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#austin!elvis x reader
cilliansmesoftly · 1 year
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all mine
summary: you told austin if he won the golden globe that you’d let him do anything to you.
warnings: smut, oral (fem & male receiving), throat fucking, bondage, orgasm denial, overstimulation, spit, choking, etc.
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you lazily sat atop austin’s lap, lips pressed to his neck, breathing heavy and moaning softly every now and then when you ground your hips into his. your lips found their way to his ear where you whispered, “if you win tomorrow night, i’ll let you do anything you want to me.” you ended your sentence with a peck to his lobe and austin strangled out a moan.
“guess i have all the more reason to try and win, don’t i, doll?”
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your eyes closed, fingers crossed, praying to anything that could hear you.
“…and the award goes to….” the presenter, liticia wright, dragged. your hand was intertwined with austin’s, ready to face whatever happened next.
“austin butler.” your head snapped over to your boyfriend, your other half, his head was bowed and you could tell he was already holding back tears of joy. he put his life into this movie. he risked his relationship with you, his family, his friends, everything. and it was finally paying off.
you, along with everyone at the table stood up in a standing ovation. austin gave his sister, ashley, a hug first with a kiss pressed to her cheek, then to baz who looked like the proudest person to ever exist. and finally, he turned to you. his smile was wide and he hugged the life out of you, whispering his gratitude and love before he pulled away, not without leaving a searing kiss to your lips. you wiped under your eyes, laughing along with ashley.
you watched as he made his way up to the stage, shaking hands with quentin tarantino and brad pitt on his way up. his speech was beautiful and you couldn’t help but to shed a few tears during it. the crowed erupted with applause once again when he was finished and you couldn’t wait to see your boy, your winner, again in a few moments.
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you and austin attended the after-party for a little while, before you both decided to go home. you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. his hands were either always clutching yours or attached to your waist, never leaving his side for a second.
“you remember our deal?” austin asked you on the way home, hand on your thigh and music playing softly from the radio.
“hm?” your brows furrowed before they shot up in realization. “aren’t you tired?”
“i couldn’t sleep right now even if someone injected melatonin into my veins.” you laughed at this, you were both pretty wired from all the adrenaline and you were getting heated just from the thought of what he’d planned.
“anything you want, baby.” you patted the hand that was on your thigh and leaned over to kiss his cheek.
“good thing we’re here, don’t know how much longer i can go without touching you.” you squirmed at his words, cheeks tinting a shade a pink. the driveway seemed to go on for too long and you took your seatbelt off as soon as the car was in park. you stepped out of the car, waiting for austin to join you at your side. he held his award in one hand and reached for yours with his other. the two of you giggling like kids all through the house.
you kicked off your heels at the door, telling austin you were going to the bathroom. you turned down the hallway, hiking up your dress a bit so you didn’t trip and made your way to the master bath. austin came in right after you, seeing you struggle with the clasp of your necklace.
“let me.” he said gently, moving your hair off your neck and his touch sent chills up your spine. he undid the clasp and pressed a kiss to your shoulder blade. you turned to him, your hands going around his neck. he dragged his fingers from your wrists, to your shoulders and settling around your hips. he leaned down, capturing your lips into a sweet kiss. you wanted more, needed more. your hand pushed his head back towards you when he tried to pull away, your tongue tracing his bottom lip and he sighed at the contact, gripping your waist tighter. he wrapped his arms around your frame, hoisting you up onto the counter and your spread your legs for him to stand between them, the kiss never breaking.
“my winner.” you whispered, dragging your kiss to his neck, licking and sucking at every area of skin that was visible to you. “so talented, so fucking gorgeous. let me show you how much you mean to me.” austin groaned at your words, his head leaning back when he felt you slide off the counter, body right against his. you pushed him back just a bit and knelt down in front of him. you untucked his button-up, pulling his belt loose and watching his pants fall to the floor. his cock was begging for attention, hard and up against the waistband of his boxers. you palmed him over the fabric, hearing him hiss above you.
“so pretty, on your knees just for me. all mine. isn’t that right, baby?” austin’s words were quick and hoarse in his throat, neediness coating every syllable.
“all yours, honey.” you confirmed, looking up to make eye contact with the blonde as you tantalizingly pulled his boxers down.
“thought our deal was i could get to do whatever i wanted to you. not the other way around.” austin teased, jaw clenching as you licked the tip.
“you don’t want this?” you asked innocently, pretending to stand up, but austin laid a firm hand on your shoulder to keep you from getting up.
“don’t even fucking think about it.” he gritted and you smiled, going back licking the tip of his cock, leading up to the shaft and taking him wholly. he moaned your name, fingers gathering your hair into a ponytail to keep it out of your face. “let me fuck your throat, darlin’”
you responded by opening your mouth wider, relaxing your throat and letting him thrust into your mouth, you gagged around him, nails digging into his thigh. the pain only pushed him further, thrusting softly into your mouth. you squeezed your legs together, wetness surely seeping out your barely-there underwear. you dropped one of your hands that was on his thigh went to soothe your aching clit, trying to get any sort of pleasure.
“nope, can’t touch yourself yet, honey. wait until i tell you to do something. can you do that?” his tone was mocking and you looked up at him through your lashes, nodding. “such a good girl, i’m already close.” he pushed further into your mouth, thrusting a bit harder. he twitched into your mouth before pulling out and letting you jerk him off. your mouth was open wide, waiting greedily for all he had to give you. you sucked the tip, wrapping your hand around the rest of him and he came with a soft cry of your name, his cum spilling into your mouth and you swallowed all of it, milking his orgasm. “get undressed and get on the bed, i’ll be back in a second.” austin muttered, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, tasting himself on your tongue.
you did as told as quickly as you could, slipping off your dress and drenched underwear. your wardrobe didn’t require you to wear a bra and you thanked the time saver. you walked over to the bed, sitting on your knees and patiently waited for austin to return to you.
it didn’t take long for him to come back to the bedroom, a black box in hand. you scrunched your brows in confusion. he laid the box on the nightstand and stood in front of you, he took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie before taking it off, too. his index finger and thumb gripped your chin and tilted your head up, he leaned down to kiss you. you tried to wrap your arms around him, but he pushed them back.
“no touching, no noises, and do not come until i tell you to. understood, princess?” austin whispered against your lips and your jaw dropped. this was something the two of you have never tried within the years of dating. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you even more heated, legs clenching in a desperate attempt to get any sort of pressure to yourself. you nodded, despite the nerves settled deep within your chest and austin hummed while smiling softly. “so good for me.” he pressed another kiss to your lips. “lay down, honey.”
and you did, you sat back so your head was just below where the headboard started and you laid your head comfortably on the pillow underneath. austin admired the sight in front of him for a few moments. you sprawled out, hair splayed on the pillows, legs smooth bent at the knees, arms outstretched the length of the bed. your lips, plump from all the kissing you two had done tonight, cheeks flushed, and eyes dazzling under the soft glow of the lamps on either side of the bed. you were a dream in austin’s eyes. so perfect and so pretty, he had never met anyone who made him feel the way you make him feel.
“take a picture, it’ll last longer.” you teased, biting away the smile that pulled at your lips. austin chuckled breathlessly and nodded. he grabbed the black box from the nightstand and set it beside you. you watched him take the top off, an array of items were tossed in and your eyes widened at the sensual black silk ties he pulled out. he looked up at you, asking silent confirmations and you nodded slowly.
“arms up, angel.” he knelt down beside you and you put your wrists together and brought them over your head. austin kissed each wrist before tying the silk around them and set them onto the bed post in the middle of the headboard. “not too tight?” you shook your head. he set the top of the box over it and discarded it back to the nightstand. he walked over to the center of the bed, admiring your submissive state, then laying down in front of you. you squirmed, just wanting his mouth, his fingers, anything. “be still.” he said, setting an arm over your hips to stall your movements. he blew onto your bare wetness, you shivered at the cool air. austin slowly, teasingly dragged his tongue up your slit, collecting all the arousal you had and you bit your lip to contain the sounds you so desperately wanted to make. “such a good girl, being so quiet.”
he halted his teasing by closing his lips around your clit, sucking the sensitive bud and moaning around you. he always thought you tasted so good, like fucking candy. he could never get enough of you. he focused his attention on your clit, his fingers finding your entrance and teasing you by prodding the tips of his fingers at your hole, but never going in. you huffed, back arching off the bed as he laughed around your bud, the vibration driving you to near insanity. he finally decided to give in to you, his fingers sinking deep in you and you gasped as he hit your g-spot. if you knew you wouldn’t get in trouble, you’d be almost yelling at the pleasure you were feeling, but you decided to play it safe.
just as quickly as austin dipped his fingers in, he pulled them out, replacing them with his tongue. he licked and slurped like this life depended on it, his nose was brushing your clit and he shook his head back and forth to give it some stimulation. the sensation was all too much and austin could tell you were close by how your breathing shallowed and your back arched higher and higher off the bed.
“don’t cum.” he warned. and you whined, the sound coming out as a choked sob. “you’re doing so good baby, just give me a few more minutes.” you pulled and tugged at the ties around your wrists, you wanted to touch him so badly. you wanted to hold his head to your center until you finished, you wanted to tug his hair how you knew he loved so deeply. you writhed and writhed, your orgasm approaching you faster than you could stop it. austin’s fingers were back inside you, thrusting and scissoring, his mouth was around your clit again. he was moaning around you on purpose, knowing it would bring you closer and closer to tipping off the edge. your thighs were shaking and your wrists were getting sore from how hard you were pulling. you were surprised the bed post didn’t break at the base. “okay, honey. let it go. all over me, on my tongue. can’t wait for you to cum all over my cock, sweet girl.” his words pushed you over the edge. your moans were nearly pornographic, your toes were curled, your head was lulled back against the bed, and austin nearly came just from the scene.
he stood back, taking off his dress shirt. he wiped his mouth off that was cover in your slick, licking his fingers. he leaned over you, skillfully untying the black silk and your hands immediately came to the sides of his face, bringing him down to kiss you. you moaned into it, his tongue pushed its way past your lips and massaged everywhere it could reach.
you could feel austin lining his cock with your entrance and let a drawn out moan as he pushed himself in. his head found solace in the space between your head and shoulder, leaving loving kisses while he waited for you to adjust around him.
“fuck me, austin.” you whispered into his ear, kissing just below it. you pushed his hair back away from his face, admiring his beauty. he was the embodiment of sunshine and you could never get away from him. he was like a drug, a euphoric drug that you never wanted to get sober of. “i’m all yours.”
“all mine.” he confirmed before pulling out and slamming back into you. you tossed your head back, your eyes clenched in pleasure. as he found his pace, you wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts and forcing him deeper into you. he pulled back, sitting on his knees, to look at where you met. he locked in on the sight of your greed pussy taking him whole and you leaned up on your elbows to gaze as well. his hands trailed from your ankle, to your thigh, hoisting it back up around his waist to hit a new angle and fuck, you thought you were going to pass out.
“god, aus. fucking me so good, always take care of me. should win an award for best cock, jesus christ.” you praised through gritted teeth, falling on your back again. austin leaned your other leg back so it was closer to your head. you couldn’t form a single syllable, eyes rolling back and your second orgasm was near. you clenched around him, causing him to groan and tighten his grip on your legs.
“look at this perfect pussy, god. you’re so beautiful. taking me so well, letting me use you.” his words only turned you on further, your clenching was a silent message to him that you were close to coming. “hold out a second, baby. i’m almost there.”
“together?” you question sounded more like a statement and austin nodded, thrusting faster and harder into you. your fingers intertwined with his that was holding your leg. your stomach was churning, the pleasure becoming too much.
“ready?” you nodded, close to screaming. “1, 2, 3–” you felt his warmth fill you up, pushing you over the edge. your entire body was convulsing from the overstimulation, yours and austin’s juices dripping out of you and austin brought his finger up to gather some of it before letting you taste it. he marveled at the sight of you, so fucked out and so, so pretty. he leaned up, telling you to open your mouth and you did. his tongue dragged from your chin to your lips sensually before spitting into your open mouth. you swallowed it and austin smiled. “get up, want you to ride me.”
“aus, i can’t take—” he stopped your words by pressing a kiss to your lips and flipping the two of you over with ease. he was still inside you and the new angle caused him to hilt at your g-spot even sitting still. you huffed out a breath of pleasure, slowly beginning to bounce up and down on him. sounds of skin hitting skin and your wetness made austin impossibly harder and he had to bite his lip to hold off on finishing before you even started to ride him.
you already felt the exhaustion enter your body from all the previous orgasms austin pulled out of you. after the first few seconds, austin notice how you slowed down on him, just beginning to grind over his length. you hummed, mouth closed in a tight line as his tamed patch of hair brushed and tickled your clit. austin watched, wide-eyed, practically drooling over you. he brought his hands to your waist, lifting his hips up to trust into you. you cried out, his tip hitting your spot over and over again. you were seeing stars, your hand went to the headboard for support and austin took the opportunity to kiss, lick, bite, and suck at your tits. so perfect and perky, all his. he would never let you go.
“jesus, austin. fuck! i’m so close, baby.” you moaned, letting your hand travel down to your clit, rubbing circles over the bud. your thighs were spasming, your cunt clenching his cock more and more with every quick thrust.
“me, too, honey. come all over my cock, baby. just for me, give it all to me.” austin grunted into your ear, leaving sloppy kisses all over your neck. you came with cries of his name leaving your lips and that alone brought austin to his edge, eyes clenching shut, teeth grinding against each other, and heart pounding against his chest like a hammer.
you caught your breath, austin still inside you. he was kissing you sweetly, all over your chest, neck, shoulders, anywhere he could reach.
“i love you. my winner.” you grinned, forehead pressed against his.
“i love you, more. with all my heart and then some. all mine, pretty girl.”
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mamasturn · 2 months
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send you away, major gale cleven
pairing: major gale cleven (masters of the air) x black fem oc (eden marie cleven)
content: eden is anxious about having to be separated from her husband when he reveals that he has to serve in England.
an: I was burnt out from writing elvis content, but, now we're on masters of the air content, yay!
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“I’m sorry, baby, but I gotta go.” His voice was a song sung by an old church choir; soothing, warm like her mama’s hugs, then it got disruptive. Like the snares of the drums as the song reached a climax. “They need us in England.” 
The pained look on her face would be engrained in his mind forever. There would be no way for him to forget it. Her thick eyebrows eat in a deep frown, pushing the rest of her features further down. Her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, glistened with tears. She refused to blink. The gentle rivers would transition to monstrous waterfalls with no dam to keep them at bay. And her lips, full and swollen from tender kisses, quivered as she clenched her jaw to keep her composure. 
“For how long?” Her voice was quiet. Gale sighed heavily and ran a heavy hand through his hair. If he had an answer, he’d give it to her. But, his silence spoke loud enough. She hummed and brushed his hand off her lap and began to trudge upstairs. A defeated sigh came from him. 
“E,” Gale called out. He followed her up the wooden steps. “Eden!” 
His large hand palmed their bedroom door that threatened to push him out. The lamp on her side of the bed was on, the blankets on the left side were pulled back, and she stood in front of the mounted mirror brushing her freshly pressed hair. Her sad expression had morphed into one like stone. He could see her jaw tick as each second passed. 
Gale took slow steps toward her. He could only imagine what she was thinking. Her husband, whom she’d only been married to for six months, was being shipped off to England to assist them in bringing down Germany. How coulde she not be upset? 
Gale stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His advances didn’t keep her from wrapping her hair and tossing her satin scarf around her head. He leaned down, nose brushing against the shell of her ear. Eden’s breath hitched. His lips followed, pecking at the sensitive area below her ear. He pulled at her skin with his teeth and she whimpered softly, her hand falling on top of his. “Gale…” A warning. 
“Talk to me,” he pleaded. “Please.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” she said after some time. “I knew what I got into when I married you but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m scared, Gale!” Finally, she turned to meet his gaze. So big and blue, they were. Filled with sympathy and remorse. 
“I knew what I was getting into when I married you, but still! I gotta send my husband away and I don’t want to think about the day where someone could knock on the door telling me--”
Gale shushed her softly and pressed her body against his in a tight embrace. His warm hand gripped her chin and tapped softly. She met his eyes. “So let’s not think about that. I leave in three weeks. We’re gonna focus on making these three weeks worthwhile, and we’ll cross the other bridge when we get to it. But I’ll always be with you one way or another, you know that, darlin’. You do know that, don’t you?”
Eden nodded. Gale raised an eyebrow. “I know, baby.” 
Gale hummed and drew invisible lines along the bare skin other thigh. The lace of her slip tickled her leg. His hand inched up slowly. “How about we practice for that final send off?” 
Eden smiled knowingly and broke away from him, peeling the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders her bare body on display. “C’mon, we’ve got all night.” 
All night indeed.
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floralcyanidee · 7 months
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˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―
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! please remember, in order to participate in kinktober, you must be 18+ as there will be nsfw material involved. anyone not following these rules will be blocked!
✧ hello! it's that time of year again (: I did my first kinktober last year, and it was a success (and still is), except I never fully finished it ): I'm hoping this year will be different because I'm starting as early as feasibly possible. if you think you've seen this post already from another account, you're correct. that's my account, except it is currently shadowbanned. so, I made this new account and decided to redo this masterpost as I'll probably be posting kinktober here. also, the prompt list has been edited as 28.08.2023.
✧ here is the taglist form if you'd like to be tagged in my kinktober works! click meee!♥
✧ prompt list is below!
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day one. cockwarming with: Cillian Murphy
day two. nipple play with: Jonathan Crane
day three. blood play with: Charlie Walker
day four. orgasm control with: Stu Macher
day five. praise kink with: Mickey Altieri
day six. degradation with: Jonathan Crane
day seven. bondage with: Billy Loomis
day eight. edging with: Ethan Landry
day nine. breeding kink with: Roman Bridger
day ten. mutual masturbation with: Austin Butler
day eleven. throat fucking with: Ethan Landry
day twelve. threesome with: Stu Macher/Billy Loomis
day thirteen. knife kink or gun kink with: Gun Kink/ Tommy Shelby
day fourteen. sex toys with: Cillian Murphy
day fifteen. hate sex with: Jonathan Crane
day sixteen. thigh riding with: Richie Kirsch
day seventeen. sex tape with: Roman Bridger
day eighteen. squirting with: Neil Lewis
day nineteen. public play with: Jackson Rippner
day twenty. voyeurism with: Ethan Landry
day twenty-one. corruption kink with: Jonathan Crane
day twenty-two. daddy kink with: Cillian Murphy
day twenty-three. spanking with: Austin!Elvis
day twenty-four. shower sex with: Mickey Altieri
day twenty-five. roleplay with: Austin Butler
day twenty-six. face sitting with: Raymond Leon
day twenty-seven. dom/sub with: Ethan Landry
day twenty-eight. drunk sex or high sex with: High Sex/Stu Macher
day twenty-nine. phone sex with: Ethan Landry
day thirty. anal sex with: Jackson Rippner
day thirty-one. mommy kink with: Jonathan Crane
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foreverdolly · 2 years
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wanna play house | protective austin!elvis x reader
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this is a continuation of 'my bestest girl', but you do not have to read it first in order to read this one. . . however i implore you to do so.
summary: elvis's mother has been worried sick about your safety during your time on the road with her son. you and elvis brush it off as her just being paranoid, but danger always manages to rear it's ugly head at the worst of times. elvis, seeing you scared and slightly injured, absolutely loses it.
pairings: protective austin!elvis x reader
word count: 7,471
warnings/notes: SMUT! ,violence, elvis beats the shit out of someone for you and it's hot, oral (f receiving), elvis literally worships you as though you are a goddess and i love that for you, you both cry while he eats you out because emotions are high and he's obsessed with you.
masterlist | requests are currently closed !
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It had been a pain in the ass to talk the Colonel into letting you come along with him and the band as they performed with Hank Snow for the fair, but Elvis had made it happen. The two of you had only been going out officially for the last couple of weeks, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that the two of you were disgustingly in love with one another. If you were within eyesight then Elvis was looking at you. If you were in the other room, he was bound to follow after you like a lost dog. If you weren’t around at all, then he was surely thinking about you. It was a never ending cycle, really. You were just as bad off as Elvis was. You always had to be touching him, whether it be your hand in his, your shoulder pressed against him, or even your legs thrown up into his lap. The bandmates were positive that eventual drama would arise, but the two of you always seemed to be in high spirits. 
The screaming fans didn’t bother you, not when Elvis went out of his way to let you know that you were the only girl that he truly cared about. Everyone had fallen into a comfortable pattern, you included. “Yes ma’am. I’m makin’ sure he’s eatin’ well.” You twirled the wire of the hotel landline around your finger, watching the ebony haired boy getting dressed out of the corner of your eye. He was buttoning up his white slacks and caught your heady gaze in the mirror. With a wide smile he wordlessly made his way over to you, chuckling under his breath as you quickly reached out, running your free hand over his chest and giving his nipple a teasing squeeze. He playfully swatted your hand away, reaching down to grab his lace shirt off of the queen sized bed the two of you were sharing that night. “I’m just worried to death about the two of you, baby. I don’t want any of those girls hurtin’ him. . . and I know how horrible some boys can be.” Gladys’s love knew no bounds, and you appreciated her for it. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes a little though, leaning your hip up against the desk that had been squeezed into the small room. 
“I’m keepin’ a very close eye on him, darlin’. You know I wouldn’t ever let anythin’ happen to our boy, right? Besides, we’re out in the country. I’m sure nothin’ bad will happen all the way out here. The scariest thing we’ve seen these last four days have been a couple of drunks.” Elvis chuckled from the bathroom, the sink turning on as he began slicking back his hair. You could already smell his Brylcreem pomade from where you stood across the suite. “Now is he keepin’ a close eye on you? At the end of the day, I know Elvis can hold his own. You’re a different story.” You couldn’t remember a single time that you had felt unsafe thus far on the trip. Really, you knew that she had the propensity to overreact, but she had been going on for the better part of half an hour at this point. You were trying to be patient with her, but you could only take so much. Gladys was worse than your own mother, and you weren’t sure how that feat was even possible. “Mama, I don’t need any sort of protection. I can hold my own! Cross my heart and hope to die.” You could hear her scoff, but Vernon’s low voice whispered on the other end. “Stop holding our youngins hostage. Elvis has got a show to put on.” You had already started walking in the direction of the bathroom, stretching the phone cord as far as it would let you. “Do you want to talk to Elvis before we have to leave?” “Would you put him on? Thank ya, baby.” Elvis held up his wax coated hands to show you that he needed some help, so you pressed the phone against his ear for him. 
“Hey, Satnin.” He purred to her, shooting you a small smile before letting his eyes fall down to the counter. You couldn’t hear Gladys’s voice from where you stood, but judging by the way he was nodding his head up and down dully, you were sure that he was getting an earful. “Uh-huh. . . No, I’ve been lookin’ out for her. She stands at the front of all of my shows, mama. I’d die if somethin’ were to happen to her.” You smiled down at the floor, biting at the inside of your cheeks in the hopes of getting your heart back under control- it was fluttering at a maddening pace. “She’s with me every second of the day. She never leaves my sight, I promise ya- He what? Daddy wants to talk to me? Put him on.” Elvis placed his comb down on the side of the sink, licking his lips before looking at himself in the mirror. He must not have liked what he saw because he grimaced, shooting your reflection a goofy look as he waited for his father to get to the phone. “Hello?” A couple of seconds passed before he was rolling his eyes, shaking his head back and forth. “I’d kill em’. Simple as that. I promise you both that I won’t ever let anythin’ happen to her. . . Yeah- Yeah, she is our girl, so imma take good care of her.” He was running the comb back through his hair, tucking a few strands into place absentmindedly. After a few more seconds passed he turned his cheek, pressing his lips up against the receiver and mumbling a quick “love ya too” before giving you a look. You walked back into the hotel room, hanging up the phone before turning to face the bathroom. 
“What are they goin’ on about?” You asked, hurriedly getting out your own suitcase so that you could get dressed. You had been on the phone so long with Gladys that you hadn’t had any time to get ready for the concert. Elvis was particular about certain things, and he liked the idea of you guys matching when he performed. If he wore a baby blue shirt, then you wore a baby blue dress. If he was dressed in all black and white- like tonight- then you did as well. You didn’t mind much. It looked wonderful in pictures, and it made you feel even more connected to him. It warmed your heart that he liked not only being a couple, but looking like a couple too. He had always been very particular about the clothes that he wore. Despite the fact that you also came from a working class family, things had never gotten as financially troublesome as it had for the Presleys. Elvis had grown up poor, but he always made a point not to look it. His mother always made sure his clothes were freshly ironed and pressed and that his shoes were always shined. 
Elvis had always been a rather particular fellow, and he hadn’t always been celebrated for it. People calling him a “fairy” or “squirrel” didn’t get to him though. Not anymore, at least. He was above the name calling, coming to the conclusion that it said far more about their own character than it did his. He always handled it relatively well back in high school, though he knew that most of the name calling and trash talk stemmed from the fact that the other boys his age were probably just jealous. 
“Mama said she’s been havin’ a bad feelin’ about somethin’ lately. They’re both worried about ya, is all.” Elvis had always been over cautious with you, even throughout your friendship. If he didn’t seem worried about it, then you wouldn’t be either. “She’s been a nervous wreck ever since you told her about the Louisiana Hayride. She’s probably just feelin’ a bit anxious.” He hummed his agreeance, a comfortable silence befalling the two of you as you began getting changed. Your dress was a rather scandalous little diddy, what with the rather low cut heart-shaped neckline and the way the hem was just above your knees, showing off your legs. It was something you had purchased for yourself months ago but had been unable to wear due to your parents' rather conservative ways. You pushed your way into the bathroom at the same time that Elvis was finishing up with his hair, his eyes instantly locking on your reflection in the mirror. “Good god almighty.” He mumbled, dropping the comb back onto the counter so that he could turn around and face you. His blue eyes trailed over your smaller frame, his lips parted as he took in the sight of you. Elvis had made it a point to explore every inch of you over the last few weeks. He took his time committing every mole and freckle to memory. He was certain that he could draw you with his eyes closed, and the man could barely sketch a stick figure. 
Despite that, every time he made love to you, or even got a glimpse of you, it still felt like the first time. His stomach would fill with butterflies, his palms would start to sweat, and his pants would grow impossibly tight. In all the years that he had known you, never had he seen you in a dress like this. The sweet little babydoll nighties you’d prance around his room in were a completely different story. This was a masterpiece. You were a masterpiece. “You’ve got me sweatin’ worse than a whore in church. God damn it, my girl is so beautiful.” He lifted his hand up to his face, biting down on his knuckle with a small grin. You couldn’t help but blush at the sudden onslaught of compliments, shyly waving him off with a small flick of your wrist. There wasn’t much room in the tiny motel bathroom, so you couldn’t duck away from his arms even if you wanted to. He was quick to pull you towards him, his hands moving over the cinched waistline of the dress, slowly brushing down to run his fingers along the hip. You shivered as you felt his touch against the skin of your thighs. 
“How ‘bout we just stay in, hmm? I could tell the Colonel that I got food poisonin’ or somethin’.” It was nearly possible to deny him of anything he wanted, especially when he looked at you like that. Ever so slowly he began backing you up, smiling smugly as you let out a small yelp whenever your back hit the wall behind you. “Let me make love to you, yeah? I’ll make it quick. I promise-” A knock at the door made the both of you jump, but he soon threw his head back with an exasperated groan, his eyes screwed shut. “What is it?” He called, popping his head out of the bathroom door so that the intruder might hear him better. “We’re startin’ to pack the cars up, EP. You two dressed and ready yet?” You bit your lip as you pressed your back tighter against the wall, hoping that the added space between you and your beau might calm the growing heat between your legs. “Shit.” Elvis cursed, giving you an apologetic look before taking a step back from you. He looked down at the front of his trousers, wincing as he noticed that he was visibly hard. He took a couple of seconds to try and adjust himself in a way that wouldn’t make it so obvious, but gave up after a while. “I’m comin’. Give me one second Scotty.” He brushed past you on his way to the door, giving you one last suggestive look before prying his gaze away. He opened the door just a sliver, hiding his bottom half the best he could.
 “You don’t even have your shoes on yet. What the hell have you been doin’ this whole time?” Scotty asked exasperatedly, his eyebrows furrowing in slight annoyance. Elvis looked behind him at the cars, wincing as he noticed people were already climbing into their seats or pulling out of the parking lot completely. “We’ve been busy.” He said simply. Scotty looked over Elvis’s shoulder, his eyes widening slightly as he noticed your flushed cheeks. “Doin’ what, exactly?” The dark haired boy didn’t take kindly to the fact that someone else was seeing his girl in such a state, so he was quick to grab the edge of the door, closing it enough so that only his face and a small sliver of the room inside could be visible. “We were busy, alright? I’ll come out in a second. Let me just get my things together.” Scotty threw his hands up in surrender after noticing the look on Elvis’s face, taking two steps back from the door. “Be quick about it. We go on after Snow, and I’m tired of hearin’ the square complain.” Elvis was quick to shut the door, jogging over towards his suitcase so that he could find his shoes. “Baby? Do you mind doin’ my eyes like you have em?” He motioned to his eyes with his finger, flashing you a small smile. 
You weren’t about to give your boyfriend a smoky eye, but you hoped he’d be alright with just some eyeliner and mascara. Not that his long lashes needed them anyway. “If we’ve got time, hun.” Your legs still felt a bit weak, what with the heavy petting from earlier, but you managed to walk to your purse so that you could grab your small makeup pouch. Elvis buttoned up his black lace shirt as you gently dragged some dark liner over his upper and bottom lashline, being careful to smear it a little after you were done so that it wouldn’t be too stark against his complexion. “Here, now close your eyes.” You ran the mascara wand through his lashes, cooing softly to him as you realized just how blue it made his eyes look. “And open em.” He obeyed, his hands moving up to grab you softly by your hips as you finished up. “Am I pretty?” He asked with a teasing smile, tilting his chin upwards, which was his way of silently asking for a kiss. You complied, giving him a quick peck before pulling away to nod. “Gorgeous.” 
Elvis was the only boy that you had ever met that preferred to be called pretty rather than handsome. He was putty in your hands any time you referred to him as ‘your pretty boy’. Well, who was he kidding? He was always putty in your hands. He would be a liar if he said that he wasn’t used to female attention. He’d say ‘thank you’ with that signature side smile of his- but the grin- it was reserved only for you. The corners of his eyes would crinkle and his nose would scrunch up. It made him look so childlike. So vulnerable, and it was only something that you were allowed to see. You knew good and well that there were certain aspects of Elvis that you would have to share with his fans, but he made sure to reserve the most sacred parts only for you. 
“Thank ya, baby.” He mumbled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear before he stood up and off of the bed. 
The drive to the fairgrounds was awkward, but Elvis seemed to be the only one that didn’t get the memo. He had one of his hands in your lap, playing subconsciously with the fabric of your dress while he spoke under his breath to you. It was mostly hushed compliments, but the second that the bright lights of the fair became visible he started whispering gentle instructions. “I don’t want ya gettin’ lost in the crowd, alright now? Make your way to the front, just like we practiced. I want to be able to keep my eye on ya the entire time.” The ebony haired man had talked a big game back in the motel room, but you could tell that whatever his mother and father had said to him carried some weight. He seemed a little bit more antsy than he did the previous night. Despite the fact that nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, you still nodded, allowing him to pull you along through crowds. The closer you two got to the stage, the quicker people began to take notice of him. Girl’s turned their heads, some even going as far as to drop their date’s hand as he passed. He didn’t pay any mind, instead he kept his eyes locked on the stage, trying to find a good place for you to go. “Here, push your way right there.” He leaned in close so that you could hear him over Hank’s singing, pointing with his pinky, his newly purchased ring shining in the bright artificial light. You nodded, smiling against his lips as he gave you one last kiss before jogging to catch up with his band. You were quick to follow instruction, easily maneuvering through the crowd, muttering apologies as men and women turned to glare in your direction. 
You weren’t quite sure why, but you were starting to become nervous yourself. It felt like someone was watching you, and had been since you and Elvis passed the admission gates. You anxiously looked over your shoulders, trying to see if there might be anyone you recognized, but alas- nothing. You tried to swallow back the strange sense of dread that was beginning to bubble up in your throat, instead focusing on the stage in front of you. Hank Snow was a talent, but surely wasn’t your cup of tea. His ballads were too slow and shallow for your liking. Too safe. Elvis had been the one to get you hooked on good music way back in high school. You still clapped for Snow whenever he took a bow, flashing him a small smile. You and Elvis had been playing nice with the man. You two had a strong feeling that he didn’t take too kindly to the two of you and the flamboyant way you both decided to live your lives. He was never outwardly rude to you at least. Elvis wasn’t so lucky though. 
The second that the forest green suited country singer had stepped off the stage, it was almost as though the entire crowd took a collective breath to steady themselves. You bit the inside of your cheek as a few girls started pushing against your back, your chest and hips pressing uncomfortably against the wooden stage. In a single millisecond the aura had completely shifted. A few older patrons began to walk away from the stage, but it did nothing to lessen the crowd. People began running across the fairgrounds to make it to the stage in time. 
Scotty and Bill stepped on stage, dragging their instruments along with them. Girls began gasping, whispering amongst themselves as they waited for Elvis to join them. “Have you seen his picture in the paper? He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!” “My friend lives in Shreveport and saw him at the Louisiana Hayride. She said she’s never seen anything like it.” You couldn’t keep the knowing smirk off of your lips. If they thought he was beautiful from a grainy picture alone, just wait until they saw the way that the music moved him. You pressed your hands against the top of the stage, Scotty and Bill flashing you a quick smile just before the crowd erupted with loud screams. It made your ears ring. Elvis jogged up on stage, guitar in hand. His bare arms flexed as he gently strummed the chords, stepping up to the mic. “It’s an honor to be able to play here for you all tonight.” He called over the loud screams and cries. There was something perversly satisfying about seeing the hold that he had over everyone, knowing good and well that you were the only person that has ever and will ever touch him. Not even in the girl’s wildest fantasies would they ever know what he was truly like behind closed doors. The eyeliner that had the girls swooning? You had put that on him yourself. The soft sheen to his lips? That was the lipstick that had transferred onto him from your mouth. 
The girls could hoot and holler all they wanted. You didn’t blame them one bit. You didn’t feel even a little jealous as they began calling his name, begging for even a shred of his attention, because you knew that he was yours. He knew it too. His eyes instantly scanned the crowd, his shoulders visibly relaxing when he finally found your form. After Elvis and the boys had given the crowd a few moments to quiet down, they began playing their first song. The sound of Elvis’s voice and the quick, near violent way he strummed his guitar was unlike anything that you had ever heard before. It had changed something inside of you. You could tell that the crowd was having the exact same reaction as they watched him, swaying to the sound of the music. Some girls looked like they might pass out, their faces going pale and their eyes growing glassy. This was the kind of music that concerned mothers and fathers warned their children about. Rock and roll. 
Elvis was rock and roll. It wasn’t just a type of music or a way of dressing for him. It was the way that he lived his life. It was a state of mind. It was a state of being. His hips and feet moved as though he was possessed by God himself. He may as well have been. You could feel the standup bass in your chest, and Elvis’s guitar in your throat. Your blood fizzled like champagne as you watched him, his eyes bluer than a summer sky, his bubblegum pink lips pulled taught against bright white teeth as he screamed into the mic. His eyes moved over the crowd, and suddenly he was on his knees, leaning back to look up at the night sky as his fingers flew over the neck of the guitar. 
You couldn’t help yourself as you reached out, no better than the screaming fans as you brushed your fingers over his thigh, needing to touch him. You didn’t know how, but he instantly looked at you, as if he could feel that you were the one touching him. His eyes burned as he took in the expression on your face, his lips curling back into a snarl. Girls distantly screamed behind you as they took in his expression. 
Something like this wouldn’t be romantic to some, but you melted against the stage, your torso leaning further against the hardwood. You were sure to have bruises tonight, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You needed to be closer closer closer. Your body ached for him. You could feel his guitar vibrating through you, his heavenly voice bringing back memories of last night. Of how he loved to press his lips against your ear to purr and moan. He wanted you to hear every heavy breath, every gasp, every preen- and as he practically laid himself out on that stage, girls trying to grab at whatever they could, he had never felt more yours. He grabbed your face in his hands for a split second before he was standing back up, moving over to the mic so that he could finish up the song. 
By the second song there were at least three pairs of panties on the stage, which both you and Elvis regarded with wide, humor filled smiles. 
Elvis sang with a violence that he never let shine through in his everyday life. He got up on that stage and sang for his mama, his daddy, you and God. He belted up to the heavens for the angels to hear. You could feel the damn near desperation as he swayed his body, his hair falling into his eyes, dripping with sweat. 
After the third song you felt as though you might faint yourself. You could barely breathe as girls continued to press against you- crushing your ribs against the stage. You were never the type of girl to follow instruction very well, so despite Elvis and even Gladys’s worries, you found yourself slipping through the crowd, breathing hard as you tore your way through the writhing bodies. Your eyes swept over the grounds, and you were quick to make your way over towards a refreshment tent. “Can I just get a cup of water?” The carnie recognized you as Elvis’s girl instantly, smiling as he saw your pink cheeks and shaky hands. You sat down on a nearby picnic table as you greedily gulped down the water. You could hear his voice from across the grounds, tapping your foot along to the beat as you tried to enjoy the last of his performance. 
“Whatcha doin’ over here alone?” You jumped as you heard a deep voice sound from right beside you. You had been so wrapped up in the music that you hadn’t even noticed someone approaching you. You blinked, turning around just to make sure that there wasn’t someone else behind you that the man must have been talking to. Alas, you were the only person in the vicinity. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend to get done performing.” You pointed to the stage, slowly placing the cup down on the table just in case you needed to quickly excuse yourself. He sat down beside you anyway, nodding his head slowly. The refreshment tent was a hundred feet away, and you were in an area with barely any lighting. You were beginning to become more aware of the precarious situation that you had somehow put yourself in. “Ah, right. I saw you walkin’ hand in hand with that scrawny musician.” Your eyes quickly narrowed as you stood up and off of the table. “I don’t take kindly to people bad mouthin’ my loved ones, ya understand? If a conversation was what you were lookin’ for, then find it elsewhere.” You spat, pointing over to another populated area. He blinked, seemingly taken aback by your bold nature. 
“Woah. . . you sure are loud for a tiny lil thing,” You took a step back as he stood up and off of the table himself, shoving his hands into his pockets as he gave you a once over. “Maybe you shouldn’t go ‘round dressin’ like that if ya don’t want strangers approachin’.” You could have socked the man right in the face. You began shaking with anger, clenching your fists at your sides. “What does my outfit have anythin’ to do with you unnecessarily runnin’ your mouth? Did ya think you insultin’ my boyfriend would make me interested in you? Hah!” You let out a loud, humorless laugh. “Like I said earlier; move along.” You shooed him off, reaching out for your water cup. You let out a scream as he grabbed you roughly by the wrist, your shoulder cracking as he roughly yanked you forward. “Watch yer mouth, girlie.” He spoke to you through clenched teeth, his eyes wide and wild. You swallowed thickly, fear hitting you like a freight train. You could distantly hear your boyfriend working the crowd, your stomach flipping anxiously as you realized he was about to get off stage and realize you weren’t there to greet him. 
“Let go of me. Rough housin’ with a lady out in public like this isn’t very gentlemanly.” You tried to yank your sore arm back to your side, but he didn’t let go. He added even more pressure, and you cried out in pain as you realized that he was damn near close to breaking it. “I don’t let women boss me ‘round.” His free hand moved up to your hair, his fingers gripping roughly as he jerked your head back. Was he about to kiss you? Touch you? 
You were unable to run now, and so you knew that the only option you had was to get someone’s attention. Anyone’s. “Help!” You screamed, your eyes prickling with tears as you tried to move your head in the man’s hold, hoping to avoid whatever he was planning to do with you. A beat passed before you finally sucked in another breath, screaming again. “Elvis!” Your boyfriend had been speaking into the microphone, but the second that you had called his name he went silent. You could distantly hear a loud clatter and a few females calling out his name, but you were too focused on the older man’s face to pay attention to much else. He was dragging you further into the darkness by your hair, and you stumbled blindly forward, reaching your arms out to push as hard as you could against his chest, even going as far as to bang your fist against his shoulders in the hopes of somehow fighting him off. 
It all happened so fast, you didn’t even have time to blink. You stumbled backwards, the breath being knocked from your lungs as you hit the grass. Hard. You could hear a tussle behind you, and you blinked back tears as you slowly sat up. It was like everything was happening in slow motion. The red faced stranger had been pushed back against the picnic table, pinned there, and your boyfriend stood above him, muscles bulging as he gripped him by the front of his shirt, wailing on him with his right arm. Again and again he connected his fist with the man’s face, his teeth clenched, the veins in his arms bulging as he let out a deep, guttural scream. Elvis had somehow, by the grace of god, heard your voice over a hundred screaming girls and came running to your rescue. A loud sob escaped your throat as both relief and pain overcame you. The pitiful sound only spurred him on. 
“I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Ya hear me? You’re dead!” Elvis’s deep voice called, a small crowd already beginning to form. You tried to stand up on shaky legs, embarrassment flooding your veins as you realized what kind of a state you were in. “E-Elvis. . . He’s had enough, baby!” 
Elvis had been pushed around and beat on his entire life for looking and being the way that he was. Over the years he had learned how to fight. How to win. He might have been smaller than the brute, but it wasn’t the size that mattered in this case. No- it was the skill and ferocity that your boyfriend possessed. That and the white hot rage. Elvis’s eyes were wild as he stared down at him, not letting up even for a second. The man had tried to push back against the ebony haired musician, but the blows to the head had kept him in a dazed state. Elvis’s gaudy golden ring made contact with the man’s temple again and again. The crowd began to part as a few men broke through, moving to try and pull your man off of the assailant. “You’re killin’ him, Elvis! Stop! Please, for the love of God!” At the sound of your distress he was quick to let go, shrugging the men’s hands off of him as he quickly made his way over to you. “Hey, hey. Talk to me darlin’. What happened.” His eyes flickered over your face wildly as he panicked. He stopped himself from reaching out for you when he realized his knuckles were caked in blood, wiping them off on his white pants. He brushed your hair off of your sweaty forehead, pressing his own forehead against your cheek, desperate to have you against him. To hear your breath and feel your heart beating against his chest. You could hear people trying to disperse the crowd, but you paid no mind to them. You kept your eyes locked on Elvis's shoulder as you fought off the urge to cry. “Talk to me, baby. You’re shakin’ like a leaf.” You gulped down deep breaths, finally moving your hands to grip onto his shirt. You rubbed your fingers against the lace, feeling his warm skin beneath. It soothed you. Helped you to stop your panicking. 
“EP. You take the car back to the motel. We’ll just ride with Jimmie and Hank back.” You heard Scotty’s voice beside you. Elvis slowly untangled one of his arms from your form, shoving the keys in his now ruined pants. “Let’s get to the car. Can you do that? Can you walk, sweet heart?” He purred, pulling away to look at your face. He cupped your cheeks in his hands, sucking in a hard breath as he noticed your tear caked face and wide teary eyes. His chest began to rise and fall quickly as he took deep breath after deep breath. “I should have gutted him.” You were quick to shake your head, stumbling back as you pulled him with you by his shirt. “L-Let’s just go okay? I wanna go.” You needed to get the hell out of there as fast as you could. Even if someone else had already come by and picked the stranger up. Even if you knew you were now well protected- it didn’t matter. You needed to go back to the motel room so that you could break down without having everybody’s eyes on you. You were sure that this fight would only add to Elvis’s sordid reputation as well. You were. . . you were just mortified. Elvis kept his arm tightly around you as he walked you through the fairgrounds, allowing you to tuck your head into his throat. He continued to mumble sweet words into your ear as the two of you made your way out into the car lot. Elvis helped you into the bright yellow car, going as far as to make sure you were well situated before moving on over to the drivers side. 
The car ride was silent. He didn’t even turn on the radio, which was rare for him. You rolled down the window, letting the wind whip your hair back and cool your hot face. By the time the two of you had made it back to the room you had already started to calm down. With the panic and adrenaline now out of your system, you could feel how badly your arm hurt. You kept your mouth shut about it, knowing that Elvis would probably tear the room apart in his haste to find the man responsible. He was being so sweet and tentative towards you, but you could tell that he was barely hanging on to his sanity. He’d always gone out of his way to watch over you. This wasn’t the first guy he’d gotten in a fight with over you. . . but never had it been this bad. Never. 
After you had told Elvis the entire story, save for the part where you were sure that you’d torn a muscle in your shoulder, he just sat there on the bed in silence. For a second you were sure that he was going to react with more anger, but you would have been wrong. Your lips parted as you watched his blue eyes fill with tears. After a few seconds he let out a loud sob, his body shaking as he practically caved in on himself. Never in your entire life had you ever seen him so upset. He began rubbing his own arms with his hands, as if to comfort himself, to get himself to stop crying. Not even your own loving hands and soothing words could stop him. His body was wracked with sobs as he pulled his knees up to his chest, pressing his forehead against the tops of his thighs. “Baby? Baby what’s wrong?” You gripped him by the chin, gently leaning his head back so that you could look at him. The mascara had begun running down his cheeks, his eyelashes clumping together. His lip quivered as he tried to get the words out because another loud hiccup shook his shoulders. “I don’t deserve you. I-I can’t live with myself after a-all of that happened.” He wiped at his eyes, only smearing the makeup even more. 
If you thought his eyes had looked blue before, now they looked like sapphires. 
Burning bright. Burning sad. 
“It’s not your fault, hun. None of that was your fault. I-I. . . I moved away from the crowd. I’m the one to blame.” He shook his head, his jaw going slack. 
“Are you insane, y/n? You’re my girl. My baby,” He dropped his legs so that he could bang his hand against his chest to emphasize the words. “It’s my job to keep you safe. Keep you takin’ care of. I was up there singin’ like a fool while you were havin’ your hair ripped out of your little head. I promised your daddy. . . your mama that I was goin’ to look after you until the day that i died, and look what happened under my watch.” You could have started crying yourself. He was shakin’, his eyes wide, cheeks stained and streaked with mascara and eyeliner.
If you had thought that he looked like a God up on that stage, now he looked like a fallen angel. 
“You couldn’t have known any of that was gonna happen. You did the best that you cou-” “Well my best isn’t damn good enough!” You jerked back as he screamed, watching as his hands moved up to his head, gripping- yanking- at his hair. In front of you sat a man who had spent his whole life doing for others. He financially provided for his parents, even during high school. He worked three jobs just to put food on the table and gas in his daddy’s car, all while counting pennies to buy himself a coke from the corner store. He felt like he had to watch over everyone he loved. That their happiness and safety relied on him. 
“You’re perfect and you’re mine.” You reached out, holding him against yourself so tightly that you were sure one of your rib cages were sure to break. ‘Fuck it’, you thought. ‘Let it shatter’. “There isn’t anything you could have done to prevent it, baby. All I can say is that imma be careful from now on. I won’t leave your side. Not ever again.” He was pulling on your clothes, pulling on your hair, clutching you to him like he was scared that you might dissipate into thin air. You let him claw at you- dig his calloused fingers into your soft skin. “Please. Please never leave me. I-I can’t take it.” 
If you had ever questioned whether or not Elvis truly loved you, you sure as hell never would again. The man was practically destroying himself over a situation that he had no control over, all because you had gotten hurt. “Never. I’m not goin’ anywhere, darlin’.” That was all he needed to hear. In the blink of an eye he had you pinned down to the bed, his hands clumsily fumbling with the bottom of your dirt stained dress. “E-Elvis! What are you doin’?” You tried grabbing his hands to stop him, but he was a man on a mission. “Let me make it up to you.” Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly as his fingers found your panties. He was tearing them off of you in a second. “T-There’s nothing to make up for! Let me love on you, for Christ’s sake. You need to calm down.” His eyes flickered back up to meet yours, and he sniffled softly, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His eyes were hard, but no longer teary. “I am calm. I just. . . I feel like I can’t breathe if I’m not touchin’ you right now. So let me. . . let me touch you.” Your eyes fluttered as you looked up at him, his gaze hard, bordering on animalistic. It was as if you had been transported back to his show. His hand gripping your face, eyes boring into your own as he moved just for you. You worshiped him just as he worshiped you. Elvis Presley was one of a kind. No one had ever been born like him before, and nobody ever would be even after he was gone. You were sure of it. 
He pushed your skirt up and over your hips, kissing down your body as though he could absorb the fear that you had felt earlier. He usually liked to tease you in order to get you worked up, but he didn’t tonight. No- His lips and tongue lapped you up like you were made of honey, and when his eyes flickered up to meet yours from between your legs, he beheld you as if you were some glittery, golden thing. His fingers brushed up your body, cupping your breast through your dress, working your already hardening nipples with his fingers. You cried out, back arching as the pleasure steadily began to build. 
He pulled at the neckline of your stained dress, his tongue running all the way up from your entrance to your clit- slow slow slow. His eyebrows furrowed, humming as he tasted you. He cupped your now freed breasts, pinching the nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. 
You were panting so hard you were sure that you might pass out. Your hand gripped hard at the sheets as he continued to work your clit over with his tongue, his eyes falling shut as he savored you. His thick, long lashes casted shadows on his cheeks. Every once and a while they would flutter, like the beating of a butterfly's wings. In the dull lamp light of the dingy motel room, covered in dirt and grass stains, you felt your heart swell to the point of bursting. Your eyes filled with tears as you stared up at the ceiling, your plush lips parting as a sob ripped from your throat. 
You were wracked with both pleasure and a crippling sense of hope. You loved this man more than anything else. You’d love him in this life, in the next life, and into whatever came next. 
He was everything. 
And on cue the man’s free hand found yours, which had been tangled up in the sheets. He intertwined his fingers, gripping you tight. You weren’t sure why- but that was what pushed you over the edge. You dug the back of your head into the mattress as you climaxed, eyes squeezing shut. His hand moved from your breasts to your thigh, holding it to the side so that he could continue his attack, riding you through your orgasm. He didn’t stop there. Your free hand tangled into his hair, chanting his name as though it was some ancient spell. Your body quivered against him, thighs naturally trying hard to squeeze together, to stop him from continuing to push you over the edge. He didn’t stop, his tongue focusing on your bundle of nerves. Before you knew it you were building up all over again, your cunt dripping with slick and spit, and quite possibly tears. You didn’t know. You didn’t care. 
You weren’t even sure if you were speaking coherently when you climaxed for the second time. You thought that you were praising him, telling him how pretty he was and how good, but you couldn’t be sure. His tongue slowly slid down to your entrance, lazily lapping up your cum before he sat up on shaky knees, pupils blown out, cheeks pink. 
His lips were shining in the low light, and he was quick to lick them, as if he needed to swallow every last drop of you, like it was some precious nectar. The kind that someone only got to taste once in a lifetime. After he had finally caught his breath he laid down next to you, hanging one of his arms over the side of the bed as he stared at your face. His eyes were impossibly soft, his face still wet with tears. “I love seein’ you like this.” His voice was gruff, thick with lust and something else. Something even more beautiful. “What? All sweaty and quiverin’?” You attempted to tease, but you were still breathing too hard for the joke to really land. “No. . . no-” he raised a hand up, pushing your hair off of your forehead. 
“I love seeing you in love with me.” 
check out the third chapter of this story !
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surferblues · 2 years
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cherry red blow ! ˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
dilfelvis! austin butler x fem! reader
notes if you have a problem with 5-10 year age gaps , do not read 😵‍💫 because when i say i like dilfs... i mean DILFS
warnings smut (18+ only, minors dni), unprotected sex, intoxication, dom! elvis, praise, p in v, unestablished relationship, implied age gap, spelling errors, and obviously sexual themes.
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Elvis knew who you were. Hell, all he could think about was you. He wasn't the one to get caught up with one girl, he was the type of guy who would sleep with any woman who offered .
And he was Elvis Presley, he could sleep with any woman if he could - all, but you.
He knew best to not fall under the impression you wanted him, that you were doing all that dressing up for him. You were a nanny hired by Priscilla, you made it clear the first day you were hired that you had no ill intentions of ruining the Presley name.
The way you walked around his home with those satin little dresses that covered only so much. The way you covered your lips in that damn cherry red lipstick. He couldn't help to think you knew what you were doing.
You u loved your job. truly, there was good pay, you got on so well with the presley family, the house was big and luxurious. people would kill to be in the position you were in.
You did what you usually did in preparation of coming in for your job. You made sure every hair was in place, you made sure that your clothes came from the finest sellers, and your lips always were layered in that cherry red lipstick.
You had been hired by Priscilla, her hopes of hiring a nanny to watch Lisa from time to time so Elvis and herself could rekindle the faded spark in their relationship.
You had some knowledge of their difficulties of their relationships, as you got front row view to the arguments they shared every night Elvis came home drunk with a groupie under his arm.
The pills, Elvis never being home, and the women were just helping points on why Priscilla found it so difficult to be in a relationship with Elvis. So it was safe to say you weren't surprised when Priscilla packed up her things and left Elvis, it was bound to happen sooner or later.
A part of you was relieved when you found out Elvis was a single man, another part of you was worried about it. Elvis always made it clear he went for younger girls, and with the ten year age gap between the two of you - you knew he had to think of you in such a dirty way.
it started off as a little crush, but you never pursued in actually doing anything with the older man in fear of risking your job. he was smart, and you assumed he wouldn’t ever go for the nanny of his daughter .
that was until you’d catch him eyeing your cherry glazed lips, the subtle touches near your hips when he would pass by you, and clever flirty comments began to slip out of his mouth.
something in your dynamic just... shifted.
it was one night when he arrived home from a long night of partying, and Lisa Marie was sound asleep in bed — he’d find you with a halfway full bottle of wine in your grasp.
your cheeks flushed, your words sloppily said.
"you've been out all night mr. presley."You giggled with a rasp, your eyes look over towards the door where the man stood, the slam of the front door indicating he just got to Graceland.
you took in his appearance as he came into eye view. the dark messy hair that was messy just in the perfect way, the way his tan chest peeked from the behind the white button up that was unbuttoned slightly, bloodshot eyes indicating that he may have partied a bit too hard.
just as you took him in, he took in the sight of you. your red lipstick smeared from your lips ever so slightly, your hair tousled, and the straps of your little dress falling off your shoulders as your back rested the marble table that stood in the middle of the fancy kitchen.
he began walking towards the small island where you stood, your eyes following every move he made.
"wasn't today your day off, darlin'?" he questioned curiously with that thick country twang, letting out a breathless shot of laughter before looking towards the direction where you were. "priscilla asked to me watch Lisa, she had some plans." you admitted.
he walked towards the the wooden cabinet where he kept his liquor, grabbing a empty small glass and a much larger glass full of burning liquor.
some part of you was telling you two remove yourself from the room, get as far away from Elvis as you could - but another part of you was screaming at you to stay, screaming at you to pursue your dangerous urges.
"If you prefer me to go, I can, Mr. Presley." You offered, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you watched Elvis's face for any sign of discomfort.
he stood on the other side of the kitchen island, his body standing right across from you.
you saw the way his jaw clenched at the way you said his name, but that happened everytime the simple saying slipped out of your mouth, "oh, mr. presley."
"no, no, the more the merrier." Elvis's slurred out, pouring a shot of whiskey in his glass, hesitation laced in his voice but he quickly covered it with a shaky scoff.
"you know, it's good to call me just elvis." he met your eyes, cooing out his words. the playful expression that was on his face moments ago replaced with a more hesitant one.
"good for you or good for me?" you murmured out, your lips quirking up so riskily and daringly.
you were writing out a check you couldn't cash.
"it would save us from a whole 'lotta trouble." he raised his brows and tilted his head with a careless shrug, bringing the glass of liquor to his lips. his Adam's apple bobbing as the stinging liquid entered his body.
"trouble? i thought you liked trouble, mr. presley." you cocked your head, your words rolling off of your tounge so surely. you began readjusting your hips, the end of your satin dress riding up with every move you made.
he couldn't read the expression sprawled on your face, but you sure as hell could read his. his knitted brows, his eyes looking at you so intensely... reading you for any source of confirmation that the sinful thoughts in his head weren't only racing through his.
"i like a lot of things, sweetheart." elvis chuckled, setting down the glass of dark liqueur. his eyes taking a quick peek on the dress that was now bunched on your hips - a momentarily peek, a peek that was so quick that he was sure you wouldn't have saw.
"yeah?" you purred, deciding to be the one to make the first move out of the unspoken need you two shared. you decided to grab the glass he sat down moments ago and bring it your lips, the liquor was strong but you wouldn't show him that.
"uh, y... yeah." elvis choked out, clearing his throat as he felt sudden pressure on his cock. "good things cause a lot of trouble." he purred sinfully, he knew what your intentions were, he knew he wasn't reading this situation wrong... the next move was up to him.
he quickly recovered, shaking off the flustered state you put him in and returning to his cocky self. "good girl's, cause a lot of trouble." he teased in a readily manner, he lustfully over where you stood, watching you with nothing but pure amusement.
"oh, mr. Presley, kill me if im wrong. but i would assume your saying im a good girl?" you cooed, you quirked one of your brows, questioning the man infront of you. you sat your body on the counter, legs dangling as you looked at him curiously.
"isn't that you call a pretty little thing such as yourself, a good girl?" he rasped it so readily, his feet moved him few inches, just so he could stand in between your legs and look at your face.
your chest rose up and down in a needy way, your eyes watching the way his slowly wandered towards your bare hips. "i can be whatever your want, mr. presley." you handed him back his glass of liquor, a barely visible coat of cherry red lip stick on the rim of the glass.
"you’re gonna be a good girl for me, yeah?" he purred as he nodded, grabbing the glass from you, but never did he dare to look away from you. keeping his eyes on you as you felt his finger tips tap your soft thighs. those three taps, gesturing for you to open your legs so he could stand in between them.
and you listened, never did you hesitate. he looked down at your parted legs, oh god, how many times has he thought about this exact moment. he didn't know where to start, he just knew by before the night was over he would have kissed every inch of your body.
"how do you want me, baby?" one of his rough hands gently squeezed your hips, while the other finally began reaching the soaking lace panties that covered your pussy.
you felt his duo of fingers applying light pressure to your clit, causing a shaky whimper to leave your mouth.
"i... i just, " you trailed off, you looked down to see his hardened cock poking through his leather pants - you took a peek, a peek so quick you thought he wouldn't even notice.
"just need you inside me, mr. presley." you whimpered, rolling your hips up towards where he needed attention from you most - causing breathy moans to slip from his and your lips as you felt his needy dick rub you through your lace panties.
"that'ta girl." Elvis teased, he began slipping the wet pink lace off, a cocky smirk on his lips as he pickpocketing them. your hands traveled towards the zipper of his black leather pants, the sound of the zipper unzipping could be heard alongside your's and Elvis's needy breaths.
"so eager, baby?" he chuckled, the sound of the leather dropping to the floor - and just as quick as his pants were off, so were his boxers. there was nothing holding him back from fucking you.
precum on the tip of his hard dick, his body telling him he needed this more than anything.
" y'look so pretty like this, mama." he breathily cooed against your neck, placing sloppy kisses all over your collar bones as you and him were chest to chest. you felt his hand gently hover over your lower abdomen, pressing ever so gentle - leaving you slightly confused.
his dick began grazing over the slit of your pussy, his precum mixing with the wetness of your pussy his words he squeezed out of you. your hands gripped his shoulders, getting yourself ready and steady.
he then lined his dick with your hole, he looked at you for confirmation. you nodded readily and quickly, moving your hips that he had been gripping up a few inches. "please." you whimpered, his tip in your hole, you just needed him to completely to enter you.
and as soon as you whimpered, you felt his dick slowly filling you up. his dick was bigger than any other dick that had entered your body before. you felt your walls tighten around him, your nails burying into his shoulders as his hands squeezed your hips.
"pussy was made for me." he didn't move, letting your needy hole get used to the feeling as you both let out incoherent whimpers. his eyes squeezed shut, head buried in your shoulder, and hot and heavy breaths following.
his dick hadn't left your hole all the way when he then snapped his hips into yours, taking you by surprise as you felt his hand lift your thigh around his waist - hoping to get access to the spot that would drive insane even if he slightly grazed over it.
he set a harsh but slow pace, each thrust was better than the other. you felt yourself subconsciously rocking against his, breathy whimpers and moans slipping from his mouth was only encouraging you to continue.
He was making you feel so good, like you expected him to. His dick seemed to be made for you, all of its veins and curves hitting the right spots inside you.
you felt his hand pressed against your lower abdomen again, but this you felt something else other than his hand.
he wanted you to feel him, inside and out. so you saw the bulge of his dick with each time he slammed into you, you could basically feel that familiar Spring coil form.
"s... so damn.. " he cut him self off with a harsh thrust in your pussy, causing you to let out a high pitched moan. " tight, just for ... me."
and just if you thought that was too much, you felt his fingers press against your swollen button. pressing and tracing circles around your wet clit as his dick dipped in and out.
This pleasure filled encounter couldn’t last forever, even if you wished it could. Soon enough your walls began to clench around him, making his thrust slow down to enjoy the way you squeezed. He was choking out moans into your ear, his voice raspy and shaky.
"elvis... m'close." you whimpered shakily, his hands guiding your hips as you felt his dick pulse, the familiar feeling of your pussy getting sensitive with each time his fingers and dick did their most.
and he made sure to touch that g spot, pushing his dick into so deep that you were sure to cum any moment. "fuck!" you breathlessly moaned, everything around you went hot when his dick hit that spongy spot.
"that'ta girl." he pressing down lightly on your lower stomach so you really felt him whilst shushing you.
it was like all of the juices you had been collecting had finally released just by his dick grazing that sweet spot, your vision went white, and your body jerked into his - his arm wrapped against your body, hugging against you as he rode out his high.
you could hear the sound of yours and Elvis's cum mixing, the shaky pants you two shared, something you would never forget.
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tag list . . . !
@marinarose12 @rysssaa @domaniquessidehoe @wistoric @givemehickeysplease @mr-aurum @feral4austinbutler @pandora-journey @kissingrhi @ash-omalley @queendelrey @heartsbomb @djarinlgc @austinbutler4life @adoreyouusugar
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drtyelvisfantasy · 8 months
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𝒪𝓃ℯ 𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓅 𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝓉𝒾𝓂ℯ
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Pairings: Elvis Presley x female!reader
Summary: The reader who is Elvis Presley’s wife wakes up to see her husband teaching their baby son Jesse how to walk🥹
౨ৎ ౨ৎ ౨ৎ
The sun peeked through the curtains of Graceland, casting a warm glow over the room. You found yourself in the presence of the King himself, Elvis Presley. Your heart fluttered as you watched him, his mesmerizing voice filling the air as he strummed his guitar effortlessly. It was a rare, intimate moment you had the privilege of witnessing.
As you stood by the doorway, you saw Elvis glance towards the crib tucked in the corner of the room. A smile crept across his face as he noticed his baby son, Jesse, starting to stir. Gently setting his guitar aside, Elvis approached the crib, his eyes filled with adoration.
"Hey there, little man," Elvis cooed, his voice soft and melodic. "Ready to show Daddy those fancy moves of yours?"
Jesse giggled in response, his chubby arms reaching out towards his father. Elvis scooped his little boy up into his arms, cradling him securely against his chest. The room seemed to come alive with the sound of their laughter, a symphony of love.
With careful steps, Elvis carried Jesse to the center of the room, creating a safe space for their adventure. He positioned Jesse's tiny feet on the wooden floor, supporting his wobbly legs with his hands.
"Alright, Jesse, it's time to show Daddy how you can walk," Elvis encouraged, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "You've got the rhythm in your blood, just like your old man."
As if on cue, the room filled with the sound of Elvis singing softly, his voice guiding Jesse's every movement. With each step, Elvis matched their strides, gently swaying from side to side, ensuring Jesse felt secure in his arms.
One hesitant step, then another. Jesse's face lit up with excitement, his eyes gleaming with determination. Elvis offered words of encouragement, his voice a gentle melody, easing any fear his son might have had.
"That's it, baby boy!" Elvis praised, his voice filled with pride. "You're doing great, just like your Mama."
Jesse's chubby legs grew stronger, his steps more assured. The room filled with joyous laughter and applause as he took his first independent steps, stumbling slightly before regaining his balance.
Elvis smiled brightly, his heart swelling with love and pride. He knew this was just the beginning of a lifetime of dances they would share together, a legacy that would continue to live on.
"You see, my little man," Elvis whispered, his voice filled with emotion, "Your Mama and I will always be here to catch you when you fall, to help you find your way. You've got a whole world waiting for you, and your old man will be by your side every step of the way."
As Jesse continued to take his first steps, the room filled with a sense of wonder and joy. The bond between father and son grew stronger with each passing moment, a testament to the love that would always guide them.
And as you watched this enchanting scene unfold before your eyes, you couldn't help but feel privileged to have witnessed such a magical moment. Your husband, The King of Rock and Roll, teaching his baby boy to walk, was a memory that would forever be etched in your heart.
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crash-and-cure · 9 months
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Every Minute, Every Hour (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)
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Summary: You were out. You were out goddamnit. How was he here?
A/N: Soooo.... It’s been awhile. Writer’s block is an absolute son of a bitch. So this is based on an idea I had and requested to @venus-haze a couple months ago and which I almost completely forgot about until I got this request and I decided two birds and all that. I also acknowledge that there was another similar request made a while back, to the person who requested it don’t worry, I do have plans for it. 
Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior. Dubious Consent in regards to coersion being involved. Loss of virginity. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f.recieving), female mastubation, slight dumbification, and implied anal play. Brief depictions of choking. Touch-starvation. Mentions of Pregnancy. Referenced cheating on Elvis' part. Self-loathing. Stockholm Syndrome(?) Probably more that I am blanking on. Period-typical homophobia and closeted characters depicted. Please do not interact if you are under 18. 
Word Count: 19.8K
Masterlist
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You look like an angel (look like an angel)
Walk like an angel (walk like an angel)
Talk like an angel
But I got wise
You’re the devi-
It takes you longer than you would have liked to reach the radio and turn it off. And it’s only as you reach it do you realize how odd it looks from the outside when you see a customer looking at you funny. 
“Not much of a fan,” you say with an admittedly pathetic smile on your face. 
“I can see that,” he replies with an awkward smile, before going back to browsing the books. 
You bashfully turn the radio back on and quickly try to turn the knob to anything even remotely comprehensible, but it’s just your luck that this is the only station you get decent reception on in the store. With no other choice but to simply grin and bear it you put the volume on low and return to reading your book. 
You do keep an eye on your final customer of the evening, and hope he hurries up so you can finally close up for the day. Susan had been complaining about a migraine since lunch and Gina was caring for her upstairs and so it was on you to close up the shop on your own today. 
You feel embarrassed to have been seen that way but that all falls away when you hear the shop bell ring, only to be immediately followed by tiny rapid footsteps and an excited little “mama!” and you grab onto the counter before your little two and a half foot terror can knock out from behind you. Which ends up being the right call as you feel her head butt your knees and locking her arms around them nearly knocking you down.  
“Mama! Mama!” she squealed, practically vibrating, she was so excited to see you. 
“Rosie! Rosie!” you say, equally as happy to see her though you do a far better job at reining it in. She takes your hands in hers as you crouch down to look at her, and take stock. Her hair is askew with the ribbons you had tied in place this morning holding on for dear life in her beautiful curls, her face is smudgy with what you’re hoping is chocolate, and one of her socks is just gone, but both shoes are in place so you can only imagine how your little hellion managed that. Overall this is the best condition Rosie has returned to you in, after a long day with Jenny.
“Mama, Aunty Jenny took me to the Candy store!” she says, showing off the candy bracelets on her tiny wrists. 
“Really,” you say, shooting a look at your friend for giving her so much sugar before bed. The woman in question has the courtesy to at least look a little guilty about it, before giving a small laugh. 
“Mm-hmm. And we saw Danny at the playground and we-we saw Uncle Lee’s friends, and then we listened to a lotta music, and we saw a movie about a wizard and there was no one else in the whole room, and then-then…” she rapidly rambles on but you pepper her face in kisses before she can pass out from the lack of oxygen. She giggles uncontrollably and tries to squirm out of your grip, but you gotta get in one good raspberry on her cheek before you let her go.
“Alright, why don’t you go upstairs and help Aunty Gina finish up dinner,” you tell her with a smile on your face. Her “help” in the kitchen is typically watching and holding spoons and spatulas on a step stool, but she’s at an age where she believes the whole dish would fall apart without her important contribution to it, so she goes rushing to the stairs. 
But she quickly comes running back while taking the uneaten bracelet off of her wrist. “Danny said to give this to you for your birthday,” she declares. Ever since meeting Jenny’s nephew she’s seemed to hang on to every word of his, and though you’ve never met the boy he seems to be a good kid, always polite and saying hello through your daughter, but has, as you've heard, an extreme affinity towards spinning a few too many fantastical stories. But your daughter is far too young to see him as anything but a friend so you doubt you have anything to worry about as of right now. 
She’s always so eager to tell you about everything, and you’re just as eager to listen. Your folks never wanted to hear anything from you, and you pray that your attentiveness will pay off one day when she is never afraid to come to you with your troubles. Maybe if you had that with your mother you wouldn’t be where you were.
“Well tell him I said thank you,” you say, as you pull it on your wrist, placing a small kiss on her forehead before she books it back to the stairs behind the counter. As you stand back up, to your surprise you find the customer now at the counter with a good stack of books. 
“Sorry to bother Miss…ummm…” the customer says nervously. 
“Love,” you clarify for him. “Y/N Love.”
He gives a shy smile at that, “Well Miss Love, I’m ‘bout ready to check out so…” he says gesturing to his tower of books. 
“Of course,” you answer and you begin to ring him up. He’s got quite a few so at least he makes the extra time staying down here somewhat worth it. 
“Whatcha readin’ there,” he asks you, pointing to the open book you’ve left to your side. You show him your copy of We have always lived in the castle. “I-is it any good?”
“I would say so,” you answer. Though that ending did hit a little too close to home, you think to yourself. 
“So umm, d-do you like to read?” he asks hesitantly as he quietly adds a copy of the book to his pile. 
“I’d be in the wrong business if I didn’t,” you joke, and he laughs a little too hard. “How ‘bout you?” you ask, wanting to not have an awkward silence, as you’re not even halfway through the stack. 
“Yeah, I-I love reading though I don’t got a lotta time for it these days,” he says with a guilty smile on his face. 
“Why’s that?” you ask, since it seems to be the only way this conversation could go. 
“I-I just started my residency at Charity Hospital,” he says bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m Sam by the way,” apparently realizing that he hadn’t made the proper introductions. 
“Y/N,” you say, giving him a small nod and a smile. “And congratulations on your residency,” you're almost done with the final few books, but you may or may not be taking your time to finish them up, wanting to prolong the conversation you’re having for a bit. 
“Thank you, and I- well, umm… I couldn’t help but overhear your daughter, but umm… Happy Birthday,” he says ducking his head, a bit embarrassed at his own admission. 
“Oh, thank you,” you say, your face heating up slightly that he had heard. 
“Your Husband’s a lucky man,” he says, though he does steal a quick glance at you, no doubt trying to gauge your reaction.
So this is what it’s about, you think to yourself. “I’m actually not…” you trail off, and hope that he gets the message. 
“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” he stated before his eyes widened as he realized what he just said. “I-I mean not glad like I’m happy that you-you’re not married, bu-but glad li-like I’m relieved that I hav-haven’t been trying to build up the courage to talk to a cute girl for the past few weeks only to find out she’s married already.” he blathers on and you can’t help but laugh. 
Your heart does flutter a bit at his confession. Everything about this feels like it should be perfect. Unfortunately for the both of you, you finally get a good look at his icy blue eyes that are a little too familiar for comfort, and it feels like your throat closes up. 
You can feel your stomach churning (and not just from the baby that fills it) and cold regret for not buying an extra pair of socks as you sit at the Greyhound terminal in Nashville, your feet starting practically turning into ice blocks. That cold November morning you had made a show of telling everybody you were gonna make a quick trip down to the shops for some eggs, now you’re almost a full state away praying that the bus gets here soon, jumping every time a set of headlights passes by and you're just barely keeping dry underneath the metal canopy. 
But for as cold as you are physically, your chest starts to heat up at the prospect that you’re so close to freedom from an even colder gaze. When the bus does get there you hardly sleep a wink afraid to let your guard down even now. You know how well he could sabotage your plans if he was so inclined, from small things like spoiling the surprise party you had planned for him to the major of ruining your chances to get into another school. 
You know he’s half a world away yet that still does little knowing what the most loyal of his are willing to do for him. It’s not until you finally make it to the train station in Atlanta that’ll take you down to New Orleans that you finally give in to your heavy eyelids, willing to trust strangers with your safety, aware they can’t hurt you any worse than those you know have done. 
You shake your head as you’re brought back to the present, and you hear him say something, “I’m sorry what?” you covertly wiggle your toes as you try to ground yourself and get sensation back in them as though you were just getting them out of the cold.
“I was just sayin’ there’s this club down on Bourbon that I been meanin’ to check out since movin’ down here, and I was hopin’ a local such as yourself could show me ‘round these parts,” he says, a nervous but hopeful smile on his lips. 
For a moment you can almost imagine saying yes to him, how he would take you out on the town, how he would kiss you, how he would throw your daughter up in the air. How maybe you could be happy with him.
But like a looming black cloud, in spite of the lowered volume, you hear what the new station is now playing, clear as a bell.
Oh please come to my arms and say you'll love me forever
For with the dawn, you'll be gone 
It’s almost as though He’s following you, serving as a constant reminder of what you did, and that you’re never allowed to imagine being with another man. You wordlessly turn off the radio before you’re forced to listen anymore. “Uhh, I-I’m sorry, I-I really don’t go out much,” you say, trying to shut this down as gently as you could. 
“Oh-uhh, that’s fine I umm,” he says, pivoting hard. “I’m more of a movie guy myself, I hear he’s got a new one out, and we can go and watch anything but that,” he gives a small laugh pointing to the radio, but quickly drops it upon seeing your grim expression. 
Without knowing it Sam just shut the coffin on any potential happenings between the two of you. “I’m sorry, it’s late and I gotta close up for the night,” you say softly, and he’s smart enough to take the hint. 
“O-of course,” he says looking down at the books he has in his hands. “But can you promise you’ll think about it?” he asks as he reaches the door to look back at you. 
Even before you open your mouth, you already know that your next words are going to make you lose a customer forever. “There’s nothing to think about,” you say, trying to feign apathy. Harsh as your words may be, you know this is far kinder to him in the long run as opposed to getting more involved with you. 
You watch him leave the store with a sagging shoulders and a long face, before you feel a hand meet violently with the back of your head, and you swivel around to see Jenny with an exasperated look on her face. “So a handsome, single, doctor who loves to read, and doesn’t mind that you already got a kid, asks you out and you say…” she trails off, seeming to only get more offended with every dreamy quality he had. 
“Don’tchu get like that Jenny,” you defend yourself, as you stomp to the door in order to flip the sign to closed and lock up for the night. “I’ve got a daughter to worry about and I don’t have time for a boyfriend right now.”
“Well newsflash Y/N,” she argues, “Rosie needs a daddy.”
You feel your hackles rising at that statement. “No she doesn’t,” you state firmly, not wanting to raise your voice, because you know better than anyone how easy it is to be overheard.
She deflates a little at your obvious fury at this line of questioning, before letting out a long tired sigh. “It’s just that… when we were at the park today… she asked me why she didn’t have one. And she… she just kept pressing,” she says obviously ashamed that she hurt you, but wanting to get across her reasoning. “What am I supposed to say to that? Especially when you won’t tell nobody what happened. I only got her to drop it when I took her to the candy shop.”
You feel guilty for snapping at your friend. Jenny Hodge had been an absolute godsend since you met her almost a year ago, when she and her new husband, Lee, had moved down from Alabama. Her arrival had coincided when Rosie started becoming aggressively mobile and insisted that running was the only way to get around anymore. And because she felt she needed practice with being a Mama before she had one of her own, she insisted on being your one and only babysitter, in exchange for free books every so often. 
The story around the block is that you are were the young widow who “tragically” lost her husband in an accident before he ever had the chance to meet your beautiful daughter, and with no one in the world left to turn to, you ended up on your “spinster” aunt and her “good friend” Susan’s doorstep. And Jenny, since hearing your story, has by far been your most fervent supporter outside of this house, with her support primarily coming in two flavors: 1) helping you with your daughter so she isn’t so cooped up in the store while you work and 2) trying to set you up with any moderately successful man.
“Y/N,” she says softly. “I get that it’s hard to get back out there, but you need to think about the bigger picture, because it’s only a matter of time before she starts asking you.”
You know she’s right, and that’s the worst part about it. Your little Rosie Love is a stubborn one, not to mention smart, always has been. Didn’t want to walk because she wanted to run. Hated her diaper so much she learned how to unpin it when she was barely a year old. Wanted to try to feed herself when she first took to solid food, and would snatch the spoon out of your hand when she could. She’s broken out of every play pen she’s ever been in. Hell, she was almost two weeks overdue, and the doctors were forced to induce you, she didn’t want to come out until she was good and ready.
She, like someone else you knew, is capable of throwing a wrench into any plan you make. For as endearing as it can be, it is all the more frustrating knowing exactly where she gets it from. 
With a long defeated sigh, you concede to her point and thank her for both her input and for being a good friend this past year. And maybe someday you’ll be ready to find another husband.
She has a wide cheshire-cat like grin as you say that, “And I’mma ‘bout to be a better one,” she practically sings. “Lee’s friend is in town, and I think you two would hit it off.” 
“And I think we wouldn’t,” you state, putting books back where they belong. 
“C’mon Y/N, I thought we were past this,” she whines.
“I did say someday, not today,” you emphasize.
“Y/N, your birthday’s comin’ up soon, and it ain’t like you’re gettin’ any younger. Besides Lee and I are already trying for a baby, so I ain’t gonna be so available much longer neither,” she says in a soft voice holding your hands in hers. “And you need to find someone you can rely on too, it’s not like you wanna end up like your Aunt Gina”
You say nothing not wanting to say anything incriminating about the relationship between your Aunts, as for all that you trust Jenny, you don’t trust her enough with somebody else’s secrets. 
“Just promise me you'll think about it at least,” she pleads, hands clasped over your own. 
What is it about people that, not trusting you when you answer the first time, and thinking given enough time you’ll come around? 
Yet you're no better as you let out a long tired sigh, before ultimately agreeing, if only to get her off your back. Or so you tell yourself. 
She tells you a bit about the man she has in mind for you, or more accurately she keeps insisting how perfect the two of you would be together.  In her mind it’ll be love at first sight, how he’ll love and accept Rosie as his own immediately, how she guarantees that you’ll be married within a year and be trying to give Rosie a little brother or sister. You have to bodily shove her out the door by that point lest she get into any more specifics in her attempt to sway you. 
Jenny’s a little older than you, but she is very much a romantic at heart, you suppose, though that’s the benefit of things going right in your life. 
But your story went wrong. 
“Why you in such a hurry to get out girl?” your accomplice would ask as he handed you the money (He had made it a point of order that you were never to handle any) the day before your escape. 
“There’s someone else,” you say simply, because it’s true and if they were to ever betray your trust this would be worse on them than on you. 
You got away with quite a bit back in the day like getting out of trouble for making out in a dark empty classroom by claiming to have been caught by surprise by your monthlies and now you couldn’t bear the thought of being seen like this. Or when you got hired by the library for the summer after you approached the front desk and claimed to be the new hire ready for her first day of training and nobody really bothered to check in with anybody else. Even that one time when you confidently strolled backstage at a music hall He had wanted to perform all to sneak them in through the back door and convinced just enough people that his band was meant to perform that night.
Your ability to make up stories on the fly and map things out in your head had led you to believe that you would make for a pretty good mystery writer. You had even tried to go to school to be one, though you told everyone it was to be a teacher, a far more respectable and womanly job.
Well not everyone.
He certainly knew. 
Knew about your talent for planning and story-telling, and was practically always in awe to see it in action. But this recognition came at the expense that he was aware of your tricks and he always knew how to throw you off just enough to make any plans you made go belly up. Whether it was something relatively small like figuring out you were planning a surprise party to the major… like when you tried to end things the first time around.
He called you almost every night when he was on tour, and you had done your best to relay all that was going on back in Memphis. And in spite of his insistence that he wants to hear about it, you suspect that he wasn’t being truthful. He especially seemed disgruntled when you made any mention of doing anything with anyone else. Your friends, his friends, even your own family weren’t safe from his ire.  
When He was here you would do everything together, yet now that you tell him about all that you’d been doing, there is a slight but noticeable edge when he speaks to you over the phone. Everytime you mention how you went to the movie theater or you went to the record store or the bookshop, it was almost always met with a solemn “we used to do that together.” 
You would have gone with him, had your parents let you, and He knows that so you don’t understand why he’s so sore about the fact that you’re not simply sitting on your hands back home waiting for him to return. 
So in an effort to spare his feelings you asked him about the things he was doing, you even go out of your way to say how happy you were when he was telling you about all of the fun things he had done on the road. You’re happy to hear it all and you thought 
You miss him just as fiercely but you don’t want it to stop you from living. 
But when you got your acceptance letter, you saw the writing on the wall. You both were going in different directions: you were going to be studying, were barely going to be home and his star just kept growing and growing each day taking him further out and making him harder to reach. You know you wanted this and you begin to suspect you may want it more than you want to stay with him, if staying with him meant being alone all the same. 
This was only confirmed in the weeks leading up to Prom when you couldn’t get a straight answer out of him of whether or not He would be able to make it. It was on you to practically plan everything down to what he would wear, while his whole contribution was to show up- maybe?
Whether He did show up or not that night, you thought the result would be the same with you officially breaking things off between you two. But you still held out hope that at least if he did come you would have one last good memory. 
And to your relief He does make it, but he’s a little off the whole night. Not in the sense that his mind is elsewhere, more like he’s trying to commit everything about the night into memory, and looking at you with sad eyes when he thinks you’re not looking. 
It all comes to a head when you’re parked outside of your house, and you’re sitting in a loaded silence with him at the wheel. He’s gripping onto that thing for dear life and you’re wondering if maybe you should save it, but you think you know yourself well enough to know that if you don’t say it now, you won't say it ever. 
So as he’s opening his mouth to say something, you cut him off with his name. 
“...I-I got accepted to Southwestern,” you blurted out to him and He looked so confused at your admission, but you push through. “I start in the fall, so I’m not gonna be home much anymore, and with y-you being on the road so much, I think it best that we-”
“Marry me,” he blurts out, panic etched across his face.
Your jaw is left practically on the floor as that was the last thing you ever expected out of his mouth. 
You would later find out that he went to Prom with the same intention as you did but it was in that moment that he realized you weren’t going to wait for him to come back did he want to lock you down. But you didn’t see that in the moment. 
What you saw at the time was the declaration that he was just as committed as you were, and so overwhelmed by the love you still felt for him at the time, you had no choice but to give an emphatic yes to him. 
“We’re gonna figure this out baby,” He promises with a kiss. 
That was the first time you tried to leave him.
“-Danny’s a real good singer Aunty. He told me he lives in Neverland and one day he would take me and-and he told me this is the only place in the whole word that they sell peanut butter cups,” you would hear as you made your way up the stairs connecting to the apartment above the store. You look into the small kitchen where you see your little girl sitting on the counter talking her aunt’s ear off idly dangling her little feet while holding a spatula you're not entirely sure is necessary. Gina looks over to you and gives you a playfully exasperated look, and you simply shrug your shoulders before moving into the small kitchen to pepper your little one's face in kisses. 
“Alright sticky missy,” you announce, blowing a raspberry on her cheek and swiping the utensil out of her hand as she trills in delight. “You go wash up for dinner now, ya’ hear, and go wake up Aunty, I think she’ll feel alot better seeing you.”
“Ok Mama,” she says. She is utterly fearless as she slides herself to get off of the counter, and lands on her feet below. You can’t help the swell of pride that bubbles up in your chest seeing it, how brave your little girl is. You hope that you can take it as a sign that you’re doing ok at this motherhood thing. 
Gina likes to say that you were just as bold at that age with the confidence of someone so sure they can take on the world, and in quieter moments she’ll lament how you lost that in you. You would be offended if you didn’t already know when exactly you lost it. 
She had always been your favorite Aunt until you were about twelve and and your father would coldly tell you she died and was in hell now. Rather than a funeral, the family got together to destroy her things and swear to never speak of her again. 
That didn’t stop her from visiting you one last time and telling you she was moving down to New Orleans with her friend Susan. She would take you to your favorite bookstore one last time in Memphis and promised that if you ever needed a place to stay, to not even hesitate to come, because she knew better than anyone what your family would do to girls who stepped out of line. 
For years the only evidence that she was even alive was the annual birthday and Christmas gift you would get from her all under the guise of Nancy Drew books stamped with the name of a bookstore all the way in New Orleans. You cherished them and it’s one of the few things you took after your parents kicked you out. 
You only wished you had taken the offer when your father had kicked you out and you were forced to rely on someone else. 
“So I hear you broke another heart,” Gina idly says as she starts scooping some rice onto a plate.
You let out a long sigh, “When did Jenny find the time to tell you?” You’re more amazed than annoyed considering she didn’t leave your sight once down stairs. 
“Jenny?” she says, raising a brow. “No Sue told me earlier how Lou from King’s Cafe ‘s been askin’ after you.”
Lou who always had extra beignets to give away when you took Rosie for a walk in the mornings. He recently asked if you had ever been on the Algiers ferry, and how beautiful it looked at night.
…You’ve been taking a different route to the playground since then. 
“Is my love life just everybody’s business,” you ask frustrated that you weren’t even given a five minute break from this. 
“In this house: yes,” she states, a grin on her face. 
“Gina if this is about me movin’ out, you can talk to me, I’m a big girl,” you insist, trying to deflect and not have to think about it anymore. 
“Sweetheart,” she says solemnly, placing a hand on your cheek. I may not be your mama, but I do think that you need to think about what’s best for Rosie,” she insists as she puts place mats down on the table. 
Gina’s a little closer to the situation than Jenny, as she had asked no questions as to why you all of a sudden needed a place to stay far from your parents with nary a husband or boyfriend in sight to take responsibility for the baby growing within you. She had also been the one to help spread the tragic young widow narrative, and for as much of a gossip she can be, you know she’s a steel trap for secrets that matter. 
“What does me getting, or not getting, a boyfriend have to do with Rosie?”
“A boyfriend? Nothing,” she dismisses. “A husband on the other hand…”she says with a smile.
“Don’tchu come talkin’ to me ‘bout gettin’ a husband,” you say, handing her another plate of food. 
She laughs at that, “It’s not just about you gettin’ a husband, it’s about Rosie gettin’ a father,” she insists amused at your mulishness. 
“Not you too,” you mourn what you thought was going to be a quiet evening. 
“I’m just sayin’ that every child deserves two parents,” putting the lid back on the pot. 
“She’s got three mama’s,” you counter.
“No,” she says waving the wooden spoon in front of your face. “She’s got one mama and two grandmas that spoil her rotten behind your back.” You open your mouth to protest, until she quickly follows up with, “Oh speak of the devil herself,” as you see your little troublemaker dragging Susan by the hand to the table, whom you had to bully into taking a rest to somewhat alleviate the migraine she had been having for most of the day.
Your daughter can talk for hours if left unchecked and you're eager to hear all of it as she bounces from subject to subject at the dinner table. You had always felt somewhat guilty intruding on their space, but Gina insists nothing of the sort and Susan jokes that the two of them are getting the full kid/grandkid experience through you and Rosie, since the traditional way ain’t for them.
Between bites she regaled the three of you with all that she did today which included seeing a dog, the playground being shiny, spinning around so fast on the merry-go-round she almost went into space, made friends with some of the ducks, saw another dog, Danny gave her his popcorn, got a lot of candy from the candy shop, and gave some jelly beans to the last dog she saw today, but only the green ones she doesn’t like, and then feeling bad about it and giving it some of the red ones to even it out.
She doesn’t mention anything to you about asking Jenny about why she doesn't have a daddy, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the first break you’ve had all day. Some may say you indulge her too much, but all three grown women at this table know exactly how it feels to have their thoughts and feelings ignored, and you all had come to the mutual understanding that Rosie would never have to feel this way in this house.
“Mama, I forgot to tell you,” Rosie states after she shoveled the last of her food into her mouth. “Barbie got a new job today!” she delights as she thrusts the doll in your face. 
“Really?” you say trying to match even a quarter of her excitement. “Is she mmm… a firefighter?”
“No!” she squeals, delighted in the game you play with her. 
Making a big show of putting a finger to your temple and closing one eye, apparently deep in thought, you ask, “Is she a… detective?” 
“No that was yesterday!” she’s practically buzzing to tell you, but holds it in to keep this game going.
“Oh!” you say, pretending to have a lightbulb moment. “She’s a wizard!” You know your daughter well enough, so you’re reasonably confident in your guess knowing that Jenny took her to see that Disney movie today. 
“No,” she laughs, “She’s an actress, but she also sings in all her movies.”
“O-oh,” you say, genuinely caught off guard by that. “Why’s that?” It’s certainly not an unusual thing for a little girl to declare, but for your daughter it most definitely was. When she declared what Barbie was going to be it was always influenced by something she saw that day. Sometimes she was a baker, sometimes a ballerina, even one memorable time a bus driver, but this is a first. Even when she has seen movies with actors in it she didn’t quite understand the concept that those aren’t their real jobs on screen, and she would pick that, which is why you guessed wizard.
“Because Danny does that,” she declares, as she starts to make Barbie dance on the dinner table.
And then it made sense, your daughter’s friend, Danny, who according to Jenny, has a penchant for making up stories. To your daughter the boy’s been a cowboy, a soldier, he’s as strong as superman, can play any instrument, and now apparently is a famous actor. 
You give an amused huff, “I see Danny’s at it again,” you state, as you take her plate. It’s a literal miracle that Jenny’s impromptu trip to the candy store didn’t spoil her appetite, and but you don’t know how much of an appetite she’ll have for dessert so you decide to just split a slice of King cake with her. 
“At what mama?” she asks as Gina wipes some of her food off her face. 
“He’s telling stories again,” you say as you bring Gina and Susan their dessert plates. 
“No he’s not,” she states, furrowing her brow, and you can’t help but quirk a smile at how stressed she looks as you sit down. “I saw it myself.” 
“I’m sure you did, but Honey, it's just… sometimes boys have a habit of telling… tall tales,” you suppose that’s the nice way of putting it. It’s a fine line you walk with her, wanting to have her believe in herself most of all, but also wanting her to not believe everything she’s told, especially by boys. You’re the textbook example of what happens to supposedly smart girls who get in too deep with charming boys.
“But it’s true mama,” she insists, raising her voice a bit. 
“Sweetheart, I think he means, he wants to be that when he grows up,” you try to gently justify, as you subtly try to nudge the fork closer to her. 
“No mama, I saw it,” she asserts, getting progressively more upset defending her friend. “He is a famous actor and he was singing and dancing at the theater.”
“And I’m sure he’s gonna be a big star one day when he’s all grown up,” you try to assuage how worked up she’s getting. “But I don’t think he’s one right now.” 
“No mama!” she yells at the top of her lungs, angry tears streaming down her face. “You’re a liar!” You feel your stomach drop to the floor and she herself looks shocked at what she just said. She proceeds to cry even harder before turning tail and running straight into the room you share with her and slamming the door as hard as she could. 
When you were far enough away, and somewhat comfortable in your new environment in Your Aunties home, the first thing you did was read nearly every book about motherhood you could find. You were determined to do this right as you had made the unilateral decision for your baby to only have one parent. So you decided as a means of making up for it you would be all the parent she would need. 
Doubt creeps into the back of your throat that you made the wrong decision and that you in fact were not enough on your own and that she never would have done that if He were around. 
“You want me to go talk to her?” Gina would ask after hearing your door slam shut. 
As bad as you want to say yes from the exhausting day you’ve had so far, you’re not about to foist your duties as a mother off onto her right now. She understands but you don’t miss the pointed look she gives to Sue, as she walks away to clean up dinner, and you bury your hand in your face hoping if you wish hard enough this day will finally come to a close. 
“I remember the first time I yelled at my mama,” Sue off-handedly says after a few minutes. “Always too scared that that wretched woman would beat me black and blue if I was ever less than perfect,” she takes a sip of her tea. “And she did just that when I got fed up with all her teasing about me getting a boyfriend.”
“I… I don’t understand.”
“What I’m gettin’ at is… I was never comfortable enough with my own mother to be angry with her.”
“Am I bad at this?” 
“You’re still new at this Hon,” she reassures you. “There's a big difference.”
Despite the fact that Gina was the one related to you by blood, Sue’s the only one in the world who even has an inkling as to what exactly you left behind. And that is only because she was a front row spectator to it.
You had managed to get permission to leave the hotel room for a few hours while He was on set that day. He had brought you down from Memphis, not wanting you so far out of reach and yet you were still pretty much kept confined. You had long since exhausted the books you had brought for the trip, and you were practically itching to get out. 
Books were your only escape from this place. Where you could vicariously solve a mystery or meet royalty or stop a war or any other number of exciting things in your head. But inevitably you close the book and the story ends and your back in this fucking hotel room. 
You realize by getting more books you're just masking a symptom rather than actually treating the illness. You couldn’t take it anymore and had begged Him to at least let you go to a bookstore to keep you occupied, because by that point you were willing to pay the price for it. 
Sue had been the only one in the store the day but you hadn’t really taken notice of her, your eyes had been darting around everywhere trying to find Gina. Sonny was in there as well, as you were only able to bargain your way to being in here and picking out the books, but not enough to be able to enter the store alone. Sonny had been the one to pull the short straw and had been put on Y/N duty today. Usually that consisted of sitting in the hotel and making sure you didn’t go anywhere while also completely ignoring you.
Everybody knows the story of the last guy that paid a little too much attention to you. You still couldn’t look at raw ground beef without crying.
Outside of the occasional gathering you don’t really interact with anybody out of the immediate vicinity of home. It’s funny how He can put you in a room filled to the brim with his people yet make you feel so alone at the same time. It would be amazing if it didn’t make you feel so awful at the same time. 
It’s a terrible thing He does, but it’s made all the worse that so many people can see what he’s doing keeping you prisoner and isolated and yet no one will ever dare breach it 
If anything they actually help him as they all report to him practically what you did that day, do their best to talk you out of leaving the room, and even when you do insist on going off on your own, the men are quick to remind you that He won’t like it one bit. They won’t physically stop you, (they know the worst thing they can do is put their hands on you) but you know that’s where their “help” begins and ends. 
At one point you even tried to play ball and asked for His permission last time you were in LA and you had wanted to go to the Griffith Observatory. You had asked in advance, agreed to only being there for two hours, and even gave in to being essentially chaperoned from a distance. Initially He had agreed to the terms and You thought you had done good and maybe you were finally coming to somewhat of a middle ground with him. 
But in the days leading up to the trip He would ask for favors in return. They all just happened to be things you had refused to do for him up until that point. When you refused He would at first seemingly accept your answer, and then He would idly remind you of your upcoming trip before asking you again. You weren’t stupid enough to miss the connection and so you did what you thought you had to do for just the slightest taste of freedom.
Who are you kidding?
You practically begged and did tricks for Him like a dog for just the slightest bit of slack on your leash. 
You could barely move the morning of the trip both physically and emotionally drained from what he had you do the night before, but you still persevered if only to make all that you went through worth it.
It wasn’t worth it. 
Everything you saw that day was completely soured by what you had to do to get there. Every step felt like agony, and you had to make a conscious effort to not walk funny. And before you knew it the two hours were up and Red was telling you it was time to leave. 
You don’t know what’s worse, the punishments or the favors. 
You had to go the favor route today as otherwise he would have simply sent for someone to get you whatever books they could find, rather than letting you pick. You already know you’re going to get it when he finds out you went to a different bookstore than initially planned. You thought you could at the very least make it worth it by seeing one familiar face, but even fate denied you that as Gina was nowhere to be seen. 
It was cold enough to justify wearing something to cover up most of the bruises, but that didn’t mean they were all hidden. You wouldn’t know it at the time but your skittishness coupled with the bruises struck a chord with Susan before you fully checked out of the store.
“I’m sorry if this sounds like an odd question but ummm…” you say, glancing around, making sure that Sonny was too far to hear. “Does Gina work here?”
Sue immediately tenses up, and you curse your caginess, as you reassure her that you’re Gina’s niece, Y/N. She seems to relax hearing that so at least she knows that you try to maintain a good relationship, sporadic your letters may be. 
“What happened there honey?” she asks, gesturing to your wrist that has a ring of bruises on it, which you quickly move to hide. You internally curse yourself for your sloppiness. He doesn’t mean to hurt you but he tends to lose himself and be a little rougher especially when he’s worried about something else. 
He’s been a little rougher for a few months now.
“Oh-ummm,” you steal a glance at Sonny, who was making his way to the counter. “Yes I am ready to check out.” Gesturing to the three towers of books you’ve managed to accumulate.
This doesn’t go unnoticed by Sue nor does she miss Sonny's statement of remembering the rules as to what you’re allowed to get, if her disapproving look is anything to go by. He’s fine with you reading but doesn’t like you reading books that will put “ideas” in your head. 
You don’t exactly know what that means as the standards seem to change depending on His mood and it’s always a gamble as to what he will or won’t allow you to have. You fear the day He grows the same hatred for fictional men that he has for any man within your vicinity. 
You're genuinely sad when it comes time to pay, (Well Sonny pays, He doesn’t like the idea of you handling money), and then Susan does something you could never have anticipated in a million years as Sonny grabs one stack and goes to put it in the car. 
You wished it had been anybody but Sonny that day. His last girlfriend, whom he swore he was gonna make Mrs. Sonny West, had made the mistake of trying to befriend you outside of gatherings. She stopped by the house frequently just to visit and even invited you out to the salon. 
And it was your mistake to believe you could have a friend that he would finally approve of. Friend or family, He eventually found something to disapprove of for everybody close to you previously. You thought that because she was already nominally part of the group, it would be fine to go.  
He made it clear by the time you got home that it wasn’t. 
You never saw her again after that and Sonny’s resented you ever since. You can hardly blame him, it’s easier to point the finger at you for not anticipating the unspoken rules, as opposed to the man who signs his checks and makes the rules. 
You know that even the slightest toe out of line will be reported back to Him in the worst light. So you had to be on your best behavior. 
“Y’know I highly recommend this book,” Sue says, sliding the book she had been reading at the counter to you. 
Wide Sargasso Sea, the cover reads.
“Oh thank you but I already paid,” you say, almost afraid of this conversation. “And besides I already have enough books.”
“Sweetheart you can never have too many,” she insists and without looking opens it up to the first page where you see a little handwritten note. She closes it up before you can see what it says and slyly slots it in the middle of a stack. 
Later on when you feel sufficiently safe enough to look at it you nearly burst into tears.
In case you need help
feel free to call
(xxx-xxxx)
Such a small thing really, but it’s the most human connection you’ve had with anyone else but Him in a long time. 
You spend the next hour or two committing that string of numbers to memory before you proceed to rip out that page, shred it, and flush the remnants down the toilet. 
Even when you were burning the number into your brain, you never thought you would have ever had the guts to use it. Back when you thought you could accept what looked to be your fate. 
It would be unfair to say it was all bad, after all there was a reason you did fall for Him in the first place. When you would read mysteries and He would listen to you criticize the culprits' plans and schemes and he would look in awe at how you would’ve gotten away with it. Or how fun it was to sneak out with him, your family none the wiser. Even when things got bad and it felt like He was the only one that would talk to you for days, you cherished it because it truly felt like he was your life line. 
When things were good they were great, it was just when they were bad did you start to recognize them. 
Things were bad a lot towards the end. 
Gladys had been one of the few willing to go to bat for you, and perhaps the only one who He would listen to. She was the only one who could set him straight when he got huffy at the thought of you having some basic independence of being able to go outside and not needing to be watched like a child all the time. 
She was the one you went to with your suspicions and early symptoms, when you were too afraid to go to the doctor that reported right back to Him. 
She had also been the only one who knew your fears about having this baby. In your mind there were a total of two possibilities for the life the baby would live. One that they would live a life like yours, isolated within the walls of the house under their fathers obsessive gaze, never to experience the outside world. Or two He would hate the baby on principle and see it as just competition for your time and attention like he did with everybody else.
She did her best to try to quell your fears, trying to assert He would never do either of those things, especially, the last one. 
But you saw it in her eyes how she knows how sour He would get when he would come home to find you playing with his younger cousins. How He gets when someone new so much as looks your way a beat too long, or has the gall to get your attention.
How you’re barely allowed to talk to other girls your own age and that’s only saved for special occasions when his friends bring their girlfriends and He’s otherwise occupied. And even then He has a penchant for just removing you from them just to have you sit with him, and you’re out in the awkward position of being the odd one out in his group.
How when you did gather up the nerve to bring up the topic of babies to him one night his answer was “I ain’t ready to share ya’ darlin’, I don’t think I’ll eva be.”
But your most hard-hitting evidence was what happened to your dog, Hardy. He had been an old stray you saw skulking around the property, and whom you took in when He was touring. Hardy didn’t have much of an interest in running around or playing fetch, just sitting by your side and eating treats. 
Everything was good until He returned. You knew it was gonna be trouble the moment He walked through the door and saw you scratching the dog’s belly. Inspite of the fact that Hardy was usually tolerant of strangers, something about Him immediately put the usually placid dog on edge. You immediately got to work on trying to find some sort of compromise in regards to him, and offered everything from making Hardy a permanently outside dog to even being willing to have him be boarded with a family member while He was home. 
You had asked Gladys where Hardy was the very next morning when you couldn’t find him anywhere, only to be told that He had taken him out for a walk. You didn’t have the heart to be told a lie when He returned alone.
He started taking you with him at that point, and you hardly knew a moment's peace after that.
Your attention is not your own to freely give away, let alone your affection, He expects it all to go to him. He did lord knows what to a dog that had had the misfortune of occupying some of your time when he was there, you hardly wanted to chance the life of a baby that would need all of it. 
However in spite of all of that, you thought with her by your side you would be able to weather his reaction, whatever it may be. Even if your worst fear came to be and He didn’t really want anything to do with the baby, you could at least have someone to love the baby just as fiercely even when you were otherwise occupied by Him. It wasn’t necessarily fair, but you could somewhat see the function of it, and in spite of the weariness he’s instilled in you by that point, you were still reasonably confident in your ability to plan for the long term.
And then Gladys died.
And you were left to navigate the hardest thing you could face alone. 
“Ain’t nobody ever talks about how hard this can be. Or how easy it is to mess up,” Sue continues as she polishes off her plate. “But maybe…” she prods. “If you had a partner to help ease the load, you wouldn’t doubt yourself so much.”
You groan at this point wanting to truly be done with this day already. “Not this again,” you bemoan. 
“Honey,” she says with a firm but comforting grip on your shoulder. “I know a thing or two about leaving bad things behind, but I do think sometimes you need to let someone else in to help you recover,” she says. And almost like they rehearsed it, Gina comes in with a mug of tea, and a kiss to Susan’s forehead as she demands she go back to bed to rest up.
You want to argue back that you did a good enough job of recovering by yourself, but that’s hardly fair to say considering how you were about as helpless as Rosie herself that first year and a half you were here. You had thought that you would’ve been out of here maybe a couple months after giving birth, and been in a completely new place with no ties whatsoever. But the reality is that there’s no possible way you or Rosie would have survived without the help they were so willing to give. 
And that’s all they’re trying to do now. 
You take a minute to fully gather yourself, as you realize you being upset won’t help Rosie in the slightest. You also pick up the slice of cake, as you don’t want her to think she’s being punished for being upset with you. 
You find her hiding underneath the blankets of the bed you share with her and you can only hear sniffling at this point. You try to approach this delicately, as this is new territory for the both of you, so you place the cake on the nightstand, crawl underneath the sheets with her, and allow for her to come to you. Luckily you don’t have to wait for long.
“Mama!” she cries as she buries her face in your bosom, her tears already soaking through the cotton material. “Mama, I didn’t mean it! Please don’t be mad! I’m sorry Mama! Please don’t leave.”
“Sweetheart it’s okay,” you reassure her, running your nails up and down her back, as it always did the trick of settling her down when she was a baby. “Mama’s not goin’ anywhere without you. I’m always gonna be with you.” You hardly put her down her first year of life, going against all the books and holding her at just about every possible moment, so you can hardly fathom where she got this idea in her head that you would leave if you got upset with her. But remembering what Jenny had told you earlier, you have the sneaking suspicion it is related to her noticing the lack of a father in her life. 
“I’m sorry mama! I’m sorry…” she repeats over and over again, and for each time you make sure to reassure her that nothing she could ever do would make you leave. 
Finally when she’s tired herself out and her eyes are red and raw do you finally speak. “Rosie, it’s okay to be mad, but it’s not okay to be mean, because you’re mad,” you say softly to her running your nails on her back, something that has always soothed her. 
She rubs her eyes and wipes her runny nose before looking up at you again, and gives a groggy “I understand Mama.” 
“Good,” you say, kissing her forehead. “Now can you help me finish this cake.” 
You see her eyes widen before she eagerly grabs the fork and dives right in. With your help, it’s not long before it’s almost entirely gone and when she takes that final bite of the cake she goes wide-eyed sticking her fingers in her mouth to pick out the errant piece. “What’s this Mama?” she says holding the little porcelain baby up. 
“Oh you found it Rosie,” you say excitedly, “This means you’re going to have good luck.”
“... Like a wish?”
“Sort of,” you answer.
She gives an excited shriek before she clasps the little figurine in her hands and whispers something almost inaudible to it, with the only recognizable words being “Danny” and “Neverland.” You’re slightly disappointed that your lesson hadn’t quite landed today, but you choose to leave it for now, as you don’t see the harm in wishing to go to a non-existent magical place. 
Once teeth are brushed and pajamas are put on, Rosie settles into bed, but not before making sure you’re not about to break your long-held tradition of storytime. She’s the type of kid who when she likes one story she demands to hear it over and over again. 
And lately she’s latched onto Rapunzel. 
The whole concept does unsettle you greatly, for how close it is to your story. But whatever qualms you have with the story you’re not gonna deny your daughter, because your problems are your own cross to bear, not hers. 
As you read it you get to the part where the witch mother casts her out of the tower and she wanders the forests with her children. You wonder if Rapunzel ever found joy in those years away from the mother who isolated her, away from the prince who could have taken advantage of her. She survived not only on her own, but kept others alive as well. WHat did she do? Did she forage and hunt for her babies, did she find a village where she could work to support her family? 
Sometimes you wonder if she did truly live happily after the end of the story, or if she traded one cage for another as you did before. 
Your daughter is long asleep by the time you reach the happily ever after part of the story. She’s still in the habit of sucking her thumb at night, so you gently remove it, and put one of her favorite stuffies in her arms. And that marks the end of your daily duties, so in theory you should be able to finally fall asleep and be done with this day. 
In theory.
In actuality you creep out of the bed you share with your daughter into the single bathroom of the apartment. Usually her steady breathing tends to be enough to get you to fall asleep, it’s been that way ever since she was a baby, but you’re left feeling agitated having had to think of Him more than usual today. 
Not just because of the song on the radio, but Rosie’s outburst reminded you far too much of her father. It feels like the worst injustice that she mimics someone who isn’t even here.
Now that ain’t my fault now is it darlin’? A familiar voice whispers in your mind. You feel a shudder run down your spine at the thought of him, not to mention the way you shamefully feel yourself pool within your underwear. You slide down the bathroom door, out of sight of the mirror, as though that will prevent you from facing what you’re about to do. You even close your eyes for good measure as your hand reaches your folds and your fingers caress the slick outer lips of your pussy. 
You had tried to ignore this part of yourself for so long. You justified it during your pregnancy, as your body had been making you want to do other stupid things like sleep right in the middle of the store or eat paint chips. Even after giving birth and your inner feelings remaining unchanged, you justified it by thinking you were just particularly lonely, and for all that he kept you isolated, you were never alone when you were with him. Or that he was the only man you ever knew that way so he’s all you had to go off of in order to satisfy these urges.
For as much as your mind curses Him for ever coming into your life, even after all these years, your body has yet to catch up. 
You’re far from unique in your desire for him, but it’s especially shameful for you as you know what he’s truly like. It’s like scratching a mosquito bite, you may know that it’ll just make the itching worse, but dear god did it feel good in the moment. 
But even that is far from an accurate description as you plunge your on fingers into your sopping channel in a poor imitation of what you remember. 
You bite your lip in an effort to keep noises at bay but it just makes you concentrate on the wet squelching sounds echoing through the bathroom as you plunge your fingers into yourself. The sharp sting of pain forcing your mind back to where you experience the most of it. 
“You’re so sweet darlin’,” he purrs, his jaw glistening from your juices having just made a feast of you for the past hour or so. He had made it a game to see how close he could bring you without actually letting you cum, something he tends to do when someone looks your way for a little too long, as though he means to re-establish his claim over you. That only he can give you pleasure like this but take it away on a whim if he chooses. 
“No more…” you beg, new tears forming and following the trail previously set, your lips undoubtedly bruised from how much you have been chewing on them throughout. “Please,” your thighs aching from the death grip he has them in, undoubtedly leaving bruises for you to feel in the morning. 
“Alright,” he says seemingly conceding. But before you can breathe a sigh of relief, he continues, “we’ll switch it up for tonight.”
He flips you over to your front, spreads your legs wide open again, and dives right back in. 
You can’t help the way you’re left trembling from the memory, but what does shake you somewhat is the when you realize that it’s not simply the ghost of the memory that is making you feel that bruising pressure on your inner thigh, but in fact your own hand keeping it there. 
Still the masochist within you that yearns for the ghost of a man you once thought you knew takes a hold and refuses to let go now that you’re so close to release. So you give in and continue your frantic movements biting down hard on your lip to prevent any errant cries from leaving, and grip onto your thigh for dear life, even now trying to deny yourself that you want him here with you.
As you’re coming down from your high, you fight back your tears of shame. Trying to remind yourself why you left in the first place. How for all the moments he made you feel amazing, they weren’t worth the amount of grief he caused you on a near day-to-day basis.
Grief he’s still causing you more like it. 
You don’t think you could have written a better love story in the beginning. You met him when your eyes locked on each other from across your favorite bookstore back in Memphis. He had oh so shyly approached you and asked what you were reading, a bit starry eyed as he listened. Back then and arguably still the concept of a man listening to you was such a novel and unique thing to experience. 
It progressed from there, hand-holding in the school hallway, shared milkshakes at the local diner, and Sunday dinners with his family. Of course there were the less than wholesome aspects of your relationship of stray hands when no one was looking and heated kisses after a particularly rousing performance.
Truly the hallmarks of the greatest love story the world had ever seen. 
If only you knew how wrong a love story can go, because your story went very wrong. 
You vividly remember your first time with him.
Undoubtedly the cruelest thing he ever did to you.
You were never supposed to find out about the other girls, well that’s not true. The newspapers sure knew about them but he had convinced you that it was all nonsense and that he would never do that to you. All of his friends knew, hell even some of their girlfriends knew, but ideally you were never supposed to find out. 
But the only chink in the armor was that there was in fact someone who had wanted you out as soon as he stepped in. Fact of the matter is that he was practically giddy as he told you what your fiance had been doing on the road up until that point. You were heartbroken and humiliated as to what he did and even more so when you learned he had been gearing up to break up with you the night he proposed, but only stopped when he realized that you wouldn’t be waiting for him, once his career settled.
He had been calling your house non-stop and sending his friends over all with the mission to coax you into talking to him. Worse still he even got your own friends in on it and now you can’t have a single conversation with any of them that doesn’t turn into them telling you how sorry he feels for hurting you and how he desperately wants you back. 
The only people, aside from his manager, that were happy at this development were your parents. They had liked him up until he started to really take off in his career, and they wanted none of the controversy, especially when it came to your squeaky clean, good girl image they had for you. 
They’ve been walking around with the smuggest “I told you so” looks ever since you announced that you were done with him. If only they knew their good girl had been sneaking in her boyfriend for the past three years and had a whole routine for doing so.
But the downside to this is that He was just as aware of the routine as you were. And despite it having been awhile he evidently remembered enough as he stood outside your window, right after all the lights in your house had gone out. 
“Get outta here,” you hiss at him, opening the window just a crack. “You’re gonna wake up my parents.”
“Baby I gotta talk to you,” he pleads, his face utterly heartbroken. Guilt eats at you, knowing how there were days you wished you could go back to not knowing at all. But then you get angry at not only him but yourself for these thoughts. 
If only all of your love for him had died the moment you found out, you would’ve had the strength to shut the window on him that night, and your life probably would’ve taken a very different course. 
But no, you’re hurt and you felt that you had to have the final word. “Talk to one a your other girls,” you say as you move to close your window but he beats you to it and ends up opening it wider, allowing for him to fully step into your space. 
“Get out,” you say severely. “Get out, or I’ll scream.” 
“Darlin’, please listen,” he begs.
“Don’tchu ‘baby’ ‘darlin’ me,” you whisper-yell. 
“I swear things’ll be different this time round,” he pleads, clasping his hands in yours. 
“I’m done with your nonsense, I want you outta my house and outta my life.” tears are already streaming down your face and you make no motion to wipe them away. If he’s gonna hurt you like this he deserves to know. 
He looks at you. Truly looks at you and sees that you’re dead serious about this, that for you there is no coming back from this. 
“Okay,” he says solemnly, looking down at you more defeated than you’ve ever seen him, unfelled tears doting his eyes, and his bottom lip trembling. 
That takes you by surprise, but you try not to show it. “Good,” you say, trying to stamp down the urge to be mad that he’s not fighting harder. There is a hurricane of emotions going through your entire being, hating him and loving him at the same time, but you recognize that you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being able to sort through said emotions while he’s here. 
“But…”
“But?” you say, confused as to what more there is to say. 
“Let me have you,” he begs breathlessly, stepping closer to you, boxing you into the wall behind you. “Just for tonight,” he clarifies as though that’s gonna make it better.
That offends you but you can’t afford to raise your voice so you hiss at him that it’s not as though you didn’t offer when he was here. “I ain’t ever gonna forgive myself for bein’ so stupid and steppin’ out on you, I-I thought I had more time, tha-that we’d got the rest of our lives together,” he says his voice painfully small, and his eyes pleading with you to agree. 
Your heart swells hearing his words, pleading with your brain to forgive him seeing how much pain the thought of never being with you again is causing the both of you. Another, unmentionable part is also hounding your brain to accept his offer if only for the fact that you had wanted this yourself for so long.
“If-If I do that…” you say in a low voice, your face burning as to what the both of you want but aren’t saying aloud. “Then you’ll leave and never come back?” though even as you say that you’re not exactly sure how you feel over that prospect.
“Just one night sweetheart,” he begs, giving you a quick desperate kiss to your lips. “One night to know what a life with you could’ve been like, and I’ll be outta yer hair forever,” he says with a quick peck to your lips. 
He makes it almost sound romantic, not like he’s quite literally backing you into a corner, and coaxing you into something you’re not sure you want just so that you would finally know peace from him. But that's far from your mind as that little bit of contact does something to you and it’s like opening the floodgates for all the feelings for him you’ve been trying to bury. 
It feels like you're transported to almost a year ago when, he would sneak his way back into your room after having said his goodbyes to your family and parking his car around the corner out of view. How you both move your blankets and pillows onto the floor to avoid the creaky springs of your mattress, how you both keep your voices low, and muffle most sounds with the pillows, how he kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his shirt before slowly undressing you, your body being treated like a present to unwrap. 
Like this it’s easy to forget what he did, easy to forget the pain he’s caused when he’s treating you so sweetly. Kissing every inch of skin, nipping at your sensitive skin every so often, before laving at the bruising area with his tongue. You bite down on your lip hard, willing yourself to keep a cap on the filthy moans and declarations of love alike. 
You had done things with him before but it had never felt quite like this. He had always been insistent that you wait until the wedding night for that, wanting to savor you and all you had to offer before the time came. Which made it feel all the worse when you did find out about those other girls. Your friends had tried to justify it by saying that he was just getting in some “practice” for you, but that hardly made it feel any better. 
But the way he touches you, so sure of his newfound skills, it’s almost easy to forgive him. He treats you almost deceptively sweet, and for as hard as you try to keep yourself quiet, you admittedly don’t do a great job at it. But you manage to keep a good enough lid on yourself. But as it goes on it feels like he himself forgets that he had to do the same, as moans and groans alike continue to escape from his mouth. 
That should’ve been your first clue that he was up to something, but by then as he continues to bury himself deeper and deeper into you, you can’t focus on much else. Had you been thinking straight you would remember he arguably has better control of himself than you do, as he often would tease you over it. 
But in the moment that’s not what you’re thinking about. All you had on your brain was him, and how good and right he felt.
If you could go back in time you think you would’ve strangled your younger, far more naive self, as now in retrospect it became clear what he was planning on doing. He had no qualms to exposing what you had done already with him if it meant merely getting a chance to talk to you, why wouldn’t he take the opportunity to go full scorched earth if given the chance. 
He continues his steady rhythm, and when he whispers in your ear, “It’s only ever gonna be you, darlin’,” you find yourself letting out a silent scream. Your eyes screwed shut, so lost in the pleasure of it all, you would only get the tail-end of the disdainful look he would give upon failing to get you to crack. 
Still you vividly remember how conflicted you did feel in the moment, how for all that it felt good, it also made your stomach turn, for all the hurt he’s caused you yet how deceptively sweet he could be to you. It just gave you a serious case of whiplash. 
But you were so focused on keeping as quiet as possible not even being able to fathom the heap of trouble you would be in should your parents ever find out. You could hardly fathom the agent of your destruction laid within you, but it wasn’t until it was too late did it truly click. 
That devious look he had in his eyes, the one that spoke nothing but trouble. The very same look that seemingly first trapped you all those years ago when you caught it staring at you from across the bookstore. He picked up his rhythm, not allowing for you to fully recover, from the last time, as he pistons into you seeking out release for himself.
You were so dizzy in that moment you didn’t register how he raised his hand onto your night table, before quickly slamming it three times into the wall. 
The very wall you shared with your parents. 
Even in the moment you didn’t fully recognize what he had just done, everything sort of blurring together. Before you can even hope to get your bearings, he’s spinning the both of you around so that you now were on top of him, his fingers digging bruises into your hips, as he thrusts back up into you, no longer trying to feign tenderness, as he seems to rip another climax from you as he lets an unrestrained groan fall from his lips, while your inner walls tighten around him. 
Even in your haze, you realize that this is bad, and you manage to gather yourself enough to slap your hand over his mouth, but that does little to muffle the singer. Especially as it seems as though he's hellbent to be heard. “What did you just do?” you ask unbelieving, frozen in fear even as you hear the muffled shouts of your father through the wall. You feel underneath your palm as his mouth curls into a grin, as he shudders and you feel his hot seed burn you from within. And that’s when you hear the powerful footfalls of your father burst out of his room before he slams open your bedroom door. 
You can only imagine the image you make at that moment, naked sitting astride the nearly fully clothed boy you had sworn up and down for weeks you were done for good with. “What in the hell is going on in here!” your father shouts at the top of his lungs.
Everything after that happens in a blur of your fathers harsh shouts and the sharp sting that comes from your mothers hand across your face as she calls you a whore. By the time it’s all said and done you’re on your knees at the front door begging them to let you back into the house. 
“Take her with you,” your daddy practically spat at him as he tossed you to your knees outside of what was once your home. “I didn’t raise no whores, and you seem to now be in the business a collectin’ them.” 
You can almost hear the sound of a rattlesnake as his arm coils around your shoulder, laying his jacket over your weeping form like a gentleman. “Don’tchu worry baby,” he whispers in your ear. 
He’s almost angelic in his appearance, playing the savior role well, having escaped your home relatively unscathed and in remarkably high-spirits for the situation. But you don’t have much of a choice in the moment, remembering Gina’s words of how easily this family will toss aside wayward women, but it never truly sunk in that you were liable to become one. 
He would tell everybody that your daddy had thrown you out after asserting that you still wanted to be with Him in spite of all of that he’s done, and your folks practically disowned you for it. You let him say what he wants because you don’t see a point in telling the truth and if you’re being honest, part of you wants to believe it. It was a far more romantic story than what had actually happened. 
As you’re coming down from your second and somehow less satisfying orgasm, does the guilt start to creep in. Even after all these years you still yearn for his touch. 
But that is so much easier to admit than the alternative of missing Him.
It eats at you that you still think of Him like this after all that he did to you, and worse still it’s almost like you want him to come back.
Your heart practically leaps out your chest when you hear a soft knock at the door and for one horrifying second you think you’ve somehow summoned him to you. 
“Mama…” you hear a small voice whimper behind the locked door, and you breathe a sigh of relief. “Mama, I threw up.”
You don’t know if it’s a consolidation of three different people telling you the same thing in one day, the culmination of your late night loneliness for the past four or so years, or the noxious fumes of the truly unholy combination of stomach acid, red beans, and Jelly Beans that you had to clean up in your sleep deprived state, but you come to the conclusion that you can no longer do this by yourself. 
Being a mother tended to be enough of a deterrent to most men in the city, which didn’t bother you one bit, but it did make you feel all the worse when you did meet the few who were still willing even after learning about Rosie. 
Sam or Lou may very well have been as nice and understanding as they seemed to be, but because of Him, you now look suspiciously at every man trying to get close. 
Perhaps the women in your life were onto something and it is about time for you to move on with your life. Because if you resolve yourself to being for all intents and purposes a shut-in who never knew another man’s touch other than His, then you ran for nothing. 
So it’s with a semi-defeated sigh that you tell Jenny the next morning to send over Lee’s friend to the shop while you’re working to “see how it goes.” 
You do admittedly put a little more effort into your appearance than you would on an average day and you perk up every time a man who looked close to your age walked in. But if any of them were sent by Jenny they didn’t mention it. 
You only ever had one boyfriend when you were a teen, so it feels more than a bit intimidating to go into this, but you can’t deny yourself a life anymore. 
Afterall if you don’t then you may as well have stayed in Memphis. 
The day goes by and of the few men that do enter the shop, of the few that seem interested in you, none of them knew who Jenny was.  
It’s well past closing and feeling both tired and rejected, however the bane of your existence you call Jenny has yet to return, so you instead just flip the sign without properly locking up and hope they’ll be back soon. This isn’t necessarily unusual but you’re just eager for this day to end and hope that a nice cuddle with your daughter will be enough to lift your spirits. 
But for now there are books that need to be out back.
Soon you finally hear the shop bell ring, but instead of the comforting tiny footsteps or the recognizable clack of Jenny’s heels, you instead hear an unfamiliar pattern of heavy footsteps over the low volume of the radio. You look between the shelves from where you’re stocking books in the back and while you can’t make out specific details you see what is undoubtedly the shape of a man standing at the counter. 
“I’m sorry Sir,” you announce still from behind the shelf. “We’re closed for the evening, but please feel free to return tomorrow.” 
“Oh I ain’t going anywhere sweetheart,” a voice drawls.
A voice you would recognize anywhere.
You think you begin to understand at that moment why some animals will chew off their own arms to escape a trap. After all, what is a limb or two in the face of inevitable doom? And even when they do eventually die, they will at least go with their head held high knowing that they did all that they could, because better dead than captured.
But you stand there frozen, barely capable of breathing at a steady rate. You feel like every drop of blood has been drained from your body. Like someone reached into your lungs and snatched the air right out of them. Like your bones have lost all integrity and you’re only kept standing by the mere fact you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. 
He is here. 
Elvis is here.
Not only that but the footsteps getting louder tell you he is getting closer. 
Fuck.
Your mind is going a million miles an hour to try to get out of this, but all of them fall flat when you remember your daughter is not here and if you were to run that would just leave her in his clutches. So rather than act on any plan, you walk out from behind the bookshelf, because there is no point fighting the inevitable. 
You’re hoping your look isn’t so much deer in the headlights and more awestruck and in disbelief that he found you. Which is true to some extent as you thought you had been so careful all these years, so all you can muster out when you see him for the first time is a pathetic little “h-how?”
Your hackles raise slightly as you see him reach behind him, and to your surprise he pulls out an old battered copy of Nancy Drew. You’re so confused for a second until you recognize it as yours. 
One of the many that Gina would send you periodically when you lived with your parents.
One of the many that had the name of this very store stamped to the inner cover. 
One of the many you took with you when you were kicked out.
One of the many left behind at Graceland. 
Fuck.
You want to kick yourself both for being so careless in your haste to leave, but you have no time for that as he says, “I ain’t as smart as you baby, but I figured out your breadcrumbs eventually.”
He thinks you wanted him to find you. 
Didn’tchu though?
“E-Elvis…” you whisper, the single name somehow feeling wrong as it comes out of your mouth. You’ve avoided even thinking about it all these years, as though if you try hard enough you’ll be able to purge him from your mind and thus from your life. As though simply uttering it will somehow summon him. 
That theory isn’t disproven as he, as usual, wastes no time in getting straight to what he came here for, his long legs carrying himself to you as he moves to engulf you within his arms. You stave off the immediate instinct of putting your hands up and allow this to happen, remembering what used to happen when you would deny him. 
He even goes so far as to spin you around, and you lose your footing and have to rely on him in order to not face plant onto the floor. But this works all the better to create the image of the long-lost lovers joyfully reuniting after so long. 
But as he gazes into your eyes, it isn’t fully complete until he leans down to capture your lips. You would like to say you had to force yourself not to flinch away, but even you would know you’re not that good of a liar.
It’s a kiss for the ages truly, both all-consuming and yet leaving you longing for more. The pitfall of having denied getting close to anyone these past few years now show themselves full-force as you on instinct lean full-force into his touch, and welcome his kiss, even fully knowing how precarious your situation is.  
All these years you never could’ve imagined how much you could miss touch- how much you could miss his touch. The kiss itself isn’t even broken until he roughly moves you against the bookshelf and forces his thigh between yours and your left gasping for air as you feel him for the first time. 
And you can’t help the little whine that leaves your lips before you gather yourself once more to look him in the eyes. 
“Did’ya miss me sweetheart?” he whispers against your lips. 
“I…” you say, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ve thought about you every night.” 
This is not a lie.
His fond expression doesn’t crack an inch as you say that, but before you can sigh an internal breath of relief, you feel a tight grip on your wrist as well as on your jaw.
“Then where’ve you been all these years,” he says, low and dangerous. 
It’s certainly not an unfair question to ask. But you’ve been prepared to answer this question since the moment you stepped foot outside of Graceland for a quick errand.
You don’t know what he knows yet, and that’s terrifying.   
“I…I…” you say in a quiet voice, all your years of preparation failing you when you needed it the most. 
In the back of your mind, though you are loath to admit it, you think you always knew this day was coming, that he would find you, and the only thing you could do was to try to lessen the blowback you would experience. It’s why yours and your daughter’s last name is Love. It’s why you never tried to get involved with another man. It’s why you even made that goddamn deal in the first place. 
“I’m going to disappear,” you say, casually taking a sip of your tea, not truly a fan of the taste, but lately it’s been one of the few things your sensitive stomach could handle. “And you’re gonna help me do that.” You couldn’t just ask anyone for help on this, you were surrounded only by sychophants who would do practically anything for Elvis, so you had to look elsewhere to the person whose only side he was on, was his own. 
“And why would I help you?” The Colonel said, idly stirring his coffee, but obviously trying to mask the spark of interest in his eyes. For as much of a slimeball as he can be, you would be a fool to not acknowledge that he’s a decent enough businessman at the end of the day to recognize  a good deal when he sees one. 
“Because you want me gone as much as I wanna be gone,” you state. He hated that Elvis kept you around, even more so when Elvis made it clear he had no intention of staying a bachelor once he finished service. 
Truly under any other circumstance he would be the last person in this house you would confide in, but though your desires were very different they did often run parallel. Something you realized when he talked Elvis out of eloping right before he got shipped out and into a long engagement. Truly the greatest boon you’ve been given since you’ve gotten here, the lack of recognizability or association with the rockstar will serve your purposes all the better.
“Can’t argue with that logic girl,” he says, taking a bite out of the muffins you had baked this morning as a peace offering to him. “Why do you even need my help?” he questions.
“Because I need someone to make sure that he doesn’t ever find me,” you declare, you had practiced this in your head so many times, too afraid to ever voice it aloud or write it down should any of it get back to him. Even an Ocean away you still feel his breath on the back of your neck, with the only safe place being inside your head. 
You had excused yourself from following him to Germany by feigning sickness with the promise that you would join him as soon as you felt better. Which wasn’t hard to do considering your symptoms before he left, left you practically bedridden.
Ever since you figured out your… condition (it felt too scary to even think in your head, let alone voice out loud), your mind had been running rampant with all of the possibilities of how he would react. None of which you're willing to risk coming to fruition. 
“And if I said No?” he asks, but from the look in his eyes he’s all but ready to pack your bags himself. Part of you feels guilty to leave the boy you once loved with such a man, but you have bigger things to worry about now. 
“You’re absolutely free to say no, Parker,” you assure, but he’s savvy enough to know that’s not the end of it. You don’t know whether it’s you mimicking the late Gladys Presley, or something that comes natural with becoming a mother, however you do know you need to assert yourself now of all times, not just for your sake but your baby’s. “Regardless of your help or not, I’m gonna to leave. Now whether I’m gone for twenty minutes or twenty years, will all depend on you, but know that this will also determine how long you’ll be able to keep your position as Manager.” 
He seems to bristle at your words, “And how do you figure dat Lil’ Miss?” he says with a dangerous look in his eyes as you seem to threaten the only thing he happens to care about. But once you do explain it he looks at you with no small amount of respect in his eyes as he mulls over your plan. “Quite devious,” he comments, literally tipping his hat at you. “I think I’m beginnin’ to get what he sees in you.” 
You're far from proud of your plan, and the slimeball’s admiration of it doesn’t help either, but you know for a fact it will work, and Parker is gonna make damn sure that he doesn’t ever find you. 
You made that plan practically bulletproof, but you never factored into account that you would choke in the moment that it truly matters. “Elvis I…” you trail off, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, clutching your hands on his shirt to keep yourself somewhat steady, trembling from the effort it takes to maintain that makeshift barrier. You’re either about to give the performance of a lifetime or… or…
No 
You can’t think like that otherwise…
This has to work. 
Your brain is going a million miles a minute, trying to remind yourself that you have to make this work if you have any hope of getting out of this without him ever having a chance of finding her.
But in real time you watch as this notion turns to ash in your mouth. 
You feel as your blood freezes in your veins when you hear the door slam open only to be followed by the familiar little dashing footsteps. Your heart drops into your stomach as you hear your daughter stop dead in her tracks and you want to throw up at the thought of him laying eyes on her. This is truly what all your nightmares have been building up to, but even they paled in comparison to the reality of what would actually happen. 
“Danny!!!” she squeals at the top of her lungs, before sprinting right into the arms of the man you were so desperately running from. You’re too shocked to do anything about it at the moment, and only watch in horror as something beyond your worst nightmare plays out before your very eyes. 
Even when your instincts kick in to keep her away from him, he casually moves your hands out of the way as he easily scoops her up and over his head, practically playing keep away as you try to take her back. “Is today the day!?!?” she squeals, wrapping her arms around his neck as best she could, giving him a kiss on the cheek, none the wiser at the danger the two of you were in.
“It sure is baby girl,” he says with a mile wide grin on his face. “Why don’tcha go pack everything you’re gonna need in Neverland?” You don’t miss the way his eyes slide your way, no doubt trying to gauge your reaction. 
She squeals in delight, as she jumps out of his arms and makes her way to the stairs, completely oblivious to your state. 
Everything your daughter ever said about “Danny” suddenly makes a whole lot more sense, and you can’t help but want to kick yourself for not paying attention. You thought she was safe with Jenny, you want to throw up at the thought that you unintentionally sent her into the lion's den without her.
She doesn’t even have the decency to face you in that moment, seeing her right outside the window, in Lee’s arms -or Charlie as you would later learn- pointedly not looking in. 
You don’t have the luxury of being mad as you feel his attention focus back on you in that moment. 
“Now…,” he says as he brings your face closer to his, tenderly grabbing your chin, wiping away a tear. “You wanna try again, sweetheart,” he grins maliciously, knowing you’ll have no choice but to be “honest.” 
And that’s it you have only one card left to play and you pray whatever forces that have written the story of your life will be merciful and let this plan work as you hoped it would all those years ago.
You fall to your knees and begin to sob uncontrollably into your palms. It’s actually easier than you had initially hoped, it in fact takes more effort not to cry when you think about him. It’s a miracle you’ve been able to stay this intelligible up to this point.
“Elvis,” you cry, trying to sound as pathetic and heartbroken as you possibly could. “Elvis I-I-I’m so sorry,” you stutter trying to really sell it. “He-he told me that you kn-knew and you didn’t want me anymore,” you hiccup for good measure. “Ho-how you couldn’t have a baby weighing you down, and that-that if I ever came back, he would make sure I would lose her for good.”
You start to hyperventilate, but it’s far from intentional, as you know your very life is at stake in this moment. If he doesn’t believe you… you can’t think like that. 
You know him well enough to know that he won’t believe your words specifically, but he does believe in the world he’s created in his head. That regardless of what you feel, what you say, or even what you do, you love him and want to be with him- always. It’s just others preventing that from happening. It was the women who tempted him on the road, and then it was your family speaking poison in your ear, and then it was the men he couldn’t trust to not look your way. It was never you personally, regardless of how he would sometimes lash out at you, you wanted to be there because he wanted you to be there. 
In the back of your mind when you had just barely begun to formulate leaving, you knew it would be foolish to believe there wasn’t a chance, no matter how slim, that he would find you. And you knew that it wouldn’t go without punishment should he ever find you should it ever occur. So you had to formulate a plan not just to leave, but how best to set yourself up if he ever returned. 
(There have been some nights that you lay awake believing that you prepared so well not because you were paranoid, but because it was an inevitability.)
You hear his clothes shift as he kneels down before you, and he takes your chin into his hand though much gentler this time. 
“Who’s ‘he’” he demands, voice as cold as a tomb. 
He’s buying it, you think, though you have no time to celebrate. You let out a truly pathetic little blubber through your tears, purposefully unintelligible trying to sell the emotions. 
“Who?” he asks, softer this time around, but no less urgent.
“The co-” you cut yourself off taking a deep steady breath. “The Colonel,” you whisper as though you fear speaking his name aloud will bring him to this very spot.
Parker’s far from innocent but you feel a slight twinge of guilt that his downfall would be for something he didn’t do as opposed to all the things he had done. But you can’t think like that anymore, it was gonna be either him or you. 
Someone would need to suffer because of what you did, and you would be damned before it was you or your daughter. 
And so Parker is now the villain who cruelly kept you and your daughter away from him, and not that you wanted so desperately to get away from him that you practically disappeared off the face of the Earth. But it seems like a fair trade. Parker loses his job, you lose your life. Maybe not in the literal sense, but in all the ways that matter you’ll be gone. 
You don’t relax at all when you feel him gently cup your face in his hands to softly wipe your tears away. You look upon the devastatingly handsome man, as he looks as if he means to take you in his arms to never let you go.“Don’tchu worry baby,” he says, wiping your tears away. “You don’t gotta worry bout that rat bastard no more.” You let out a small cry, hoping it sounds more out of relief than out of devastation to his words. “So now you and Rosie can come home,” he states with a delusional smile on his face. 
Despite the fact that you knew this would realistically end one of two ways, you can’t help but balk at the words. You try your best to smile at his words, but even you realize how hollow that gesture is, in spite of the part you know you’re meant to play in the moment, between the two of you, only one of you is an actor.
He’s having none of it as you feel the previously gentle hand cupping your face wrap around your throat. “Now. You. And. Rosie. Can. Come. Home.” he grits out, his grip around your neck tightening with each word emphasized. 
He knows what your answer is, no doubt he’s just trying to rub salt in the wound knowing that it’s not a choice he’s giving you. This is all the proof you need that he doesn’t fully believe you, but is willing to play along. Leaving may have been forgivable, staying away for so long is another matter entirely. 
He’s just punishing you for not being as enthusiastic as you should be at the prospect of coming “home,” as you should be.
You’re not playing pretend well enough.
“Mama!” Rosie squeals excitedly and when he lets go, you turn to see her making her way back downstairs, her favorite blanket now a makeshift rucksack of what you assume to be all toys dragging behind her. “Mama it worked!” she said, as she ran full tilt toward you, holding something in her palm. “Danny’s gonna take us to Neverland today.”
You see the little porcelain baby from the king cake and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere else. But you know better than to believe in wishes.
“Can we go now?” she says, her little hand grasping one of Elvis’ fingers and shaking furiously. “Now please,” she begs, before he scoops her up into his arms and propping her on his hip. He holds her close and you're forced to face what you have been ignoring all these years. The shape of the nose, the way her lips curl in such a specific way, there is only one place she could have gotten all of that from. It feels like just your luck that your child would be practically a carbon copy of the man you so desperately tried to get away from. Really it was only a matter of time before someone figured it out. 
“Now hold ya’ horses yittle,” chucking her under the chin in a far too familiar manner, as she giggles in his arms. “Yer mama’s gotta get ready herself.”
“I… do…” you say, playing along, trying to keep a cap on your distress for your daughter's sake. “I-I gotta pack a few more things baby,” you say, giving her a kiss on her forehead, hoping she misses the tears in your eyes. “I’ll b-be right back.” you manage to stutter out.
“Don’t worry sweetheart,” his voice so saccharine sweet it makes our teeth ache. “We’ll be right here.” 
As you turn around you feel a hard smack on your ass, and you fully stop, burning in humiliation that he would treat you like that, especially in front of your daughter. 
The humiliation only further ramps up as you walk up the stairs, and you can feel the slick already gathering between your thighs. Less out of titillation you believe and more out of a defense mechanism, knowing what will more than likely happen the second he's able to get you alone.
Or is it?
It doesn’t feel real as you step into the upstairs apartment, you see Gina at the stove and Sue filling out a crossword puzzle, her glasses threatening to fall off her nose, none of which suggests they have any idea of what’s going on downstairs. You’re almost angry about that, like it would’ve been easier to walk away from them if they had also been in on it as well. 
“Where’s Rosie so eager to rush off to?” Sue asks idly, not looking up from the paper.
“Oh ummm…” you say, trying to think on your feet for a decent enough lie. “ Sh-she’s going to a sleepover with-with Jenny.” 
You’re usually a better liar than this, but him being so close again has you all out of sorts tonight. Not to mention your mind is running rampant with all the worst case scenarios possible at the moment with the most egregious being that he’s gonna take her and run, forcing you to chase him down the same way he’s undoubtedly done for you these past few years. You’re practically feeling every second tick by, fearing the longer you take the greater the chances will be that they’re both gone. 
Is that how he felt when he was away from you? A small voice in your head asks. It’s an awful roiling feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how it would feel if the person you loved most wasn’t where you left them. Would he be so cruel to do that to you?
“Did that fella Jenny setchu up with ever show up?” Gina asks, wiping her hands on her apron. 
“Ye-yeah and… and I’m gonna get dinner with him,” you swallow, the lie tasting like bile in your mouth. As you turn to your room, already mentally mapping where the important documents were in your bedroom, preparing to pack a few outfits for Rosie, and whatever other odds and ends you would need. 
Your answer catches Gina off guard, and Sue immediately looks up from the paper sharing a look with your other Aunt. “Ain’t that a little fast, Hon?” 
“Maybe…” you say, hesitating as you try to hold back your tears. 
“Ya don’t gotta go if you ain’t ready for it,” Sue says behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder, that you flinch away from. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong If it’s still a little too early for you.” 
That’s the worst part about it. You know they would fight tooth and nail for both you and Rosie if you just asked. But you know the type of mess Elvis can and will bring into this house should you decide to fight him on this. After all they’ve done for you, keeping them out of the type of spectacle he brings is the least you can do.
“I have to go,” you say sternly. 
One look at your squared back shoulders and your far away look they know there’s no stopping this. You hold back your tears as you accept their hug and accept their well wishes. You say your goodbyes promising to be back soon, unsure if you will ever see them again, and you put on your biggest fakest smile as you let go of them, wanting to at least leave them with one happy memory.
Relief floods your entire being seeing her at the bottom of the steps, only for the dread to return seeing him there with her. Especially when you hear the story he’s telling her. You don’t miss the glance he steals your way before focusing on your daughter once again. “I thought to myself, ‘thas the girl whose gonna be mine.’”
“Like-like love at first sight,” Rosie asks, and you can practically hear the stars in her eyes.
“Exactly yittle,” he drawls out. “Took her awhile to figure it out though but she learned eventually. Now we’re all gonna go home.” His eyes slide right off her and cut directly to you. Her eyes follow him and she quickly scurries off of him to reach you. 
“You ready Mama?” she asks you as she takes you by the hand leading you to the door where you see a car parked right out front.  It may as well have been a hearse in your mind. 
You pick her up and you look down the darkened streets and you briefly flirt with the idea of just sprinting and never looking back. But the hand on your elbow guiding you to the car puts a halt to those thoughts. 
You still don’t know how much of your story he does actually believe, so you sit yourself down in the car without so much as a fuss and resolve yourself to your fate. Though that doesn’t stop you from seating yourself in the middle and placing Rosie by the window, as you still aren’t totally out of the mindset of keeping her as far away from him as possible. Neither of them seem to mind as she eagerly presses tiny hands up to the glass in awe of the nightlife of New Orleans, while he slithers an arm over your shoulder bringing you closer to him. 
As you contemplate what your life will look like from now on, you pass by so many places you’ve become familiar with these last four years, but what nearly breaks you are the unfamiliar places. Record stores, movie theaters, restaurants, and so many other places you avoided all due to an irrational belief that he would somehow be there. You did your best to limit your time in the outside world to only when you absolutely had to be out. 
Maybe that’s why you were so willing to trust Jenny and her altruistic generosity to watch over your daughter and take her places you were too anxious to venture to. 
You caged yourself into your new seemingly better life, but you didn't live at all. You were hiding. Always so afraid that he would somehow find you, you neglected to live. You put yourself in a different cage and convinced yourself you were free. 
“Mama? Mama, why are you crying?” your sweet little girl asks. 
But you’re gonna do what you’ve always done for your daughter. What you’ve always done when it comes to Elvis. You’re going to play pretend. 
“Mama’s just so happy we’re going baby,” you say with a solemn kiss to her forehead as his grip further tightens on your shoulder. 
“I know what’ll cheer you up!” she declares and completely unaware of the salt she’s about to pour on your wounds, she pulls something out of her little rucksack. “Danny, do you know the story of ‘Punzel?”
“Can’t say that I do darlin’” he says, eyeing you over her head. She sets the Grimm fairy tale book down on her lap and opens it to the worn pages she’s seemed to memorize by heart. She proceeds to read to the both of you, in the sense that she recites the story she’s heard maybe half-a-million times before word-for-word, going off pictures more than the actual words on the page to know where she’s at in the story. You try your best to focus on the book for your daughter's sake, but it’s nearly impossible to do when you feel Elvis' familiar bruising grip on your inner thigh. 
You shoot him a look and grab a hold of his wandering hand, trying to signal for him to stop and pay attention to Rosie. He gives a mirthful smile to you as he feels the slick there and seemingly tightens his grip in retribution, as though he wants to get a head start on re-establishing his claim over you. You in response bite your cheek and bear it, until at one point it nearly becomes too much and one lone tear rolls down your cheek and onto the page of the prince wandering blindly through the forest.  
Your daughter is far too sweet for her own good, as she notices this and gives you a gentle pat on your cheek, trying to comfort you the same you’ve done for her before. 
“Don’t worry Mama,” she reassures you, mirroring what you’ve done for her when a story gets her a little too worked up. “They always live happy ever after.”
You give a shuddering sigh as Elvis finally let’s go of your thigh. You clutch onto that little porcelain figure in your pocket and hope she’s right.
You make it to Memphis in record time, Rosie having long since tired herself out, is wrapped securely in your arms, but you’ll find no suh peace with his arm coiled around your shoulder as he sadistically whispers how Rosie’ll have a blast meeting the rest of his family while the two of you get “reacquainted,” of course he used more colorful language but you don’t want to have to think about that for right now. 
When the familiar gates come into view 
“Ahh, my baby missed home that bad,” he whispers, giving a deceptively sweet kiss to your tear-stricken cheek. “Why don’tcha hand the ‘lil one over to me and you just head up to bed and get ready for me?”
Despite the questioning lilt in his tone you know for a fact he’s not asking. And so going against all of your instincts screaming in your head, you let go of your daughter and watch as he takes a hold of her. To your relief she’s at the very least on the same floor as you, but you can only hope that she, at the very least, will sleep through the rest of the night, because you doubt he’ll let you out even a minute sooner than he has to. 
The bedroom has changed in many ways since you’ve been gone, though the most striking thing  was how your side of the bed looks as though it were converted into a little shrine for you. Small baubles and trinkets you left behind on the stand, you even find an old nightgown of yours on your side of the bed, the last thing he ever saw you in. It doesn’t fit you like it used to, having and breastfeeding a baby will do that to you, but you put it on all the same knowing he will want to see you in it. 
Looking at yourself in the mirror, seeing your breasts straining against the silk material and the bruises peeking out beneath the scandalously short hemline, it really does settle in that this was all inevitable. This is the very same image you saw the night before he left for Germany.
The same image that confirmed your decision to leave in the first place. 
This moment, feels like the dread you always felt when getting to the last few pages of a book. As things were wrapping up and you would have to face the harsh reality of your situation...
You’re back in the fucking hotel room.
You won’t even have the luxury of daydreaming of your escape, because there is no world where you leave without Rosie, and he knows that. He knows she’s the reason you ran, and knows that without her you’re never gonna run again. That’s why he went to the lengths he did to endear himself to her first before you ever had an inkling as to what was going on. 
Your thoughts turn to Jenny, and how you entrusted what you loved the most to her, only to have her spit in your face by turning around practically handing her over to him on a platter. Either she knew that he was her father and didn’t bother to question why you were so desperate to get away that you faked a whole other life, or she didn’t and handed over your daughter to a stranger. You don’t know which is worse. 
You also can’t forget how she was perhaps the most vehement about you dating again, which you can’t even begin to understand if she was working for him the whole time. But you can’t put it above him that he wouldn’t have Jenny push the issue if only to further twist the knife if you ever did take up her offer. As though to remind you that you never had a chance of moving on. 
Because it always goes back to him.
You want to hide from it all and you give into the urge, and crawl under the silky sheets of the bed, for all the good it will do to protect you. 
Monsters don’t hide under your bed. They crawl into it. Those are your last conscious thoughts as you feel the bed shift 
“Welcome home Satnin,” he whispers before you feel the sheets being ripped away from you.
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Text
If Only...
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Pairing: Austin!Elvis x Reader, OR Elvis x Reader
Summary - When Elvis runs into you at a charity benefit, he can't control his resurgence of feelings, and he begins to wonder where it all went wrong? Why were you the one that got away?
Warnings - Mentioned nudity imagination in Elvis' memory, arguments, yelling, throwing things, swearing, written with you/your point of view but a name is assigned to "you" as June (I don't like using y/n, it makes more sense to me to put an actual name)
WC - 2.2K
Author's Note: This is a requested piece that I had an awfully good time writing, enjoyed it so much. Feel free to send in more requests!
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"Elvis?"
The sound of your voice was a strangely familiar one. It had a bit of an unknown aspect to it, but he could hear the familiarity. Normally he might think it was a fan, but the way you said his name had been with such comfortability. Most fans can hardly keep their words together due to their tongue practically falling out of their mouth.
He turned his head away from the group of men gathered around the little bar at the event.
And there you were, June. Little Junie. His little Junebug. Well, not so little anymore as your baby fat dissipated from your sweet cheeks, though they were still supple and apple-like.
"Junebug?"
You smiled and put your arms out to hug him, and strangely enough, he, the man who always reeked of a suave and smooth nature, felt starstruck. No, you weren't some superstar to the world, but there was a time when you were the brightest star in his. You were his girl-next-door, well to be more realistic you were his girl-in-the-next-neighborhood. His suburban sweetheart.
His arms were hesitant at first to wrap around you, but as he smelled the familiar scent of the shampoo you often used, he relaxed into the hug. Pulling back to just stare at you incredulously, like you were a ghost.
Yes, many years had passed, and you both had your respective lives to live and dreams to chase, but as he looked you up and down as if he were measuring up how much taller you'd grown in the way he used to do every summer, he remembered those warm summer nights. He envisioned the mornings that followed and went without breath as he did so.
The way the morning summer sun filtered in through the window of your bedroom, sunlight dancing along your bare arms. Its warmth caressed your body with a softness that he had been using the night before. And when the summer breeze would drift into the room, and the covers didn't quite cover your chest, he noticed the way your nipples arose sensitively, just as they had the night before when it was he who sent chills up your spine.
You always were a looker, but on those summer mornings, he felt you were at your most beautiful. Sure your hair fell messily like hay due to the actions that took place the night before, but even that was beautiful.
At least to him.
"Elvis?"
Elvis focused back in on the sight of you, the you now. The you who looked up at him with calm eyes, much unlike those wide bright ones of the past that stared in admiration at the older boy who showed you attention. As strange as it was to say, although he had gone on to be one of the world's stars, the way you looked at him now was as if you two were on the same playing field. Even though you had to physically look up to him, he could tell that you no longer mentally looked up to him.
Your voice cut in again,
"It's nice seeing you"
He gave you one last up and down before sighing with a smile,
"It's good to see you too Junebug, you've really…"
He was at a loss for words on how to describe you, but you cut him off, referencing the obvious,
"Filled out? Yep, no more 'droopy drawers',"
Elvis couldn't help his smile at the nickname he used to call you when you two were kids and all the other girls were beginning to blossom, being the jerk of a boy he was, he would tease you for being a late bloomer, you'd gotten to an age where you were to start wearing a bra, it was poorly fitted and would droop because it had nothing to hold.
Elvis's smile remained small as he shook his head, his voice then came out soft and genuine,
"No, Junebug, I meant, you've grown to be a beautiful woman"
You returned his statement with a bit of a surprised smile. Elvis had always been playful and teasing, it was very rare you heard a genuine heartfelt compliment. It was sweet to hear, and it showed you that you had both grown in your own ways.
"Well thank you Elvis, and please, call me June," you laughed the last part, "We're not kids anymore, so I feel silly hearing that��"
Elvis' smile looked a little crestfallen at your words, but it remained. His next words fell from his mouth with a tenderness to them,
"But you'll always be my little Junebug"
After those words Elvis got a sense of deja vu, the tender tone of his words, his wording, it brought him back to the last time the two of you had seen each other.
It was a little after your graduation, at the time he'd been 19 years old, still a truck driver. To him, you had this nonsensical idea that you'd go off to college and keep in touch. He never wanted to leave Memphis, and he didn't want to leave his Mama and Daddy behind either, but he also couldn't do long-distance. So it came down to a matter of him making a choice.
That was an awful argument…
He remembered the ending, the two of you had been arguing for over an hour, it was right before you were about to go on a trip to tour a few colleges with your Daddy. He'd slammed his hand onto your dresser and yelled,
"Now Honey, I-I don't know why you're so insistent on this whole college thing, it-it's ridiculous!"
You stared at him with fury, and walked closer to him, saying as quietly as you could,
"Elvis Aaron Presley, I know you did not slam your fist on my dresser while my little brother is sleeping in the other room."
Elvis had practically grown up with you, and your mom was a woman he respected so he'd never usually do something so rude and disruptive in her house. But as you were packing your things to go tour colleges, the betrayal he felt made him think "To hell with it all".
"I did, and I'll do it again if I have to. You're not goin'."
"Yes I am! We can still send mail and telegrams, and have telephone calls-"
Elvis interrupted viciously,
"It's not about that!"
You sent him a glare and put your hands on your hips, questioning with thunder in your voice, "Oh really what is it about? You don't want me to get an education? Don't want me to be able to take care of myself?"
He bellowed,
"You shouldn't have to take care of yourself!! That's what the fuck I'm here for Baby! That's what these-"
He roughly grabbed your hand placing a finger on the promise ring he gave you and holding up his hand with his promise ring.
"-are for"
You stared at him with a foreign gaze for a moment, your voice was a whisper, but he heard you loud and clear, "But, I don't want that… I want to be part of making our future together, I don't want you to be the only one putting in the work… I don't want that at all" You closed your little suitcase as you spoke.
He licked his inner lip in unspoken anger and hummed lowly with a nod, coming to his own conclusions as he paced backward. He went from a whisper to a yell as he asked,
"Ya don't want that… Or do ya not want me?!!"
Your eyes went wide as he paced back over and picked your suitcase back up, throwing it somewhere behind him, but you hadn't locked the latch so as he did clothes flew out this way and that. As the suitcase crashed into your dresser, it caused the dresser to shake and a few little bits of glass decor to topple over, one falling off the dresser and shattering onto the floor.
With the shattering of that glass, you felt the shattering of your heart as you realized this wasn't the life you wanted.
You walked over to the glass that was sprawled along the wood floor, then you kneeled carefully in your little blue dress to caress your clothing that was now carelessly spread along the floor. As you felt tears build in your eyes and let out a sniffle you could hear his angry huffing begin to calm down.
As you assessed the damaged glass and the mess of clothes you began to hear his shoes click against the wood flooring, but before he got to you, likely to apologize, you dismissed him with a croaky voice,
"Leave Elvis."
"Junie, now, I'm-"
You turned your head only slightly, not wanting him to see the sad contortions of your face, just enough for him to see the corner of your cheek, you then repeated,
"Leave Elvis… Please…"
He stopped and stared at your form on the floor, you looked so small and crumpled, just as your clothes were. He sighed and shook his head, he felt himself get mad again from you not accepting his comfort, so before he stormed out, he grumbled,
"When ya come to your senses you know where to find me, and when ya finally do, I don't want to hear a word about this college nonsense."
Before he could leave he heard a clink-clink, and as he turned around he realized it was the sound of your promise ring hitting the door and landing on the floor. Your voice was eerily calm, much unlike the shrill screaming matches you had with him, ones that you often would kiss and make up for not even a day later.
"You don't have to worry about it, 'cause I'm not coming to find you, Elvis, not anymore. You can have your ring. I'm done."
He felt a pang of hurt in his chest at the sight of the ring and the sound of your words. He didn't fully believe you truthfully, but he humored your words, picking up the ring and rubbing it between his fingers.
"Fine, this is it then, but it's your fucking ring. I didn't buy it for myself."
He waited for you to turn around, and give him a rebuttal because you always had to have the last word. But you didn't. And that made him nervous. So in a final attempt to ease you, he spoke in a quiet tone,
"And if this is w-what you're really gonna choose, college over me, then maybe we're better off. But, you'll always be my Junebug…"
With those words he left, you were out of each other's lives. Until now.
"Elvis?"
This time it wasn't your voice that brought him back to reality, instead, it was the warmth of your palm on his cheek and the concern in your eyes.
"Honey, is something wrong? You keep losing focus"
He swallowed thickly at the nickname, and at the concern and care you've shown in that small gesture, it was as if you were the older one now.
You took your hand back with a laugh, "Ah, sorry, it's instinct these days" He quirked his head to the side, "These days?" You smiled, "Ah yes, I forgot, Tommy! Michael!"
Elvis followed where your eyes were as you called out the names and two kids appeared to be running toward the two of you from the desert table, one had chocolate smears all over his face, and you tsked at the sight, bending down slightly to lick your thumb and wipe it off.
Elvis stared blankly at the two kids who looked completely alike and looked to be no older than 5-years-old. He heard you mumble fondly as you cleaned one of the boys' faces, "Oh Tommy dear…"
After cleaning the boy up you put your left hand on Tommy's head and your right hand on Michael's head, then introduced,
"These are my boys, Tommy and Michael, they're twins. I've got a little girl too, Mary-Ann, she's only a few months old so I left her with the sitter tonight. Boys, this is Elvis, I knew him in high school"
'Knew', was enough to make Elvis' stomach churn. And the whole idea of you having kids, kids with another man, that had sent his stomach on a rollercoaster. But before you could go into further conversation, before Elvis could properly introduce himself, a man called your name, and as you heard it your head turned away from Elvis to the direction.
You clarified, "Ah, that's my husband, Richard…", you then looked down to the kids, "Boys, go tell Daddy I'll be there in a moment", and obediently the boys skipped off to wherever that voice was coming from.
Elvis was too busy processing it all to comment. Here you were with a husband and kids, seemingly happy, whereas Elvis had a couple of girlfriends on call and a group of guys who only had their best interests in mind.
Even though he was older, he felt as though you had outgrown him. He wanted to say so much, he wanted to catch up with you. But he knew if he did, he would just let all his feelings spill out. And you didn't need that, not when you're happy with the life you chose.
You smiled an almost bittersweet smile, your hands gestured behind you as you spoke, "Well, I gotta go now, Richard needs me, but, it was great seeing you, Elvis. I mean it."
You held his hand gently and as he held yours he could only mumble quietly, "Yeah, same to you Junebu-"
He corrected himself, but he didn't like the unfamiliarity and almost formality of the name,
"June."
With that, you smiled one last smile, and your hands slowly drifted out of his, and then you disappeared into the crowd.
And once again the two of you were out of each other's lives.
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Text
Only You Darling, Only You Babe || Austin Butler x Fem!Reader
Summary: You, an actress not quite as famous as your boyfriend Austin, get to tag along to nearly all event he had to attend after his biggest movie yet, Elvis, released. Women are all over him, begging for a chance to talk to him, to touch him, to feel him. The little voice in your head keeps telling you they’re so pretty, better than you - what do you have that they don’t?
Warnings: Smut - Y’ALL MINORS BETTER GET TF OUT, feel free to enjoy my SFW fics, though 🥰 angst at the beginning, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all), creampie, light body worshipping, oral (f receiving), some slight jealousy, nothing too bad, I haven’t written smut in over a year help-
Words: plus-minus 3100
Part 2
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"So... How do I look?"
You were standing in front of the mirror in your shared closet room with Austin, your boyfriend. You've been together for a little over a year, and you moved in with him only few months ago. You were head over heels for him, who wouldn't be? You were lucky to meet him through your agent who got you a minor background role in Elvis, and even though you were on the set for about a week and interacted with him on screen only once, he got quickly and comically deeply infatuated with you. He asked for your number on your last day of filming and took you out as soon as he got back to the States.
There were more highs than lows, thank goodness. He still looked at you with soft eyes, just taking in your features silently every now and then while holding you close. At least he was… until the award season began. Austin attended every single award show you could possibly think of and dream of being nominated at, winning awards left and right. It was a busy and nerve-wracking time for him, and you tried your best to be as supporting of him as possible - cheering for him when his name was announced as the winner or comforting him whenever he lost - you tagged along to every show and every after-party as well.
Outside, he held you by your waist while you stood in front of the photographers of various sites on the red carpet, thanked you in every speech he’s given after every win he deserved, gave you a quick peck when you both parted ways at the after-parties to talk to various people.
At home, whenever he was home (which was not often this month), he got quieter, much more tired and reserved than before. He spent much more time on his phone and didn’t tend to you the way he used to. Occasional pet names weren’t enough to reassure your overthinking self of his undying love for you. You missed the way his hands had to be on you all the time, the way he stole you away to just lay on the couch with you, his head on your chest and his hands under your shirt, the way he couldn’t get enough after one, two, three kisses. The way he whispered sweet nothings into your ear every morning after waking up, every night just before you drifted off to sleep, every time you came down from your high after he fucked all your morality, all your manners and all your rationality out of you.
Now, you were preparing for another award show and another after-party.
“You always look good, hun.” He didn’t even look over to you, your velvet-clad figure and your exposed neck and fingers covered in the finest gold you had.
He’s just nervous. Just nervous. It’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna get him back… hopefully.
You remained quiet for most of the time. The show was a blur - except those moments when your boyfriend accepted yet another tiny golden sculpture marking his success. He kissed your cheek and your lips every time he got back to your table, and for a brief moment you forgot all about the way you’ve been feeling that evening. At the after-party, you both parted ways like usual - your goal was to look for new contacts, his to talk about his movie and relax with his friends and colleagues.
You caught a glimpse of him about half an hour later - he was talking and laughing with a tall, ginger girl, just a bit older than you. Austin’s chest was rumbling, and his eyes were shining. He licked his lips and nodded at nearly every second word the girl said, his wide smile wasn’t ever leaving his lips. Your fists clenched on themselves, your chest heaved. You knew the girl he was talking to, she was on a roll in the world of acting and modelling for the past 3 years - guys wanted to be with her and girls wanted to be her. You talked to her once or twice - she was so funny, so smart, so beautiful and on the top of it all - genuinely humble and polite about it all.
You tried to be like her.
You tried to be better.
Better than yourself.
You need to get out.
You grabbed your coat and walked out of the house briskly, passing by your friends and coworkers. You were on the verge of tears and didn't want anyone to see you crying, not at an event like this.
"Fuck, fuck this, no, I can't," you sobbed and leaned on the wall outside. You were standing at the entrance, far away from everyone in the back.
What were you doing here? Did you even deserve to be here?
No, no you don't. You're not as talented as they are. You'll never be as pretty and beautiful as they are, you'll never carry yourself with such a poise, you'll never tell as many good jokes as they do, and you'll never be on the same level. You'll never be worthy enough to share the same air to breathe.
The voices in your head were winning, screaming at you from every single angle, every single direction, and you let them. It must've been true - although you've been acting for a long time, you haven't gotten your big break yet. Austin was with you for a few months now and was nowhere as affectionate as he was before, he must've gotten bored with you. What would be next? Is he going to break up with you, kick you out of his house?
You officially broke down, sitting down on the stairs and hiding your face in your hands. You sobbed, our breathing hitched multiple times. You looked up to the sky, at your feet and when you looked up again, he was there. Standing above you with an expression of a worried mother, hurrying to get his hands on you.
“Baby, no, what happened?” Austin cooed and gently took your hands in his to get a proper look on your face. One of his palms cupped your cheek and thumbed away the crocodile tears streaming down your face. “Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? Why didn’t you look for me, babygirl?”
His tone was so soothing, so gentle and caring, you didn’t want to believe he was talking to you directly.
You were just holding him back, maybe you should leave, let him have his fun here with his friends.
You shook your head and turned it away from him. When he opened his arms to embrace you, your arms folded close around your body, not letting him in.
“Tell me what’ wrong, Y/N. If you don’t, I won’t be able to help you.” His voice was stern, and his grip on your arm tightened a bit. “Should we go home?”
“I can go by myself,” you said with your head hung low, standing up and stumbling forward a bit. If it wasn’t for your boyfriend who caught you and let you lean on him for a brief second, you would be kissing the hard cold ground by now.
“I drove us here.”
“I’ll call an Uber or something.”
“Y/N-“
“Go back, Austin,” you shook him off, since he didn’t want to let go of you. “Go back to them. To her…” you murmured the last part, pretty confident in the belief that he didn’t hear you.
“What-“ Before he couldn finish his sentence, you were out of the gates, on the street, taking sunglasses out of your purse and setting them on your eyes - who cares it was after 10 in the night, you wouldn’t let nosy papparazzis and prying eyes catch you slipping in public.
“Fuck me and my life in the ass with a big pink dildo,” you sighed when you picked up your phone to find out it was dead. You got a couple of dollars left in your purse, so, old-fashioned way of calling a taxi it is.
Although, it isn’t. Were you invisible? Were the taxi drivers ignoring you on purpose? None of them were stopping at your side of the pavement.
Okay, a little walk never hurt anybody, you thought to yourself. The high heels on your feet burned your skin and stabbed into the muscles of your heels, the cold December night air reddened your cheeks. You desperately tried to hide your hands into the small pockets and your face into the collar of your coat; God, it was freezing outside. Your hair was soaked from all the snow falling on your head, your lashes as well, and that made it so much more easier for your tears to fall, for your vision to get blurry and for broken sobs to leave your lips.
“Y/N! Honey, stop! Get in the car!” you heard a deep husky voice yell from behind you. You stopped for a nanosecond, but picked up your pace right away. “Y/N, you’re gonna freeze! Get in the car!” Austin drove down along the road, keeping up with you. A line of cars formed behind him, each of them honking relentlessly.
“Why are you here, Austin?” you scoffed.
“Because I’m worried about you!”
When he didn’t get any answer from you, he sighed, put the car to a halt, jumped out and ran after you, engulfing you in his thick long coat. “Baby, I don’t understand, I- please, just, just get into the car. I’m begging you, darlin’. I don’t know what- please,” he sobbed out of pure frustration. “Please come home with me.”
You were cold, surely about to wake up with a fever and a sore throat tomorrow. Without uttering a single word, you entered his Jaguar, melting into the heated seat. The road home was quiet; Austin didn’t know if it was a good idea to touch you, speak with you, even.
The moment you closed the door of your house behind you, he took off the coats of your shoulders and took your hands in his, taking a long, deep breath, fighting the frustration Y/N, please, please tell me what happened. Because I swear, to all that is holy to me, I have no idea.”
“You know what, I - I had enough,” you clenched your teeth. “It’s, it’s you, Austin! And that bitch you were talking to!”
His brows furrowed. “Amanda? We’re just friends!”
“ Then why, why the fuck are you so, so… distant?! You barely talk to me anymore, you hide things from me!” you screamed with your fists clenched, as you broke free from his touch. “You’re never home! You don’t even…” that’s when the anger let its mask fall down, and you began choking on your own tears, tripping over your own words. “You don’t even hug me anymore, or have sex with me! It’s been weeks, Austin, weeks!”
And suddenly, Austin understood. He understood it all. His eyes were closed, his lips formed a thin line. The silence between you too was nowhere awkward, but rather… freeing, at least for you.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I’m so, so sorry.”
You were speechless, standing there with your mouth slightly open.
He reached out for your hands again, then your shoulders. He sniffled. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want you to feel that way. Ever. Not with me. I swear,” he pulled away quickly and grabbed your face gently, “i swear, I would never cheat on you. If I made you think I did, then I apologise. You are my only girl, my best girl, I’m sorry that I let ya think otherwise.” His arms wrapped around your still shivering body, squeezing it tightly. You welcomed his warmth this time.
“My darlin’, my baby,” he carressed your hair, pushing your head into the crook of his neck. “My only love. There’s no one better than you. I wouldn’t ever want anybody else.” He leaned down a bit to kiss your cheek, and down your neck. Slowly, his hands crept down to catch onto your thighs, and pick you up with ease. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist.
"Let me show you how much I love you, how much I adore you," he mumbled into your hear, kissing and nibbing gently on your earlobe while walking slowly towards your bedroom.
He nudged the door open with his foot, never stopping to caress your thighs, kiss your temples, your cheek, all over your face.
He took his time taking off your clothes, leaving you in your underwear, kissing every single inch of your skin, always pulling you closer to him, but wasted none of it taking his shirt and pants off, together with his boxers.
"My beautiful girl," he whimpered against the skin of your chest, trailing down towards your heat. He held your thighs just a bit apart - "Can I?"
You nodded. He pulled your lace panties down, throwing them behind. Your inner thighs were covered in his butterfly kisses and future bite marks, your lower lips in your slick.
He dove in like a thirsty, starving man, like a gourmet in the bliss of finding a new dish to try. You threw your head back; all those voices you heard before were dead silent now - your head was full of Austin. With your eyes open or closed, you saw nothing but him, the room around you disappeared, the heavy motors and gears of passing cars faded out, everything quieted down, except for the nasty, filthy sounds coming from between your legs.
You pulled on Austin's hair and he moaned into your pussy, the vibration making you whimper and moan louder than your body initially intended. He circled his tongue around your clit, toying with it, sucking on it. He pushed two fingers into you without a warning and your body jolted at the light and surprising stretch. It has been a little over a month since the last time you two danced so passionately between the sheets.
"Sorry, hun' - gotta stretch you out for me, gotta have your tight little pussy all good and ready for me," he cooed. "Abandoned it for a little too long."
His long digits pumped into you slowly, then a bit faster, then ruthlessly. When your thighs started trembling, and your back arched, he pulled his fingers out of you and his tongue moved a few inches lower, crept into your tight hole and his nose gently nudged into your clit. His own whimpers got louder, and you managed to open your eyes just for a little moment, to see him grinding his hips into the blanket - he must've been close to his own release like you. Imagining his leaking, red and twitching cock pushing into you right this second hitched your breathing.
"Aust- Aus-" your chest heaved. "I'm gonna cum, Aus- I want you in me-"
"I'm gonn' fill - fuck, shit, good God - I'mma fill you up baby, don't worry, gonn' make you so full of me, gonn' make ya feel so good-"
His heavy accent pushed you over the edge and opened your mouth in a silent scream.
It took you a solid minute to come back down from your high, to open your eyes and meet his piercing blue ones. They were dark, and his gaze was sharper than the deadliest dagger. His nose, his swollen, red lips and his chin were glistening in your juices. You immediatelly took a mental picture of the image before you - he was the most gorgeous man you've ever seen, and you doubted that it would change in this lifetime.
Never breaking the eye-contact, he licked his fingers clean, and moaned at the taste of them.
"Fuck," he groaned. "Fuckin' makes me want more, and more... I could never get enough of you." He crawled on the top of you to cover your neck in more kisses than before, focusing on the places that made you quiver and weak in the knees. He took off your bra with a professional ease, fondled your breasts, sucked on your nipples and came back to your eye level.
"Ready, honey?"
"Please."
He slid the leaking tip inside of you, and when you scrunched your nose, he waited for a bit. Moving inch by inch, he kissed down your cheeks and stroked your sides. "That's it baby, you're takin' me so well."
When he bottomed out, he started moving, faster and faster. Your moans, his groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your pussy was unholy, straight out of a porno.
He kissed you on the lips, licking your bottom lip for you to let him in, and you did. Your body was still limp from your first orgasm, and he was more than happy to do all the work, while you firmly held onto his biceps and shoulders. He picked you up quickly and effortlesly, stopping his movements for a while, but only to fold his legs under you and have you sit on his lap, while he thrusted up into you. This new angle rolled your eyes all the way into the back of your head. Your chest fell into his, your face into the crook of his neck. Your hips rolled into him themselves and when his dick hit that special right spot inside you, you screamed out his name. His cock twitched inside you.
"I couldn't ever fuck anybody else the way I fuck you," he moaned. "You fit me so well, like you were made for me-" his thrusts hardened, "-and I was made for you. Only you darlin', only you babe."
You leaned a few inches away from him to look him into the eyes. You finally understood what it meant to look at somebody with 'heart eyes', which is what he did.
"I love you," you blunted out without a second thought.
"I love you so fuckin' much, Y/N," he sobbed. "So, so much."
You were both crying, but it were happy tears. He wiped yours away when your foreheads touched. Your sobs soon turned into moans again, and he leaned back on one of his arms, hugging your body closer to his with the other one.
"Aus, Aus-"
"Come on honey, cum on my cock," he cooed into your ear. "Give me all of it."
White. White was all you could see. You screamed out, your body tensed up and the walls around Austin's cock spasmed. The warm feeling of his load painting your insides sent you even higher, high enough to see stars and lose yourself in the ecstasy of him.
You don't know how much time passed until you were laid back down onto the sheets with Austin collapsed on your chest with his cock still buried deep inside you. He waited for you to move, anyhow, to come back to him.
You eventually raised your head, and your breathing slowed down.
"Hi baby," he smiled softly and ran his thumb over your cheek.
"Hi," you smiled coyly.
"I'm sorry, for everything."
"You are forgiven, hun," you caught his wrist to hold it in place and kissed his palm gently. He suddenly pulled out and you whined at the emptiness.
Without any words, he picked up his shirt and wiped at your swollen core, covered in his load spilling out of you. Once he discarded it, he pulled you close to him again. "I... Fuck it. Honey, I... I wanted it to be a surprise, but I can’t wait any longer.” He sat up, and you did too, full of concern. He reached under the bed, pulling out a small bag by the straps ans pulling out a little velvet box. Your mouth fell agape, your eyes watered.
He opened it to reveal a simple silver ring with a shiny diamond set on the top. “Darlin’… I wanted to do this for a while now. I’ve been preparing this big ol’ surprise with a cheesy setting and a corny speech, that’s why I was away all the time. That’s why I haven’t talked to you as much, ‘cause if I would, I would accidentally tell ya that I’m gonna make you my forever, gonna give ya all of me for the rest of the time, because there is no future without you in my life, by my side. But there will never be a better time than now, so… Y/N, love… will you make me the happiest man in the universe… and marry me?”
Part 2
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angelinajoulie · 1 year
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At his mercy.
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Rating: 18+ MDNI. You read at your own risk.
Pairing: dom!Austin Butler x shy!girlfriend!reader
Summary: Austin fucks you in his ‘The late late show’ suit.
Warnings: NSFW. SMUT. this is PURE FILTH; age gap; austin is definitely a DOM in this (you can't tell me otherwise); swearing; pet names; fingers sucking; oral (m receiving); size kink; praise kink; austin referring to himself as daddy (just twice); unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it); creampie; cockwarming (sorta??).
a/n: English is not my first language, this is the first time I’ve written from Italian to English and after two months of writing and translating this work I really don't know what came out, so please forgive any mistake✨ leave a comment down here and let me know what you think✨
Enjoy!
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It's late at night, the lights outside are already out, and the street lamps are the only ones left to light the wet road while everything around is sleeping and waiting for a new day to come. Not a sound, not a noise is bothering the atmosphere outside except for the sweet rustles of trees on the street as a black Range Rover nears the driveway.
Shortly after, the sudden noise of a door opening makes you skip a beat, taking you off-guard and waking you from your sleep. He is back.
Your eyelids open slowly and you instinctively look at the alarm on the nightstand. 1:30 am.
"As usual," you think.
It takes you a little to realize that you fell asleep too early and didn't wait awake for him— as you always do, but you had a very stressful day at college and you couldn't help yourself to give in to the comfy bed beneath you.
So you decide to wait for him to make his way into the bedroom before you can close your eyes again.
You hear him from upstairs while he tosses the keys on the side table at the entrance, then a series of muffled noises follow.
And then, again, silence.
You feel your eyes getting heavy and you know that you'll fall asleep soon. But not without him.
And noticing he's still not gone upstairs yet you decide to get down to him.
You rise from the bed and a breath of wind wraps around your shoulders as soon as the blanket leaves your body, leading you to wear your white satin robe before going downstairs.
Your bare feet meet every cold step unnoticeably, the high temperature difference between the two floors causing you to shrug.
You're searching for him, your eyes are looking at every corner of the living room while waiting to catch his figure until your feet finally touch the ground.
You see him.
Standing in front of the cupboard against the wall, bottle in his hand as he pours himself a large glass of whiskey.
Austin.
He is wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit from Prada that perfectly matches his blue eyes, the jacket left open to reveal a black mesh shirt, half undone and barely covering his toned, tanned chest.
It suits him heavenly.
His eyes look up to meet yours as soon as he feels your presence.
“Hey” he murmurs in a low and raspy voice.
“Hi” you respond and get closer to him, trying to greet him properly.
Seeing you lean in he puts the bottle back in its place and in no time you feel his arm around your waist. Austin lowers his head for his lips to meet yours in a chaste and tender kiss, the first one after an entire day away from each other.
Your hand travels up his spine, reaching the nape of his neck and starting caressing it, your fingers sneaking between his hair gently as you hold yourself closer to his chest. His body is so warm against yours, his warmth filling your heart completely and making you feel safe in the tight grip of his strong arms.
You’ve missed him so much.
The last period has been very exhausting for him, every day passes between interviews, photoshoots and premieres and he's terribly busy, and considering that you too have your things to do with college and all, you're both forced to be apart from each other. But despite all of this, you always try to do your best to support him, following him at the events when possible or watching him on TV, waiting for him until he gets home— like you should've done today too.
Soon your lips move away with a tiny 'pop' and your eyes meet, a shy smile appearing on both of your faces.
“How was your day?” you ask, breaking the silence.
“Great, just a lil tiring” he sighs, caressing your hip gently “have you seen the show?”
You nod without hesitation.
“Of course I did,” a sense of pride overwhelms you seeing him smile slightly at your obviousness “just for you.”
“Really?” he grins, pretending to be surprised as his eyes look down at yours and you nod again.
“Yeah”
“Good girl” he places two of his fingers under your chin, lifting it up for your lips to meet his again in a quick kiss before he pulls away from you and takes the full glass of whiskey in his hand.
You shudder thinking about the pet name.
Good girl...
“And what about you? How was college today?”
Your gaze never leaves him, following each one of his movements while he reaches the couch and takes a seat between the black leather cushions. A shiver runs down your spine, stopping right on your lower stomach. Your mind gets fuzzy, distracting you from his question.
Legs wide apart, broad shoulders resting on the back of the sofa, his right hand on his knee and thigh as the left one brings the edge of the glass towards his mouth, needing a sip. The bitter and yellowish liquid runs down his throat, and his eyes shut just for a second until he swallows it, licking his plump lips after.
You feel yourself throb around nothing at the sight of him manspreading, and your thighs instantly rub together at the thought of every single time you've seen him doing that same thing: eyes closed, lips and tongue wet— not from whiskey.
You don't know why, you don't even know how to explain it to yourself, but seeing him like this sparked something inside you since you saw him on ‘The Late Late Show’ tonight. Something able to keep your mouth shut and your eyes glued to him.
He looks so confident. So dominant. So powerful. Right now, he could move mountains at his pleasure just by lifting a finger if he only wanted to.
And that damn suit... God, you want to sit on his lap so bad.
You'd do it immediately if only you weren't so shy to stand still at your place, merely biting at your lower lip while fantasizing about the mighty man in front of you, a gesture so simple but not enough to go unnoticed— not to him. Not to Austin.
His icy eyes linger on you again and this is the exact moment where you come back to reality and blush.
“What's up?” your awkwardness leads you to open your mouth and talk before you can remember a very important detail.
You still haven't answered his question.
“I asked you” he emphasizes, his tone sharp and deep as he takes in another sip and his tongue runs over his lips to wipe them more slowly and languidly than before, never taking his eyes off of yours “how was college today, angel?”
A mischievous grin appears on his face, the name that always knew how to make your stomach twirl makes you understand everything.
You got caught.
“G-good...” you stutter, coughing slightly as your cheeks are on fire for both arousal and embarrassment in front of that one clear consciousness.
You have a lot on your mind at the moment, a thousand thoughts are running through your head and Austin can read every single one of them.
And you know that he can, you know that he knows what you're thinking about.
Austin knows everything about you.
Because he knows you too well.
He can see from a mile away that something inside you snapped. Your body language is enough to let him know what you want and what you need.
He's tired, the only thing he needs at the moment is to finish his drink, take his clothes off and go to sleep with you, but seeing you wearing nothing but that white silk robe that barely covers your thighs as you bashfully bite your lip, thinking about all the shameless things you want him to do to you, is enough to drive him crazy too.
Because he'll never get enough of you.
He lifts his right hand and two of his fingers gesture you to get close.
“C'mere” his order is like liquid gold for you. You walk towards him without blinking, reaching the couch, stepping in front of him as if you've been waiting to all day.
Austin quickly swallows the last drop of whiskey, leaving the now empty glass on the table before grabbing your wrist and putting you between his spread legs.
His fingers manage to undo the tight bow of your robe, taking it off of you to reveal a lovely black satin nightie under it, one of the many he bought you to make up for the many others he ripped off of your body: soft to the touch, lightweight, with thin stripes and lace hems, short enough to leave your ass exposed.
No doubt that it's his favorite one. You're a goddess in it.
His forefinger traces a line up your thigh and reaches the hem of your nightie, your cheeks reddening as soon as he lifts it up, giving you goosebumps.
Austin feels his cock throb in his pants at the sight.
You aren't wearing panties. As he wished.
“No panties, mh?” you shook your head no, feeling the heat starting to pool right on your bare center and your heart pounding in your chest.
You feel so exposed under his touch, so weak, so small, so vulnerable at the feeling of your skin burning under his lingering hot gaze. Your body is completely at his mercy, poorly covered by that tiny piece of fabric while Austin still has his suit on, fully clothed from head to toe, looking at you like an uncompromising master who's thinking about the right treat for his good submissive. And in the darkest and deepest part of yourself, you're loving it.
You love that he always wants to be in control. You love being controlled by him.
At the moment you just want to follow his rules, please him, worship him, be punished if needed, because you want to be a good girl for him and him only.
“Get on your knees, angel.” and when his order comes, you can do nothing more than obey.
Your knees fall to the floor with a soft thud, hands anchored on his thick thighs as you're face to face with his crotch.
Austin's fingers are under your chin again, a gentle reminder for you to pull your gaze up to his face, forcing you to look straight into his eyes.
His baby blues are darkened, filled with craving and lust as they meet your shy and innocent ones waiting for mercy, for him to choose their fate and what is better for them.
Like an angel at God's feet.
“You're such a good little girl for me, you know this?” his voice gets deeper enough to make you feel soaked as he tucks your hair behind your ear.
“So submissive” he praises you in a whisper, his calloused digits moving to caress your cheek, allowing you to surrender to his touch by resting your head on his thigh.
“So responsive” the intense feeling of the cold gold of his rings hits your warm skin and your spine tingles.
His voice is so soft, yet so firm while he praises you that a weak moan leaves your parted lips, Austin taking advantage of it to shove two of his long fingers in your mouth. You know what to do so you embrace them with no hesitation and start sucking, wrapping your lips and tongue around his knuckles as the metallic taste grows strong in your mouth.
“So greedy...”
You are a vision to him, you look so tempting that his hand falls on his crotch to palm himself, his growing erection begging to be freed from his slacks and swallowed up by your throat.
“Bet your pretty little head's just thinking about one thing since I came home, doesn't it?” you nod frantically, his wet digits still in your mouth before he retracts them.
“Use your words.” authority drips from his tone and you sigh.
“Y-yes...” not enough.
“Yes what, angel?” your head lowers again in front of his request but he holds you still in place, grabbing your jaw “Look at me”
“I...” words get stuck in your throat, too shy to let them slip out easily.
“C'mon, don't be shy. Wanna hear you say it” he spurs “what's on your mind?”
Your heart keeps pounding as never before, and at this point, you don't even know how but you say it.
“I want your cock.”
“And where do you want it, angel?” he smirks as he adjusts himself between the cushions, your thighs clenching together to hide the wetness between them.
You love everything about him and the thing you love most is that he's able to read your mind without talking, but right now it seems like he has forgotten about this ability of his own. And you're hating him for this.
Because you know he's doing it on purpose.
He wants to hear your voice.
He wants to hear you beg.
He wants to hear your innocent mouth tell him the dirty things you want from him, the things he knows that make you feel all small and weak.
For this reason you swallow thickly, and gasping with your heart on your sleeve, you answer.
“In m-my mouth.”
“Then take it.” his words are the only green light you needed to put your shyness aside and leave room for the actions you're going to do in silence.
You reach the fly of his trousers with both hands, unzipping it and slipping between the black fabric of his briefs, freeing his cock.
You take it in your hand, he's already hard as it springs free against his stomach, the contact of your fingers against his weak flesh making him gasp.
You feel him. Long, warm and veiny, the tip already reddened and leaking with precum.
Your mouth waters at the sight. You need to make him feel good so bad.
You sit better on your own thighs, adjusting yourself to avoid the feeling of your knees pressing against the carpet before running your hand along his shaft.
Your strokes are slow and gentle, your fingers applying a small amount of pressure, making him breathe heavily.
“Angel...” he's so eager to feel you, the way his hips are bucking up to meet your strokes is silently proving it. So you decide to indulge him.
You lean forward and your lips start kissing his length from the base to the tip. You tease his slit with your thumb before starting to leave kitten licks on his head, feeling his salty taste exploding on your taste buds.
“Mmm, little one...” a deep groan falls from his lips and goes straight to your soaked center, making you shudder in your place “I love feeling your mouth on my cock...”
He seems so much weaker than before, and a strong sense of power washes over you.
“Fuck...” he swears, adjusting the blonde locks falling on his forehead.
The sensation of your warm mouth around his girth already sending him into a state of pure bliss “I'm not going to last long”.
You take a deep breath through your nose and start sucking, slowly moving your head up and down his cock as far as you can, trying your best to please him. His hand ends behind your head, his fingers holding you close to him as he'd never let you go.
“Yes, baby” he grunts “you feel so good”
Arousal is growing more and more inside of you, your pussy getting wetter as juices start flowing out of you because of hearing him moan.
You feel so bold right now, a sense of euphoria takes over you all of a sudden and makes you grind uncontrollably, searching for friction to ease the ache between your thighs while your head bobs faster around him.
“Yes, just like that, keep going baby...” you do as you're told. You keep sucking, and Austin's grip between your hair tightens.
The cool metal of his rings presses against the nape of your neck, his knuckles turning white and his protruding veins popping out as he applies more pressure to guide your hips at his own pace, making you feel trapped under his grip— under his control.
Right now you're the one giving him pleasure but it doesn't matter. He'll always know how to control you and be in charge.
Your throat is becoming sore and dry, some locks are covering your sweaty forehead and falling on his pubic bone as little tears are forming at the corners of your eyes.
You're a complete mess.
“My pretty little angel- shit, I'm going to fuck your pussy so good” his promise hits you right at your core and a choked moan escapes from your lips, the vibration is so intense against the head of his cock that he jerks frantically.
“Oh god!” his eyebrows furrow, his tight grip around your neck forces you to swallow more of him until he's hitting the back of your throat.
You can't take it anymore. You pull away from him, your fingers never stopping to rub his cock. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you breathe feverishly, searching for air to fill your lungs but Austin is quicker than any move you can make and leans toward your lips.
“Wanna cum inside you.” he tugs you into his mouth hungrily and you moan in both surprise and excitement. You are both panting at the same pace, his tongue slides into your wide-open mouth starting a steamy make-out session where your lips crash between grunts and bite each other without mercy.
Austin moves both his hands on your covered back and you sit up to climb on top of him. Your legs surround his thick thighs and your hands run everywhere on his sweaty chest and around his neck.
“I love you” he breathes on your lips, between heated kisses “so much”
“I love you too, Aus- ah!” his throbbing cock pushes against your soaked folds, making you gasp and jolt. The thrill is too much, you're so desperate that you start grinding against him, searching for friction to stop the hundreds of shocks running down your spine and hitting your womanhood repeatedly.
Your skin burns under his touch. You want him. You need him. You crave him.
And he knows it.
His hand stops on your asscheek, underneath the fabric of your nightie as his teeth keep biting your bottom lip voraciously, his fingers squeezing your flesh before grasping the hem of your nightie.
Austin takes it off of you and tosses it to the side.
Now you're fully naked on his lap, your breasts are pressed against his half-covered chest and your stomach shakes at the sensation of being so exposed while he's overdressed.
He leans forward a bit enough to bring his hands behind his back and take off his jacket.
“No!” your voice leaves your throat in a worried shriek, bringing out a primal emotion hidden in the deepest part of you.
Austin halts and looks you in the eyes, urging you to give him reasons. You blush.
You can't run away.
“L-leave it on...” you swallow thickly, hair falling on your face, hiding your awkwardness from him. Right now you're ashamed to death for this implied confession and his silence is not helping to ease your feeling.
He simply keeps staring at you, with those damned eyes that know how to make you melt, and without saying a word he kisses you again.
His tongue hungrily pushes itself into your mouth, giving you goosebumps as his fingers slide down straight between your folds, coating in your juices.
Now he can feel it.
“Fuck, you're dripping” his touch is so slight and lasts only for a moment, making you moan against his lips "all this wet just for sucking daddy's cock and seeing him in this suit, mh?"
“Please, Aus...”
“Who knew a stupid suit would make my little girl so eager?”
You don't answer and your shyness seems to no longer exist.
You just keep grinding against him, more desperate than ever while his tip rubs against your throbbing clit; he grasps his cock with his hand, adjusting himself on the couch and lining up with your slit, teasing it as your heart aches in eagerness and you can do nothing more than keep begging him shamelessly.
Hearing you beg is making him crazy, he swears he could stand still for hours only to hear you beg with your tear-filled eyes, but right now he just wants you too much to do it.
“Please, I need you”
You don't need to say anything else. His tip pushes inside your cunt and right after he grips your waist forcefully. His entire length slides inside you slowly, your mouth curving in a perfect 'o' from which nothing comes out as you pull away from his lips. Your breath hitches as he makes you sink onto him until you feel his pubic bone hitting against your swollen clit.
You're stuck, unable to breathe. You squeeze your eyes shout and cry out.
“Oh!” you feel so full. Full of him.
He gives you a few seconds to get used to his presence inside you and a heavy breath releases from his chest.
“Shit, you're so tight” he curses under his breath, bottom lip between his sparkling teeth and eyes closed for pleasure.
And then he starts guiding you onto him and you let yourself get carried by his hands, feeble like jelly as you meet his thrusts, moving slowly, moaning weakly.
“Aus” you whimper, each one of your moves against him only stretching you open more.
“Shh angel, you can handle it” he coos softly in your ear, leaving sweet kisses behind your lobe, helping you to ease the pain.
Your thighs are trembling as they wrap around his and your fingers slide between his blonde locks, trying to hold him closer than ever.
From this position, you can feel him completely. Every inch, curve, vein, and single part of him is inside you to the brim and is filling you perfectly with a combination of pain and pleasure that only Austin can give you.
You open your eyes and look at him. He's already staring at you and now your gazes lock together, making you both feel more connected with your soul than just your bodies and skin.
Your breaths mingle, your lips only a few inches distant from each other and ready to touch again with each thrust.
“You're taking me so well” he murmurs.
His forehead is sweaty, his lips are plump and red like yours, his jaw clenching as he watches you fall apart on his cock and babble something in response before moaning, struggling to take him.
You feel that familiar coil growing in you, your walls clench around his girth and you feel the base of your stomach burn every time his tip caresses your cervix.
It's too much for you. You stop, ready to surrender to his touch, but Austin holds you in place.
“Ah-ah. Stay still, pretty girl.” his fingers force you to sit straight, impaling you more and more on his cock.
“I-i can't...”
“C'mon little one, don't be a brat” he warns you as he starts guiding your hips again, with slow but intense strokes, the stimulation leading a whine to escape your lips before you stop again.
“Hmmph... t-too much...” you babble, it's the only thing you're barely able to say. You can't even talk.
It's so good, you just wish you had the strength to ride him faster but his cock's hitting you so deep you swear you could die in his arms.
Suddenly something draws his attention and forces him to look down.
You feel his hand press on your belly and you gasp in surprise. So you lower your head as well and see the outline of his cock poking out of your stomach.
The vision makes his cock twitch and your walls squeeze around him. He's in your guts.
“God, you look so hot like this” his gaze is burning on your skin, and you can say he definitely loves the sight in front of him. His pupils are dilated, and his breath is getting heavier. He's addicted “Small, desperate, and full of my cock”
You moan hard, turned on by his words and seeing how much he's going deep inside you with every stroke.
“‘s so deep inside you, uh?” he mocks you, his thumb rubbing your tummy as your eyes meet each other again.
“Y-yes! S-so deep” hearing your voice cracked and desperate leads him to one conclusion.
“Think you need daddy's help” suddenly his grip on your flesh tightens and with no warning he pushes you down onto him brutally, slamming his cock into you, bucking his hips upwards to start thrusting deeper, harder.
In a matter of seconds, your nails dig into the back of his hands and you scream, tilting your head back in pleasure.
“Aus- oh, god!” you moan louder, your mouth wide open as ecstasy takes over you, leading you to shake uncontrollably against his hips, making him grunt and moan.
“Keep moving, angel, don't stop...” he whispers as you try to follow his orders as far as your body permits you.
His cock is buried in you, he is fucking you so good you're barely able to move properly.
“Yes, just like that, baby, you're so good” his words keep hitting at your core, only spurring you to push yourself to your own limits as he starts leaving wet kisses on your throat “My good girl...”
"Please, please, please!" the fire inside you is ready to burst, your peak is getting closer and you want more.
“You wanna cum, angel?”
“Yes, yes please, n-need to cum!” hot tears start streaming down your cheeks and you moan again, again and again, scratching his hands and leaving bruises on his knuckles.
Everything seems to be so intense. Sweat is soaking your bodies, immersing you both in a hot-as-hell shower. The wet sound of bones and skins slapping floods your ears, your juices flowing down your thighs ruining the fine fabric of his expensive trousers.
You're so close and so is he. You feel in heaven.
“Then cum baby, cum around my cock” his voice shakes you inside, his tip hits that sweet spot in you and your vision goes blurry.
“Austin!” you cry out, your throat rips apart for the strength of your climax. Your orgasm washes over you and you convulse, the shocks running through your body are too strong and leave you powerless as you collapse on his chest.
“Fucking god” soon a growl of satisfaction slips from his throat, and his abdomen tightens underneath you. His grip loosens, thick ropes of his white cum spill inside you and paint your walls, making you shiver.
The room is now filled with silence, interrupted every now and then by the racing breaths escaping from both of your lungs.
You're exhausted.
“You did so good, angel, so good” he starts caressing your head gently, his praises warming your heart as you try to recover from the passionate fuck you two just had, but before you can say anything he picks you up and gets off the couch.
You whimper in surprise, finding the strenght to tie your legs and arms around the soft fabric of his suit as Austin's cock is still hard inside you.
“Let's go t' bed, baby” he announces, a wicked grin crossing his face “Wanna see how deep I can fill this pussy if I let you ride me on the mattress”
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a/n: okay sooo… what do you think? would you like to read anything else? i got five or six ideas to write in my drafts already 👀
Tag-list: @pennyroyalcreep @bcofl0ve @houndogsblog @gigisworldsstuff @emmaolsen @cryingabtab @slowsweetlove @fuckhoes1123 @cchl @auranightangle @spirited-away-to-mandalore @donnamarie23 @ab4eva @dancer4j @kibumslatina @denised916 @faeolwen @alqvarde @lilmisswoo93 @oldermenluverrr @eliseinmemphis @purejasmine @lillypink @sournatromanoff @lukedorkyhemmings @claudia-barnes @bo-burnhxm @lilac-presley @onlyangelssing @amorx
(the tag list is OPEN, comment down here if you wanna be added!)
3K notes · View notes
buckyysdoll · 8 months
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— 𝟓𝟎𝐬! 𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬; 𝐡𝐜𝐬 —
જ⁀➴ — • summary: just little romantic hcs <3; • a/n: i wanna write for my lovee, so i’m starting with this <33 • cw: none? elvis being sweet as sugar, is all ❤︎︎
MAIN MASTERLIST
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• buries his face in the crook of your neck, seeking comfort in the scent of your skin
• toys with your hair and winds it round each of his fingers, just adores its sweet softness
• plays with your rings and fingers, and brings your hand to his mouth for a kiss
• sits with a hand on the inside of your thigh and rubs slow circles there with his thumb
• has a hand on the small of your back, or curved round your waist when you’re standing and talking; even more so in public, when surrounded by crowds — as you get used to being as he rises in fame
• hugs you from behind and kisses your neck until you just can’t think straight
• does that, and whispers sweet things in your ear that have you blushing as he just smirks against you, and now you’re decidedly not concentrating on your other conversation — can only feel him
• opens his arms/pats his lap for you to come and sit on it, and then holds you by the waist
• just needs your closeness, is so touchy and affectionate with you — just you, always you. cos after all you’re his girl, and he wants everyone else to know it — and how can’t they, when you’re just like one person? when you’re practically attached at the hip?
• you sit on the counter of his dressing room, and elvis frames his hands on either side of your thighs. he leans like that until he’s almost standing flush against your front, and you wrap your legs round his waist. you kiss and kiss and kiss
• even though he’s meant to be on stage in — goddamn, less than a minute? you bet your ass he can’t think past the feel of your lips on his own
• stands and rubs his hands down your arms to your elbows in soft, soothing strokes — it comforts you both, those sweet little touches, and it’s just like a grounding assurance
• presses soft kisses all over your face, just adoring how you react — letting out little laughs and trying to swat at him, though the last thing you’d ever want is for him to stop
• tucks your hair behind your ear and presses a kiss to your temple or forehead
• without him needing to ask, you straighten the collar or tie of his suit. he can’t take his eyes off you when you do this, something so goddamn simple yet intimate, too.
• you always sitting in the PRESLEY chair on his movie sets while he’s out doing takes; watching him work from your spot, having cute candid photos taken of your subtle claim as his girl <3
• and why not? it’s your last name, too. or at least it will be, if it isn’t quite yet <3
• wearing his suit jacket over your shirt while he wears the rest of the set, and being photographed backstage with you standing with your arms held around his waist from behind. he turns his head — with that smile — to look at you while he’s still talking with someone, and the photo that’s taken shows his attention isn’t on them anymore, it’s just wholly on you <3
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venus-haze · 2 years
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If I Were You (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)
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Summary: Elvis takes up Priscilla’s offer to go to rehab for Lisa, and decides to take the steps to break from the Colonel personally and professionally. Elvis is referred to you, a Memphis-based therapist who specializes in helping patients work through codependent or otherwise unhealthy relationships. While he ultimately hopes his turning his life around will give him a better chance of reconciliation with Priscilla, the level of emotional intimacy you allow him in the context of your sessions makes him redirect his attention to you.
Note: This is based on an anonymous request. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. I appreciated having an excuse to rewatch some of my favorite Sopranos episodes because I got a lot of inspiration from seasons 1 and 5. It’s more dialogue heavy than my other fics because of the therapy sessions. I’m not a psychiatrist and nothing in this fic should be treated as legitimate advice regarding mental health, please refer to licensed professionals for that. Look at the warnings before deciding whether or not you want to read this fic because it’s extremely dark. Do not interact with my blog or my posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinpso content.
Word count: 6.5k
Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail, obsessive and manipulative behavior, and abuse of power, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. The therapy session scenes involve discussions of codependency in relation to parenting and relationships as well as self-blame, death, and drug and alcohol abuse. Explicit sexual content which involves force and coercion and brief daddy kink. Elvis’ mommy issues. Do not interact if you are under 18.
Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (all other parts by @crash-and-cure)
When you received a phone call from Dr. Wilson, one of your colleagues who worked at a rehabilitation facility in San Diego, asking if you were taking new patients, you hadn’t thought much of it when you answered that you were. He elaborated that while the patient was doing well in rehab, he thought he could benefit from continued therapy sessions, particularly because of your specialization and proximity to the patient’s home in Memphis. He informed you that he’d reveal more information about the patient and provide you with the clinical notes he’d taken throughout rehab once he received the patient’s agreement and approval to begin seeing you.
A few days later, you got the follow up call. The patient was interested in being treated by you and had given Dr. Wilson permission to send you copies of the clinical notes. He finally revealed who your Memphis-based patient would be—Elvis Presley. You nearly dropped the phone when he told you. Him going to rehab made sense, his drug and alcohol-fueled antics on stage frequently made entertainment headlines, but you certainly hadn’t expected that he’d need the specialized therapy that you offered. 
Elvis still had two weeks left in the rehabilitation program, and you’d receive the clinical notes before then to get an idea of what Dr. Wilson had already addressed with him. When you received the packet at your office’s mailbox, marked with a large ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamp on it, you almost hesitated. While aware of his career, you weren’t a huge fan of Elvis’, so that wouldn’t pose a conflict of interest, but you wondered if you could truly be impartial and fair toward a man whose existence permeated almost every aspect of American popular culture. 
From what Dr. Wilson had said, Elvis needed help, not as a rockstar but as a man. You were one of less than forty therapists in the country who specialized in helping patients break down codependent relationships. Your office wasn’t far from Graceland at all, ensuring Elvis wouldn’t have to go out of his way for regular therapy sessions. 
Finally opening the packet, you were faced with a manila file folder with Elvis’ full name and birthdate printed on the tab. You grabbed your notebook, preparing to write what was relevant for the sessions, but the more you read, it seemed like everything was relevant. A deceased overbearing mother whom Elvis revered as a saint, a manager who exploited his career for decades, and an ex-wife who was burdened with being the man’s stand-in mother and therapist from an alarmingly young age. 
You sat back in your chair, exhaling deeply to ground yourself. Taking on Elvis Presley as a client would not be easy, that much was obvious. Most of your clients didn’t have webs as intricately woven as he did, as much to unpack and consider as Elvis. Yet, from the notes, he wanted help. He wanted to change. He didn’t want his daughter Lisa to grow up without a father, but he also wanted a career and a life that he could finally be in control of, where he could be sure of who to trust. 
On a Friday afternoon, when you were in between appointments, your phone rang. You answered, resisting the urge to gasp when you heard who was on the other line, despite expecting his call.
“Hello, is Dr. Y/L/N there?” Elvis asked.
“Speaking,” you answered.
“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “Dr. Wilson didn’t mention you were a woman.”
“Is that a problem, Mr. Presley? Because I can refer you to another specialist—“
“No, that’s fine. I just thought you were a secretary or somethin’—no offense.”
“None taken,” you said. 
The two of you discussed what his goals for therapy were, and that he wanted to attend twice a week, which was how often he was seeing Dr. Wilson while he was in rehab. Many people were hesitant about therapy since it had an unwarranted stigma attached to it, but you supposed the group therapy and personal sessions in San Diego had proved its effectiveness to him. You agreed to schedule appointments for Monday and Thursday afternoons at 4:30pm and leave the service door to the building unlocked for him, so he could come in at the end of the work day and not have to worry about passersby and other patients seeing him there and causing unwanted attention. 
The conversation was short yet pleasant, but if you were being honest, you hadn’t been so nervous about taking on a patient since you first opened your own practice. You had tried to reason with yourself, that he was just a man seeking help like all of your other patients. None of your other patients, however, were Elvis Presley. You managed to calm yourself down the day of his first session, focusing on the other patients you had scheduled. 
He arrived fifteen minutes early the day of his first appointment, a non-issue as you had made sure the session before his was wrapped up by four, giving him a window of time to arrive while the office was empty. You took a deep breath before opening the door to the waiting room from your office, and found him staring at a painting on the wall. He turned to you, giving you one of the most dazzling smiles you’d ever seen in your life.
You greeted him with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Presley, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Same here, Dr. Y/L/N,” he said, shaking your hand.
“Follow me, and take a seat anywhere you like,” you said, leading him into your office and closing the door behind you.
“Is this some kinda test? You can tell something ‘bout me by which one I pick?” he asked half-jokingly.
You laughed. “No, no, it’s just that we’re going to be sitting for an hour, so I want you to be comfortable.”
He sat in the armchair in front of the bookcase, rather than the one in front of your desk. You grabbed your notebook and sat down across from him. The two chairs were nearly identical anyway, so it didn’t make that big of a difference where either of you sat. Taking a moment to study him, you couldn’t help but acknowledge to yourself how good he looked. You always thought Elvis was a handsome man, but post-rehab, he seemed to be glowing in a way that seemed almost youthful. After allowing yourself to ogle your new patient, you cleared your throat.
“Now, before we begin our first session, I want to establish doctor-patient confidentiality and inform you of your rights as a patient. Is that okay?” you asked. 
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
“Wonderful. I take doctor-patient confidentiality seriously. Anything you say in this room will stay in this room. However, if at any point during our sessions you indicate that you intend to seriously harm yourself or others, I would have to go to the police.”
“Seriously harm?”
“Any intentional action that would result in the hospitalization or death of yourself or another individual,” you elaborated, and he gave you a silent nod to continue. “I may encourage you to dig deeper into your psychological and emotional state, you don’t have to answer any questions that you don’t want to, but keep in mind that I’m trying to guide the conversation in a direction that will help you achieve the breakthroughs you want.”
“You know, my mama used to call you psychologists ‘headshrinkers’. Hell, I even do sometimes,” he said with a laugh.
You smiled at the comment, it certainly wasn’t uncommon for people to be skeptical of mental healthcare, but since he’d already brought up his mother, you didn’t want to lose that momentum.
“I completely understand. When I told my parents I was getting my doctorate in psychology, I might as well have told them that I was going to clown school,” you said. “Some people turn to religion for their psychological guidance. My parents are like that. Were yours?”
“Oh yeah, mama was always quotin’ scripture.”
“And your father?”
“He went to church with us sometimes, but it was usually me and mama. I stopped goin’ to church once my career started takin’ off. Didn’t have the time to, but I still love those old gospel hymns.”
You nodded, taking quick notes as he spoke.
“You writin’ that I’m some religious nut in there?”
“No, just general observations, things you’ve mentioned that have appeared while treating other patients. The more I treat people who’ve struggled with codependency, the more I can help others by recognizing patterns of behavior,” you explained. “I read from your file, which thank you for letting me look at by the way, that you experienced this codependent abuse from your former manager, Tom Parker.”
He exhaled, and you made note of his utilizing the coping method to calm himself down. 
“The Colonel thought he was entitled to half of everything I made, even though I was the one workin’ myself sick. He had that hack doctor put all kinds of junk in me to keep me movin’ like some walkin’ dead man. That cost me my family and half of everything I ever earned. I’m suin’ the son of a bitch, but I can’t let this happen again.”
“Elvis, I’m sorry that happened to you. You were taken advantage of by someone you trusted. You have every right to be upset and angry. I encourage you to express those emotions while we're here,” you said. “I want to challenge you to stop referring to your former manager as ‘The Colonel’. I think that language is detrimental to your progress as it sets him in a place of authority over you, when in reality, he isn’t and never was.”
He scoffed. “What should I call him then? ‘That piece of shit’?”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “If you’d like, yes.”
For the rest of the hour, he spoke about his former manager, and while you had an idea of what went on from the notes your colleague had given you, the extent was just as bad as you’d expected. As a doctor, you were particularly horrified by the so-called ‘Dr. Nick’ who exacerbated Elvis’ addiction to prescription medications in the name of the almighty dollar. Elvis peppered in mentions of his mother throughout the session as well, and you made a note to dig into that in the future. You weren’t the biggest proponent of Freud, but you knew many people went through life subconsciously mirroring the behavior of their parents unless they made a conscious decision not to. 
At the end of the session, you let Elvis know that you admired the progress he’d made so far, both in rehab and his first session with you. He smiled at that, and confessed that even though he wasn’t sure about seeing a woman therapist, as soon as he saw you, he knew there was something different about you, and he already felt comfortable around you. You stayed in your office late to work on the notes for his file while they were still fresh in your mind, and left around a quarter to seven. 
The Monday and Thursday sessions continued consistently for the next few weeks, and you were thrilled with how much progress Elvis had made, both in therapy and in his personal life. He was more involved in Lisa Marie’s life and had her over at Graceland regularly, making sure his days were completely clear whenever she was over so he could focus on spending time with her. His sleep pattern had become more regular, with some bouts of understandable insomnia. You and Dr. Wilson had already agreed that with Elvis’ history of addiction, holistic approaches to any psychological conditions would be best, and prescriptions would only be given as an absolute last resort. When he told you that he felt better than he had in years, physically and emotionally, you considered it a huge success, and encouraged him to acknowledge and celebrate that. 
Understandably, most of your sessions with Elvis were spent discussing his former manager and the influence and control that he had on Elvis’ career and personal life, particularly the strain it caused on his mother. That was a sensitive issue for him, and he tended to deflect when you tried to bring her up or discuss his relationship with her further. About four months into your treating him, however, he mentioned feeling some resentment toward his father for mismanaging Elvis’ finances, making an off-handed comment about how it wouldn’t have happened if his mother were still alive. You saw this as the opportunity to get him to finally elaborate.
“Your mother was the dominating figure in the family unit, then?” you pressed.
“Mama was a good woman, the best woman. She put food on the table when daddy was in jail. She believed in me before anyone else did.”
“I never said your mother wasn’t a good woman,” you observed. “Why did you jump to that conclusion, that I was attacking her?”
The room was silent for a few moments as he considered your question. “Everyone else did. You know, she was right about not trustin’ the Col–Parker. It’s like when I signed that contract with him I was signin’ her death sentence.”
“Do you blame yourself for her death?”
“I know it was the alcohol. I learned that much in rehab, but in her heart, it was me. She died while I was in basic training, doctor.”
“I’m glad you’re talking through this. It’s going to help with our future sessions, but I want to establish that you’re not responsible for your mother's death anymore than you’re responsible for her other actions throughout her life.”
He shook his head. “Me leavin’, that killed her.”
“Why would your leaving kill her? As I understand, you were drafted. You didn’t have a choice.”
“Because I was supposed to take care of her. My daddy wouldn't, so I did.”
“Do you think it’s right for a child to take care of their parents?” you asked.
“It’s not about what was right,” he argued. “I had to do it.”
“How old were you, when you first stepped into this pseudo-parental role?”
“What?”
“How old were you when you began taking up the household responsibilities that belonged to your father?”
“I was real young, when he went to jail and we had to move. I had a good childhood, though. We didn’t have much, but I had friends and I went to church, did alright in school.”
The hour was almost up, but you knew you were close to reaching a pivotal point in his treatment. As soon as you got him to consider that his codependency issues started with his mother, you could work through his relationships with Tom Parker and even Priscilla, but it’d be easier said than done to drag his mother off of the pedestal he put her on. She’d been dead for over a decade, and yet she still had a spectral stranglehold on her son.
Your intention wasn’t for him to walk out of your office hating his mother, but to recognize the unhealthy behaviors he emulated and to work through the grief he clearly never fully dealt with. 
You figured you had time to ask him one more question, and chanced it with, “What do you miss most about your mother?”
“I could tell her anything, and she’d always have something to say. Maybe not what I wanted to hear, but she always meant what she said. I trusted her like no one else. I don’t know if I ever will.”
“It’s hard for you to trust people, with the position that you’re in and how people have taken advantage of you in the past. That can be lonely, and some people engage in self-destructive behavior in an attempt to get the care and attention they yearn for. I believe that you will be able to trust again. Just something to think about as the session ends today,” you said. “You’ve made a lot of progress, and I want to acknowledge that.”
He smiled. “Thank you. You really know your stuff, but I guess that’s what you went to school for.”
“I appreciate that,” you acknowledged. “I hope you have a great rest of your day, Elvis, and I’ll see you at our appointment next week.”
After Elvis left, you worked on your notes from the session to add to his file. You weren’t just paying him lip service before, he had made a good amount of progress, and even despite some of his hesitations, worked through some aspects of the treatment that you expected to be more challenging for him. 
The next few sessions, you pressed him more about his mother, and while he pushed back against your insinuating that some of his codependent tendencies originated with her, he did acknowledge that the pressure of not upsetting her did cost him his participation in his high school’s football team, which he loved for the brief amount of time he spent playing. She had been worried about him getting hurt, a pattern you noticed as Elvis spoke to you about his childhood.
You weren’t expecting to find that the root of her anxiety over Elvis’ well-being came from losing his twin, Jesse at birth. Elvis was born into the world having to be two men instead of one, and when his father fell through as the family’s provider, he had to pick up the slack for three. It was a lot for someone to handle even without the challenges of fame. The more you worked with Elvis, the more convinced you became that he could have benefitted from therapy a decade sooner.
In all honesty, you were glad Elvis’ appointments were at the end of the day, because they began to become almost as draining for you as you figured they were for him. Still, he never missed an appointment and always arrived early. The work you did was always difficult, and you couldn’t help but empathize with your patients, but Elvis seemed to take everything out of you.
One weekend, you had plans to get dinner with Mark, a man around your age who you’d met in grad school and had an on-and-off again relationship for a while, before deciding to stay friends. Out of habit you both referred to whenever you’d get together as ‘dates’, and the one you planned was at a higher end restaurant in Memphis. The two of you had been so busy with work that when he called you to catch up, you hadn’t realized it’d been months since you’d seen him. The restaurant was the type of place where you had to make reservations in advance, and so with this in mind, he made one a few weeks prior.
When you and Mark arrived at the restaurant, there was a crowd of loud and restless people overflowing into the street. The two of you pushed your way through to get inside and waited to speak to the host, who informed you that due to unforeseen circumstances, there’d be a thirty minute wait for your table despite your reservation. 
The two of you considered leaving and going to a different restaurant, but decided against it, since you had the reservation anyway. To your relief, the wait only ended up being less than five minutes, even though you could tell by the reservation list on the host’s podium that several couples were still ahead of you and Mark. 
A waiter led you to your table, and after taking your dinner orders, Mark excused himself to go to the restroom. While waiting for him to return, you could hear people gasp and murmur behind you, until a familiar shadow fell over your table.
“Dr. Y/L/N, funny meeting you here,” Elvis said.
You raised your eyebrows, not expecting to see your high-profile patient of all people in the restaurant. “Mr. Presley, how are you?”
“I’m doin’ just fine.”
“That’s good to hear. I’m glad.”
“Are you here alone?”
“No, my date is just in the restroom.”
His expression shifted, but he nodded agreeably. “Well, have a good night.”
“You too,” you whispered as he walked away. 
Fuck. He was upset you were there with someone. It wasn’t uncommon for your patients to temporarily redirect their codependent tendencies onto you, considering the level of emotional intimacy that was involved with the therapy. It’d only once escalated to a level where you felt obligated to refer the patient to another therapist, but you hoped that wouldn’t be the case with Elvis. He’d been making great progress with each session.
When Mark had returned to the table, you gave him a strained smile but continued on with the date as usual. About halfway into your meal, the waiter approached with a bottle of wine neither of you had ordered. 
Before you could question anything, the waiter said, “Compliments of Mr. Presley.”
“As in Elvis Presley?” Mark asked.
The waiter nodded and set the bottle on the table. You weakly told him to thank Elvis, and he left to do so. As soon as he was out of earshot, Mark leaned in, “Is Elvis Presley your patient?”
“I won’t answer that, Mark.”
“Holy shit,” he said, opening the bottle of wine. 
You didn’t recognize the label from the wine rack at the supermarket and figured it was some expensive brand that was either old or imported, or both. As Mark poured himself a glass, you contemplated whether or not to drink it. Refusing so would confirm that Elvis was your patient, but drinking it would mean you accepted a gift from a patient, both situations required you violating your own code of ethics. Sighing, you let Mark fill your own glass with the wine.
The rest of the night with Mark was fun as you caught up on your personal lives, and Elvis didn’t make a reappearance at all. When Mark walked you back to your car, the two of you promised not to go as long without seeing each other again, and parted with a quick kiss.
You spent Sunday lazily reading in the comfort of your apartment, adjusting the radio in your living room to different stations every so often. All of them seemed to play at least one of Elvis’ songs at some point, and you wondered if you were only noticing the frequency he was on the radio now that he was your patient. Some artists were just radio mainstays, and he was one of them.
On Monday, you knew you’d have to address the situation with the wine to Elvis, but to your surprise, he beat you to it.
“So, how was the wine?” Elvis asked.
“It was kind of you to go out of your way to have something so nice brought to my table, but I can’t accept gifts from patients,” you said. “I hope you understand.”
He narrowed his eyes, leaning over so his elbows were resting on his knees as he asked, “That guy you were out with, he your husband?”
“No, just a friend.”
“You married?”
“No, but–”
“You ever been married?”
“No,” you repeated, “but while we’re on the subject, let’s discuss your marriage and Priscilla.” 
You noticed him hesitate to answer. “Is that okay?”
“Sure,” he said.
“How did you meet Priscilla?”
“Her daddy and me were both stationed in Germany at the same time. I met her when she came to a party at my house one night.”
“What attracted you to her?”
“She wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever met in my life. She was beautiful and sweet. I just knew there was somethin’ different about her,” he said, quickly adding. “I was respectful, ya know. She put up with a lot from me, but she was there when I needed someone.”
“You mentioned in a previous session that your mother died while you were in basic training, and after the funeral you were sent to Germany, where you met Priscilla. Do you think you incorporated her into your grieving process?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
You kept pressing him for more details, knowing it wasn’t a coincidence that he happened to meet the woman he’d go on to marry after such a devastating loss. The more he elaborated on his relationship, the more you came to understand the codependent nature of it as well. Priscilla became a stand-in for his mother despite her youth, and he began to depend on her the same way. You found it particularly interesting that he encouraged her to dye her hair and gave her the same nickname he had given his mother. 
“I understand you and your ex-wife are still close, and she’s part of the reason you’re here. Can I ask you, when you and Priscilla divorced, what you were feeling?” you asked.
“I–I’m sorry, can we talk about something else?”
You nodded, making a note to revisit that later. For the rest of that session and Thursday’s session, the two of you spoke mundanely about how his day to day life was going, the strides he was making to live a more sustainable lifestyle. He informed you that he wanted to make music and perform again, but wouldn’t tour while his lawsuit with Tom Parker was ongoing. Even then, he planned to take it slow, scheduling dates more spaced out to give himself time to rest. He did mention trying to work something out with his team to do one-off performances in the Memphis area in the meantime, to figure out how this new era of his career would go. 
The following afternoon, when you usually had an hour or so break between sessions to have lunch, you were interrupted by repeated knocking at your office door. You opened it to find a gift basket on the ground, looking back and forth in the hallway to see if the person who left it was still there, you picked it up and brought it over to your desk. The basket was filled with an assortment of goods that you knew must have been expensive from the brand names that you actually did recognize, and all of the gifts were perfectly suited to your taste. For a moment, you thought it was Mark’s doing, but when you read the attached card, you sighed. 
Early on in your career, you had made it a rule to not accept gifts or favors from patients. It helped establish to your patients that you were their doctor, not their friend, as much as you did care for them. You took your ethical responsibility as a therapist seriously, and so you contacted the company where the gift basket had come from, informing them that you’d like them to pick it up and inform the sender that you couldn’t accept it. You’d been expecting the phone call you received about an hour later.
“I tried to get what I thought you’d like,” Elvis said. “Guess I don’t know you as well as I thought.”
“Mr. Presley, I told you in our last session that I don’t accept gifts from patients. I appreciate the gesture, it was extremely thoughtful, but it violates my personal ethics.”
“You drank the wine I sent over to your table,” he argued.
You pursed your lips. You knew letting Mark accept it was a mistake. “That was a completely different scenario. If I had publicly refused, it would have confirmed to my date that you were my patient. I made the decision to respect your privacy.”
From the way he huffed over the phone, he was frustrated. He always did so in sessions when you pressed him to dig deeper into the aspects of the major relationships in his life that he didn’t want to confront. “I understand, doctor. I just wanted to show my appreciation for you, is all. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Have a good night, Mr. Presley. See you on Monday,” you said.
The next few months went on without incident, and you were pleased with the progress you were making with Elvis. He was willing to open up to you much more, and you found yourself revealing some information about yourself to him as well. Sometimes, it unnerved you how he seemed to remember things you had mentioned in passing weeks or even months before, as if he were taking his own notes on you. 
Once in a while, you’d run into him while you were running errands and minding your business in Memphis, having quick and cordial conversations before going your separate ways. Part of you suspected it was deliberate, as a man as famous as him knew he couldn’t step foot anywhere outside of his home without making the news.
On a Friday evening, as you led your last client of the day out of your office, a man you didn’t recognize was standing in the waiting room, looking around at the decor in your office. When you walked out, he looked at you as if he’d seen a ghost. 
Before you could speak, he said, “You look really familiar.”
“I don’t know how that could be. I don’t believe we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N.”
He hesitated before answering. “I must be seeing things, then. I’m Jerry.”
“Nice to meet you, Jerry. May I ask what brings you to my office?”
“Elvis sent me. He’s doing his first show in over a year next weekend, and he wanted me to bring you this VIP pass. Soundcheck, front row seat, backstage access, the works,” he said, holding out the small plastic card to you. “It’s in town, so he’ll send a car for you.”
You shook your head, feeling like a broken record when you declined. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t accept gifts from patients. Please send my regards and tell him thank you anyway.”
Jerry nodded. “Alright, nice to meet you, Doc.”
As soon as he left, you collapsed onto the couch. You were making great progress with Elvis, serious progress, but it was clear that he was shifting his codependent tendencies onto you. As much as you didn’t want to, you had to consider referring him to another therapist. It’d be a hassle for him, as the closest therapist with the same specialization as you was located in Nashville. It wasn’t uncommon for your patients to exhibit similar behavior toward you, especially early on in their treatment, but you’d been working with Elvis for nearing a year. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, as his case was far more complex than any of your other clients, past or present. 
While you were in the supermarket checkout later that evening, you glanced at the tabloid magazines that were displayed next to you, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the cover of most of them–various photos of Elvis, out and about in Memphis with different women who all looked almost exactly like you. Suddenly, you felt as though everyone in the store was staring at you, and you abandoned your cart, rushing out of the store and to your car where you had your first panic attack in years. 
As you cried into the steering wheel, attempting to catch your breath, your mind raced at the implications of what you just saw. The women were stand-ins for you, but they weren’t enough for him, they never would be. You knew that if you continued to spurn his advances, they’d only become more elaborate and unavoidable, and by giving him some of the attention he desired, you’d only be encouraging his unhealthy behavior. Your next session with Elvis was that upcoming Monday, and you’d make sure to let him know about your colleague in Nashville and cut all ties with the rockstar. 
By the time Monday morning rolled around, you wanted to cancel all of your other appointments for the day, but your other patients didn’t deserve to have their treatment interrupted because of one patient. The day flew by, to your dismay, and 4:30 arrived far sooner than you were ready when he walked through the door and into your office. He sat down in his usual seat, and you resisted the urge to glare at him. You didn’t appreciate being manipulated for personal gain, and you figured he of all people would have understood that. 
“Mr. Presley,” you began sternly. “I have repeatedly tried to enforce the professional nature of our relationship as doctor and patient, and yet you insist on sabotaging the massive strides you’ve made in your treatment by repeatedly making attempts to violate that. I think that continuing to see me as a therapist would be detrimental to your recovery, so I’m referring you to a colleague of mine with a similar specialization. After this session, I will no longer be your therapist.”
He stared at you incredulously before becoming stone-faced. “Well, since you won’t be my therapist anymore, I guess you can accept all those gifts now.”
Your mouth nearly fell open at his boldness. “Mr. Presley, you’re missing the point entirely.”
“No, I think I get the point loud and clear, Y/N.”
Your chest contracted as his use of your first name. “Mr. Presley, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now.” 
He stood up from his chair, and instead of walking out the door, crossed the few feet of space between you and caged you into your chair. He stared down at you intensely, silently, for what felt like hours. Too frightened to move, you held his gaze until he cupped your chin in his hand, gently rubbing his thumb against your skin. 
“You’re doin’ this for us, mama,” he whispered, “so we can be together.”
“I’m doing this for my own safety.”
“I knew you felt the same way about me, how much you wanted me too.”
“Elvis, please, let’s just sit back and discuss this. I won’t refer you to another therapist,” you lied, trying to appeal to whatever sense of rationality he may have had.
His other hand drifted to your thigh, inching its way up your skirt. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, you pushed him off of you and hoped that it would disorient him enough for you to run out the door. Instead, he beat you to it, pressing you against the wooden door that stood between your freedom and captivity.
“C’mon, mama, we’ve had this date since the beginning,” he purred in your ear. 
Perhaps you had been too preoccupied with having Elvis Presley as a professional success story than acknowledging the delusional and obsessive tendencies he displayed. Where did you go wrong? You tried to think back through a year’s worth of therapy sessions to figure out when exactly you’d given Elvis the impression that you were interested in him romantically or sexually, but were torn from your thoughts when he kissed you aggressively. He must have mistaken your attempts at protests for moans, because he only deepened the kiss, biting your bottom lip so you’d gasp in pain, giving his tongue access to your mouth.
You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself and tried once again to push away, but he was too strong–and determined as he backed you into your desk, the impact from both of your bodies bumping against it sending some of the items to the floor. 
“Elvis, you don’t have to do this,” you pleaded. Why were you still coddling him? 
“You want this, mama,” he groaned, grinding his clothed erection against your exposed leg like a dog in heat. “I know you do.”
He didn’t give you an opportunity to argue, bringing his lips to yours again and hastily unbuttoning your blouse. He rid you of your bra just as quickly, and took one of your breasts in his mouth. Guiding one of your hands to his crotch, he rubbed your hand against it, and you let out an involuntary whimper as his moans vibrated against your sensitive nipple. 
Thrusting against your hand, he pulled away from your breast, muttering something about cumming in his pants if he didn’t do anything about it soon. He shed his shirt, throwing it aside. The reality of the situation hit you as he lifted you back on top of the desk and pulled down your panties. He dragged his ring finger up your slit, and you shivered at the sensation of the cold metal of his rings against it. Apparently satisfied with how wet you were, he wasted no time unzipping his pants and ridding himself of them to reveal he hadn’t been wearing any underwear. You stared wide-eyed at his cock, as he stroked it before positioning it at your weeping cunt.
“Just take it, mama. Be real good for me and take it like I know you can,” he cooed in an attempt to placate you as he slid himself into you. 
You choked on air at the sensation, not expecting how big he’d be, and tears began to run down your face. He kissed them away as he thrust into you, whispering about how good you were being, how perfect you were. Two of his fingers played with your clit, and your felt your vision go hazy at the pleasure that was building up in your core. You’d never felt that good in your life. Maybe you did want it after all.
“Fuck, daddy,” you moaned, nearly throwing your hands over your mouth at the realization of what you had said. 
That seemed to stir something in him, because his thrusts became harsher and more erratic while you berated yourself for actually enjoying it. The moans that came from your throat sounded almost foreign to you. 
“You got no idea how often I thought about this, mama,” he managed to groan. “Come for daddy.”
With a grotesque cry, you came, feeling yourself clench around him as he kept up his ruthless pace. His own orgasm followed soon after yours, and as you felt him cum inside you, you weren’t sure whether you hated him or yourself more. What felt like hours passed before he finally pulled out from you, leaving your inner thighs wet with cum and lightly bruised.
You looked at him through your tears, knowing your mascara was surely tracked down your face. He reached for you, and you flinched back, nearly falling off of your desk until he steadied you, and you broke down into humiliating sobs into his shoulder, your nails purposely digging into his skin. You wanted to hurt him, somehow, make him feel how you felt. Instead, he seemed unfazed, releasing you from his grip when your crying had settled down to hold your face in his hands. 
He looked into your eyes with all of the delusional affection you’d feared and whispered, “You’re my girl, my bestest girl.”
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headfullofpresley · 1 year
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Mommy's Kissing Santa Claus
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Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader
Summary: Caroline considers Santa to be her own personal superhero, but she isn't too happy about catching him kissing you. Because no matter what, her Daddy will always be number one.
Word count: 5,5K
Warning(s): fluff, domestic life, Caroline being sad/angry, Elvis dressing up as Santa, smut; just a quick morning quickie that isn't too detailed tbh, roleplaying (kinda.. lol).
Author's note: this was requested a while ago by anon, so nonnie, i hope this finds its way back to ya! enjoy luvs <3
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“I saw Mommy kissin’ Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe last night. She didn’t see me creep down the stairs to have a peep; she thought that I was tucked up in my bedroom, fast asleep. Then I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus underneath his beard so snowy white. Oh what a laugh it would’ve been if Daddy had only seen, Mommy kissin’ Santa Claus last night.”
Five year old Caroline adored Christmas. The decorations, the songs, the movies, the presents… but especially, Santa Claus. The bearded man that she believed flew across the world in his sleigh in the span of one night was a God to her.
While most children would weep upon the sight of a strange man in a red suit and a long white beard, Caroline was over the moon every single year. Even as a baby and before she could even speak a word, she would giggle and run up to whoever was dressed up as the man as soon as she could walk – or waddle.
She had no idea it was usually her grandfather or The Colonel who’d pay her a quick visit during Christmas day.
Caroline was the definition of a true Daddy’s girl, but Santa came pretty darn close to stealing Elvis’ spot during the month of December.
“Daddy, that’s wrong! Santa doesn’t have a green hat!” the tiny blonde giggled as she sat on top of the kitchen counter, looking at the freshly baked Christmas cookies her and Elvis spend their time on this afternoon. He purposely colored the hat of the Santa shaped cookie green, because he knew those little hawk eyes of hers would notice immediately.
“Maybe he does this year, honey,” he smirked at his daughter, licking some icing off his finger as he watched her laugh at him before shaking her head and returning her attention back on the tray of cookies. She squeezed a tiny dot of brown coloring gel on one of the reindeers, swinging her legs back and forth happily.
The red boots that she begged you to wear this morning were still on her feet, hitting the kitchen cabinets softly with her movements.
“You’re funny, Daddy.. but these cookies have to be perfect!” she told him with a stern voice. “What if Santa thinks we’re makin’ fun of him and won’t eat them? Mommy says sending letters to the North Pole takes a very long time,”
Elvis was often mesmerized by his daughter. Not only because she reminded him so much of both you and him, but also because she often spoke like she was much older. He figured it was probably because she spend so much time around adults when she wasn’t in school and she’d pick up anything she would hear.
Sometimes it caused for very funny conversations with her and sometimes she’d just embarrass Elvis and you when she had overheard the both of you talk about something or someone that was not meant to ever leave the four walls of this house.
Luckily, it had never been anything too serious.
“If Santa don’t like ‘em, I will deliver all those little apology letters of yours to him myself,” Elvis chuckled as he put the cookie he was working on on a Christmas decorative plate that had been hidden in the back of one of the cabinets. “But he will love your cookies. I bet he can’t get ‘nough of ‘em. Have you seen that fella’s tummy?”
Caroline looked up at him with wide eyes, taking the cookie with the green hat and shoving it into his hand. “Don’t be mean to Santa, Daddy, or you won’t get a present!”
He let out a hearty laugh, biting off the hat of the cookie as he squeezed her toes through her boots, making her squeal as she giggled and stuck her tongue out to him.
When all cookies were drawn on and she was satisfied with them, she took the plate Elvis handed her after he put her down on the ground and walked toward the staircase in the foyer. You had put a small table and a dining room chair right next to the stairs especially for Santa, your daughter unaware that you’d move the furniture back as soon as she was asleep and the cookies were eaten by you and her father.
“I need to get my drawing!” she told Elvis as she put the plate down and climbed up the stairs to get whatever she made for Santa to put it down with the cookies.
As she disappeared into her bedroom, you entered the house with shopping bags clinging in your hands and snowflakes covering your hair. You let out a huff as you closed the door behind you with your elbow, wiggling the cold and red tip of your nose.
“Next year I am back on baking duty,” you told your husband, trying not to crack a smile as he laughed at you and made his way over to you, taking the bags from your hands.
Usually, he would be the one doing the last minute shopping or have the things you needed to be delivered to the house but Caroline insisted he would stay home today and bake those cookies with her. All you really needed were some small presents for Vernon and Dee and some last minute groceries for tomorrow’s dinner.
You gave Mary the week off so she could spend time with her family during the holidays and you could provide a feast for yours.
“Sorry darlin’, can’t help it that she loves her Daddy more,” Elvis grinned as he took the presents out of the bags and put them underneath the tree in the living area before Caroline came back down. “If it makes ya feel any better, she got mad at me for talkin’ shit about her hero of the year,”
You didn’t miss the roll of his eyes and laughed, pulling the scarf you were wearing from around your neck. “She does not love you more, you’re just easier to manipulate,” you grinned teasingly at him, letting him take the grocery bags from you as well as he wandered back to you. “And she loves Santa more than you,”
You weren’t bothered by the fact that your daughter was a Daddy’s girl because when he’d be away from home and on the road, she would always stick to your side like glue. Elvis on the other side wasn’t so unbothered, hating that Caroline would not stop talking about Santa, Santa, Santa.
You loved to tease him with it.
“She loves that fool more than both of us,” he stuck his tongue out to you, walking into the kitchen to unpack the groceries and put them away. He chuckled softly to himself at the sound of your laugh and Caroline thundering down the stairs, running into your arms as soon as she saw you.
“Mommy, look! I made this for Santa to put with the cookies me and Daddy made,” she shoved the drawing in your face as you carried her toward the little nook you had created for Santa Claus himself.
“Wow Care, that’s beautiful! He will love it, baby,” you smiled at her, kissing her cheek as you placed her down so she could neatly place the drawing she made on the table, next to the plate of decorated cookies. The drawing consisted of three stick figures – you and Elvis being the taller ones and her being the small one in the middle.
Ofcourse, she had drawn Santa as well, only he was in an array of red crayon. You could only really recognize who it was by the white beard she managed to get quite accurate. It was cute.
“Did you buy enough milk, Mommy? He will be a lot thirsty,”
“Very thirsty, not a lot, baby,” you corrected her with a soft laugh, kneeling down next to her to look at the cookies. You could see which ones were decorated by her and which ones by Elvis. It didn’t really matter, they’d taste the same to you. “But yes, I have plenty of milk. We’ll pour him a glass before you go to bed, okay?”
“Two glasses?”
“If you’re a big girl and eat all of your veggies tonight, we’ll give him three!” you told her and she smiled excitedly, wrapping her arms around your neck as she leaned into you.
You were pretty sure she would definitely not eat all of her vegetables–she was her father’s daughter, after all–but you’d give her what she wanted and put three glasses of milk ready for Santa, anyways.
You found it hard to tell her no, because she was such a sweet girl.
She was your entire world.
 
Caroline surprised both you and Elvis as she shoved every single vegetable on her plate in her little mouth. It took her a while to chew everything down and she was the last to finish, but she couldn’t disappoint Santa, could she?
After sliding down chimneys all night, he must be extremely hungry and thirsty and she worked hard for those three glasses of milk.
You let them both go upstairs after dinner so Elvis could give her a bath and put her in her pyjamas as you cleaned the table and did the dishes.
Besides Mary, you basically gave everyone time off because you wanted to spend Christmas Eve with just your husband and daughter. Tomorrow the family and some of the guys would come over and the house will be rowdy again, so you were excited for the relaxing and quiet night you had planned.
You quite enjoyed yourself in the kitchen, cleaning and listening to the background noise that was the TV in the dining room.
 
You turned the TV off as you were done in the kitchen and heard Elvis and Caroline coming down the stairs. After getting some drinks, you followed them into the TV room and got ready for the movie Caroline had recently become obsessed with.
Scrooge.
She watched it with Dee’s sons a month ago and then made you and Elvis watch it with her again.
And again, and again, and again.
Neither of you could say no to her, even though you couldn’t care less about this movie.
Caroline snuggled in between you and Elvis, leaning into his side as her legs rested on your lap. She’d speak up now and then to point out a part in the movie that she liked and wanted you to pay attention to. But she had been running around all day, playing in the snow, helping Daddy feed the horses, baking cookies – she was tired, so tired that she couldn’t keep her eyes from fluttering shut despite loving the movie so much.
“Mommy!” she gasped softly as she shocked awake due to a loud noise from the TV, looking at you with wide eyes. “If I fall a-asleep.. wake me up, okay? I-I can’t miss.. Santa..” she mumbled, laying her head on Elvis’ chest as she pulled her legs in, holding onto his shirt with her tiny hand.
She didn’t seem to believe you when you told her that you would and looked up at her father. “Daddy, don’t forget, okay?!” she urged him, her voice thick with exhaustion and though her eyes were heavy, she wouldn’t put her head back down unless she got confirmation.
Elvis laughed softly as he looked at her, kissing her forehead. “I promise, yittle. Put your little head down,” he whispered to her, gently pushing her head back down on his chest as he tickled his fingers through her hair.
It didn’t take her long to drift off into a deep slumber.
You and Elvis didn’t wake her up, deciding that she needed all the sleep she could get for Christmas day tomorrow. She probably wouldn’t be too happy about it once she’d wake up and realise it was the next day, but she’d forgive you for it later. Especially when she’d see the presents she got from you and Elvis, her innocent little mind believing that they were from Santa himself.
 
“I’ll get her to bed,” you whispered as the movie ended which you and Elvis had talked your whole way through. Too comfortable on the couch to turn the TV off and move into the living room, plus Caroline looked too cute sleeping and you didn’t want to wake her. But it was getting late and you and your husband could use some rest as well.
“I’ll be upstairs,” he told you as you picked up Caroline in your arms, kissing your lips as he silently followed you up the stairs. You walked up the main staircase as Elvis made his way to the living room.
Thankfully, Caroline didn’t wake up when you carried her up the stairs and put her to bed. She mumbled something in her sleep and fuzzed in the sheets a little, but she went back to snoring softly before you left the room. You took the opportunity to clean up some of her toys that were scathered around the room and put the clothes away she wore today that Elvis put on her chair.
When you closed the door behind you afterwards and walked down the stairs, you frowned as Elvis was nowhere to be seen. The TV in both the dining and music room were turned off. The house felt empty.
“El? Baby?” you called out softly, looking around as you reached the bottom of the stairs.
Once he cleared his throat and you turned around, you saw him sitting in the Santa nook, cookie in hand and clothed in the Santa suit his dad or manager usually wore. You figured he must’ve put something around his waist, because he filled out the costume that would otherwise be too big for him.
“Merry Christmas to you, madame,” he grinned as he put the cookie down, slapping his hand on his thigh. You pressed your lips together, holding back a laugh as you walked over to him and sat down on his lap, slipping your arm around his shoulder. “Are these cookies for me, pretty lady?”
You cleared your throat a little, a soft giggle escaping your throat nonetheless. He had never dressed up as Santa for Caroline, both of you afraid that she would recognize him instantly.
You thought he looked ridiculous, but the way his voice deepened as he spoke to mimick a Santa like voice and his blue eyes were pretty much undressing you the second he saw you, you couldn’t help but feel a tingle run down your spine.
“They certainly are, mr. Claus. My daughter and husband made them especially for you,” you grinned, placing your hand on his stomach. Or rather the pillow you realised he had put in the costume.
“Your husband, you say?” he hummed, picking up the cookie once more as he took a bite of it now. “Isn’t he a lucky man to have such a beautiful little thing runnin’ around the place,” he put the cookie in front of your lips, his hand finding your ass as his arm was resting around your waist.
You feigned a gasp, gently pushing his hand away from your face as you looked at him. “My, mr. Claus. You’re very handsy, aren’t you? What would my husband think?”
“Well honey, your husband ain’t here, is he?”
He dropped the half eaten cookie back on the plate, wiping some crumbs off his fingers with the napkin you had put next to the plate earlier today. His palm squeezed your ass softly, pushing you firmly against his chest as your hand traveled over the hill of his fake belly and over his chest to wrap it around his neck.
“Now tell me, mrs. Presley. Have you been naughty or nice?”
His words made you want to rip that white beard he was sporting off his face and shut him up with a kiss. You didn’t feel awkward anymore at his little act–not when he was looking at you like that while his palm was shamelessly massaging your ass–and rather felt arousal seeping into your being.
Roleplaying wasn’t rare for you and Elvis, but you never thought him being dressed up as Santa Claus would get you as turned on as it did.
“I’m always very nice,” you told him as you laced your fingers together behind his neck, plastering your most innocent smile on your face. “But I can definitely be naughty too, mr. Claus,”
“Why don’t you show me how naughty you can be, darlin’?” his hand was quick as it reached up to his face, pulling the beard down before he leaned in to you. You giggled softly, gently swatting his hand away before you put the beard back in its place, kissing him.
He laughed softly against your lips but didn’t question you on it, instead fully trapping you against him as he wrapped his other arm around you as well, deepening the kiss.
 
Caroline shot up in her bed as soon as she awoke out of her sleep not even twenty minutes after you put her to bed. The little Presley girl didn’t think twice to hop out of her bed and walk over to the window, pouting heavily when she realised it was still night time and she was not downstairs waiting for her beloved Santa Claus right now.
You and Elvis promised to wake her and she felt betrayed that you hadn’t.
She had no idea what time it was and if you were still awake, but she figured getting caught would be worth the risk. Tiptoeing to her door, she slowly opened it and shuffled to the top of the stairs – when she saw that the only light that illuminated the foyer came from the Christmas tree, she very slowly and quietly stepped down a few steps.
Not wanting to scare Santa if he was already here, she peeked over the bannister of the stairs and widened her eyes as she saw the white bearded man with his signature red hat and suit sitting in the seat you and her had provided for him. She would’ve thundered down the stairs if it wasn’t for you sitting in his lap, lips pressed against those of her hero.
The one who provided her with the toys she wanted every year, the one who paid her a visit every Christmas day.
She loved him, but he was not her father.
Only Daddy was allowed to kiss you on the lips, not Santa Claus. Not nobody else.
Tears stung in her blue eyes as she grabbed onto the bars of the bannister, watching the kiss for a few seconds before she ran back up the stairs and hid underneath her blankets, silently crying herself to sleep.
You and Elvis were too occupied to hear Caroline coming up and down the stairs and as you tugged him up from the seat to take him into your shared bedroom, he quickly stole the plate of cookies along with him.
 
You and Elvis woke up early the next morning despite that Santa costume keeping you both awake until the dead of the night. You expected Caroline to stand at the side of your bed by now seeing it was already 8 o’clock because she could never wait until she was allowed to unwrap her presents. This morning, the bedroom was silent aside from Elvis’ soft snoring.
You sat up in the bed and looked at your husband, laughing softly as you took the Santa hat that was clutched in his hand, throwing it onto the floor. You leaned over to him and planted soft kisses on his shoulder and up to his face. He groaned softly as you woke him, his limbs stretching out in front of him before he turned to you and wrapped his arm around your waist, forcing you to lay back down next to him.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” you whispered with a soft laugh as he hid his face in your neck, squeezing you in his embrace.
“Mwerry Chwistmas, little one,” he hummed sleepily against your skin before he kissed your neck, the faint hint of your perfume that lingered in your neck making him roll onto his back, taking you right with him.
“We don’t get a lot of Christmas mornings like this one,” he mumbled as he grinned, his hands running up your thighs to squeeze at your hips.
He was right, you didn’t. You’d either be woken up by Caroline or by the doorbell that announced the arrival of today’s company. You told them to come a little later this year, so you and your family had time to actually eat breakfast and get ready for the day.
Now that you and Elvis had a bit of time for yourselves, he didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it.
His eyes caught sight of the Santa hat on the floor and he was quick to grab it before returning to his warm spot on the bed with you atop of him. “You had a lot of time with mr. Claus last night, it’s only fair if I get some sweetness from mrs. Claus,” he wiggled his eyebrows as he held out the hat to you.
You laughed and rolled your eyes, grasping it from his hand as you put it crookedly on top of your head. He bit his lip and moved his hands up your sides, slipping toward your front to squeeze your bare breasts in the palm of his hand.
Neither of you bothered to put on clothes before you fell asleep last night, so he didn’t need to wait for you to peel off pieces of fabric for you to raise your hips and sink down onto him.
He groaned as he moved his hands underneath his head, watching you ride him with a cocky smirk on his face.
“You look so sexy, baby,” he mummered as his eyes wandered down from your face to your bouncing breasts, voice sounding hoarse as it was still heavy with sleep. It only motivated you to go faster.
The idea of Caroline wandering into the room any minute was also on your mind, but Elvis didn’t mind you chasing your climax with slight hurry. He decided to help you get there even faster, reaching one hand down to circle your clit rapidly with his thumb.
The both of you had to bite down on your tongues to not moan too loud and while Elvis loved hearing you make those pretty sounds for him, he knew he could not make you truly scream while Caroline was also in the house.
Luckily for him, she had a sleepover planned at his father’s house next week.
Thanks to Elvis’ digit, you were quick to reach your climax and he followed not long after because of how visciously you were clenching around him.
“We should.. should check on Care,” you breathed as you ripped the fluffy hat off your head, throwing it across the bed before you leaned down and kissed your husband, who mumbled a soft agreement against your lips but made no movements to leave the warmth of the bed.
 
Caroline had been up before you and Elvis, but instead of walking into your room to tug on your blankets until either you or Elvis woke up, she went straight to the living room.
She was a girl on a mission today and it wasn’t a very fun one.
She was angry – at you, at Santa, and even a little bit at Elvis.
The little girl was still in disbelief of what she had seen last night. She just couldn’t wrap her little head around the fact that you kissed someone that was not Daddy and that Santa kissed you back.
And where was her Daddy while you exchanged smooches with her hero? He should’ve been there to stop it. Maybe even kick Santa’s ass a little.
She wandered over to the Christmas tree, taking the ornaments out one by one. Santa Claus didn’t deserve a nice tree anymore – if he would come by the house today, she would show him that she was angry with him.
Once you and Elvis came down the stairs and saw the bottom of the tree empty from its usual ornaments and Caroline gathering the sparkly garlands in her arms, you widened your eyes.
“Caroline, what is this?!” you exclaimed in confusion as you walked over to her to lift her up your hip. She crossed her arms firmly against her chest, the garlands crunching in her arms as she turned away from you with an angry expression taking over her features. “Caroline, I’m talkin’ to you,”
“I don’t want to talk to you!” she huffed as she stared at the chair by the stairs Santa had sat on last night.
“Caroline Mae Presley, don’t talk to your mother like that,” Elvis warned her as he stood next to you, looking at his daughter. But she didn’t look at him, hanging back in your arms so she’d be heavier for you to hold. “You know you’re not allowed to go downstairs before waking us. Why did you dissect the tree?”
She didn’t want to tell him or you how she was feeling, but she had a weakness for Elvis and she felt sad for him. He didn’t know what happened last night – while she was still young, she knew it was a bad thing. A bad thing that would hurt her precious father.
“I’m mad,” she mumbled and you allowed Elvis to take her out of your arms, walking over to the couch to sit down on it with her in his lap. She unfolded her arms and looked at her hands as you took the garlands out of her arms to put them back in their place.
“Yittle, if you’re mad, you come talk to Mommy or me. What does my tree have to do with anythin’, huh?” he grinned playfully at her as he tickled her sides. Usually, she would giggle and cheer up, but this time she pouted and pushed his big hand off.
“I’m mad.. m-mad.. at Santa,” she whispered, touching the small charm bracelet you gifted her for her last birthday that she never wanted to take off.
“Why, baby? Santa brought you a lot of presents,” Elvis told her as he nodded his head over to you. You smiled at your daughter as she finally looked up and you nodded, holding up a few wrapped presents Elvis put under the tree last night as you were putting Caroline to bed.
It looked like a smile was about to break the angry act she was putting on, but she huffed and looked down again. “I’m mad at Mommy too,”
You raised your eyebrows in confusion as you put the presents back under the tree, getting up to walk over to the couch. You sat down next to Elvis and looked at the pouty blonde in his lap, taking her small hands in yours. She pulled them out of your grip immediately, looking away.
Elvis saw the hurt in your eyes and sighed deeply, knowing playing nice would get him nowhere with his headstrong daughter.
He had finally met his match – it was more exhausting than he ever expected.
“Caroline, don’t be like that to your mother and tell us why you’re so mad. We don’t know what’s goin’ on if you don’t use your words,” he bounced his leg she was sitting on once, making her look at him with a glare.
Her face expressions softened a little when she saw both you and him looking at her so seriously and she couldn’t stop her bottomlip from twitching, her emotions getting the best of her. As soon as tears started welling up in her eyes, she pressed her face in Elvis’ chest and grabbed onto the shirt he was wearing.
“You and Mommy don’t love each other anymore,” she cried, her words coming out muffled. Elvis gently grabbed her shoulders, trying to pull her off him so she could speak more clearly but she managed to wrap her arms around his neck, clinging onto him. “And it’s all Santa’s fault,”
You exchanged a look with Elvis and frowned, running your hand through your daughter’s hair. “Honey, what are you talking about?”
Upon the sound of your voice, she pulled away from Elvis and looked at you, tears freely rolling down her cheeks.
“Oh Mommy, please don’t leave Daddy all alone!” she cried as she stretched her arms out to you. She had been so angry with you only minutes ago, but the thought of you leaving and running off to the North Pole with Santa Claus broke her little heart. You immediately took her in your arms and caressed her hair out of her face, wiping her tears away. “Don’t leave me and Daddy!”
“Care, how’d you get that idea? Baby, I’m not leaving you and Daddy,” you told her, kissing her forehead before she wrapped her arms around your neck and hugged you tightly.
“But last n-night.. you.. you.. were k-kissing.. S-Santa..” she hiccuped over your shoulder, squeezing you tightly in her little arms as if she was afraid you’d disappear into thin air. “You are in l-love with Santa C-Clause,”
You looked at Elvis and he widened his eyes, letting out a hearty laugh as he leaned back in the couch, throwing his head on the back rest of it. You gave him a warning glare but couldn’t stop yourself from giggling softly too, rubbing your hand up and down Caroline’s back soothingly as Elvis hid his mouth behind his hand to muffle his laughter.
“Care bear, look at me,” you chuckled softly as you grabbed her arms, pulling her out of your embrace so she’d look at you. Her hands rested on your shoulders as she sniffed, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “What you saw last night… was me hugging Santa…”
Elvis stopped laughing as he grinned cheekily, waiting for you to explain to your five year old what she had seen. You silently begged for help and he cleared his throat a little, scooting closer to you and Caroline. “Yittle, Mommy was comfortin’ Santa last night. You see, Daddy forgot to put his milk by the cookies last night and Santa was so sad, because he thought we had forgotten about him,” he explained to her as she looked at him, listening while repeating his words over and over again in her head.
“Yes! And I told him we definitely did not forget about him. He was also a little sad that you fell asleep, baby girl, so I gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek,”
She turned to you, her eyes still a little red as she sniffed once more. “Really?”
“Promise. Would we ever lie to you?” Elvis chimed in, smiling at her and she shook her head.
To her, you and Elvis were perfect and would never ever tell her a lie. Not a big one, nor a small one.
“No,” she whispered. “So you will stay with me and Daddy?”
You looked at her and laughed softly, nodding as you pressed a kiss on her cheek. “Yes baby, I’m going to stay with you and Daddy forever and ever,”
She smiled softly, nodding her head heavily as she seemed to buy the story you and Elvis told her. Honestly, it wasn’t a very good one, but the only thing you could come up with on the spot.
And for five year old Caroline, the story sounded solid.
“Okay,” she said, grabbing Elvis’ hand as she kept her other hand on your shoulder. “Daddy is more beautiful than Santa,”
Elvis grinned widely, raising his chin smugly. “That’s what I thought, honey,”
You rolled your eyes and laughed, rising from the couch with Caroline in your arms. “Now Santa, me and Daddy will appreciate it very much if you put the ornaments back in the tree. Let Daddy help you,” you grinned, kissing her temple before you put her back on her own two feet. She nodded and walked over to the tree, sitting on her knees as she did what you told her to.
Elvis slipped his arm around your waist, squeezing your ass as he pushed you against his chest. “Seems like we should keep the costume strictly for the bedroom, huh?”
“Definitely,” you laughed softly, kissing his chin. “Without the beard next time, though,”
“I didn’t hear ya complainin’ when I was in between your legs with it last night,” he whispered teasingly with a grin on his face, raising an eyebrow.
You playfully slapped his chest, laughing. “I was feelin’ festive, but Christmas is almost over, baby,”
“Not in this house,” he wiggled his eyebrows, leaning down to kiss you. The moment was interrupted sooner than he liked by Caroline who called out to him.
“Daddy, help me!” she yelled as she had managed to get herself twisted in a string of garland, looking at him with a goofy smile on her face.
“You truly are your mother’s child,” he laughed as he shot you a wink, walking over to his daughter to help her get out of the small trap she got herself into and to help her re-decorate the lower half of the tree.
You laughed as you watched them for a little bit before disappearing into the kitchen to start on breakfast.
In an hour or so, the house would be filled with family and friends again, disrupting the peaceful bubble you had been in since yesterday.
You didn’t mind it all that much, though. And as long as Caroline would have a good time, you didn’t care if the house was empty or full.
918 notes · View notes
cilliansmesoftly · 1 year
Text
only angel
summary: in which austin knows you’re bad for him, but he can’t get enough.
warnings: smutt, smut, more smut, austin pining over you, priscilla!actress reader
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austin knew the two of you could never get away with it. he knew you would break his heart, get onto the next person, and act as if he never existed. he knew once the movie press was over, you two would go back to just being “friends” but he couldn’t stand it.
he couldn’t stand the men who looked at you like you were a piece of meat, couldn’t stand the media publishing every encounter you had, he especially couldn’t stand the way you looked at him when he passed you in the hallways of your hotel.
you both were on your way back from an event and he had just went to get some snacks. you were dressed in your nightie, but makeup and hair still done, a bottle of water tucked under your arm. he was still dressed in his slacks and button down, but had tossed the jacket haphazardly in his room as soon as he had got in. your eyes wandered down his chest, where a few buttons were undone, and caught a glimpse of the hairs littered about the exposed area.
he nearly broke his finger knocking on your room door, praying that you would let him in. you couldn’t get out two words before he pushed his way in, closing the door harshly with his foot as he pulled you into a kiss.
“aus,” you spoke breathily, pulling back from the man who was still gripping you as if you’d disappear into the air. “slow down.”
“why, why, baby.” his voice wavered, but you had caught it. a slight whimper in his tone and you rolled your eyes with a smile as he tucked his face into your neck.
“we got all night.” you laughed, looking over his shoulder to check the time. “it’s literally only 9 o’clock.”
“please, been wanting you all fucking day.” he purred, pulling back just slightly to look you in the eyes. you bit your lip, eyes scanning his face.
austin was one of the few guys you could see yourself with for a long time. he treated you like a princess and you soaked up every minute of it.
“been wanting you, too. know how hard it was for me to sit in that event for hours and wasn’t even allowed to touch you?” you whispered in his ear, feeling his body shudder underneath you. his kissed your neck, licking and pecking that sweet spot he knew all too well. you felt his hands roam the backsides of your thighs, up to your ass where he smoothed his hands over the silk material of your pajamas.
“let’s take it slow then, huh?” you could hear the smile in his voice. he’d been growing out his facial hair for a week or so and you could feel the tamed hair tickling your skin in the most delectable way. his hands went back to your thighs, lifting you easily in his arms and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he laid you down on the bed. you lifted his head from the crook of your neck, admiring the way his eyes shone under the golden hue of the multiple lamps in the room. you admired the way his cupids bow curved so prettily and you couldn’t help yourself but to your bring up your index finger and trace it. austin opened his mouth slightly, taking the digit into his mouth and you moaned as he swirled his tongue around it. he dragged himself away, kissing the pad of it, then bending down to kiss you. “wanna taste you, angel.”
austin’s lips traveled from yours, down to your chin, your jaw, your chest, your clothed stomach, and finally to your parted thighs. he lifted the hem of your nightie just above your belly button and groaned at your lack of underwear. “you know me too well.” you couldn’t respond back, a choked moan escaping your lips when he licked a stripe up your wetness, collecting all that he caused prior. you grasped his hair, tugging the roots in the way you knew he liked. his tongue moved up to your clit, circling the bud before closing his lips around it. his name was falling from your lips and your body was arching from the pleasure. it only intensified when he brought two fingers up to your entrance, slowing scissoring his way in. you sighed as he hit your spot, thrusting his fingers in and out at a perfect pace.
austin always knew how to touch you. how to make sure you’d unravel just for him, so you weren’t surprised when you could already feel your orgasm approaching you.
“s-stop, aus.” you breathed out, tugging the roots of his hair three times as he looked up at you, lips, cheeks, and chin glistening with your wetness. he looked at you questioningly, you never told him to stop while he was going down on you. “wanna cum on your cock, honey.”
he groaned, burying his face in your thigh, biting the skin teasingly and you giggled leaning up to meet him in a kiss. he sighed into it, hands coming up to cup your cheeks as he pressed deeper onto your lips.
lips still locked, you reached down, undoing his belt and pushing his pants and boxers down his legs. he kicked them off his ankles and lifted the silk pajamas over your head, tossing them somewhere on the floor. hips trailed from yours, found solace in your neck for a while, before kissing the valley of your chest. you sighed as he took your nipple into his mouth, biting softly to tease you.
you felt him against your thigh, length hard and precum spilling from the tip and you let your hand wander to it, spreading the seed around his head before jerking him in your hand. austin groaned, face buried in your chest, breath hot and heavy against your skin.
“let me fuck you. god, let me fuck you.” he whimpered into your skin, pressing sweet kisses here and there while you guided his cock to your entrance. you both moaned in unison at the feeling of him stretching you out. “so tight f’me. like you were made just for me.”
he pulled out, leaving just the tip, before snapping his hips to yours. your head was tossed back, jaw slack and panting breaths escaping your lips. austin’s hands went down to your legs, bringing them up as he leaned back and laid them over his shoulders, hitting an even deeper angle. you moaned loudly, watching as he hugged your legs to him. your calves were smushing his cheeks and he turned his head to press a kiss to each. his dynamic never failed to amuse you. here he was, fucking you like he had something to take out on someone, yet pressing sweet kisses to your skin and looking at you lovingly.
austin’s heart was never as full as it was when you were with him. he never smiled as much, never laughed as much. you were so, so important to him. he begged and begged to himself every night when he laid his head down to sleep that you’d wake up and want to be with him, but it never happened. as long as you two had your secret moments in quiet rooms, he’d suffice.
“god, angel, taking me so good.” he moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist. you bit your lip to contain the noises begging to escape, austin caught onto your act. he brought his finger to your bottom lip, pulling it from your teeth and leaning down to kiss you. “none of that, let me hear you.”
“god, austin,” you whined. “harder.”
“as she wishes.” he snapped his hips harder into you, moans reverberating off the walls and back to your own ears. all of your senses were overwhelmed with him. his lips, his eyes, his golden chain hanging in front of your face, it all too much. you felt your climax approaching, clenching around him and he panted as you squeezed him. “perfect pussy. you close, angel?”
“yes, yes. aus,” your legs wrapped around him tighter, meeting his body with every thrust. austin leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before tucking his head between your jaw and shoulder. every noise, every breath he let out sent you closer and closer. “come with me.” you breathed into his ear, kissing his cheek sweetly and austin whimpered, nodding against you.
“ready?” he asked, hips losing their pace as he twitched inside you. your toes curled and your back arched off the bed. the coil in your stomach tightened before it released, a loud moan drawing from your lips as austin thrusted even harder. he went to pull out, but you stopped him and he whined.
“look at me.” you held his face in your hands, admiring every detail at its finest. his eyes locked on yours as he came, pushing his seed further into you. you smiled, pushing the hair out of his eyes. he leaned into your touch, a sigh leaving his lips. “what’s wrong, blondie?”
“let me be yours.” you knew it was coming, it always did. he’d make love to you, milking you for everything you had, then he’d have that crashing wave of sadness and yearning. you thought about it every time, all the time really. you thought about him every hour of every day, but you were scared. you didn’t want to be hurt again. you knew, logically, that he’d never hurt you. still, the thought of being treated like shit lingered in your mind. “tell me what’s going on in that pretty head.”
“i—” you looked away from his piercing gaze. his fingers drew shapes on your skin, his lips kissed your skin anywhere he could reach. he won’t hurt me. “okay.”
“w-what?” austin stuttered, his lips stopping their movements and his pupils blown wide when you looked back at him.
“let’s try it.”
“oh, my god.” he laughed, kissing your lips and you smiled into it, giggling when he gripped your face between his hands. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, angel.”
“and you’re mine.” he left another searing kiss to your lips and you felt him harden inside of you again.
“round two? as an exclusive couple?”
“fuck, yeah.”
800 notes · View notes
foreverdolly · 2 years
Text
my bestest girl | austin!elvis x reader
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summary: you're elvis’s childhood best friend, and he’s been in love with you for as long as he can remember. his mother and father keep trying to push him to finally make a move, what with you being the only girl that they would ever approve of their son going steady with. elvis, bashful and fearful of rejection, decides to keep his feelings to himself. . . well- that is until he can’t physically take it anymore
pairings: austin!elvis x fem!reader
word count: 9,173 ( I couldn't stop typing ).
warnings/notes: SMUT !, cursing, the reader and elvis are both huge virgins, grinding, slight dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, implied breeding kink, elvis loves you so much that it physically pains him. the internal image of an inexperienced, nervous elvis has me foaming at the mouth. everyone always writes austin!elvis as a sex god, but quivering boys with shaky, wandering hands who cry during sex is my own personal kryptonite. a continuation of this fic is currently in the works, so please follow me or ask to be added to my taglist for my virgin!elvis content if ya liked this.
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“Mama, here you go again! Stop tryin’ to stick your nose into other people’s business.” He called from his bedroom, his heart pounding against his chest. Elvis stared at himself in the small mirror he had in his cramped space, taking a few steps back so that he could make sure that his short sleeve button up didn’t have any wrinkles. He had insisted that he do the ironing himself, not wanting his mother to be too overwhelmed with things to do. He wasn’t very good when it came to housework, no matter how hard he tried. 
“I’m not doin’ anythin’ a mother shouldn’t do, baby! I ran into her daddy at the grocery store, and we just got to talkin’ is all.” Is that what she wanted to call it? Vernon had pulled Elvis aside just thirty minutes ago and had told him that Gladys had practically begged your father to get you to come over for dinner tonight. She’d been meddling in his relationship with you for years, but tonight was different. He could tell that she had something up her sleeve, ready to pull out once she got two of you cornered at the dinner table. 
She had always been wildly overprotective of her son, and Elvis had never fought the hold that she had over his life. He didn’t blame her one bit for it, rather he enjoyed feeling loved and cared for. He never spent a single night away from home until he was seventeen, for crying out loud. If Elvis lost a son the same way that she had, he was positive that he’d want nothing more than to keep him safe and healthy. That was exactly what Gladys was doing. She looked after him and made sure he never got himself into any sort of trouble. His old pals from high school used to say that she felt “threatened” by the girls that used to try their hand at flirting with him, but the blue eyed boy knew that it just wasn’t the case. No, she wanted him to be with the right girl. 
In Glady’s and Vernon’s eyes, you were the only girl for Elvis. He felt that way about you too. 
When he reached puberty and moved to Memphis, girls started paying more and more attention to him. The one girl that he wanted to look in his direction never did though. His sultry voice, long eyelashes, and crooked smile never worked on you. Good lord, had he tried it time and time again, but you never acted interested. Despite the dull ache of rejection that Elvis always felt in your presence, he never could shake you. Not that he wanted to. You were just as much family to him as his own parents were, what with the fact that you two had always been connected at the hip. He couldn’t go a single day without phoning you up, the two of you chatting excitedly about your latest Beale Street shenanigans. 
His love and attraction for you never dimmed, and his eyes never strayed. Elvis was positive that you were the girl that he was supposed to marry. . . but he knew that you didn’t feel the same way. He smoothed a few stray pieces of ebony hair back into place, chewing nervously at the inside of his cheek. “Sure, sure. You only did what you thought was right.” He moved to stand in the doorway of his room, pressing his hip against the wooden frame. “But mama?” She was anxiously setting the table, and stopped what she was doing so that she could meet his gaze. 
“You can’t force her to feel somethin’ that she doesn’t, alright? I’m perfectly fine with just bein’ her friend.” That was a lie. The words burned his tongue the second that he said them, but he refused to take back the statement. He wasn’t going to say anything to you that might potentially push you away. He’d rather not have you romantically than not have you at all. Elvis was sure that he might just keel over if you never spoke to him again. The remorseful look on his mother’s face didn’t escape him, but he made the decision to ignore it. He didn't want anybody's pity. Not right now, at least. You’d be here any second, and the last thing he needed was to start moping around. You would be sure to notice. 
He wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks, clearing his throat as he straightened out his shoulders. “Now what can I do to help, satnin?” He cooed to his mother, watching the way the nervousness dissipated from her expression. 
He was helping to lay out the silverware, but paused as there was a knock on the door. “That must be our girl. Elvis, how ‘bout you get that?” Vernon spoke from the kitchen, probably busy sneaking a few spoonfuls of his mother’s famous ambrosia salad, which she would be sure to notice. His father would be getting an earful about it later. 
The man was at the door in the blink of an eye, his long legs quickly stalking across the small home. He ripped the door open with a wide smile, eager to see you after the few days that you two had been apart. You were like a drug to him- at this point he couldn’t go too long without you, not without suffering withdrawals. You blinked in shock, a few strands of your bangs fluttering with how violently he had ripped the damn thing open. 
Standing in front of you was a very eager looking Elvis, his plush pink lips upturned into his signature smile. Judging by the way you were quick to step into the house and wrap your arms around him, he could tell that you were excited to see him as well. “That was the longest trip of my life.” You sighed against his chest, giving him one last squeeze before letting him go. He found it hard to speak for a few seconds, so he decided to nod his agreement. You and your family had taken a last minute vacation to Cherokee Lake Beach, deciding that the summer break would be a better time than ever to celebrate your father’s recent promotion. Last night had been your first day back, but you had claimed to be too tired for a visit, so Elvis made do with the half hour phone call you made to him. 
Gladys had been lucky enough to bump into your dad after the week long vacation, which was how he had ended up in this mess. Elvis was too mortified to ask about all of the details, knowing that his loud mouthed mother probably gushed to the middle aged man about her son’s private thoughts and feelings. You were dolled up, which wasn’t completely unusual. You always went out of your way to look pretty- but you had even dusted your wide doe-like eyes with a shimmery shadow. Your cheeks were naturally flushed, your skin glowing after the days of soaking up the sun. He was taken aback by your beauty. So much so that he just stood there, his blue eyes half lidded as he took you in. For a moment neither of you spoke. You merely stared at one another, basking in each other’s presence. That was until Vernon spoke, that is. 
“Gladys cooked you a welcome home feast, darlin’. I hope you’re hungry.” Elvis could have cursed at his father, your beautiful eyes leaving his face and instead turning in the direction of the kitchen. 
Your lips moved up into a lazy smile, and soon you were moving closer to Vernon, wrapping your arms around him quickly as the two of you exchanged your hellos. He gave the top of your head a quick kiss before letting you go. Gladys was next, moving from the kitchen so that she could wrap you up in one of her usual bear hugs. She peppered your cheek with kisses, rubbing your arm up and down when she pulled away so that she could get a good look at you. “Why, look at you!” She purred, giving you a once over. “You look beautiful, y/n.” 
And you did. Then again, Elvis couldn’t even remember a time when he hadn’t thought you looked gorgeous. Whether you were stumbling out of your room after a long night's rest, sleep caked in your eyes and your hair sticking up on end, or as sick as a dog- Elvis always found you gorgeous. He was smitten to the point of being lovesick for crying out loud. 
“Did you make the ambrosia salad?” He heard you ask from the kitchen, your small frame disappearing into the tiny space. You and his mother always got along like two peas in a pod, but he couldn’t help but glare after his mother who had stolen you away from him so soon into the visit. 
Vernon took it as his opportunity to move towards the dining room table, taking his seat. Elvis hesitantly followed suit, nervously looking down at his shirt one last time, attempting to brush out a wrinkle with his hands, his silver watch jingling softly with the movement. “Son,” His father kept his voice low, leaning forward on his elbows. “Your mother and I are goin’ to watch a movie together once we’re through with eatin’.” Elvis’s eyes furrowed in confusion, but he nodded his head anyway. “What movie are we seein’?” It wasn’t like his father to go to the movies. His parents never spent money on frivolous things like the cinema. Vernon was quick to shake his head, reaching into his pocket to show him just two tickets. “I just thought that you and y/n might like some time to yourselves tonight.” Elvis had to pinch his nose to keep from exploding, his cheeks hot with both anger and embarrassment. Now how the hell was he supposed to explain all of this to you? “Daddy- you’re just as bad as mama is!” He whisper-yelled. Before he had time to scold his father any further, his two girls emerged from the kitchen, arms full of serving dishes. 
Warm biscuits, mashed potatoes with gravy made from drippings, green beans and hamburger steaks. His mother really had gone out for your long overdue return to the presley household. You sat next to Elvis wordlessly, and when he turned to face you he could tell that your cheeks were a little pinker than they had been before. He blinked a few times, but settled further into his seat, grabbing the linen napkin off of the table so that he could put it on his lap. The four of you all joined hands, your mother insistent that you all say grace before she began putting heaping servings on to everyone’s plate. 
“So? How was the lake, y/n? I’m sure you and your family had quite the time down there.” Vernon was quick to engage you in conversation. 
Your arm brushed against Elvis’s side every time you moved your fork around on the plate, and each time his stomach did a flip. He found it hard to even focus on eating, so he just moved his food around from one spot to the other, hoping that his mother wouldn’t notice his lack of appetite. If she did, she didn’t comment on it. Instead she was too focused on her role as “matchmaker”. 
“It was wonderful! I got to teach my baby cousin how to swim while we were down there.” Imagining you carefully taking care of your aunt Valerie’s son made his heart seize up. Elvis had always wanted children, and lots of them. He saw how it had completed his own mother and father’s lives, and he wanted that for himself. His career had steadily been taking off, and though he hadn’t really gotten his big break yet, his single ‘That’s Alright’ was doing pretty well. They had just played it on the KWAM radio station the other night, and he had quite literally jumped for joy. Once he was settled enough in his career, he wanted to start a family and get married. Hopefully by some time next year, he might be far enough ahead in his life where that could be something to seriously think about. That is. . . if you ever returned the sentiment. His mother seemed to be thinking the same thing, because her eyes softened. 
“You’d make a mighty fine mama someday. I know you wanted to go to college once your younger sister graduates high school, but I’d hope you’d be thinkin’ ‘bout marriage too right around that time.” Elvis widened his eyes at his mother, his mouth parting in shock at her boldness. 
Your cheeks heated up all over again, but you slowly nodded your head. “I’d like to be able to support my parents someday, which was why I wanted to go and get my education. I do want a family someday though. . . It just depends.” Your southern drawl was as sweet as sugar. Your voice has always been one of the many sources of Elvis’s weak spots for you. He glanced over, catching the way you were looking at him out of the corner of your eye. He swallowed thickly, filling his fork with mashed potatoes so that he could keep himself busy. 
Gladys hummed her approval, but continued to hone in on the subject. Elvis knew that this was going to be a shit show. . . but it was almost like the woman was going out of her way to embarrass him. “Elvis has always wanted a family, ever since he was a little boy. Isn’t that right, baby?” He nearly choked on his food, covering his mouth with his hand as he cleared his throat. You seemed to notice the panic on his face, because you were quick to hand him his glass of sweet tea. He gulped it back appreciatively. 
“The both of you are quite the lookers. If you two ever had any youngins, they’d be models.” It was your turn to choke on your food, narrowly avoiding getting a green bean stuck in your windpipe. Elvis reached out, giving your back a few pats before glaring at his mother. 
“Mama! That’s enough, ya hear? Give it a rest.” He spoke through clenched teeth, shaking his head in disbelief. To say that he was mortified would be an understatement. He knew that the two of you were in for a treat the second that his mother had practically skipped home last night to tell him the news, but god damn it this was horrifying. He was too scared to even look in your direction, fully convinced that the second his parents left the house you would be sure to reject him. It would be brutal, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to survive it. 
“I was just tryin’ to help-” Gladys started to mumble, but Elvis stood up from the table, the chair loudly scraping against the wooden floors. He tossed his napkin down onto his plate, staring the woman down. 
“Daddy, don’t you think the two of you should start headin’ to the theater? Wouldn’t want ya to be late.” His low voice was thick with humiliation, his lush lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he turned his attention to his father. The man quickly nodded, standing up so that he could grab Gladys by the arm. “You’re right, son. Come on, dollface. Let’s get goin’.” 
Elvis could tell that his mother was starting to realize the embarrassment she had caused. She was damn near tears as she gave her son a soft pat on the back, and for once in his life he didn’t pay any mind to it. Elvis was a mama’s boy, and proud of it. He had taken care of his parents all of his life, both financially and emotionally. The only thing he asked for was privacy every now and again, because he had always been careful around you for a reason. Losing you would kill him. He’d be absolutely gutted. He shoved his hand into his pocket as the front door closed behind his parents, his sharp jawline ticking as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. He was staring absentmindedly at the table, his mind flying at a mile a minute as he tried to come up with something to say to you. Anything to fix whatever the hell his mother just did. 
Gladys Love Presley might as well have shouted from the rooftop that her son was in love with you. She had just hammered that final nail into his coffin. There was no getting out of this one. Over the many years that the two of you had known each other, he had slipped up on numerous occasions. Just two years ago he had tried to kiss you at a party, and when you had leaned away he had feigned drunkenness when in actuality the man had barely had a drop to drink the entire night. This was worse somehow. He could feel the tension in the air so thick that he could barely breathe. 
“Well, now ya know.” He threw his hands up, his heart pounding with nervousness or anger- he just didn’t know anymore. He couldn’t differentiate between the tsunami of emotions that were washing over him. You kept silent, but he could feel the weight of your gaze. He swallowed thickly, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “I was hopin’ she wouldn’t be so obvious for once in her god damned life.” He moved away from the table, pacing back and forth in the living room. 
“Elvis, I’m not up-” “Just let me talk, okay? I at least want you to hear it from my mouth and not hers. She’s spoken for me my entire life,” He motioned towards the door, tapping his foot angrily. “So I don’t know why I’m shocked.” 
You bit your own lips to keep them from quivering, and he watched you distractedly for a few more seconds before finally taking a deep breath, running his large hands over his face. “I’ve never been able to get you off of my mind. You ran into me in the hallway on our first day of school, do ya remember that?” Despite his darkcast mood, he couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “You were wearin’ that pink gingham dress? The one your mama forced you to wear. . . and I thought that you were the most beautiful girl in the world. You smelled like gardenias, and were always eating peaches with your packed lunches. You were mean to every boy that ever approached you- but not me.” He shook his head, his voice thick as he remembered the first time he ever saw you. “You were a baby faced daydream of a girl, and I’ve never been able to get enough of you. I never will.” 
Elvis didn’t want to look at you for too long. He could tell by your expression that you were close to tears. He was neck deep into the confession now, and he didn’t want to leave anything out. He had been bursting at the seams for years. Bursting with love, and it felt good to get it all off of his chest. Damn good. 
“I don’t have eyes for anyone else. You asked me why I turned Dixie down last year when she asked me out, and it’s because you’ve blinded me. You’re so bright, I can’t see anyone else. I know you don’t feel the same way that I do. You’ve made it very clear over the years. . . but I just want you to know that I’m madly in love with you. My heart just aches. It’s disgustin’ how much I love you, really.” He laughed humorlessly, kicking his shoe against his mother’s rug. 
He could hear your soft hiccups from across the room, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to run to you and hold you, even for just a second, or if he wanted to find some means of escape. Either way, he had done it. There really wasn’t much else for him to say or do, other than just wait to hear what you had to say. He just hoped you’d be nice about it all. You were always kind to him, but maybe he had crossed a line. Maybe he had incurred your wrath somehow. 
He opened his arms out wide at his sides, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally locking his eyes on you. “Go ahead. Get it over with, y/n.” He didn’t want to beat around the bush with the rejection. You needed to rip it off quickly like a band-aid.    
╚══•●•══╝
Your father had tried to emotionally prepare you for the night. He had accepted the invitation on your behalf, knowing everything that Gladys had in mind for the dinner. It was no secret to any of your family or close friends that you were in love with Elvis Presley. He was just as much a part of your everyday life as breathing was. The two of you had done everything together. From attending senior prom to getting drunk for the first time, most young adult milestones had been reached together, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 
Despite your unchanging feelings, you were no stranger to the way that other girls looked at Elvis. You’d have to be blind not to see how beautiful he was. From his sultry blue eyes framed by thick black lashes to his plush lips and perfectly-imperfect smile; Elvis was irresistible. Nobody would ever compare to his looks. And his voice? It was smooth and velvety like honey. You had stopped being nervous around him years ago, and instead suffered your crush internally. Whenever friends or family asked, you always brushed the topic off. Either telling them that you weren’t ready to tell him, or that you were certain that he didn’t feel the same. Either way, it wasn’t time. When was it ever going to be though? The older the two of you got, the more of your old friends from school started getting engaged or married. 
One day Elvis was bound to find someone worth proposing to. One day you’d have to be forthright with him and your feelings. 
Elvis had always turned girls down, and you had gotten too comfortable with that fact. One day the right girl was bound to ask him out, and for once he wouldn’t say no. You’d be left in the dust. So when your father came bounding into the house, his eyes alight with excitement, you couldn’t see what there was to be so happy about. 
“Elvis has something he wants to tell you tomorrow night. Gladys wanted me to make sure you’re at their house for supper.” Your stomach had dropped. What was so exciting? The big news could be a handful of things: he finally found a worthwhile person to manage him, he got a well paying gig, his career was beginning to take off. All you could think about was the fact that he could be telling you that he finally got himself a girl. All night you had practiced your smile in front of the mirror. As you sat there at your vanity, your pink lips pulled back in a wide grin, you couldn’t wipe the sadness from your eyes. Tomorrow was going to be the worst day of your life, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. It was like knowing you were about to get in a car accident, but you were unable to pull over to the side of the road. You just had to keep driving, hands glued to the steering wheel and foot nailed to the gas pedal. 
You had taken extra care in your appearance that night, even going as far as to apply a soft pink eyeshadow to your lids. If you were going to get your heart broken you at least wanted to look pretty. 
Elvis always looked at you with kind eyes, but the way that he had opened the door that night had left you stunned into silence. Your chest burned like it was on fire. The longer you looked at him, the more in love you fell. Right when you thought that you couldn’t love the boy any more- it was impossible- he would look at you like that. You had quickly searched the living room for any sign of another girl, but found none. The only purse to be seen was Gladys’, and the middle aged woman’s voice was the only one to be heard. 
It wasn’t until Gladys had you cornered in the kitchen that you finally clued in that she had schemed something up for the two of you. Right as you were grabbing all the food that you could fit in your arms, the woman leaned in close, her eyes twinkling. “You’d make the perfect daughter in-law.”  If Elvis and Vernon had noticed the way your face had flushed a bright red, neither of them commented on it. 
Gladys only continued throughout the night, driving the point home. If the news wasn’t about him having a girlfriend, then what could it possibly be? He hadn’t said anything about his singing yet. The more aggravated and embarrassed Elvis became throughout the dinner, the more confused you became. 
It wasn’t until Elvis mentioned his parent’s surprise movie date that it all finally clicked. 
You’d never seen the man get so upset with his mother before. Sure, she could get a bit overbearing and annoying at times, but he had more patience than anyone else you’d ever met before. He treated his parents like they were his own children, and never minded their meddling before now. His cheeks were red with anger, a few pieces of black hair falling out of place as he began to pace in the living room. They hung in his eyes, bouncing a bit with his constant movement. “Elvis, I’m not up-” You wanted to let him know that you weren’t upset with him or his mother, but he cut you off before you could get the words out. 
You didn’t know that you were holding your breath until you felt as though you were going to faint. You sucked in a deep breath, watching him with wide, teary eyes once he finally turned to face you. He had always been a poet, in his own right. He wrote beautiful songs, but you never had prepared yourself for such sugar-coated words to be spoken to you so directly like this. You weren’t sure what to say. How in the world were you ever supposed to say anything half as romantic and as beautiful as that, especially in the heat of the moment like this? You sniffled softly, wiping at your tear stained cheeks before you stood up on shaky legs. His chest was rising and falling in quick succession, so despite his calm expression, you could tell that he was panicking. He had never been so vulnerable like this in front of you. 
You began making your way up to him, your bottom lip quivering as you took in his expression. He noticed your tears, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Just say what you need to say.” He assured you, his arms dropping back down to his sides. It was crazy, but he really thought that you were about to turn down his affections. There wasn’t even a shred of hope in his bright blue eyes. 
“You’re either blind,” Your voice shook as you spoke, but you kept going. “Or an idiot, EP.” His eyebrows slowly began to furrow in confusion. He licked his dry lips before opening his mouth. “You don’t have to insult me too, ya know. Jesus.” His eyes began filling with tears, and that was all it took. 
You couldn’t take it anymore. Seeing his face contorted with pain, his eyes so very blue and so very sad- it pushed you over the edge. You grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him down to your height. Your movement was so rough and jerky that one of the buttons even flew off, but you paid it no mind. There was no time for apologies. 
His lips felt full and plush against your own, albeit a little chapped from the way he had been nervously chewing them during dinner. You had been kissed, but only once before. It had been a horrible slobbery mess, and even though Elvis had laughed at your expense all those years ago, you could tell that he was upset. Now you recognized it as jealousy. 
You poured everything you could into that kiss, your hands moving up to cup his cheeks and hold him in place as you slowly moved your lips against his, the tip of your tongue gently lapping against his bottom lip. You were easing him into it, and judging by his hands that shakily wrapped around your waist, he was terrified shitless. Scared or not, he was excited out of his mind to finally kiss you. Taste you. His unsure hands tightened their hold, his large hand sliding up from your hip to your back, pressing you flush against him. Your breasts were pressed against his chest, and the second that it registered to Elvis, he gasped against your lips. 
“I don’t know what I’m doin'.” He mumbled shyly against your mouth, his hot breath fanning over your face. You allowed your eyes to flutter open, your thumbs brushing against his warm cheeks. He’d never looked more beautiful than he did right then. His eyes were half lidded and laden with a lust that he still didn’t quite understand. His cheeks were flushed, and as you pulled back a little more so that you could get a better look at him, his lips looked pink and kissed. You breath locked up in your chest as you noticed his eyes still looked watery. You moved your hand upwards, gathering up one of the unshed tears that had become tangled in his thick lower lashes. “I don’t either.” You admitted with a smile. He chuckled, his hand moving further up your back so that he could gently cup the back of your neck. “Let’s learn together.” You weren’t sure when you had gotten so bold, but it was worth it to see his reaction. 
He hurriedly pressed his lips against yours, the both of you slowly moving backwards. Neither of you were sure where you were trying to go, but you just knew that you needed to get closer somehow. One of your hands moved from his face as you felt something pressing against your lower back, moving to try and blindly figure out just what it was. Elvis didn’t need to open his eyes to know that the two of you had ended up back in the dining room. He wordlessly bent down, placing his hands at the back of your thighs so that he could sit you down on the table. It was his turn to run his tongue along your bottom lip, and you wasted no time granting him access. The two of you explored each other’s mouths tentatively at first, but the more time went on, the more hungry the both of you became. He couldn’t get enough of you. His hands shook with the weight of his neediness, his hands moving from your neck, to your hair, grabbing a fistful as he held you more firmly against him. The two of you had fallen into a pattern, and in a matter of seconds the kiss no longer felt inexperienced. The both of you moved your lips against one another as if you could somehow devour the other. You parted for a second so that you could take a few deep breaths, and Elvis took that time to press his lips against your chin, your cheek, and down your neck. 
You spread your legs so that he could step between them, your hands shaking as they gripped at the fabric of his cotton shirt. It felt like every single nerve ending was on fire. Anywhere he touched felt like someone was holding a flame to it. His lips pressed against the hollow of your throat, his needy hands moving over your thighs, up your stomach, and stopping just below the swell of your breasts. His thumbs gently dug into the soft skin there, but it wasn’t enough for you. “For the love of god, touch me.” Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears. Elvis let out a loud groan against your skin, his hands moving up to cup you through the bodice of your dress. 
Your breasts felt heavy with want, even in his hands. He added pressure, his ring and middle finger pressing against your hardening nipples. You let out a loud yelp, your hips bucking on their own accord. Elvis’s hips jerked forward as he felt your core brush against his own, ripping his face out of your neck so that he could stare down at you with wide eyes. His pupils were completely blown out, his eyes more black than blue at this point. The noise you had let out as his hips moved against yours had been sinful. Never in your life had anything even remotely similar left your lips. He wanted to see what he was doing to you, so he moved his hips again but slower this time. Your jaw dropped, your lips parting as you felt him pressing against you. The movement directly stimulated your clit, and you couldn’t help but jerk against him slightly. It felt too good. 
It was almost too much, but still not enough, all at the same time. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared up at him, concentrating hard on not making a sound. You weren’t sure why but it was embarrassing. Elvis’s lips also parted as he repeated the action, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he licked his lips, his arm wrapping around you so that he could get a better angle. He pressed against you harder, moving his head down to press a kiss against your top lip. “Make that sound again for me, baby. Please.” He sounded so good when he was begging for your validation. He wanted to know that he was making you feel good. He wanted to know that he was doing right by you, and god was he. Your eyes nearly rolled back at the mere sound of his voice, so deep it was practically a hum. 
His hand lowered from your back to your bottom, and he gripped hard, physically moving you against him in time with his hips. You moaned so loudly you could feel the sound reverberating in your chest. “Oh fuck.” You distantly heard him curse, but you were too focused on what he was doing to you to really understand what was going on around you. Your hands flew to his shirt, your fingers fumbling as they tried to undo the buttons. It must have been taking too long, because Elvis’s hands moved to cover yours. “J-Just rip-” He gently brushed your hands away gripping the front of his shirt with shaky hands. He moved his mouth down to yours, pressing a wet kiss to your lips. “Rip it.” He was breathless as he tugged at the shirt, the buttons popping off with small snapping sounds. He must have decided that unbuttoning the shirt would have taken too long, because the second that he felt air against his chest he moved your hands towards him, wordlessly begging you to feel him. You swallowed back his hot pants as he breathed against your lips, your hands moving against his soft skin. Your small hands brushed against the expanse of his chest, starting just above his belly button and moving upwards. The tips of your nails gently scraped against his nipples, and he jerked forward, letting out a small hiss. “I’m sorry.” You were quick to apologize, but he shook his head, pressing his forehead against yours as he searched your eyes. “I-I liked it.” 
Your eyelashes fluttered as you moved your hands up and over his shoulders. Despite his skinny frame, he was toned. You pulled away from his face, smiling softly as he tried to follow you, not wanting to be parted from you for even a second. You let your eyes brush over his chest, moving the shirt down his shoulders so that you could get your fill. For a second, even through the haze of lust, Elvis’s eyes flashed with uncertainty as he watched you take him all in. Sure, it was just his chest, but for a second he was scared that he might be too scrawny for your tastes. The second that your eyes finally met his, all doubts flew right out the window. He wet his lips as he took in your expression, his heart hammering in his chest. Never in his life had he ever seen a more beautiful girl. This look- this expression- was all for him. If he had anything to say about it, no one else would ever see you in this position. 
You were just his. All his. You knew it, and now he knew it too. “I love you.” His voice was so quiet that you barely heard it, and suddenly he had you laid out on the table, moving to push plates and silverware down or off the table- he didn’t care. You laughed against his mouth as a glass cup filled with tea shattered on the floor next to him. “Damn it.” He cursed with a smile, quickly going back to having his fill of your lips. His hands gently moved from the back of your knees to your thighs, his fingers brushing against your soft skin. 
He was damn near petting you, groaning into your mouth as he pressed himself flush against your core. You could feel him better at this angle, your eyes flying open to stare at the ceiling for a few seconds before squeezing closed. He must have been painfully hard, and part of you were scared that if it already felt this good, that you might never want to stop. You loved him so much it was physically beginning to hurt. Never in your life did you ever want to be parted from this boy. Not even for a second. You opened your eyes again as his tongue pressed against yours, watching his eyelashes flutter as he kissed you. The ceiling light in the dining room hung directly overhead, looking more like a halo than anything to your tear blurred eyes. “I love you.” Elvis pulled away then, bracing one arm against the wooden table as he stared down at you, trying to decide if he had really heard you say that to him. He blinked a few times before he melted against you, burying his head in the crook of your neck. He pressed kisses against the flushed skin there. “Say it again.” 
“I love you.” His hands had snaked under your back then, lifting you up and off of the table. He backed up and out of the room, giving your small form a small squeeze. “Again.” 
“I love you.” He was walking blindly through the house, holding one arm against the nearest wall so that he could feel for the doorway. He peeked his eyes up from your shoulder, making the final couple of steps into his bedroom. He closed the door with his foot, shuffling over towards the bed. “Again.” He sounded breathless now, his voice thick with emotion. 
“Oh god, do I love you.” He placed a knee on the bed, gently setting you down before crawling over your form. His bottom lip quivered as he sat up on his knees, shrugging his shirt off of his shoulders. His hands moved to his belt, but he stopped himself. “I don’t want ya to feel pressured. How far were you wantin’ to go?” You knew that all you had to do was say the word and that Elvis would have stopped at any point. You were nervous, admittedly so, but you could tell that he was just as scared, if not maybe a little more so. The both of you seemed to want the same thing though. The both of you had already gone too far to back down now. You wanted him to be inside of you. Your body was humming with need at this point, the constant touches to your core working you up to the point of damn near frenzy. You were past the point of being nervous of what you were saying to him. You were usually careful with your words, but any and all shame had flown out of your body the second his lips had made contact with your neck. “I want you inside of me. Right now.” 
He let out a small whimper, his hands moving as quickly as they physically could as he removed his belt, tossing it onto the floor and doing the same thing with his pants. You were already sitting up, your hands moving to the zipper of your dress. You shrugged it off of you, kicking it down to the foot of the bed once it was off of you. You shivered as the cool air hit your skin, but Elvis was on you in the blink of an eye, his strong arms wrapping tightly around you, his hips nestling in between your legs. You could tell by the way he was staring at you that he truly liked what he was seeing. 
Elvis always looked at you with honest eyes, soft and kind for you always. But he was staring at you now like you were the most precious thing he had ever laid eyes on, and you were. He loved you. Every inch of you. He’d loved you since your embarrassing high school years, and over time the feelings had only managed to grow. They deepened with your bond, and at this point he was sure that he couldn’t love you any more than he already did. There was just no possible way. 
He pressed kiss after kiss against your lips, his hand moving up your thigh slowly, as if he were testing the waters. He was giving you a chance to back out. You didn’t say a word. His fingers finally brushed against you, gathering up a bit of your slick before gently moving upwards, continuing his exploration. The second his fingers brushed against your clit, you couldn’t hold back your obscene moan. Elvis was a fast learner, repeating the motion again and again as he pressed his finger against you in circular motions. Your body’s natural instincts took over, your hips rocking back and forth against your hands as he continued to bury his hand in between your legs. You could feel his cock against your inner thigh, completely unclothed now. Your hands moved down to feel him, but his free hand stopped you before you could. “I wanna make you feel good.” He said simply. Elvis’s blue eyes pinned you down, watching as you panted and writhed beneath him. After some time he sped up his ministrations, which elicited even more ungodly sounds from you. He ate it all up like a man starved, his jaw slack, his lips swollen from the constant kissing. You could feel yourself starting to come undone, your head pressed against the mattress. Your breathing sped up, and your heart rate with it. Elvis could tell that you were about to climax. He might have been a virgin, but that didn’t mean he was an idiot. Men often had no filter, and not all of his friends were as inexperienced as he was. 
He repositioned his fingers, moving so that his thumb was pressed against your clit, moving to bury two of his fingers into your cunt. You yelped in surprise, but found that it wasn’t uncomfortable like you once thought it might be. Your hands gripped his biceps, feeling the muscle flex under your palm as he continued his movement. You felt something building up in your abdomen, your eyes beginning to fill with tears as the pleasure reached its peak. 
“That’s it, baby.” Elvis mumbled, feeling you flutter around his fingers, watching your face closely as you threw back your head, your body quivering as he continued to ride you through your orgasm. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, and for a second you swore that you had gone blind, your vision going white. After a few seconds you finally sucked in a deep breath, Elvis growling low in his chest as you tried to back away from him. The pleasure was getting to be too much. “Please,” You begged breathlessly, blinking back tears. “I need you.” You were beginning to get overstimulated, but the second that Elvis removed his fingers you felt the need to cry out. You felt so empty. 
You gripped at him wildly, your nails digging into his skin as he reached down, wrapping his large hand around his cock. You finally took the opportunity to look down at him, having not gotten a good look at him earlier. What you had felt and what you were now seeing were two completely different things. Sure, you’d never actually seen anyone’s dick before, but this exceeded your expectations. Even compared to his large hands, the man was huge. You swallowed thickly, leaning up slightly so that you could press your forehead against his. 
His head was an angry pink, begging to be touched in some way. Precum beaded down the entire length of him, the man dripping with need. Elvis watched you, trying to decipher your expression. Once he was positive that you had gotten a good look at him, he wasted no more time. He pressed his head against your entrance, both his own precum and your slick making it easy for him to press his way in. You were so turned on- so ready- that your body practically sucked him in. 
Elvis’s breathing was so loud that you could hear it, his chest rising and falling wildly. He was fighting off his base urges, wanting nothing more than to press all the way in and fuck you into the mattress. You could see the pulse in his neck, thumping away wildly as he stared down at you. Once he was sure that you were fine he pressed in further, repeating the process until he was fully sheathed inside of you. Despite the fact that your orgasm had warmed you up for what was to come, it did very little to spare you the pain. It was sharp and sudden, but dissipated just as quickly as it came. Elvis let you cling to him and didn’t say a word when your nails dug in a little too deep for comfort. His free hand cupped your cheek, shushing your soft whimpers and kissing your cheeks. You could feel him quivering against you, as if the emotions and sensations were too much for him to handle. He only began to move once he was positive that you were alright, pressing his forehead against yours as he watched you closely. His eyelashes brushed against yours when his eyes fluttered, his breath shuttering across your lips. His hips moved slowly at first, his moans quiet and under his breath. The second that you raked your nails down his back, letting out a moan of your own, he was gone. It was almost as though he just snapped. 
He sat up, pressing your back into the mattress as his hands moved to your hips. The different angle caused him to press against your cervix, and for a second it was painful. You cried out, gripping the comforter tightly in your hands as he continued to fuck into you. His moans turned to grunts, and then into growls. They rumbled low in his throat, the sound doing dangerous things to you. His jaw ticked as he watched you. He loved the way that your back arched, watching your breasts as they bounced with his frenzied movements. Elvis might not have known what he was doing, but he was going off of pure animalistic instinct. Never in all of his life did he think anything could feel this good. Your walls were soft and velvety, and pressed tight tight tight against him. If he had thought that he couldn’t live without you before, now he was certain. Elvis could have eaten you alive. 
His hips continued their assault as one of his hands moved back down to your core, pressing against that same spot that caused you so much pleasure before. Your walls instantly tightened around him, causing him to cry out at the sudden wave of pleasure. He was close, and he was positive that no matter what he did, he wasn’t going to last long. He wanted to do whatever he could to make you cum right along with him. His fingers moved against her wet core along with his thrusts, the two feelings combined almost too much for you to wrap your brain around. You could feel him everywhere. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, and yet you couldn’t stop shivering. “Please, please, please.” You weren’t even sure what you were begging for, just that you wanted something. No- you needed something. 
“I wanna cum inside.” Elvis’s voice was shaky from exertion, a thin sheen on his chest and beading on his brow. You were too blissed out to think too hard about whatever consequences that might have. All you knew was that you wanted more. Anything that he could give you of himself, you wanted it. You nodded quickly, moving your hips against his the best that you could. You could feel your own climax boring down on you like a weight, your walls already beginning to flutter around him. He leaned his torso over yours, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth. His lips muffled your cries of pleasure as you came and came hard. He followed close behind you, rutting into you a few more times before he broke the kiss so that he could press his face against your throat. You jumped slightly at the sudden warmth that began to pool in your abdomen. His hips pumped in and out of you every few seconds, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You were starting to come down from your high, but you still managed to lazily move your hips against his, wanting all of it. Every last drop. You didn’t want any of it to go to waste. Not when it could be filling you up. 
He peppered your face with soft kisses, and it wasn’t until he pulled away that you realized that he must have been crying at some point, his eyes slightly red and his cheeks wet. “I love you.” You didn’t need to be assured, but at this point he was saying it just to say it. Just because he could. “My bestest girl.” He smiled down at you, rubbing small circles into your flushed cheeks with his thumb. 
You hummed lazily, finding it hard to keep your eyes open for too long. Elvis appeared to be wide awake, leaning his head against his hand as stared at you. After a few more seconds he slowly pulled out of you, and you couldn’t help but wince as you felt liquid leaking out of you. He reached down, using his ruined shirt to carefully wipe you up. He took his time, making sure that you were alright before pulling the comforter up and around you. “I’m goin’ to go get somethin’ to drink, alright?” He slipped his trousers back on, closing the door behind him as he stepped out of the room. Distantly you heard the front door open, Gladys and Vernon’s voices filling the small home. 
“Oh. . . did y/n leave already?” There was an awkward silence before you could hear the sink turn on in the kitchen. It only took the middle aged woman a few seconds to notice the broken glass. “What in the sam hell happened in here? Elvis Aaron Presley- you broke one of my good cups!” There was a mumbled sorry and the sound of shattered glass being tossed into the metal garbage bin. You waited with bated breath for him to return, pulling the blanket further up around yourself just in case someone walked in. “Gladys. . . baby. . . let’s go and head to our room, alright? I think y/n’s still here, darlin’.” It was obvious that Vernon had clued in on what happened immediately. You could hear the discomfort in his voice as he spoke. “She’s here and you’re lookin’ like that? Put on a shirt. . . “ Her voice trailed off, and for a second you were sure that both you and Elvis were goners. “So does this mean you two are goin’ steady? Really? Oh, Elvis. . . I’m so happy for you.” She lowered her voice in the hopes that you might not hear her, but her voice was naturally loud. “Thank you mama. Do you mind ringin’ up her folks and lettin’ them know she’ll be staying the night? I’ll sleep on the couch if need be-” You had to cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. Well, it was moot-point now. Gladys seemed to think the same thing. “Her father and I were just sayin’ yesterday how badly we wanted to see you two together. They’ll be over the moon. Head to bed now, alright? I’ll call her mama right now.” 
Elvis slipped into the room a second later, handing you a glass of water that you happily gulped down. He flicked the light off, crawling into bed beside you. “I thought she was going to kill me.” You could hear the smile in his voice. You placed the glass down on the bedside table, laying back against the pillows. Elvis moved to lay on his side, nuzzling his face into your hair. “Now they’ll be gunnin’ for us to get engaged. I’ll never hear the end of it at home.” Your mother was already quite the nag. She’d be relentless when you got home tomorrow. “Give me a month.” He mumbled sleepily, moving to lace his fingers with yours. You closed your eyes tightly, your cheeks flushing all over again. “A whole month? Really?” You teased quietly. He chuckled softly, placing a warm kiss against your shoulder before he fully settled into the mattress.
 “Fine. A week.” And it didn’t sound like he was joking, either. 
want to continue reading this story? check out part two.
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surferblues · 2 years
Text
nothing but trouble ! ˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
austin butler! elvis x fem! reader
warnings semi public sex?, praising kink, unprotected sex, very short, and obviously, sexual themed.
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You and Elvis were strictly just friends, that's what he liked to call it. Nothing more than friends that enjoyed one another's company, one on one time, but as said... that's what Elvis liked to call it.
But you hated the title, the secrecy, and the bullshit commitment to only seeing him as a friend and nothing more.
Those were the rules he set, the rules he made sure were set in your head before he started this ongoing game of ... sneaking in your small bedroom every night just so he could seek for you to fill his pleasureful urges.
You spun at the sound of your window opening, book ready and weaponised in your hand as you waited with fearful breath for the unknown presence to reveal themself. "Elvis?" you muttered quietly, a scowl appearing on your face at the unexpected visitor.
as the sound of his name rolled off the tip of your tounge, the dark haired devil jumped , smacking his head into the rusted metal connected to the window, and scowling when you laughed.
"What are you doing? My parents are here!" You whispered loudly, fighting back the humourous grin on your face as he held his head in pain, a playful scowl still clear on his face. "I just wanna see my girl." Elvis muttered slowly, his scowl now replaced with a playful smirk as his feet lead him towards the bed where you body had been resting.
The boy placed himself on your floor, careful not to make too much noise so as not to cause suspicion from your parents down stairs.
"What happened to not sneaking around when my parents were here?" You voice laced sarcasm and annoyance, scoffing at Elvis as he sat on the floor near the end of your bed, right infront of where the upper half of your body was.
"They won't mind, just' oughta be quiet." his thick voice drawled out, placing a straight finger over your mouth before letting out a small "hush".
"Elvis, you know what would happen if my daddy saw you in here." You were basically begging him to not do anything stupid, the warning in your eyes evident. He chuckled lowly, nodding in an understanding manner before rising from the floor and walking towards your closed bedroom door.
"Your dad loves me, wouldn't lay a finger on me." Elvis placed his hand over his heart, hissing in fake pain, but the smile on his face showed the he was feeling nothing but pure humor and amusement.
"Even if he caught me wandering around in here." Elvis slowly began to turn the handle of your door, his mischievous smile growing wider just as the door opened wider. "he still wouldn't lay a finger on me." Elvis spoke in a volume above a whisper.
You quickly scrambled on your feet, as soon as you saw the hallway of your home, you were quick on your toes to shut the door. "Are you trying to get me killed!" You groaned out, pushing the taller boy away from the door and slamming the door with a bang.
"Come on, don't hold out on me. " Elvis cooed out, as your attempt in pushing the man away failed miserably so, he enveloped both of his calloused hands on your cheeks. "I've been good, all week just for you." he said in that dumbfounded tone he knew would make you fall to your knees everytime he used it, the same tone that had gotten you two in situations you would later regret the next day.
"Good as in completely acting as if I don't exist?" You lifted your eyes up to meet his, crossing your arms as a stern expression spread on your face.
"Y'know it's not like that, I just can't let the Colonel know that I gotta' girl." Elvis rasped, gracefully sliding his hands from your fleshed cheeks to your bare arms... you wished you could have opted for that grandma gown rather than the revealing slip dress.
You felt your skin prickle under his touch, his rough hands glding back and forth between your shoulder blades and elbows. "I know, it's just, i hate the sneaking around ." You words came out breathily.
"It'll only be a little 'while til I'll be able to show you off, show everyone your mine, yeah?" he nodded slowly, his thick accent drawing out as you pulley away from him with an slight irritated expression.
He relentlessly followed before letting out a sigh, his hand running through his greased jet black hair. You sat on the edge of your bed, looking at him with full of expectation.
"Let me make it up to you." He rasped out, nodding in an understanding manner as he lowered his eyes, seeking your face for any desperate form of confirmation. "My parents are downstairs." You reminded unsurely, but as soon as those unsure words left your mouth he shook his head.
"If you're nice and quiet, they won't hear a thing." He says in a readily way stays tall as he stands, his hands on your cheeks as you looked up in his direction with hungry eyes.
"lemme treat right, like you deserve, mama." he slowly whispered as sinked to his knees, seated right infront of you. his hand guided themselves towards your bare thighs, opening them... and giving him sight of where you needed him the most.
"elvis." you bit back, desperation and unsureness as you saw the way he kept his eyes on you with every inch he moved. " haven't even done anything, and you're already calling my name out." he chuckled cockily, gliding his hand gracefully between your parted thighs.
you hated how he cockily smirked as he felt the cloth that was basically with the juices that released everytime he spoke so dangerously, everytime he kept his eyes on you with the lustful waver, and everyone his fingertips touched you.
"Now, mama, tonight, I'm doin' everything in your favor. ." He whispered in a warm tone, pickpocketing the pink lace that had been on your body moments ago.
You shuddered at the new foreign feeling, his fingers lifting up the silk dress that rid up short. The new sensation of cold air hitting your upper thighs, and Elvis's new interest in making sure you were pleased. "I'll be real gentle, real nice." He nodded, sticking out two fingers before edging them towards your throbbing button.
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