Just a bunch of imagines about the King, Elvis Presley. I have read another compilation of imagines and that inspired me to write one too. Thanks to @applehead7122009 for the inspiration. Let me know how you like it!
|| I just want to thank the entire community that is following me, because you guys really are the key to my secret chamber of success. If we can call it like that, haha. Anywho, I'll just go on writing this story, hoping you'll enjoy. Also, look at that perfect sideburn up there, hunka hunka. ||
New Orleans, 1969.
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There he goes. Stealing the stage as always. You look at your boss performing Swing Down Sweet Chariot along with a group of church singers - or something similar. Oh, how much you'd want to smash a chair on his face. You hate when he does it. He's so spontaneous, genuine. The thing is that you can't leave the job, since your family has disinherited you. You don't know any other way how to make money, besides being with this company, the Chautauqua.
He looks handsome, though. He's always had this charm, an appeal that you can't deny. Plus, that white outfit makes him look like an angel. An angel who just came down from Heaven, the one that God sent to make you pay for all your sins. "Y/L/N! What are you doing there?! Enjoying the show?!" You hear a man calling you, so you turn your head and look at him, blushing hard. "N- No sir, I was just looking around." Such a dumb excuse. You then look down and follow the man to another big tent, where he tells you what to do for the next hours.
You sigh when you check the time, just one hour has passed and you still have forty little toddlers to babysit. You roll your eyes and play the piano for them, singing as well. You look over at them, some girls are dancing, some boys are playing with toys... And others are fighting. You look up at the ceiling, folding your hands. "Good Lord, forgive me." You then look at the exit, quietly moving towards it. The kids don't even notice you.
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Once you're outside, you see Elvis - that's the name of your boss. You look at him for a moment, he checks you out from head to toe, then he smiles. "Come over here, darlin'!" He yells, so you just do as he says. He smirks a little as you walk over, making you blush. "What can I do for you, Presley?" You ask, feeling shy all of a sudden. "Oh, please, just call me Elvis." He says, holding your wrist and pulling you close to him. Your face is next to his, your back is against his chest. His warm breath on your neck makes your skin shiver, so you blush even more. "This is embarrassing..." You whisper, even if nobody - not one soul - is looking at you. "C'mon. Let's go grab a sandwich, honey."
