Elvis One Shots/Imagines

Hound Dog - Elvis

A/N : def a part 2

As the moon started to climb slowly into the sky, you counted the hours until your shift was over. A 24 hour diner was convenient for customers, but it made your hours as grueling as possible. You weren't going to be off until 3am, and you struggled to keep your eyes open.

The little bell at the door chimed and a big group of men and women came in, laughing merrily with rosy cheeks and whiskey breath. You bit your lip and mentally prepared yourself for the countless pancakes and hot chocolates they were going to order as comfort foods. They piled themselves into two booths. Women dressed in the highest fashions with their hair curled round their faces, and men wearing slick jackets with smirks on their faces.

You went over a little apprehensively, paper pad lifted and ready to collect, "what can I get started for ya?"

The group completely ignored you and you tapped your foot impatiently on the tile. Only one man seemed to notice you, and he looked up through dark lashes. He had two girls with him, an arm slung around each as they cooed at him. Their hands trailed down his chest as they pressed their breasts against his body. He was handsome, with piercing blue eyes and a little smirk on his plush lips. There was a look in his eyes, like he could see your annoyance at everything and he found it amusing. While maintaining eye contact, the man brought his lips together and whistled. Every one stopped to look at him, and he pointed a finger to you.

"Listen to the lady." The voice was deep and Southern, full of charm as it ran down your spine.

"Thanks," you mumbled, then cleared your throat. "What can I get started for you?"

Everyone started to spout off their orders, a variety of pancakes and macaroni and all sorts of food you crave after a party. You scribbled them down quickly, mentally labeling everyone as a number to keep track. Then it came down to the women crawling on the man.

He leaned forward onto the table, tan forearms peeking from his shirt, "I'll have a peanut butter and bacon sandwich. What'll you have, doll?"

"Oh nothing," one woman said in a singsong voice, her eyes never straying from his face.

He turned to the other woman and she just giggled, "oh just a Pepsi."

He turned to you and smiled. Despite yourself, you grew increasingly annoyed at this handsome man with the women falling over him. He had two ladies literally desperate to climb onto his lap, in public, and yet he didn't seem to care. You grew defensive for them and a little disgusted at his casualness. As though they meant nothing, though they should mean everything.

You just nodded curtly and sent the orders back to the cooks. To distract yourself from that man, you wiped behind the counter and started to reorganize the spices.

"Hey little Darlin," you looked up to see the same man from earlier, now leaning on the counter. Your heart started to race in your chest from such close proximity and the memory of what he had just been doing. He had a twinkle in his blue eyes, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"Can I help you?" You tried to sound rude, but you just sounded small.

He smiled, "coffee. Please."

You obliged, taking one of the red mugs and pouring from the pot as he watched. His eyes flickered to your name tag, "Y/N." He seemed to roll the sound out in his mouth like it was unique. Then he settled on a simple, "pretty."

"Thank you."

He cocked his head to the side, "aren't you gonna ask my name?"

"Why should I?" You threw back, lifting an eyebrow and propping a hand on your hip.

He laughed, a loud and quick laugh, "s'pose you're right. My name's Elvis."

You pushed the coffee cup his way, and his fingers brushed yours and he accepted it. He looked at you intently as he took a long drag, then placed it back on the counter. Elvis propped a hand up and leaned his head on it, just staring at you.

"Can I help you?" You asked in an annoyed tone, done with whatever charade he was playing.

"You're awful pretty."

You tried to fight the blush that came over your cheeks, pink meeting your ears despite your best efforts, "don't you got two girls over there?"

He glanced back and shrugged, "they don't mean nothing." Your eyes widened in alarm and he put a hand out to clarify. "They're lovely, and I enjoy their time. But they just some girls who wanna sleep with me cause they think I'm famous. I doubt either of 'em really knows me."

"So you can flirt with me and still have them?" You felt the anger start to bubble up inside your chest, fiercely roaming around and on the verge of rage.

"Does that bother you?"

You gawked, jaw falling open. You slammed the coffee pot to the counter, "no. Not at all, you pig."

Then you went into the back and tried to ignore his eyes as they followed you out. You told the manager that you needed to take your break and sat in the alley, chewing on your bottom lip and trying to control your anger. When you returned fifteen minutes later, Elvis was gone and a $10 bill sat neatly on the counter.

You delivered some food to his group that he abandoned, conversationally asking, "where's your friend?"

"He left," one of the men said, shoveling the fries into his mouth.

The women who were next to him were already climbing onto the other men, completely uncaring that they'd just been with Elvis not ten minutes ago. One yawned, "he said he's gotta go."

You just nodded and served the rest, ignoring the little spike in your chest at the idea of Elvis leaving because of you. Had you really been that harsh? Or was he just trying to be a good guy?

You wouldn't know until the next day. You were pulling some mugs from the bottom drawer onto the counter when you heard the door chime to signal an entrance.

"Welcome in," you called from below, unable to see them.

They sat down and in a deep, Southern voice said, "hey there little darling."

You popped up and set your mouth in a thin line upon realizing who it was. Elvis. You took a mug and quickly poured coffee in then shoved it his direction.

"No hello?" He asked, a tease on his lips. You didn't reply and he tried again, "you look pretty today. I like that hair-"

"Elvis."

"What?"

You let out a frustrated breath, "Elvis, you ain't nothing but a .. a ... hound dog! You're just snooping around the door and flirting when you got plenty of girls."

Elvis took a sip of his coffee, set some cash down, and got up. Before he left he said, "I'm gonna make you like me, Y/N. I'll prove it."

You rolled your eyes and took his empty cup, walking away.

Then each day for two weeks, the cycle seemed to repeat itself. Elvis would come in, order a coffee, and sit and chat with you for a bit. You started to warm up to him despite your best efforts. Then one day, before he left, he told you that he appreciated you and all you do. You felt a spark inside your chest, electric as it ran through you. You watched his retreating form and it suddenly occurred to you how handsome he is. And patient.

You bit your lip. This wasn't happening. Surely you weren't going down the exact trap he said you would. But with each thought of him flickering through your mind, the possibility seemed more and more likely.