It didn't matter if he pushed you away or was so out of it he couldn't even think straight- you loved him.

You glance up at the yard in front of you, and movement by a tree catches your attention. You stare until you see movement again. This time, a figure peeks out from behind the tree. The wind picks up despite the rain now settling down, but the figure remains in its spot. For a moment, you swear you see it lift a hand and then raise its pinky. Your breath catches in your throat. It's him. But you don't say anything or react; instead, you raise your pinky where Steve couldn't see, but possibly the figure would. You felt at peace for the first time in years. No one would ever believe you or what you saw, but you did. And that's all that matters to you.

Because August wasn't cold again after that.